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what a fine man you were. Now stop this nonsense.”
    Gwalch sniffed loudly, then drained his mead. “You choose!” he told Tovi, staring at the soldier.
    The Baker turned to the Census Taker. “When young he was known as
Fear-not
. Will that do?” Andolph nodded. From a leather bag he took a quill and a small bottle of ink. Resting the paper against his saddle, he made the change and called Gwalch to sign it. The old man gave a low curse, but he strolled to the horse and signed with his new name.
    Andolph waved the paper in the air to dry the ink. “My thanks to you, Tovi Baker, and good-bye to you . . . Gwalchmai Fear-not. I hope we will not meet again.”
    â€œYou and I won’t,” said Gwalch, with a grin. “And a word of advice, Andolph Census Taker: Trust not in dark-eyed women. Especially those who dance.”
    Andolph blinked nervously, then climbed ponderously into his saddle. The three horsemen rode away, but the soldier Gwalch had been staring at swung around to look back. Gwalch waved at him. “That is the man who will kill me,” said Gwalch, his smile fading. “He and five others will come here. Do you think I could have changed the future if I had stabbed him today?”
    Tovi shivered. “Are we ready to load?” he asked.
    â€œAye. It’s a good batch, but I’ll not be needing the new barrels. This is our last trip, Tovi. Make the best of it.”
    â€œWhat is the point of having the Gift if all it brings is gloom and doom?” stormed Tovi. “And another thing, I do not believe that life is mapped out so simply. Men shape the future, and nothing is written in stone. You understand?”
    â€œI don’t argue with that, Tovi. Not at all. Sometimes I have dreamed of moments to come, and they have failed to arrive. Not often, mind, but sometimes. Like the young cattle herder who loved Sigarni. Until yesterday I always saw him leaving the mountains to find employment in the Lowlands. Last night, though, I saw a different ending. And it has come to pass.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?”
    â€œBernt, the broad-shouldered young man who works for Grame the Smith . . .”
    â€œI know him . . . what about him?”
    â€œHanged himself from a tree. Late last night. Dreamed it sitting in my chair.”
    â€œHell’s teeth! And it has happened? You are sure?”
    The old man nodded. “What I am trying to say is that futures can be changed sometimes. Not often. He shouldn’t be dead, but something happened, one small thing, and suddenly life was over for Bernt.”
    â€œWhat happened?”
    â€œA woman broke a promise,” said Gwalch. “Now let’s have a swift drink before loading. It’ll help keep the cold at bay.”
    â€œNo!” said Tovi. “I want to be at the market before midmorning.” Gwalch swore and moved away to the barrel store, and together the two men loaded twelve casks of honey mead alongside the empty barrels Tovi had brought with him. “Why don’t you let me leave the empties here?” asked the baker. “You might change your mind—or the dream may change.”
    â€œThis dream won’t change, my friend. There’ll be no market for our mead come springtime. You know that; you’ve spoken to the Pallides man.”
    â€œWhat did you tell him?” asked Tovi as the two men clambered to the driving seat of the wagon.
    â€œNothing he didn’t already know,” answered Gwalch. “The Pallides Gifted Ones are quite correct.”
    â€œAnd that was all?”
    Gwalch shook his head. “There is a leader coming. But I wouldn’t tell him who, or when. It is not the right time. He impressed me, though. Sharp as a stone of flint, and hard too. He could have been a force one day. But he won’t survive. You will, though, Tovi. You’re going to be a man again.”
    â€œI am already a man, Gwalchmai