“You don’t believe what, Captain?” Shallan asked, her breath puffing out of her hood in a white cloud. She and Geyr waited patiently beside Kero for the last of the column to move out. The other Lieutenants were spaced at roughly equal intervals along the column, so that there would never be an officer out of effective range to handle an emergency.

“I don’t believe them, ” she said, pointing her chin at the last of the column, passing out of the gates. Now the quartermaster and his pack-strings moved out. Ten years ago, Kero had made the decision that the Skybolts would have no wagons with them. If something couldn’t be carried horseback, it wouldn’t come with them. Some ingenious, lightweight substitutions had been arrived at, due to the quartermaster’s ingenuity. The tents, for instance, that could be packed twenty to a horse. New poles had to be cut each night, but it was worth it.

“There’s not near enough bitching and moaning,” Kero continued. “Here I am, hauling them out of cozy winter quarters for a midwinter march, a march across all of Rethwellan and over the mountains, and hardly a complaint out of them. What’s wrong?”

“They’re bored, Captain,” said Geyr. “Campaign ended early, they got all their resting out of the way—and half the winter yet to go. They wanted something to do. Besides, the money on this is worth a winter march, and it’s not like we’re having to cross enemy territory.”

“Well, it isn’t going to be a Midsummer picnic, either,” Kero replied, as the last of the supply-strings moved out. “The Comb isn’t a bad range, but I’d rather not cross any mountains in winter. Well, that’s the last of them. I’ll see you when we camp.”

Both Lieutenants saluted, so wrapped up in wool and furs that except for Geyr’s black face, Kero couldn’t tell them apart. Every trooper in the lot had a new, fur-lined wool cloak for this campaign; normally clothing was their own responsibility, but Kero knew soldiers, and she didn’t want to lose a badly-needed fighter to frostbite just because the fool gambled away his cloak the night before. Orders were that the cloaks were Company property, like tents and standard weapons; anyone found using them for gambling stakes would find himself shoveling manure, scrubbing pots, and taking the worst of the night-watches. Anyone accepting them would get worse than that.