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355 M.E.
As the new year opened, a huge snowstorm came down from the Wislicbeorgs, almost burying the city and the army camps. Neither side could have launched an attack through the heavy white drifts, even if they had wanted to. Soldiers cut pathways to the latrines and packed snow against the sides of their tents for extra insulation. In the Bocburg, Robert watched the squires and stableboys dig out the entrance to the stables twice in a single afternoon.
Robert was one of the few people at the Bocburg who continued to ride out, even in the worst of the storm. He had to scout for the army, of course, but on the day after New Year’s, he also went into the Bishop’s Forest to look at a little woodcutter’s cabin that was for rent. Alicia happened to know someone at court whose brother owned the place, and after Robert confirmed the building was sound, they paid six months’ rent in advance.
The cabin was a low, half-timbered building with a turf roof and a big stove covered in blue glazed tiles. From the road, it was almost invisible, because it sat down in a little ravine, with a waterfall in the backyard and a little pond for fishing. Alicia thought it looked like a lovely spot for the children to play. Robert thought it looked highly defensible in an emergency. It would be the perfect place for them to hide if things got worse in the city.
“Hopefully, it won’t come to that,” said Alicia. “But it’s good to be prepared, I suppose.”
To that end, she had started joining her old school friend, Princess Elwyn, for archery practice almost every day. Her royal highness was a very good shot—as good as her late father had been—and she gave Alicia lots of helpful advice on how to improve her speed and accuracy. Robert could have given her the same advice, but somehow Alicia took it better from Elwyn than from her husband.
One day, Intira Stylianos visited the archery range, as well. Caedmon Aldred had finished repairs to her arm, and she was eager to make sure it worked correctly. Her first few shots with a bow went wide of the target, but she quickly got the hang of it again. Then, as Alicia, Elwyn, and Robert applauded her efforts, she grinned, held out the false hand toward the distant targets, and muttered a few words. The target she had been shooting at exploded into flame, melting a hole in the snow and ice as it crumpled forward and was consumed.
Alicia and the princess had not known the secret of Intira’s arm, and of course they were very interested in it, peppering her with all sorts of questions about its design and uses. She answered most of the questions by saying, “It’s magysk. That’s all I know,” which probably wasn’t exactly true.
Caedmon Aldred showed up barely a minute later, presumably because he had felt the spell from the new arm. “I trust it performs to your satisfaction?” he asked.
“It performs admirably,” she said with a little bow. “Thank you, Lord Aldred.”
“You should show Sir Alfred and Professor Sobol what you can do with that thing,” suggested Princess Elwyn. “They would put you in the front rank the next time Broderick attacks.”
“Trust me, it’s not that I haven’t offered,” said Intira, running the fingers of her real hand admiringly over the false arm.
“I would counsel against that,” said Caedmon, shaking his head. “I do not wish to give Lady Jorunn Unset any provocation to use her magy again on Broderick Gramiren’s behalf.”
“Repairing my arm isn’t a provocation?” asked Intira.
“Not precisely,” said Caedmon. “I view the repair of the arm as nothing more than restoring the status quo ante, as the Immani would say. I have sent a bird message to Diernemynster, and I hope the Freagast may intervene with Lady Jorunn to prevent any more unfortunate incidents such as the one that sadly killed young Miles Richards. In the meantime, however, I believe it will be best if we use magy as little as possible, except in situations of self-defense.”
“Uh-huh. Self-defense.” Intira pulled back the leather on one side of the arm and poked at a shimmering red gemstone. “I’ll be sure to remember that.”
She gave Elwyn and Alicia a wink, and Robert had a feeling that Intira’s definition of “self-defense” was probably much broader than Caedmon’s.
“Well, since the arm is functioning correctly,” Caedmon went on, “I will beg you all to excuse me. The queen will be holding a reception in the library for the army commanders.” He bowed to Elwyn. “Your royal highness, her majesty indicated that perhaps you might like to accompany me. I understand that Sir Alfred will be there.”
The princess gave him a sort of tortured grimace that wasn’t quite a smile and said, “Oh, how nice. But, um...I was just going to show Alicia the proper way to wind a bowstring.”
“Were you?” said Alicia, raising an eyebrow. “I thought we were done for—”
“Bowstrings!” cried the princess. “Bowstrings are the foundation of sound archery!” Then she took Alicia’s arm and practically dragged her through the deepening snow to the armory.
“How curious,” said Caedmon, frowning at the two retreating figures. “I was given to understand that....” He cleared his throat. “But that is neither here nor there. Domina Stylianos, Sir Robert, good day to you both.”
Intira turned to Robert and grinned. “Did you have anything planned for this afternoon?”
