One by one, the Askhan women lowered themselves from the wagon and waddled after Freyna, swathed in their cloaks and blankets. Freyna was chattering away, asking after their health and news of their families. Ullsaard was content to leave them to their gossiping for the moment and wandered over to the river. Behind him the third wagon trundled onwards, carrying four servants and the luggage, heading through the village towards Ullsaard's house a mile further up the road.
Ullsaard took a deep, cold breath and grinned to himself. He remembered a dozen winters here in Stykhaag, chopping trees, fishing through ice holes in the lake a couple of miles to duskwards, hanging the holly wreaths from the trees to keep the frost spirit at bay. There was nothing like it in Askhor, where the ancient, misguided tribal beliefs that had held sway before Askhos had risen to power had been purged by the Brotherhood.
He looked around and saw the telltale signs of the old wards around the village: the crossed nails on the lintels; holly ropes threaded into the branch roofs; the rune charms carved into the logs of the cottages. It didn't matter how many times the Brotherhood came here and chastised the people for their superstitions, the old ways still remained in some fashion.
To coldwards the bald hill known as the Crow Mound loomed out of the forest, the snow and ice covering the burnt earth and charred timbers on its summit. Not in Ullsaard's lifetime had anyone gone up there, but in generations past every equinox and solstice had seen the flames dancing high as the loremothers and the lorefathers had led the people in their rituals of sacrifice to appease the spirits of sky and earth and forest.
Yes, Ullsaard thought, it was misguided nonsense. A life in the legions had taught him that well-placed bronze and a bit of luck had more sway over people's destiny than imaginary spirit folk. But for all his pragmatism, there was something real, something genuine about the old celebrations and ceremonies which Askhan pomp could never capture.
"Here you go."
Ullsaard found Allenya behind him with a steaming mug in her hand. Ullsaard took it with a smile and sniffed: chicken broth. He took a gulp, enjoying the warmth of the soup as it flowed down into his gut.
"Why did we stop here?" Allenya asked. "We are only a mile from your mother's house."
Ullsaard nodded towards the river wall, where there was one less child than before.
"To give my mother some warning," he said. "She's a stickler for certain things and she'll be annoyed that I didn't send word that we were coming. This way she can get everything in order before we turn up."
"You are a considerate man, Ullsaard."
"Not really. If I was considerate, I would have sent her a letter before we left the camp."
"Do you think Nemtun really has given up for the winter? He chased us all over Nalanor and through Ersua."
"He knows that we can't go anywhere else," replied Ullsaard. "He has nothing to gain by coming after us in this weather, and everything to lose. He'll be sitting tight in Parmia, I'm sure of it, giggling to himself as he imagines my men deserting in their dozens." "Do you think they will? Desert, I mean."
"Some, perhaps, but not many," said Ullsaard. He finished the soup and flicked the dregs out of the mug into the river. "They'll either all go, or none of them. The men know it'll be bad for them if someone deserts their company, so unless they all decide to quit together, they'll keep the troublemakers in order."
They walked back towards Freyna's house.
"And if they all decide to go?"
"They won't. At the moment, they're aggrieved men. They think they've been cheated out of something and they want it. Don't underestimate a man's stubbornness when greed and justice overlap. They'll stick out the winter for sure, just to see what the spring brings. If it doesn't go well after that, that's when we'll start losing them."
"I wish we could stay with you," said Allenya.
"It's better that you stay here, out of the way. Having you around distracts me, and I need to think like a commander, not a husband."
"We understand."
"I'm sure you do, and I think Luia will be glad to have more comfort. I don't know about Meliu. She always takes everything in the worst way possible."
They were at Freyna's door. The smell of cooking wafted out in the steam and smoke and Ullsaard was uncomfortably aware that the soup had whetted his appetite rather than sated it.
"There'll be time enough for chatting," he called inside. "Let's get you up to the house while the skies are clear. I smell more snow coming."
"He's right, my ladies," Freyna's voice came from a back room. She emerged into the main chamber with a lid-covered pot, which she handed to Meliu. "You should get up to the house to settle in. Now, dear, just boil that in some water and you'll be fine."
As they were leaving, Freyna grabbed Ullsaard's sleeve and pulled him into the cottage. She spoke in a stern whisper.
"Urikh arrived here not more than three days ago," said the loremother. "Rode straight up to the house without so much as a hello. Now, I don't know much, but I does know that something is up when the both of you are here in the middle of winter. You don't have to tell me what's going on, but I might be able to help, you never know."
"There is something going on, Freyna, but there's no help you can give me. Urikh's here? I didn't know that."
Ullsaard gave her a kiss on the cheek and turned towards the door when something occurred to him.
"When was the last time the Brotherhood were here?"
"Not since summer, collecting tithe," Freyna replied. "Why?"
"If you see a Brother, or anyone not local, send word to Allenya as soon as you can."
"Are you in trouble?"
"Yes," Ullsaard said. He left it at that and crossed back to his wagon.
Freyna waved from her doorway as the two carts creaked into motion, the abada grunting under the switches of the drivers. Once they were past the few cottages the road reappeared, two winding lines of mud that followed the course of the river.
The grounds of Ullsaard's house were nothing grand, though he had paid for a stone wall around the cleared space of forest, and brought some of the mountain flowers and bushes from Askhor for his mother to tend. In the summer, the villagers came here to hold games and there was a wide hedge-bounded lawn on the hotwards side of the house, now just a muddy field.
The lower storey of the house was of grey stone like the enclosing wall, the upper floor made of strong Enairian timber. The windows even had blown glass panes, small though they were, and the roof was covered with slate from the Ersuan hills. By local standards it was a veritable palace in size, though it had only ten rooms in total — fewer than Ullsaard's apartment in Askh.
The servants Ullsaard had sent ahead were waiting in the courtyard, along with a member of the house staff whose name the general couldn't remember. They helped Luia, Meliu and Allenya down from their wagon. Ullsaard joined his wives and the four of them headed for the main doors while the carts were taken away.
The entrance hall was warm and lit by a fire in a deep hearth opposite the door. The floor was covered with thin strips of wood, each carefully lacquered and interlaid to present a herringbone pattern. Two housemaids appeared to take the arrivals' travel cloaks and blankets and Ullsaard was glad to be free of his heavy coat as he rubbed his hands in front of the fire.
"The mistress is in the sitting chamber," one of the maids told Ullsaard.
The young girl led them to the right through a wooden arch, into a carpeted room where another fire blazed. Narrow windows showed the frost-caked lawn and the outer wall, the trees of the Enairian forests looming beyond. There were several couches and chairs and a slab of green and grey marble that served as a table. Lamps on the walls combined with the firelight to give the room a comfortable glow.