I nearly fell asleep after the steaming hot bath, a pair of Hystites from the far south carried buckets up the back stair to the water closet and filled it in minutes leaving me soap and towels. I scrubbed dirt and sweat off of me, they tried to take my dirty clothes from me but they jabbered away as they disappeared with them, long johns and all. I hoped they’d taken them to clean and not to throw away.
Feeling fresh, limp and wrinkled, I climbed out and dried myself off pulling on the new set of woolen underwear, my newest breeches, new socks and my shined boots. Over that, the long sleeved cotton blouse and a fancy brocaded vest that I’d set aside for my visit to the ambassador’s. For when I reached the capital, Albans. I dressed to impress the girl and walked hesitantly down the hall to the stairs following the sound of rising voices and the scent of roasting meat. The restaurant was off the lobby towards the back, a large room with a dozen tables set with fancy tableware and linen tablecloths, fancier than I expected to see in such a small village. The menu was Freidsch and I could imagine it drawing diners from miles around. The waiters wore black suits and a supercilious air that changed when I ordered in his language.
Roulade of lamb, asparagus and hollandaise and aubergines. No one asked if I had the means to pay, everyone knew that I had made a small fortune in the horse race.
I kept turning to see if I could spot her and the waiter said in a pitying tone, “demoiselle has gone home, Sir.”
Disappointed, I finished my dinner and kept my attention on my plate instead of the patrons. When I was finished, I went up to my room and fell asleep, the entire day’s events finally catching up to me.
Shouting woke me up. There were lights on in the barn bobbing back and forth. I threw on my clothes, boots and jacket before I joined the crowd gathering in the yard. Men with rifles were saddling up horses that were clearly destined for coaches and yelling that someone had raided the barn, making off with two of the team before the watchman had made rounds. I ran inside and saw that all three of my animals were still in their box stalls. Diomed was crashing against the door kicking and pawing. Someone had obviously tried to mess with him, I found scraps of a duck coat and long johns at the base of the stall doors. It took me ten minutes to calm him down and by that time, the rest of the men outside had formed a mounted patrol to go after the thieves. One rode into the alley and asked me if I’d go with them.
“You’re crazy if you think you can track them in the dark,” I snorted. “There isn’t even any moonlight. Wait until dawn and I guarantee we’ll find their tracks.” I couldn’t talk them out of it and shaking my head, I made myself a bed in the straw above the gelding’s stall, my musket and Dragoon close to hand. Twenty minutes later, the barnyard was dark and quiet, horses settling and munching away at their hay. The guard was back patrolling; I would’ve bet my last script he’d been napping in one of the stalls. I fell asleep knowing Diomed would wake me if anyone approached.
Morning came swiftly with a decided nip. I yawned, dug out from under my straw, blankets and coat to sit up with my legs hanging over the loft’s edge. Riders were coming in, weary, cold and disgruntled to tell a tale of running through the woods after a wild goose. Two men had been knocked off their mounts by tree limbs, one had broken his leg and the other had smashed his face. One horse fell in a foxhole and snapped its leg necessitating it be put down. Three men got lost and were still missing. No one had sighted any of the team or their hoof prints.
Another idiot dropped the coal lantern and nearly set himself and the forest afire. The constable who had ignored my words of wisdom gave me a disgusted look and left his horse to the hostler. I went in for breakfast and coffee.
After a leisurely breakfast and 2 cups of coffee, I packed up my gear and the mare, saddled Beau before I headed out for the area where sign of the team last had been spotted. So many horses had torn up the ground that it was hard to pick out the hoof prints of the team. I scouted around for miles before I found any sign of them on a deer trail deep in the woods in a completely opposite direction that the group had been searching. I found piles of manure hours old and further down the narrow trail, I found burlap cut into ovals that reeked of horse manure. The thieves had covered the team’s tracks with boots to hide them from casual eyes until far enough away where it didn’t matter if someone saw their tracks. Then the burlap shoe covers had fallen off. Though a horse weighing near a ton left pretty deep impressions in soft forest loam and swampy soil.
The day passed with no sign of them stopping. The tracks continued at a slow deliberate walk, and left me more signs of broken branches, disturbed rocks as the group meandered through the trees. There were three in this pack, the workhorse and two smaller mounts. From their stride, I could deduce the type of horse and their riders. Both horses were small, with short strides and deep impressions. Both were geldings. Their riders were heavy men, one spat tobacco juice over the side of his mount.
Fat snowflakes began to filter down and the temperature dropped. I pulled out a pair of gloves and drew up my collar. Before too long, the trail was covered and I saw the plume of my breath and the horses’. I lost the trail under the heavy cover and just followed along the deer trail to wherever it led.
Hours passed and the light became diffused by the snow, nearly a white-out. Somewhere, the horses lost the track and I had no idea where we were going so I just gave Beau his head. He kept plodding along until we faced a rock wall surrounded by giant trunks of pine and hemlock that crawled up the slopes defying gravity. I couldn’t see very far, no more than 3 feet in front but I did manage to note a huge pile of blown down trees that would fuel a fire all night. It was as good a place as any to spend the night. With a small fire against the rock cliff reflecting back, I could keep myself and the horses warm without too much effort.
I dismounted stiffly and set about making a camp. I tied the horses close and fed them a few ears of corn before I started a fire up against the rocks. They stayed nearby enjoying the warmth and the closeness. I ate cold cornmeal cakes, jerky and hot coffee; the drink kept me warmer than anything else. The hissing noise as fat snowflakes hit the flames made a soothing rhythm that made me sleepy. I tucked my chin into my fur collar, hugged the hot mug and slowly drifted off to sleep trusting in the stud horse to warn me of any approaching danger.
