Binis looked at Luap, then at Meshi. “Was he your lover?”
Meshi glared. “He was not. Is that all you girls can think of, these days, but who crawls in whose bed?”
Binis shrugged. “You seem fond of him, is all I meant.”
“I like him; I trust him; and it’s not his fault he’s in bad with the Marshal-General.”
“Mmm.” Binis was not convinced; Luap didn’t know if Meshi’s words had made things better or worse.
They left the kitchen, bellies full and foodsacks stuffed, and walked down to the lower city. Binis walked a step behind, Luap noticed, and would not come up beside him even though the streets were not yet crowded. He had not been surprised to find that the Marshal-General would not lend horses from the grange stables; he had arranged to hire mounts and a pack animal from a caravan supplier. He had no intention of walking those trails in winter if he could help it.
As much to annoy her as because he had planned to, he stopped to buy spices—perhaps someone out west would take the trouble to make spiced preserves—and tucked the expensive packets deep in his clothing. The horses he had arranged for were saddled when he arrived, two stocky beasts and a smaller pony. He lashed the foodsacks and their other gear to the packsaddle, and handed the caravaner the sack of coins. He mounted; Binis still stood, holding the rein of the other horse, with a dubious expression. Finally, flushing, she scrambled up so awkwardly he realized she might not have ridden before.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Do you not like riding?” it was the most diplomatic way he could think to ask.
“Never did.” She sat lumpishly, her stirrups far too long and her grip on the saddle too tight.
Luap caught the eye of the caravaner, who bit his lip and said, “Just wait, yeoman-marshal, and let me get at them stirrups. You looked longer-legged than that standing on the ground.” The man adjusted the stirrups, then said, “Bein’ as it’s winter, you might want stirrup-covers, eh?” He ducked back into the stable entrance, and came out with fur-lined leather hoods that tied to the stirrups and protected their feet from the worst winds. They would also, Luap knew, keep Binis’s feet from sliding too far into the stirrup.
By the end of the first day’s riding, he wondered why he had ever thought midwinter a good time for this. They had had no more than ordinary winter weather, snow no deeper than usual, but they arrived at the village’s small grange stiff and sore. Binis could hardly get off her horse, but flinched away when Luap tried to help her. Luap would have had more sympathy for her if she had not made it clear that she blamed him for her discomfort, as if he had chosen to travel horseback because she could not ride. The Marshal, new here since Luap had left, made it clear he thought they were both crazy to be riding around the countryside in the wintertime. He was inclined to blame it all on Luap’s magery.
“You may be able to keep yerself warm wi’ your magicks, but ye might have had some concern f’the yeoman-marshal here.” The Marshal had wrapped a blanket around her; she gave Luap a venomous look out from under the Marshal’s elbow. Luap wondered if it would help to tell them he had not kept himself warm—his feet felt frozen, despite the stirrup-covers. From the look on both their faces, they wouldn’t believe him.
“I’ll see to the horses,” he said, and went out. He was tempted to spend the night in the grange’s lean-to barn; the horses were friendlier than his companions. But they would probably think he was performing wicked magicks out here by himself; he had better not.
When he came back inside, he heard the murmur of voices; it ceased when they saw him. The Marshal’s own yeoman-marshal had joined them. He looked at Luap with the same accusing gaze, and Luap knew they had been discussing the wicked mageborn while he was outside. He found it hard to swallow his supper of ill-cooked porridge and heavy bread amid barbed comments about the luxuries he must be used to. He bit back one retort after another; his jaw felt sore. He tried to remind himself that all peasants weren’t like this—Dorhaniya’s Eris, for instance, or Cob or Raheli. But these three, and the present Marshal-General, exemplified everything he disliked about his mother’s people. By the time he rolled himself in a blanket on the floor (Binis, of course, had the spare pallet), he was thoroughly disgusted with them.
That day and night set the tone for the whole miserable journey. Binis felt the cold more than Luap, but remained convinced that he was using magery unfairly to keep himself comfortable. He had no way to prove he was not. As his anger grew, he would have used his magery that way if he had known how. He tried, surreptitiously, but succeeded only in giving himself a throbbing headache made worse by the glare off the snow. And he was just as cold as Binis, he told himself, but she wouldn’t believe it. He remembered, with a burst of satisfaction that he knew was unwise, that the woman whose complaints had driven Gird to a fit of rage had also been named Binis. It wasn’t the same Binis, of course, but this one might have been that one’s daughter. He didn’t ask. He preferred to imagine it, in the privacy of his own head.
They arrived, two days later than he had expected, in Cob’s grange. Here, at least, the welcome was as warm for Luap as for Binis. Cob, always lamer in winter, stumped awkwardly into the snowy lane to greet them.
“Luap, you look like a frozen sausage. Get off that horse, and come in to the fire. Vre—” That was his yeoman-marshal, a brisk young man. “Take their horses around back. Bring the packs inside. Ah, Luap, I’ve missed you. That scribe you left in charge is slower than a pregnant ox at a gate. And who’s this?” Luap explained that the new Marshal-General had insisted he have a yeoman-marshal escort. “You? What does he think he’s about? No insult to you, Binis, but no one needs to watch Luap. Alyanya’s grace, Gird trusted him. That ought to be enough for anyone.”
Luap took a step and staggered; he knew his feet were at the end of his legs, but he hadn’t felt his toes since the village before. Binis, looking from him to Cob with a scowl, had made it to the grange door. Cob shook his head.
“You’re going to look like me, if you keep that up. Need an arm?”
“No. I’m fine.” He could walk, if he kept a surreptitious eye on his feet to be sure where they were. He made it to the door, across the grange, and into Cob’s office. There a fire crackled busily on the hearth. Binis had already crouched beside it. Cob pulled a chair near, and waved Luap into it.
“Let him get his feet to the fire, yeoman-marshal—he’s twice your age.” Binis looked startled.
“But Marshal, he’s a mageborn—he can use magicks to warm himself. . . .”
Cob snorted. “Does it look like it? Use your wits, Binis—he’s famished with cold, as bad as you are.” She looked at him, as if seeing him anew. Luap found it embarrassing.
“I’m warm enough,” Luap said. Cob’s welcome was as good as any fire, and his feet were already beginning to throb. Cob’s yeoman-marshal, Vrelan, came in with the packs.
“Shall I fetch something to eat, Marshal?” Vrelan sounded eager to prove himself; Luap realized he was very young, probably born after the war. Cob sent him to the local inn—Luap had not realized there was an inn—and turned back to Luap.
“So how is the settlement coming? Will you get a crop in this next year?” With that opening, Luap could explain that he had come for fertile soil, and needed only a little. Cob grinned. “Take what you like—we’ve plenty in the grange fields.”