“In former days, as many as twenty, but with our king’s illness, he needed fewer, and dismissed the rest. Six only stayed at the palace. We—my pardon, Sir King: I am Astil, and these others—” He paused; they spoke one by one, giving their names: Varñe, Berne, Panin. “We were called back to serve for a time.”

“How are you chosen?” Kieri asked.

“The king chooses, from those with the skills, and who desire to serve. King’s Squires must be Knights of Falk, sound in body, skilled in weaponcraft, hardy, and must speak elvish well enough to be understood and understand. Some Squires have been rangers, others come from the Royal Archers.”

“Are any of you elves?”

“No, Sir King. Elves do not serve that way. More were half-elven in the old days, but not in the former king’s reign.”

Beyond the strip of trees that bordered the Royal Ride, stone and wood buildings bordered the road on both sides; the wall enclosing the palace grounds ended, he realized, with that strip of trees across from it. Now there were people, scurrying about on their errands; he recognized the same styles of clothes as he knew from Tsaia, plus some he did not know, odd shapes in hats, wider trousers tucked into shorter boots. When people saw the King’s Squires, they stopped, turned to stare, and then bowed to him. Kieri smiled; he wondered if he should speak to them individually, but after that polite bow, they turned and went on the way they had been going.

“They won’t bother you today,” Astil said. “It is considered rude to approach the king unless it is a day declared for such a thing. No one expected you would be out today, so they are probably confused and certainly not ready to intrude.”

“Thank you,” Kieri said. The street they were on curved this way and that around the massive boles of tall trees; he noticed gaps in the rows of buildings, where other trees—singly and in groups—grew undisturbed. It made the city seem smaller, more like a market town; he had no way to gauge its real size when he could not see more of it at once.

“Down here,” Dorrin said. Astil and Varñe turned left into a side street with a narrow walking lane cleared between melting snow-banks. It sloped gently downward; Kieri could see all the way over a low wall to open land beyond, not trees. He remembered coming out of the forest through which they’d ridden from the Tsaian border, to see across wide meadows and a stream the city sheltering under great trees. No city wall, he remembered; only the palace had a wall. How did they defend—?

“It’s that inn—the Smoking Chimney,” Dorrin said.

A wider space had been cleared of snow in front of the inn. A heavy door stood open, with a blanket hung to keep out a draft. From inside, Kieri heard familiar Tsaian accents.

“An’ I don’t doubt the captain and himself’ll be here soon enough, so there’ll be no wanderin’ off nowhere to get into trouble. You’ll stay here until we get orders otherwise—”