Part Two

In the long twilight of evening, when the sky darkened to indigo and falling snowflakes swirled thickly in the gusts of wind, Alexeika Volvn crept from one snowdrift to another until she reached the back of the inn. There, she eased herself into cover behind a stack of empty wooden crates and hunkered low with a sense of relief.

It was bitterly cold tonight, the wind cutting through her cloak and hauberk.  Shivering, she flexed her fingers inside her fur-lined gloves in an effort to keep them from stiffening.

Snow season was just beginning in southern Nether. Up north, where she’d lately been, snow lay waist-deep over the ground and drifted high against trees and shepherds’ crofts. Travel in such climate was hard indeed, and Alexeika was grateful to have come down here near the border, to better weather and riper pluckings.

On the other side of the wall, she heard muffled sounds as the small party of king’s soldiers she’d been tracking all afternoon rode into the stableyard and shouted for the landlord.

Grinning to herself, Alexeika thought of the eight stalwart horses shortly to be stabled in this ramshackle structure at her back. In two or three hours, when the inn’s customers had dined and bedded down for the night, she would slip over the wall and take her pick.

Four stolen horses with bridles would be about all she could handle. They would fetch a good price from Costma and add to her growing stash of coin. She had almost enough money to pay for her lodging and food for the duration of the winter. Time was growing short before the deep cold came, but tonight’s work would bring her very near her goal.

Born a princess and the daughter of Nether’s most famous general, Alexeika now lived a dangerous and solitary life. Since her escape from the savage Grethori tribes up in the far mountains, she’d avoided most folk. The price on her head was high enough to tempt one to betrayal. Twice she’d asked Costma to let her join his bandits, but he refused, saying his men would not tolerate her presence in their company, not even if she wore chain mail and wielded a sword like a man. She would cause trouble, he said.

And so she’d become a horse thief, working alone and taking dangerous risks, selling her prizes to Costma and other bandit chieftains for the coinage that would see her through the winter. She had no home, no family, no one to give her charity. She had no choice but to provide for herself as best she could.  Hunkered in the dark, sheltered by the crates with the stable wall at her back, Alexeika supped on hard cheese and a withered apple and ate snow to quench her thirst. The falling snowflakes filled the folds of her cloak and dampened her hair.

Gradually the village grew quiet as folk shut themselves in for the night. The smell of woodsmoke drifted to her nostrils now and then. In the forest beyond the outskirts of the village, she heard the distant howling of wolves, and shivered involuntarily. The voices and bustle inside the inn, accompanied by the aromas of hot stew and dran tea, eventually faded. When all lay quiet, and even the wind died down to a light breeze that swept snow across a sleeping world, Alexeika rose to her feet and stamped them a while to bring back feeling in her toes.

She shook the snow from her cloak and climbed the wall. After she paused on top to look around, she dropped lightly into a snowdrift in a corner near the fodder pile.

No alarm sounded, and she drew in a deep breath of relief. Dusting snow off her clothing, she glanced around to get the lay of the place. The inn was a crumbling structure built of timber and daub in the shape of an L. The stables were hardly more than a rickety lean-to attached to the longest section of the inn. The walls extended from there, forming the whole into a rectangular-shaped compound. Double gates made of thin wood slats that creaked and rattled in the wind provided the only exit or entrance. Although they’d been shut for the night, they were hardly stout enough to provide any real protection in case of trouble; nor, Alexeika saw at a glance, were they locked. Only a wooden pole dropped across two brackets held them closed.

Light shone across the yard from a large window, throwing an oblong spangle of gold upon the snow. The window gave anyone inside a clear view across the yard, and Alexeika’s heart sank as she saw it. For a second she considered abandoning her plan, but she could hear the horses moving about inside the lean-to, tantalizingly close and too tempting to resist.

Although the penalty for stealing army horses was a beheading on the spot, Alexeika never stole any other kind. Most village folk were too poor to own or feed horses; besides, they were not her enemies. Muncel’s soldiers were, and she gladly ran the risk to do them whatever harm she could.  Now, firming her resolve, she edged along the inside of the wall, staying well within shadow as she circumnavigated the yard. A dog lying curled up against the door barked sleepily at her. She gave it the rest of her cheese, rubbing its upright ears and making friends with it. When it saw she had no more food, the watchdog yawned and put its head down on its paws.  Grinning to herself, Alexeika slipped up to the large window and peered cautiously inside. The light came from a dying fire on the hearth. It glowed in a mass of collapsed embers and ash. All the torches and lamps had been extinguished; she saw no sign of servants.

The soldiers snored with their heads on the table, their hands still curled around their tankards. By the look of their uncleared trenchers, they’d drunk more than they’d eaten. Over in one corner near the fire, a communal heap of straw provided bedding for a small group of travelers huddled together for warmth under fur robes and blankets. Alexeika hardly spared them a glance. They would not have horses to steal. Hardly anyone could afford a mount these days except soldiers and the aristocrats in favor with the usurper.  Silently Alexeika moved away from the window. If she kept quiet enough, no one indoors would rouse. Now she had to make sure no guard had been posted at the stables themselves. Keeping one hand on her dagger hilt, Alexeika made her way cautiously in that direction.

