Sasha shot a glance beyond the golden mare, to where the one-eyed man watched, only faintly visible in the starlight and midnight darkness. His grip tightened on her arm. “You are my sister,” said Sasha. “You are Marya’s aunt. Your father was Pyotr Vladimirovich, of Lesnaya Zemlya. If you spend too long alone in the dark, you will forget that you are more than the witch of the wood, you will forget to come back into the light. Vasya, you are more than this night-creature, this—”

“This what, brother?”

“This thing,” Sasha went on ruthlessly, with a jerk of his chin toward the watching devil. “He wants you to forget yourself. He would be glad if you went mad, went wild, were lost forever in dark woods, like our great-grandmother. Do you know the risk you are running, traveling alone with that creature?”

“She doesn’t,” put in the Bear, listening.

Vasya ignored him. “I am learning,” she said. “But even if I were not—is there a choice?”

“Yes,” Sasha said. “Come back to Kolomna with me and I will look after you.”

“Brother, I can’t; did you not hear my promise to Dmitrii?”

“Damn Dmitrii; he thinks only of his crown.”

“Sasha, do not be afraid for me.”

“I am though,” he said. “For your life and for your soul.”

“They are both in my keeping, and not yours,” she said gently. But a little of the wildness had gone from her expression. She took a deep breath. “I will not forget what you said. I am your sister, and I love you. Even wandering in darkness.”

“Vasya,” he said, his voice heavy with reluctance. “Better even the winter-king than that beast.”

“You both have an exaggerated idea of my brother’s good qualities,” said the Bear, just as Vasya snapped, “The winter-king is not here!” In a calmer voice, she went on, “For it is not winter. I must use the tools I have.”

The mare shook her mane and stamped, obviously eager to be gone.

“We are going,” said Vasya to her, as though the mare had actually spoken. Her voice was a little ragged. She pulled away. “Farewell, Sasha.” She swung to the mare’s back and looked down at her brother’s troubled face. “I won’t forget what you told me.”

Sasha merely nodded.

“In three days,” said Vasya.

Then the mare bounded forward, bucking, and his sister was at once lost in the night. The devil looked back, winked at Sasha, and followed.

VASYA LEFT OLEG WHERE she’d met him, at the edge of the scrubby steppe where his men were encamped, a day’s march from Kulikovo. Pozhar cow-kicked the Grand Prince of Ryazan as he slid down her golden flank and said very definitely, That is the last time I carry one of his kind ever again. He is heavy.

Oleg said, at the same moment, “I will leave riding the horses of legend to you, witch-girl. It is like trying to ride a thunderstorm.”