The only conversation, the only break from the droning crunch of snow and panting breath of the animals, was that of Myron and Arista. A quarter hour did not pass without the monk pointing out some curiosity to her. Alric had forgotten Myron’s fascination with everything—no matter how trivial. Myron found the twenty-foot icicles hanging from the cliffside nothing short of a miracle. He also pointed out designs he found in the rock formations—one he swore looked like the face of a bearded man. Arista smiled politely and even offered a laugh on occasion. It was a girl’s laugh, high and light, natural and unburdened. Alric would feel self-conscious to laugh so openly. His sister did not seem to care what those around her thought.
Alric hated how she had taken charge when setting out. As much as he had enjoyed the look on Gaunt’s face when she had barked at him in the courtyard, he disliked the bold way his sister acted. If only she had given him the time to act. He was the king, after all. The empress might have given Arista authority to organize the expedition, but that did not extend to leading it. She had never satisfactorily explained why she was along, anyway. He had assumed she would ride quietly in the wagon and leave commanding the venture to him but he should have known better. Given her theatrics in the courtyard, it was surprising that she still rode sidesaddle and had not taken to wearing breeches. They escaped the tight pass before noon as morning clouds finally gave up their tight grip on the world. Ahead the land dropped away, leaving a magnificent view to the south. Alric spotted Ratibor in the distant valley. The whole city appeared no larger than his thumb and from that distance it looked beautiful, a clustered glen in a sea of forest and field.
“There,” Hadrian announced from the rear, pointing toward a shining river to the east. “You can see Amberton Lee—sort of. Down near the Bernum River, where it bends. See there, how the land rises up into three hills.”
“Yes, that’s it,” Arista agreed. “I remember.” She looked up at the sky. “We won’t make it today.”
“We could spend the night in Ratibor,” Hadrian offered. “It’s only a few miles. We could reach it by nightfall.”
“Well, I don’t—” Arista began.
“We will head to Ratibor,” Alric declared quickly, causing Arista to look at him in surprise.
“I was just going to say,” she went on, “if we veer east now, we’ll be that much closer in the morning.”
“But there is no road,” Alric told her. “We can’t be wandering through the snowy fields.”
“Why not?”
“Who knows how deep that snow is and what lies beneath?”
“Royce can find us a route through; he’s good at that,” Hadrian said.
“That’s what I was thinking,” Arista agreed.
“No, Ratibor is a much better choice,” Alric said loudly. “We’ll get a good night’s rest, then push on at first light and be there by noon.”
“But, Alric—”
“You heard my decision!” He kicked his horse and trotted down the road, feeling their eyes on his back.
Hooves trotted up behind him. He expected it to be his sister and dreaded the argument, but he would not back down. Alric turned hotly only to see Mauvin with his hair flying. The rest of the group followed twenty feet behind them, but they were moving in his direction. He let his horse slow to a walk.
“What was that all about?” Mauvin asked, moving alongside, where the two horses naturally fell into the same pace.
“Oh, nothing.” He sighed. “Just trying to remind her who’s king. She forgets, you know.”
“So many years, so few changes,” Mauvin said softly, brushing the hair out of his eyes.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Mauvin only smiled. “Personally, I prefer your idea. Who wants to sleep in the snow if you can have a bed? Besides, I’d like to see Ratibor. It was on our list, remember?”
Alric nodded. “We were also supposed to go to Tur Del Fur.”
“Yeah, but let’s save that for another time, since it’s under new management and all,” Mauvin mentioned. “I still can’t believe we are on our way to Percepliquis. That was always the big prize—the dream.”
“Still hoping to find the Teshlor Codes?”
Mauvin chuckled. “That’s right. I was going to discover the secret techniques of the Teshlor Knights. You remember that, do you? I was supposed to be the first one in a thousand years to possess that knowledge. I would have guarded it jealously and been the greatest warrior alive.” Mauvin glanced behind them. “Not much chance of that now. Even if I did find them, I could never match Hadrian. He grew up with it and was taught by a master. That was a stupid dream, anyway. A boy’s fantasy. The kind of thing a kid thinks before actually seeing blood on a blade. When you are young, you think you can do anything, you know? And then…” He sighed and turned away. Alric noticed his hand go up to his face briefly before settling on the pommel of his sword, only it was not Mauvin’s sword.
“I didn’t notice before,” Alric told him, nodding toward Mauvin’s side.
“This is the first time I’ve worn it.” He pulled his hand away self-consciously. “I’ve wanted it for so long. I used to see my father wield it—so beautiful, so elegant. I dreamed of it sometimes. All I ever wanted to do was hold it, swing it, and hear it sing in the air for me.”
Alric nodded.
“What about you?” Mauvin asked. “Are you still interested in finding Novron’s crown?”
The king huffed and might have laughed if the statement had not seemed so ironic. “I already have a crown.”
“Yeah,” Mauvin said sadly.
Alric spoke in a voice just loud enough for Mauvin to hear. “Sometimes the price of dreams is achieving them.”
They were just closing the city gate for the night when the party arrived in Ratibor. Arista did not recognize the guard. He was a burly, balding man in a rough stitched rawhide coat who waved at them impatiently to get inside.
“Where is a good place to find lodgings for the night, my good man?” Alric asked, circling his mount on the guard as he went about locking down the city.
“Aquesta. Ha!” The man laughed.
“I meant here.”
“I knows what ya meant,” he said gruffly. “The Gnome has open rooms, I think.”
“The Gnome?”
“It’s a tavern,” Arista explained. “The Laughing Gnome—King’s Street and Lore.”
The guard eyed her curiously.
“Thank you,” she said, quickly kicking her horse. “This way.”
The heavy scent of manure and urine that Arista had remembered as the prominent smell of Ratibor was replaced by the thick smell of wood smoke. Other than that, the city had changed little from the last time she had been there. Streets ran in awkward lines, forcing adjoining buildings to conform to the resulting spaces often with strange results, such as shops in the shapes of wedges of cheese. The wooden planks that used to bridge the rivers of muck lay buried beneath a thick layer of snow. The winter had stolen the leaves from the trees and the wind ripped along empty streets. Nothing but the snow moved. Arista had expected winter would brighten the place and bury the filth, but instead she found it bleak and barren.