Close up, the stables looked even more dilapidated than they had at a distance.  The structure seemed to have been built of whatever scraps of timber and board the owner could scrounge together. Wattle panels divided the stalls, and Alexeika could hear the wind whistling through the gaps and chinks in the lean-to.

The horses—large shadows she could barely see—shifted about placidly in the dark. The wealth they represented made her shiver with anticipation.  Swiftly she forced herself to concentrate. This was no time to be dreaming of the coins Costma would count into her palm. The hardest part of her task still lay ahead of her.

The wind died down completely, and all the world fell into a hush. It grew even colder. Alexeika’s feet and hands were numb, and her cloak might as well have been made of paper for all the warmth it provided tonight. Forcing herself to be patient, she waited and listened for a long while until she felt sure no guard was present, then eased inside the shelter and made soft clicking noises with her tongue to alert the horses to her presence. Stretching out her hand, she touched the hindquarters of one animal, and patted it in reassurance as she moved up alongside it.

“Easy there. Easy,” she murmured, and the horse dipped its head and rumbled softly in its nostrils.

In her father’s youth, knights of family and proud lineage, and not hired soldiers, formed the bulk of the king’s army. Such knights had possessed war horses trained to submit to them alone. Nearly impossible to handle, fierce, and trained to strike down any stranger who put his hand on them, those chargers would have attacked her, whereas these horses were sleepy and docile. The king’s agents bought them in herds from the Kladites, and they were assigned to the soldiers at random. These nags were light-boned coursers, underbred and thin-necked beneath shaggy winter coats, but they would fetch her money from the bandits. That was all she cared about.

Not wanting to alarm the horses, Alexeika forced herself to take her time.  Fumbling in the dark, she found the bridle of the nearest horse hanging on a peg and slipped it on the animal, then did the same with the horse next to it. The bemused pair turned about and came with her willingly.  Drawing in a deep breath, Alexeika glanced once more at the window of the inn, wishing it did not overlook the yard, and told herself that now was the time for boldness.

She led the horses across the yard in full sight, feeling her heartbeat pound nervously. Her senses were stretched tight. When one of the horses nudged her back, she nearly jumped.

Alexeika slipped the pole out of the gate brackets, eased open a panel, which creaked loudly, and led the horses out into the road.

There, she came face-to-face with four men on horseback, cloaked and hooded, and standing squarely in her path.

Gasping with alarm, Alexeika froze in her tracks and stood there staring. The snow had stopped falling, and overhead the clouds had parted enough to show stars and moonlight. She could see these travelers well enough, but from whence had they come? She’d heard no hoofbeats, no sounds of approach. It was as though they had dropped from the second world, yet they were not Nonkind. In fact, they looked foreign, for their cloaks were thick and neither patched nor mended.  Their horses were twice as fat and sleek as her pair.

Her heart was hammering with fright, but almost at once she regained her wits and told herself to act nonchalant.

So she gave them a nod and clucked to her horses, then attempted to lead them past the strangers.

“Hold there, if you will,” called out one of the four. His voice was clear, strong, and foreign. He spoke Netheran with a strange accent indeed, but she could understand him.

The problem was, she feared the soldiers asleep in the inn would also hear him.

“Is this an inn?” the stranger asked her.

Alexeika shook her head.

The four travelers exchanged looks and sighs of obvious disappointment. Alexeika hardened her heart to their plight. It was late and cold, but if they were foreign and soft they’d not find this lodging to their satisfaction. Better to spend the night in the forest with beyars and wolves than to share a roof with the king’s men.

Holding her head down, she tried again to lead the horses past them, and again the spokesman blocked her path. “We were told we could find lodging in this village. Where is it, if not here?”

Silently, Alexeika pointed down the road the way they’d come.  One of the other men, a large shadow with bulky shoulders, growled within the dark folds of his hood. “Nay, sire,” he said in Mandrian, which Alexeika understood, “this lad’s playing us for a fool. We’ve found the place, right enough.”

Their leader raised his gloved hand for silence and regarded Alexeika from within the dark folds of his hood. “Guide us to the inn, and I’ll pay you for your trouble.”

Again Alexeika shook her head. She dared not speak. Although she looked enough like a boy in the moonlight in her masculine garments, her voice was unmistakably feminine and melodious, difficult to disguise.  “Might be a half-wit,” growled the large man who’d spoken earlier.  Alexeika did not wait for the leader to respond. She tightened her grip on her horses’ bridles and led them forward past his stirrup.  In silence he did nothing to stop her, and she was just feeling the first stir of relief when she overheard him say to his men, “Thum, see if you can rouse the landlord. If nothing else, perhaps we can pay the owner of a private dwelling to let us lodge for the night.”