Eventually, I fell asleep despite the cold and I slept long and deeply. When I awoke, snowflakes were on my nose and lashes; the feeble light that made it through the blizzards wind-driven sheet of white was pale, almost like twilight. I wasn’t even sure that it was morning except that my stomach craved food and the horses were anxiously waiting for me to feed them. I fed them first, oats and oatcakes packed with extra protein that would keep a horse going far longer than regular feed.
As they were munching happily on their breakfast, I set about making mine. Although I had fallen asleep, the fire had kept its coals all night and it was no hardship to coax it back to life with just a few branches. I cooked bacon and oats for myself, making porridge which was a good cold weather food that stayed in your belly and kept you warm for hours. Plus, it had the advantage of being edible for both man and beast. I made tea and sipped it with great appreciation. Tea in the Newlands was a rare and welcome commodity–it was almost a royal drink and usually reserved only for the nobles of Gleneden and Ehrenberg. Rarely did it make its way across the Great Sea to the Newlands. What we did have here and called tea was usually some local weed dried and used for its medicinal qualities, like nilla and chichory, sasprilla or redberry.
My mother had experimented with some of the wild herbs that had grown in our Valley and come up with a few that made equally fair teas. I especially liked the one made from blackberry or redberry leaves and hyssop. The weed she called nilla had a light, crisp taste that soothed the senses and made me think of apple pie and the holidays.
Once, my father thought he could get the black leaves of the Ehresh tea to grow in the Valley but the prevailing north slopes of the cleared meadows just did not produce enough sun to mature them. The plants withered and died. Mum’s wine grapes did very well, however and we had the very first year’s crop fermenting in the caves under Crane’s Hill. But, it was the racehorses my father had bred to which he had tied his fortune. He had nearly a year’s worth of stud services sold to pay for training and keep us in the years before we could race and make our fortune.
Word from his father came regularly at certain intervals. I knew that the Warlord had been in good health and his oldest son wasn’t ready to step into his father’s shoes. I had heard that the Emperor was looking beyond the old borders of the Newlanders and wanted to storm the mountains to tear down the Border Wall. I had heard that the Borderlanders, what few there were left had banded together with citizens from the villages closest to the Wall, that they wanted to overthrow the Emperor and create a kingdom free from Gleneden and Ehresh control.
People complained of the taxes imposed on them by the Council and the amount of monies leveraged against businesses and farms was staggering. The amount leaving for the old lands were billions in gold coin, slaves, furs, produce and wool. All of which went to the capital and little returned, except for more Rangers and government agents.
Even my father, second son of the Earl was not exempt from the Emperor’s levies. My mother had lived in fear that the Rangers or Council agents would show up at our doorstep and demand not only taxes but ‘Habeas Corpus’. Here be the body for the Warlord’s troops. I was an only son and the grandson of an Earl but even I was not exempt from the Emperor’s Draft.
I shrugged and finished my tea and breakfast. Making sure the fire was out, I saddled the stud and rode out trusting the pair to follow. I knew we were headed south but the forest were thick through here and visibility extremely limited. I struggled on, trusting in Diomed’s senses to track our way. The snow was sticking and piling up underfoot. Within a few hours, it was over a foot deep and didn’t seem to be letting up. I could see the plumes of our breath and even covered with my dad’s greatcoat, long johns, flannel and cape, I was beginning to be very cold. So cold that I couldn’t feel my hands and feet. I wasn’t even sure if we were still on a trail or just wandering aimlessly through the woods.
Diomed stopped and pawed. The pair crowded up beside me and for once, the stud ignored them. He kept his head forward, raised high as if he’d seen something. Nickered low in his throat and stepped forward eagerly. I let him go and he walked towards a dim haze that I realized was a light shining through the snow and through a window.
We came out of the woods into a small cove in the trees where a snug cottage and lean-to nestled under low-hanging Friendship Pines. The cabin was built of logs laid cunningly together and fitted so close that I couldn’t have put a sheet of vellum between them. The windows were thin sheets of translucent slate and the chimney of native stone. There were flagstones in the yard leading up to the front door and they must’ve been magicked because the snow melted off them but not around them.
Shivering, I dismounted and tied the horses in the lean-to, helping myself to the hay and grain I found in the back room. There was even a hand pump to water stock and the three drank gratefully. My hands were numb and like two mittens, almost useless.
I retraced my steps and knocked on the door, watching the lights retreat from the far window to the front. It creaked open slowly and a figure wrapped in a thick quilt stood there, candle in one hand and a weapon in the other. A blade, an Elven blade of such beauty, my eyes were riveted to it.
“I seek respite from the storm,” I managed finally and the figure stepped back. I stepped inside and they shut the door so that the warmth and light enveloped me.
Throwing the quilt back, I saw that it was a young woman with dark hair and purple eyes. Fair with ethereal skin that glowed in soft moonshine. She was no Newlander and I had never seen one of her ilk before. “May I share your fire?” I said. “I left my horses in the shed.”
She took my things and gestured for me to sit by the fire. I removed my cloak, mittens and hat as I obeyed. My hands were white and she exclaimed when she saw them. Ordered me to remove my clothes, boots and all. I gaped at her in shock and as I ignored her commands, she proceeded to cut them off me. When I protested, she threw a pinch of dust in my face and I barely remembered falling over.