BYTHE NEXT AFTERNOON I GAVE UP ANY PRETENSEof conversation, and that evening Oreg pried my fingers loose from the reins and led Feather himself. Mornings were better, but in the late afternoon I was barely staying in the saddle. Tosten gave the order to open the packs and distribute the woolen riding robes among us. Oreg made sure that I put mine on. Tisala rode next to me, talking quietly with Oreg.

I didn’t see much of Kellen, probably because he couldn’t be in much better shape than I was. I asked and Tisala told me Rosem was taking care of him.

When it snowed, I was too far gone to do much besides turning my face toward the sky, because I knew we were getting closer to home. I suspect I was the only one in the whole, cold mass of men (and Tisala) who took quiet satisfaction when the night’s bitter temperatures made Feather’s feet squeak on the snow in the morning. I told Tisala as much while she examined my hands for frostbite—I was too clumsy by then to get my gloves off and on by myself.

“It’s true what they say about Shavigmen,” she said, turning my hand over in hers.

“What? That we’re tough?” asked Tosten with a grin as he checked Feather’s cinch for me in preparation to hoisting my uncooperative self into the saddle.

Tisala shook her head sadly and finished with my hands. “Stupid. Only a stupid person would enjoy this weather.”

The horses felt the nearness of home, too, and lifted their weary hooves faster. The snow was up to their hocks when, in the very late afternoon, we saw the walls of Hurog in the distance.

Feather whinnied and quickened from trot to canter, then when I didn’t slow her, into a full-blown gallop. Power surged through me, swept away my tiredness, and welcomed me home.

As I neared the gates, I saw they were properly hung and reinforced so that they could keep out an army if need be. There were two guards on the gates and when they saw me, they started down the stairs to open them, but it was unnecessary.

Hurog opened to me all by itself.

I stopped Feather without entering, staring at the gates. It hadn’t been me. Working magic is just that, work. I hadn’t even thought about opening the gates, though I felt the surge of power that had accomplished it. Directed by Hurog.

Hurog wanted me home. It should have frightened me more, but how can a man be afraid of his own home?

Feather and I walked somberly through the gates. The guards on duty welcomed me formally—with a little touch of awe that told me they thought I’d been the one to fling the gates open with magic. I let them keep thinking it.