house travelers.
Nevertheless, this round, brown little woman was equal to her unplanned task. They all settled on stools on the hearth, wanting to soak up as much heat as possible. She scurried up into the loft after serving them all hot bowls of pease pottage and warm, buttered bread. While they ate, she lugged down a featherbed that preceded her and followed her on the ladder; she shoved the table to one side and piled the benches atop it, spread the featherbed on the floor, and added a couple of patchwork blankets identical to the ones she had supplied to the Companions.
Lan cradled his bowl in his lap, absorbing heat from it as he ate. He wasn't so much hungry now as just weary, and he basked in the heat like an old cat while he took slow bites of his bread, alternating with spoonfuls of pottage and sips of cider. When he finished the bowl, their hostess was at his elbow immediately.
'More?' she asked, taking his bowl. He shook his head. 'Just sleep,' he told her, handing her his cup as well. As the heat soaked into him, so did weariness. He stood up as she bustled over to the wall, filled a basin with water from a bucket and began the washing-up.
He plodded the few steps over to the featherbed, took the spot nearest the wall, wrapped one of the blankets around himself, and sank down onto the mattress. For once, he didn't even dream of fire.
*
THE storm ended some time in the night, and finally the sun was not hidden behind a shroud of clouds when it rose. Pol roused them early and got them on the road with only a pause to wash up in the basin and eat a bit of bread and butter. Elenor moved stiffly down the ladder from the loft, washed her hands and face, and remained standing while she ate.
'Are you saddle-sore?' Lan asked, feeling sorry for her, in spite of the fact that he wished she hadn't come along.
She made a face. 'Very,' she said, looking and acting more like her old self. 'My legs hurt so much I don't even want to think about riding. But—if you can do it, so can I.' She looked so stubborn that he decided not to remind her that she could turn around and go back whenever she chose. She would be welcome in any village if she chose to give up, and the next Herald or Bard coming through could bring her back home when she was ready.
Apparently she was not going to give up yet.
'Finish your breakfasts,' Pol said shortly. 'We have a lot of distance to make up today.' The door closed on his last word; he was impatient, the first time that Lan had ever seen him like that.
'I ast him if he 'ouldn't wait on gettin' some hot parriche for ye, but he 'ouldn't hev it,' the plump innkeeper said worridly, looking like a fretful sparrow. She was making up packets of bread and cheese, using the paper saved from yesterday to wrap them. 'Reckon he's saddlin' now.'
With that to warn him, Lan hastily finished his breakfast and put on his cloak, while Tuck helped the innkeeper get the featherbed back up into the loft. He went out into the brilliantly white world, squinting against the glare, and pushed his way through the snow, following Pol's track to the shed.
'You're done, good,' Pol said without looking around. 'We've got to get going. It'll be slow, pushing through until we get to where the storm ended or where the road crews have gotten.'
'Right,' was all Lan said; he picked up Kalira's saddle blanket, beat the snow out of it, and threw it over her back. Kalira was nose-deep in her grain bucket, as were the other two, stuffing themselves with food that was much more concentrated nourishment than hay. It was a race to see whether the Heralds would finish saddling before the Companions finished eating, and in the end, the Companions whuffled up the last grains just as Pol pulled Satiran's girth tight.
Tuck brought out the food packets and gave one each to Pol and Lan as they came around to the front with the Companions. The innkeeper came with him, again a shapeless bundle in her frayed-edged, brown wool cloak. They all mounted, and with a wince, Elenor took her father's hand and mounted up behind him.
'Lady, thank you,' Pol said, bending down and handing four road-chits, the tokens used by traveling Heralds, into her hand. A road-chit entitled the innkeeper who got it to a remission of tax, a benefit more valuable than actual payment. 'I know that you were not at all prepared for overnight guests, and your hospitality and readiness to deal with us was truly, deeply appreciated.'
The innkeeper, who probably had not seen one road-chit in her life, much less four, blushed modestly. 'Eh, now, was I s'pposed to turn ye inter the road again? 'Twas good of ye t' put up wit' sleepin' on me floor an' all.'
Pol just smiled, reached down again, and squeezed her hand. Then he and Satiran turned and began pushing through the snow, back on the road, with Tuck and Lan following.
By midafternoon, they came to the point where the new snow tapered off, and there was nothing much to contend with but a dusting that covered the older, granulated stuff. Then they were able to pick up their pace again, pushing harder than they had the first day. But Pol stopped more often, too; once in midmorning to let them eat their packets of food, once at noon, for luncheon, and once again for another snack when they broke out of the snowfield. Each time, Elenor shifted positions on the pillion, and that seemed to help her.
The next three days were identical, and as Elenor grew more accustomed to day-long riding and the uncertain conditions of inns on the road, Lan gave up the idea that she was going to quit. At least for now, anyway. Maybe when she got to the fighting, and saw what it was like, she might change her mind.
The fourth day was special, and the reason why Pol was in such a hurry to make up the time lost. Healer Ilea, Elenor's mother and Pol's' wife, was waiting for them at the inn where they would make their nightly stop.
Pol's back was a study in tension; Satiran stretched his legs just a trifle more in each step, and his urgency communicated itself to the other two Companions. Even Elenor forgot her aches in anticipation of seeing her mother. For once, the reason for going south in the first place got pushed to the back of everyone's thoughts.
The inn that they arrived at—well after darkness fell—could not have been more unlike their first stop. This was a huge place, three two-storied wings joined in the shape of a horseshoe, with its own courtyard in the center. The stables formed the back side, and travelers entered the center court through a passage made in the center of the front wing. There were torches on either side of the passage, and lanterns in the courtyard; even at this late hour, people were coming and going. From the faint sound of music, and the babble of voices, the inn was popular with the locals as well as travelers.
Stable hands came to take the Companions, asking their names and treating them just as they would be at
