What were my options? Enlist in the military? I no longer had a horse that could bear me, one of the requirements to join the cavalla as an enlisted man. No foot regiment would consider me. I’d always thought that, if need be, I could live as the Plainsmen once had, taking what they needed from the land. In the last day, I’d discovered what the Plainsmen already knew: the open wild lands were vanishing. I doubted a cotton farmer would appreciate me camping in his field, and I knew that wild game retreated from areas where people kept cattle and sheep. It suddenly seemed that there was no place left in the world for me. I recalled Yaril’s wailed words from the night before: “What are we going to do?” The answer seemed more elusive now than it had then. The growing town had all but obscured the stockade of the old fort. The cannons were still outside the gate but could not have been fired. Flimsy market stalls selling warm grain beer and pepperpot soups and bread were set up all around them. I had to look twice to see the sentries. Two stood to each side of the open gates.

The rubbish heaped up around the gates proved that they had been closed for months. Two of the sentries were talking and laughing together as a stream of people wandered past them into the fort. The other two were bartering with a half-breed woman over a tray of sweet-blossom pastries. I stood watching them for a time, wondering why I had even come to the gates of the fort. Habit, I supposed. My father and I had always stopped to pay our respects to the commander of the keep whenever we passed this way.

I led Sirlofty away from the gates, down a side street, ignoring the stares we attracted.

“You stole him, right? Want to sell him? I can get you the best price, I know all the horse dealers.” A ragamuffin girl hurried up to trot alongside me. Her hair hung in two tattered braids down her back, and her dress was made from dyed sacking. Her feet were bare. It took me a moment to understand she’d insulted me.

“I didn’t steal him. I am not a horse thief. This is my horse. Go away.”

“No, he’s not. Don’t take me for a fool. That’s a cavalla horse. Anybody could tell that. And you aren’t a soldier, that’s plain. That tack, that’s cavalla tack. Good panniers. I know a man who will buy it all from you, and give you the best price. Come on. I’ll help you sell him. Keep him too long, someone will track you down, and you know what happens to horse thieves in this town!” She rolled her brown eyes expressively as she hoisted tight an imaginary noose around her neck.

“Go away. No. Wait.” She’d spun aside from me, but halted at my call.

“You know so much, missy. Where’s a cheap inn?”