As Paksenarrion came around the slope of the hill, she could see cleared fields and orchards some miles ahead, their straight edges easily visible against the broken forest and meadowland. The track’s gradient lessened as she descended; sheep grazed on the slopes to her right, a barelegged child with a crook watching them from a rock. Gradually the track changed from rock to dirt. Star stepped out more easily. Paks lengthened her own stride to keep up. She saw smoke rising from the center of the cleared area; perhaps it was the village the elves had spoken of. She wondered if the people were friendly. At least it was the north again: home.
Soon she was among the fields and orchards. She had passed two farmsteads set back from the road. The farms looked prosperous; she noted tight barns, well-made stone walls, sleek livestock. A boy picking early apples from a tree near the track told her the village ahead was Brewersbridge; when she’d passed she looked back and saw him running for the farmhouse. Now the track joined a lane, bordered on either side by a wall, wide enough for wagon traffic. She noted wheelruts grooving the surface. On the right, a wedge of forest met the road; she could not tell how large it was. Ahead were a cluster of buildings and another road coming in from the right.
Two cottages now on the left, one opening directly on the road. Beyond them was a large two-story building with a walled courtyard to one side. A bright green and yellow sign hung over the road, and a paved area fronted it. Paks squinted at the sign: The Jolly Potboy. It must be an inn; it was too big for a tavern. She looked around.
The inn sat at the crossroad, facing north. The road Paks had come on continued generally west, wandering among houses and shops. The north road was straighter, with buildings along its west side, and forest on the east. The ground floor of the inn had a row of tall windows facing the road; these were open, and Paks heard the murmur of many voices from inside. She wondered if she had enough money to stay there. The treasure—but she didn’t know what it was worth, or if they would accept the old coin.
As she hesitated, a stout man in a big apron came out and spoke to her.
“Just arrived?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Will you be wanting a room?”
“I don’t know, sir. How much are they?”
“A silver in the common loft; that includes bread and beer for breakfast. A gold crown for a private room; two for the suite. A silver a day for stabling, including grain, hay, grooming, and safe storage for your tack.”
Paks thought a moment. It seemed high, but she had enough southern money for a night or two. She could always find a cheaper place the next day. Star could use a good bait of grain. “I’d like a private room,” she said. “And stabling for Star.”
“That’ll be in advance, please,” said the man. “I’m Jos Hebbinford, the landlord.”
Paks wrapped Star’s lead around her arm and dug into her belt pouch. “Here—” she handed over the money. “I’m Paksenarrion Dorthansdotter, from Three Firs.”
The landlord looked closely at the coins she had given him. “Hmm. From Aarenis—that your home?”
“No, sir. Three Firs is north and west of here. I was with Duke Phelan’s Company in the south, and I’m headed home.”
“I see. A fighter, are you?” Paks nodded. “Are you a Girdsman too?”
“No. I’ve known those who were.”
“Hmmm. We don’t think much of brawling, here.”
Paks flushed. “I’m not a brawler, sir.”
“Good. Just a moment—Sevri! Sevrienna!” At his call, a short stocky redheaded girl came out of the courtyard and ran up. “My daughter, Sevrienna,” said the landlord. “Sevri, this is Paksenarrion, who will be staying this night. This is her horse—” He glanced at Paks.
“Her name’s Star,” said Paks. “She’s gentle.”
“Sevri will take her to the stable,” said Hebbinford. “If you’d like to see your room—?”
“If you don’t mind, sir,” said Paks, “I’ll just give Star a rubdown first, and check her hooves. She’s come a long way over rocks.”
“Very well. Sevri will help you. When you come in, I’ll take you to your room.”
“Come on—this way,” said Sevri. Paks followed. The walled courtyard was large, paved in flat slabs of gray stone. A flock of red and black hens scratched and pecked in the entrance of the stable that ran along one side; a black cock with gold on his throat and a green tail stood atop the dungheap. Along other sides of the courtyard were barns full of hay and an open shed with two wagons and a cart beneath it.
Sevri led Paks to a box stall big enough for a warhorse; all the stalls were big. “I can rub her down,” Sevri offered. “You’re paying for grooming.”
Paks smiled at the child. “I want to check her and make sure she hasn’t hurt her hooves on the rocks. If you want to rub her down—”
Sevri nodded. “Surely. She’ll be easier than the big horses, and I do them. Do you want her to have grain, or would a mash be better?”
“A mash would be good for her, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“I’ll put one on, then come back and start on her. If you want water to work on her feet, here’s a bucket, and the well is out there.” Sevri jerked her head toward the courtyard.
When Sevri had gone, Paks untied the bundles from the saddle, and lifted them down. Star sighed. “Poor pony,” said Paks. “That was a load. Here now—” She uncinched the pack saddle and lifted it from Star’s back. Underneath, Star’s coat was matted and damp. Paks moved the bundles to one side of the stall, and bent to feel Star’s legs. Then she took the bucket Sevri had pointed out, and filled it at the well. Back in the stall, she lifted Star’s feet, one at a time. They were dry and hot. Paks found a rag in her pack that she’d used for a headcloth and dipped it in the water. She washed out each hoof and dampened the coronary band. The pony reached down and mumbled Paks’s hair. “No, Star; stop that.” Paks shoved the pony’s head away. She found a cut on the off hind pastern, and cleaned it carefully.
“You must like her a lot,” said Sevri. Paks jumped.
“I didn’t hear you come.”
“That’s because I’m barefooted,” said Sevri. “Are her feet all right?”
“Yes, but for one little cut. Just dry from the rocks.”
“She is wet. You want me to start rubbing her now?”
“Yes. Just let me get these things out of the stall.” Paks grunted as she hoisted the bundles. She dumped them in the aisle. Sevri was watching her.
“That must be awfully heavy.”
“It is,” said Paks shortly.
Sevri had brought two lengths of coarse woolen cloth and a brush. When she picked up one cloth and started work on Star’s sweaty back, Paks took the other and began the other side.
“You don’t have to help me,” said Sevri. “I can do it by myself.”
“Do you mind, though? I’m used to doing her.”
“No-o. But I am strong enough.”
“I don’t doubt that,” said Paks, though she did. Star turned her head and nudged Sevri with her soft nose. Sevri stopped and stroked Star’s head.
“She’s gentle,” said Sevri. “Have you had her long?”
“Not very. She is a good pony, though—seems to like everyone. Only don’t come near her with apples unless you want to lose a few.”
Sevri laughed. “I’ll bring her one. Is she greedy about other things?”
Paks shrugged. “She’s a pony. I’ve never known a pony that wouldn’t eat anything it could find, have you?”