“Only when I noticed your scarred hands did it occur to me to doubt your tale, peculiar though it is.”

She said, with just a trace of humor, “Oh, a storyteller can be most dangerous. Your caution is very sensible. Since I don’t care who hears my tales, or who tells them in return, simply send me away!”

“I am sure you don’t care. I think you are truly indifferent about everything.”

“The people who remember are the ones who live passionately. They believe they have something to protect or a future to anticipate. I am not that kind. What kind are you, Lucky Man?”

He could not answer her, and the rest of the journey to the gate, they walked in silence. The clouds were breaking up, and a brisk wind began to blow. As the storyteller went out the gate, the wind blew back her cloak, and in the faint light of the gate lamps, her red silk shimmered like flame.

Chapter Twenty‑Two

“Lieutenant‑General? May I have a word with you?”

Clement had found one comfortable chair in the garrison, and had it put by the fireplace in her own spartan quarters. There she sat, with a washed uniform hanging nearby to dry in the heat of the brisk fire. She had slept in that chair no few nights, but now it was Davi who slept, curled in Clement’s lap, with her thumb in her mouth.

“Come in,” she said to the sergeant at the door. “But be quiet.”

“It looks like snow again,” he said in a low voice. “Unbelievable weather.”

“It was this bad when we first came here, thirty‑five years ago. It’s been this bad every year since then.”

“Well.” The sergeant was a relatively young man, probably Shaftali‑born. The habit of complaining about the weather was endemic, though, even among those who had never known anything else.

“Come closer to the fire,” she suggested. “What’s on your mind?”

“Ten days we’ve been here. The sick kids are getting better, and you’ve found that one you wanted. The company’s wondering when we’ll head back to Watfield.”

“Do they wantto make that journey?”

“If they have to do it,” he said honestly, “they’d rather now than later.”

“Well, I’m thinking they’ll be trapped here all winter. I know it’s not what they expected.”

The sergeant looked more relieved than apprehensive. “I don’t know that they’d mind. Conditions in Watfield are pretty bad.”

“It’s dirty work here, too.”

He shrugged. “We’ve got fresh food, warm beds at night–”

“Luxury!”

He gave a grin. They’d gotten comfortable with each other over the days; working elbow‑deep together at one or another disgusting task had been a great leveler.

“I won’t tell the folks in Watfield how comfortable you are,” she promised. “So they won’t harass you about it, come spring.”

His jaw went slack with surprise. “But you–”

“Ssh!”

He lowered his voice. “How will youget there? And surely not alone!”

“Not quite. I’ll have Davi with me.”

“You can’tmake the journey unattended.” His voice was strained by the depth of feeling he struggled to convey without volume.

“You may be right, but I’ve got to try.”

“But how?”

“There’s only one way, Sergeant. By pretending to be Shaftali.”

He shut his jaw with a snap. “Huh!” he finally said. “But you look pretty military.”

“If I have to, I’ll pretend to be a Paladin.”

“You think you can?”

“You think it would occur to anyone that the Sainnite lieutenant‑general would travel alone, on Toot, in winter, with a sick child? I’d think they’d find it more believable that I’m one of them, even if I do seem strange. It doesn’t matter, anyway. I’ve got to try.”

“If the Paladins should capture you …”

“I’ll be dead.” She gave a shrug, and Davi mumbled a complaint. She stroked a hand down the child’s head to soothe her, and that seemed to work. “Cadmar would be angry about it, I suppose. But I can be replaced. And no one will blame you,considering how far I outrank you.”

“But still,” he said.

“You’ve told me your objection. You’ve done your duty. Anything else you want to talk about?”

He left, apparently more wretched than when he had arrived.

*

Davi awoke. Clement persuaded her to eat some of the sweet cake they were feeding all the convalescent children. She put her head onto Davi’s chest and listened to her breathe. The rattling sound had not returned, though Davi continued pale and weak. How soon, Clement wondered, did she dare take this hollow‑eyed child out into the wind?

“Do you want more cake?”

Davi solemnly shook her head.

“I need to go hunt for something in the stable. Do you want to come along?”

Davi’s nod was no surprise. The child had gotten to the point that she could tolerate being out of physical contact with Clement, but if Clement went out of her sight she became hysterical. Clement was getting used to carrying Davi everywhere with her, balanced on her hip, and the soldiers had gotten used to seeing her and didn’t stare any more. Clement could swear the child was getting heavier, but at least she was no longer completely passive, did some of the work of holding on, and could even use a chamberpot on her own.

“You’ve turned me into a beast of burden,” Clement complained as she carried the bundled child to the stable.

Davi looked at her blankly. Her eyes reminded Clement of some soldiers–casualties, sometimes without a visible wound. But Davi was slowly improving, and lately had even said some words and had been coaxed to smile. In the stable, several older children, crowded into a big stall with a demonstration horse, were being instructed in hoof care. The horses were exceptionally popular; there had been interventions to keep them from being overfed by the doting children. Clement set Davi in a pile of clean straw. “I’ll be over there. Just call me if you want me.”

Davi huddled passively in the straw. Clement felt that stark gaze on her back as she began her hunt through the junk that filled what had once been the tack room. She kept in Davi’s sight, as if she were a helpful target and Davi the archer.

This odd, round building had once been a kind of school for Paladins, when Paladins were known as deadly philosophers, rather than as farmers who took up weapons in place of hoes. A sturdy building, with fireplaces and small windows, it was intended for year‑round occupation. Surely it had once contained the kind of equipment Clement hoped to find, particularly since the Paladins had abandoned their domiciles in haste to attack the Sainnites after the Fall, leaving much behind.

Clement heaved aside a tangle of oddments and broken objects that should have been thrown out. Rats fled, squeaking outraged protests. She choked in dust and wished for a lantern. A generation’s worth of dirt and debris lay moldering here, and much of it had settled on her by the time she discovered the treasure trove: A rack of skis, their bindings rotted away; snowshoes, their webbings gone but the frames still intact; and a sledge. She could not restrain a whoop of triumph. A sledge!

She dragged it out. Davi crawled out of her nest to inspect it, and some of the other children abandoned their lesson to take a look. They soon lost interest, but Davi solemnly mounted the contraption and sat down. She pointed at the rotted remains of the harness. “How will you pull it, Clemmie?”

“I saw some old horse harness in there.” Clement went back to the junk and extricated some stiff leather, the buckles rusted, but nothing that some sand and grease could not fix.

“It’s too big,” Davi objected.

“Well, I am a soldier, which means I can make anything out of anything. Soldiers die if they can’t adapt, you know.”

Davi nodded somberly.

“You can help me clean the sledge. It’ll be a cold trip, but you’ll have blankets.”

“Will we stay in people’s houses?” Davi apparently had some experience with this kind of travel already, perhaps from seeing visitors at her family’s farmstead.