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which his own
quarters were located.
    “You
herders. If I took that road, they’d find me in a block of ice come spring.”
The career militia officer smiled ruefully and shook his head.
    “It’s
two days shorter. That’s half a week more I can spend with Wendra.”
    “Lucky
man, there.”
    “Anything
happening I should know about?”
    “We
got a dispatch from Majer Weslyn on behalf of the colonel—something about the
need to watch for raiders from Deforya sneaking over the river to the east.”
    Alucius
raised his thawing eyebrows.
    “I
know,” said Feran, with a laugh. “What’s there for raiders to take east of
here? But that’s what it said. Nothing else, really. Not that affects us. There
was a notice that there had been several Squawt raids west of Rivercliff.”
    “There
haven’t been any Squawts there in generations.” Rivercliff was some sixty
vingts downriver from Borlan, and the Squawts had been driven west and north
generations earlier. Rivercliff had even remained well within the borders of
the Iron Valleys at the height of the Matrite War. “Sounds like Lanachronan
raiders under Squawt colors.”
    “You
don’t think it’s a Matrite tactic?”
    Alucius
shook his head. “They don’t think or operate that way. They wouldn’t send out a
raiding party of all men right now. They’d worry that some would defect. Even
when the collars worked, they almost never had scouting parties of less than
eight.”
    “Don’t
like that…Lanachronans, I mean.”
    “I
don’t, either.” Alucius paused. “When are you getting furlough?”
    “Tomorrow—if
most of your company gets back. The colonel wants all outposts at full strength
before the turn of spring.” Feran stretched.
    “I’d
better let you get settled. You look sanded.”
    “I
feel sanded,” Alucius admitted. With a nod, he headed for his small officer’s
room.
    His
spaces were all of three yards by four, with a bunk against one wall, a narrow
wardrobe, two footchests—one for his clothes and one for records, an armless
straight-backed wooden chair older than Alucius himself, and a cramped writing
desk. The single narrow window was shuttered tightly, but the edges of the
shutters were dusted with frost, and Alucius’s breath steamed in the chill
room.
    After
using the striker to light the lamp in the wall bracket, with a little boost
from his Talent, he unloaded the rifle and placed it in the wardrobe, then
unpacked the saddlebags and smoothed out his clothes, hanging his three sets of
uniforms in the wardrobe. While he unwound the scarf and loosened the winter
parka, he did not take them off.
    Then,
Alucius sat down at the small desk in his tiny room to write a letter to
Wendra. There might not be a messenger headed west for days, but that didn’t
matter. He’d learned that he needed to write when he had time, not when
messengers were there. As it was, the messenger would have to leave the letter
at Kyrial’s cooperage in Iron Stem, and that meant it might be weeks before his
words reached his wife.
    He
took out the copper-tipped pen from his kit, and the portable inkwell. After a
time, he began to write.
Dearest Wendra,
The ride here
was long and cold, but I was fortunate in not having to brave a winter storm.
Already, I miss you and wish we were yet together, walking, or even working on
the stead…
    While
Alucius had little news for her, he recalled all too well the years when he had
had much news and no way to write.

6
    T wenty-two
men rode eastward along the river road, two scouts well ahead and out of
sight, and then Alucius, Zerdial, and the rest of first squad. Alucius had left
his senior squad leader, Longyl, at the post and in charge of the other squads.
    The
patrol followed the tracks of fifteen or so riders.
    “Their
tracks are headed both ways, sir,” Zerdial observed. His breath steamed in the
the cold and clear midday air.
    Alucius
glanced at Zerdial—the thin squad leader for first squad. At times,