Crown of Renewal(12)

“It’s brighter,” she said. Arcolin grinned at her and handed her the robe hung on a peg beside the bed.

“Not snowing,” he said. “We may get the courtyards completely clear today. I should ride over to Duke’s West.”

She was out of bed now, shrugging into the thick robe and then padding to the door. “I’ll get Jamis up.”

Arcolin dressed and went downstairs, eager to see how deep the snow was. Through the gate to the main court, he saw a line of recruits heading to breakfast. Knee deep at least; the recruits would have plenty of healthy exercise today and half tomorrow, he estimated. The inner, smaller court had been partially sheltered by the surrounding buildings, though snow lay waist-high against the downwind wall.

He went back in, meeting Arneson, his one-eyed recruit captain, in the hall near the dining room, and his fosterson, Jamis, coming down the stairs with Calla. “Your recruits are headed to breakfast,” he said to Arneson. “They’ll have a job getting the courtyard emptied out.”

“Better outside than in,” Arneson said. They all sat around one end of the big table while the cooks brought in a hearty breakfast: porridge, slices of fried ham, hot bread, butter, and honey.

“Da, may I go outside today, please?”

Arcolin looked at Calla. “What do you think?”

“I think he needs a good run around the court if he won’t be in the way,” she said. “Once before lessons and again after.” She turned to Arneson. “Are you taking the troops outside?”

“Not today, milady,” Arneson said. “We’ll want the courtyard clear of snow as soon as may be, and it’s not going to warm up enough to melt off. But it won’t bother me if the lad’s there as long as he stays clear of the shovels.”

“I can shovel,” Jamis said. “I shoveled snow on the walkway in Vérella.”

Arcolin thought back to the previous winter, when gnomes had been living in the cellars. “We have a couple of short-handled shovels, Jamis—it would be a help if you’d shovel in the inner courtyard. A clear path from the door to the well, for instance.”

“I can do that, Da. Promise.” The boy squared narrow shoulders and nodded formally.

“Finish your breakfast, then, and be sure you wear your mitts.”

Soon the recruits were busy in the main courtyard, and Jamis, furnished with a short-handled shovel cut down for the gnomes, had started a path to the well. Arcolin went through to the main court, skirting the busy recruits on his way to the stables. Here the stablemaster had a string of horses ready for exercise.

“I thought I’d lead ‘em down the road, see how it is, just to get ‘em out of the stalls and loosen ’em up. Anything we need to take to Duke’s East or back from there in case I make it that far?”

“No, but I was going to ride that way myself—both vills if I could make it.”

“Is Captain Arneson coming with you?”

“I hadn’t thought to ask. Just a moment.” Arcolin went out to the court and called Arneson over. Arneson shook his head.

“Not unless you need me, my lord. I’ve plenty to do here.”

“That’s fine,” Arcolin said. He saddled his roan ambler, and he and the stablemaster rode out together, a string of horses trailing behind. Once out the gate, the string swung wide, lunging at the snow.

“Race you?” the stablemaster said. “A short run won’t hurt ‘em.”

Arcolin grinned and closed his legs on the roan. Off they went, not particularly fast in the snow. The stablemaster had veered wide of the road to be sure none of the string stumbled into the ditch. Arcolin stayed on the road, and the roan plunged on. About halfway, the roan slowed, and Arcolin let it continue at a slow pace. He was almost to Duke’s East when he saw a small figure emerge from between the buildings and walk toward him over the snow. A child, he thought at first. One of the boys Jamis played with when he brought Jamis into the vills with him. But something … As he came closer, he saw that it was a gnome, and not one of his gnomes. Aldonfulk by the braid on his jacket. What was an Aldonfulk gnome doing this far north in winter?

He dismounted and walked forward, pulling the ends of his gnomish scarf loose. His gnomes had insisted he should wear or carry it always, in case he met gnomes, so they would know who he was and treat him “in the Law.” The gnome stopped at what he now knew was the appropriate distance away and bowed.

“It is that you are prince of Arcolinfulk?”

“It is,” Arcolin replied in his increasingly fluent gnomish. “And it is that you are of Aldonfulk.”