Robert had been hoping to spend a little time at home alone with Alicia, but apparently now she would be learning how to make bowstrings so as to help Princess Elwyn avoid appointments she didn’t like.
“Not really,” he said.
“Good. Because it’s Friday, and you know what that means.”
It took him a moment to remember. “You mean you want to go meet...,” he mouthed the name “William?” Continuing in a whisper, he said, “He’s not going to be there in this weather.”
“He might be. And how would it look if we weren’t there to meet him? Besides, I want to make sure this arm is really working properly.” She swung it over her head and stretched it behind her back.
“Oh, very well,” said Robert. “Let me tell Alicia I might be late.”
They left the city over the Aldred Bridge, where the snow drifts were already higher than the rail on the western side. Below, nearly all of the river had frozen over, with only a narrow strip of fast-flowing black water between the blue and white ice.
The ride out to the crossroads took more than two hours. In some places, the wind had scoured the road clean of snow. But a hundred yards farther on, they would have to dismount and lead their horses through a waist-high drift. Or they would have to abandon the road entirely and circle around through an open field. Sometimes the snow fell so fast and thick that Robert could barely see Intira riding beside him. Minutes later, there would be a lull in the storm, and they could see blue sky overhead.
From the top of a low hill, they looked down into a little farm village and saw an enemy encampment. By the standard in front of the command tent, these were Odelandic cavalry—horsemen from the blistering western desert. Their tents had collapsed under the snow, and the men were slowly and agonizingly digging themselves out. Robert almost felt sorry for them.
At last, he and Intira reached the crossroads and the abandoned village. And sure enough, William Aitken was there, sitting on a fallen tree near the burial mounds.
“I didn’t know if either of you would be coming today,” said William. He took a blue stone from his pocket and, with a muttered spell, made a roaring yellow fire from a damp pile of wood.
“I’d like to have that back,” said Intira, flexing the fingers of her magysk hand. “I’ve finally got everything fixed after all the trouble you caused by killing Ned Slorcus.”
“Unavoidable, I’m afraid,” said William. “But if you want it back, be my guest. I’d rather not have it while Lady Jorunn is still in camp.”
He tossed the stone, and Intira caught it.
Robert told William what Caedmon had said about sending a bird to Diernemynster.
“Ah, interesting,” said William. “Lady Jorunn has seemed a bit subdued the past few days. I wonder if she’s been chastised by the Freagast.”
“I doubt messages—even magysk ones carried by birds—could get there and back so quickly,” said Intira. “Especially in this weather. But I wouldn’t be surprised if Jorunn is nervous about the repercussions of what she did. At least I hope she is.”
Intira took out a flask of whiskey and passed it around. William declined the offer, so Robert did as well, even though he actually would have liked a drink.
“In any case,” continued Intira, “we’ve still got the original problem, which is that Volker Rath is suspicious of you. Has he assigned someone new to follow you?”
William said, “As it happens, since our recent defeat, the king is convinced there must be a mole in his headquarters.”
“Oh, that’s not good,” said Robert.
“On the contrary,” said William, grinning, “he’s given the job of catching the mole...to me.”
Robert couldn’t help laughing. “That’s amazing. Well done.”
He took the flask from Intira and had a large sip. William had one, as well.
“Be careful, though,” said Intira, taking back the flask with a prim, disapproving expression. “Broderick is no fool. And you do realize that sooner or later, he’s going to expect you to achieve results. Have you decided who your scapegoat is going to be?”
“I have a few weeks to think about that,” said William, glancing up at the snow, which had started falling again.
“How long do you think we have?” asked Robert.
“Yesterday, the king told his council that he won’t attack without Duke Lukas again.”
“Did he, now?” said Intira.
“Indeed, my lady. He grew visibly annoyed and said to the queen, ‘If your damned brother doesn’t get off his lazy ass, we won’t be attacking until Midsummer.’ That is a direct quote.”
“Midsummer, at the earliest,” said Intira. “Lazy or not, Lukas Ostensen has hundreds of miles to travel, and he can’t do anything about the weather.”
“Maybe,” said William. “But maybe King Broderick only said that because he believes there’s a mole in his headquarters. Maybe he wants you to think he’s not going to attack until summer. I don’t know if he’s going to wait that long. General Rath would attack right now, if he could.”
“Rath was a very aggressive commander during the war,” said Robert, for Intira’s benefit.
“And no one is more aggressive than Broderick Gramiren, when he’s in an aggressive mood,” said William. “He might not wait for Lukas to get here. He might attack the minute the weather clears, just to surprise you.”
“Then we have less time than we thought,” said Intira.
“Oh, yes. Much less,” said William. “But that’s only my guess, my lady.”