“It is,” the man said. He waved to the cups. “Would you pour?” He put the long-stemmed pipe to his lips and drew, then gradually blew the smoke out. It billowed in the light of the fire, seeming to flow and spread like water.

When a breeze blew it away, there was a man—or rather, a human-like figure—standing by the fire. He was dressed all in red; red hose, red pourpoint, laced in red and tipped in gold.

By the stream, a dozen faeries hovered, burning in their incandescent wonder.

The old man—not so old—drew in more smoke. “Good evening,” he said.

“A merry meeting, and you a mossst pleasssant tressspassser,” the figure said. “But the wine isss good.”

“I am sorry for my tresspass,” said the man with the pipe. He waved it. “I have done little damage except burn some downed wood. I have not hunted.”

The other man tinkled slightly as he moved—his clothes had tiny golden bells attached, and when they rang, the faeries laughed. “You might be consssidered a good guessst in better timesss,” the figure said. The firelight revealed the inhuman perfection of his face—he was an irk.

“Do I have the honour of addressing the Faery Knight?” asked the man.

“You do! The sssmell of your wine drew me asss sssurely asss an incantation and the calling of my true name!” The irk laughed.

“I don’t know your true name, and I wouldn’t say it aloud if I did,” said the human. “But I was once told that you liked good wine. And Etruscan reds must be a trifle thin on the ground out here.”

The irk laughed—and drank. “It isss very good. Perhapsss I will let you live—even let you hunt. The caribou will move in a few weeksss. I could ssspare a half million or ssso of them.”

The man’s eyes moved. “Caribou,” he said aloud.

The Faery Knight nodded. “Ssso many all move at onssse that no forssse of man or the Wild can crosss their path. Millionsss and millionsss, all trekking north.” He shrugged. “Almossst I could put a name on you. Who told you I liked wine?”

“The King of Alba,” the man said.

“Ah. I pity him. A weak man and yet so ssstrong.” The irk shrugged. “I liked hisss father better, but they come and go ssso ssswiftly.”

The human was sucking on the foul smoke at the bottom of the pipe. He tapped it out on his boot sole.

“You do not fear me,” said the irk.

“Should I?” asked the man.

“Do you want sssomething? The wine isss very good.” He held out the horn cup. “May I have more?”

“Take the bottle if you like,” said the man. “Though in truth, I’d be cheered by a cup myself. Will you go to war with Thorn?”

The irk did not betray startlement—but he did move. “I do not dissscusss sssuch thingsss with chanssse met ssstrangersss.” Suddenly the irk was covered in a bubble of fire.