Fortress of Ice

“Oh, somebody in my place, will he be? I won’t like that!”

“Never in your place, Paisi. You’re my brother.”

A grunt. “Which I ain’t, an’ that’s the fact an’ ye know it. Nor be so cheeky wi’ ’Is Majesty, neither, wi’ askin’ for help as if ye’re due the sun an’ the moon besides. It’s dangerous to assume about lords at all. They can be generous, but they got their moments, too, an’ they think thoughts we don’t know about, so don’t be cheeky an’ don’t tell ’im too late.”

“He won’t be angry. He’ll just be glad we saw to matters ourselves, and it’s not as if I’m going to starve here for a day.”

“Well, ye may, if ye ain’t careful. Ye can’t store food here, not on Fast Day. Ye got to clean the place out an’ go without food in the premises, dawn to dark.”

“I’ll find my own way to the kitchens perfectly well, I’ll follow every rule, and I promise, Paisi, I promise no one will ever, ever take your place. I’ll wear my Festival clothes and sit and listen to us being cursed, being ever so quiet and good, and you—you take your holiday clothes home. You can be quite the sight in the Bryalt festival, won’t you? You’ll have the Guelen Guard saluting you.”

“Oh, m’lord, I’d look the fool. They’d arrest me on the spot!”

“Well, then, but Gran at least should see you in your fancy clothes, shouldn’t she?” Otter flung himself to his feet and pulled Paisi up to his. “And we sit pla

“What’s to do at the stables? Myhorse is way down in pasture.”

“Feiny’s here.”

“He’s the king’s gift!”

“He’s mine, and you can borrow him. Now, now listen. There’ll only be the one boy in the stables until after breakfast. You dress in your livery, so’s you look important. I’ll ride down to the gate, you walk with me, and then we go out the gate and get your Tammis out of pasture, and there you’ll be, on the road…”

“… lookin’ rich as a lord and ripe for robbers. And where’s a bridle nor even a halter for me horse?”

“Well, but you can wear your plain cloak, then, after you’re away, and change later. And I’ll get a bridle for Tammis when I get Feiny. You can take Feiny’s saddle for Tammis, and there you are!”

“Feiny’s bigger n’ Tammis. And look at it comin’ down, out there, even yet! Ye’re apt to fall off wi’ no saddle, ye’ll come back half-froze, if ye don’t get lost out there, and wouldn’t your father hear about that?”

“Well, well, then take Feiny once we reach the gate.”

“Oh, now I’m ridin’ ’Is Majesty’s own gift.”

“He’s mine to lend.”

“Oh, aye… an’ how am I to feed that tall great horse once I get home wi’ ’im, for that matter? We never did know that bit, when your father give us them horses—wherever’s food for them? Gran don’t have it.”

“Well.” It was a question worth thinking about. “You’ll just have to go to the duke and ask.”

“Just go to ’Is Lordship an’ bid ’im feed my horse, please.”

“Exactly that.”

“Oh, gods.”

“Lord Crissand will understand. He knows you come from me. He knows I went to the king.”

“If the king ain’t sent to ’im by then, askin’ a horse thief be hanged on sight!”

“Lord Crissand won’t be angry. Neither will the king. I swear he won’t. Don’t hesitate to go to the duke. Ask him what you have to ask for, for you and Gran, and say I told you to do it. I’ll tell my father what I’ve done long before any message can get there.”

“And if somehow you need a horse to get away?”

“Tammis is a perfectly fine horse for me, and he’s still in pasture, isn’t he?”

“ ’E’s a piebald, and lords don’t ride piebalds.”

“Well, I’m not really a lord, then, am I? And if you’re not back, and Aewyn and I go hunting after Festival, I can perfectly well go down to the pasture and get him, and bring him up to stable for the trip, and feed him apples the while so he’ll be fat as a pig.”

“Oh, aye, them damn apples!”

“We can’t get them. That plan is done, Paisi. You just have to go.”

“Well, I thought of something to think on. Your horse is a stable horse, and he don’t have his winter coat. He ain’t fit for the cold.”

“He has the barding, doesn’t he? I’ll have it on him. Just keep the blanket on him most times at Gran’s, and at night while you’re on the road.”

Paisi looked at him long and hard. “I don’t like it, m’lord. I don’t like it. I swear the king is going to be huntin’ a stolen horse, an’ me on ’im.”

“Well, they aren’t even going to feed him up here on the holy day, with all their fine care, are they? With you he’ll have something to eat on Fast Day, and we’ll take care of Gran, which is what we have to do, no matter what. You do it, Paisi, you do it for me. Let me deal with matters here.”

“All the same—”

“Do you trust me?”

“Aye, aye, I trust ye. I trust ’Is Majesty, and probably I trust Lord Crissand.”

“You know how to do these things.”

“Steal, d’ ye mean, little Otter? Aye, I can do that. An’ me sense is tellin’ me go plain and go quiet, an’ not wi’ any lord’s horse, if I had a choice.”

“But he’s the only sure horse we can get to in this weather.”

“Aye,” Paisi said reluctantly and with a deep heave of his shoulders. “Aye, that’s so.”

v

OTTER REACHED THE STABLES AND SLIPPED IN BY THE LITTLE SIDE DOOR. Inside, there was only the one boy, dozing in a stall. Otter padded softly past that gate, with the bundles he brought from their chambers—two blankets too fine for rough use, good woolen blankets to keep one warm; and Paisi’s razor, and his working knife, all wrapped in Paisi’s heavy outdoor cloak, along with the short sword Paisi had had since the war. Paisi was making his own trip to the kitchens, in indoor clothing, saying he was to fetch up a breakfast for a peevish young master, but in fact taking a spare shirt to wrap up several rolls and a sausage from whatever tray they provided.

Otter’s mission was to provide grain, a lot of grain, against the cold and hard going—they had learned on their journey here what an appetite a horse had when there was no time nor chance for grazing, and this snow, covering what grass there was, would make matters worse. He carefully eased up the latch on the granary door—it was well gated against hungry strays. He had brought a sack of sorts, a fine handworked pillow casing; but he discovered instead several rougher, sturdier bags on a nail beside the door, and took two of those for the purpose instead. He slid up the little slat and filled the bags as full as he dared, as much as he hoped might see Feiny and his immense appetite down the road. He tied the two together with twine saved on a peg, the stable’s thrifty habit.

Then he slipped back out and latched the granary door, having by stealth ruled every need that might raise particular questions. He soft-footed it back to the outer door and this time let it thump loudly shut, as if he had just come in, setting the grain down in the shadow beside him.

Horses stirred in their stalls. The stableboy waked. Otter couldn’t quite see Feiny, whose stall was down at the end of the row. He waited, grand as any lord, and the stableboy came out, straw clinging to his hair and his coat in the white light of dawn.

“Your lordship?” the boy asked.

“I need my horse.”

A little stare. The boy scratched his head, and his ribs, still sleepy, and not as inquisitive as Otter might have been in his place—but he had often enough come here at odd hours to see Feiny, he and Paisi both, they being farmerfolk and missing the goats and geese. Having Feiny to fuss over and feed had been a warm and familiar thing for them, and the stableboy never minded their doing his work, once he’d understood they truly wanted to feed and water and curry one of his charges. It was surely only a small step more to say he wanted to ride out at this gray hour, and it would not pose a problem, Otter hoped, that would make the stableboy wake the stablemaster.