Kieri and the king of Pargun rode side by side; ahead were half the King’s Squires, and the rest behind. Though they had offered the king mail, he refused it, insisting his nobles would think he didn’t trust them or had turned coward. He carried a sword as sharp as anyone’s. The King’s Squires had protested, but Kieri insisted. The king must be clothed and armed as a king, for this to have a chance at all.

Ahead Kieri saw the Halveric troop from the town’s fort. He greeted Captain Talgan, then they went on into the wind’s teeth; it seemed to sharpen with every stride.

“It’s the river,” Talgan said. “Looks like snow coming, too. There’s already ice in the reeds along the shore.”

Kieri had not visited Riverwash formally before; it lay surrounded by an arc of meadow, with a swampy area downstream before the trees closed in. A road forked off to the east, back into the trees to avoid the swamp. The river here looked like hammered pewter in the dull light, ripples chasing themselves across the surface. Across it, Pargun showed only as a dark mass of trees beneath low clouds furrowed by wind. A small crowd waited outside the town’s wooden stockade and raised a shout as they came near.

Kieri waved to the crowd; so did the Pargunese king, somewhat stiffly. At the gate, two children wrapped in green cloaks and their anxious mothers waited to offer Kieri the only flowers left, pale asters in an untidy bundle, and a basket of fruit. Kieri dismounted and took them, touching each child on the forehead and then handing each a silver coin. Even the king paid toll to enter the town, but it was called “King’s Grace.”

At the fort on the riverbank, Kieri winced at the quality of the defenses. The Halverics had thrown up more earthworks, but it was more like a fortified camp than a true fort. It overlooked the landing stages that were stuck like fingers into the river; as a place to watch river shipping come in and out and back up the toll-keepers, that made sense, but he put it on his mental list of things to talk to the cohort commander about.

On his orders, the cohort commander had reserved an entire inn, Sailors’ Rest, for the meeting: Kieri sent two Squires to make sure it was ready, a fire lit and hot food and drink.

The cohort commander sent men to light the torches on the largest landing stage, a signal to those across the river, and two men struggled to hold a dark blanket behind them. The flames streamed in the wind; Kieri hoped they could be seen before it got much darker. Torches also lit the fort itself. He squinted into the wind. His old stronghold, days north of the river, would be even colder by now. He could imagine the bare branches of Kolya’s apple orchard thrashing in this wind, the howl of it, the sentries up on the wall stamping their feet and hoping it was too cold for trouble to come in the dark.