12

“How can you be this bad at riding a horse?” San asked as Pavano gloomily looked at him and clutched the saddle horn.

“I’m a lover, a poet, a singer, but a rider? There’s a reason I was walking, boy. You think I can’t afford a horse? A mule? I could afford hundreds, but I refuse to ride these unruly creatures.” Pavano had been upset when his leg had swollen up and then blackened with bruises. The heavy load of furs hadn’t been the only thing to hit him, there had been crates beneath all that fur.

Crates of gold ore.

“They didn’t hit us for the furs or just to be assholes,” Pavano declared when he had been hoisted onto the horse. “It’s that damn gold ore they’re after.”

“Uh… the western barony gold?” San asked. “Sentari?”

“Nah, Sentari’s a well built barony. They export tin and know how to mine and refine metal. This gold is done by amateurs.”

“Prospectors?” San asked. There was a lot of land out there, most of it haunted by monsters and horrors beyond imagining.

“The Tribes,” Pavano said. “We’re too far north to get Sentari gold. The Red River doesn’t flow that way, it flows southeast, to White Tower. There’s no navigable rivers or tributaries heading north to Blackened Bridge.”

“What would the Tribes be paying for with gold ore?” San wondered.

“Gunpowder. Getting your hands on a matchlock is pretty easy. A decent smith can make one in a few weeks, just from an example. But gunpowder, only the Baronies and the Empire know that secret.”

“So Sagaris is selling out the Baronies?” San mused. “Doesn’t seem like she would.”

“Traders,” Pavano said. “It’s all sars to them. As long as they make more than they spend, they’re fine with a little black market dealings.” The man cursed as he rubbed his leg. “But it’s not her. She doesn’t have the connections to the gunpowder makers, she’s just a common citizen like everyone. It might be the baron himself. Selling to the Tribes to make them fight, the Pretender’s people haven’t promised their spears to the High Chief. They’re still fighting in some of the far western villages.”

San mulled over the political landscape of the place. Nox mercenaries from beyond the Inland Sea, fighting in Sentari, the Forest Tribes heading back to civil war. He had arrived during interesting times in this world.

“You should be riding this horse, not me,” Pavano said, looking down at San who walked beside him.

San shrugged. “I’m fine,” he said.

The older man snorted. “You got your ass kicked yesterday, you got pummeled pretty hard in that fight last night, then you spent the entire night patching up the assholes who tried to kill you, then joined Markona to hit their camp at sunrise. I’d be dead on my feet if I did half of that.”

San had to admit he was tired, but it wasn’t exhaustion. It was more a mental tiredness he had felt after dealing all night with the injured. The only qualified healer had been killed by a stray arrow in the first minutes of the fight. Using giant sharpen knives and what amounted to .50 caliber lead balls to fight, left a lot of terrible wounds.

He was no healer, but he was all they had. The first aid training he had received years ago had helped, but it wasn’t enough to save many. The wounds were too grievous and the blood loss too much. If they survived the night, they had a good chance of recovery. He wished he had Amara the Healer around, to do her literal magic to save lives.

There had been forty three people in the caravan. Ten wagoners, fourteen guards, and fifteen trappers. In addition to Sagaris, Markona, Pavano, and San himself.

Ten men had died during the night attack. Four wagoners, five guards, and one trapper. nineteen had been wounded, with an additional three more dying before sunrise. It was a terrible amount of death and San wasn’t the only one who leveled. A hysterical trapper claimed to have gained level 2, but he would never go and trap game again, as he had lost his left leg from the knee down and most of the fingers in his right hand, leaving behind a thumb and half an index finger.

Gaining a level healed a person, but it did not repair all the damage. A missing limb would remain missing. But all their other injuries would be healed as they leveled. It was what happened to San, he had been battered and bruised, but when he leveled he was back to perfect health.

That boost in levels had kept him going all night. As he clutched the flashlight in his mouth, as he tried stitching bloody wounds, as he wrapped shaking men in cloth and heard their whimpering prayers. Some of the work had been for naught, especially when it came to the Nox mercenaries.

Before sunrise, any Nox that lived through the night was hung from the nearest tree. San watched, livid, as Sagaris and the few upright guards killed them one by one. He had tried saving their lives too.

Markona had then taken a group of men, San included, to hit their camp. They were in disarray and it was the time to strike. The camp was found three miles from the ambush site, tucked in a small valley. There they found the scattered remains of the camp, abandoned weapons, tools, tents, food, and supplies, along with a dozen horses. They also found three badly injured mercenaries that had been left behind. Markona killed them.

The rest had fled, the final death toll was twenty seven Nox mercenaries. With possibly eight or so fleeing.

Only ten people among the caravan were in any shape to be walking. The others were in various states of injury, from Pavano’s swollen leg to a trapper who was dying from a sword wound to the guts. That would be a slow and painful death unless they found a skilled Leveled healer.

The true cargo of the fur caravan had been discovered. Pavano had been clipped by a wooden crate that had spilled open when the Mage blasted the wagon over. Inside the crate was raw gold ore. Every wagon had a load, tens of thousands of sars in each crate. It was no wonder that the mercenaries had attacked them.

Either the Nox had a better intelligence network than anyone realized or the caravan had been sold out. Markona had ‘questioned’ a few of the surviving Nox mercenaries and they weren’t out there on Suvanna orders, their Mage had learned the information from elsewhere.

San had a dreadful feeling when the cargo was revealed. With that much wealth just sitting there, it would turn most men into raving savages. That raw gold represented more than most of the men there could earn in a lifetime or twenty.

The only option was clear. Everyone would have to be killed. To keep the secret. To prevent it from being stolen. Pavano knew the score, he had squirreled away two matchlock pistols, a crossbow, a sword and his spear. He was prepared to go out fighting. As they said: two could keep a secret if one was dead.

Sagaris had seen reason though. There were only ten walking men and women, ten people who could man the wagons and fight. San was among them, along with three other trappers who had come through the fight mildly battered. There were only Markona, Sagaris and two other guards, and two wagoners left standing.

It was possible that those four could kill everyone, but unlikely. They had been hit too hard and they had too many injured. Generosity had been used instead. The carrot, not the sword.

“The loot is yours,” Sagaris declared. “The dead, the furs from those that didn’t make it, the weapons, the horses.” That perked up a lot of the not so injured. “We need to get to Midway before nightfall. The injured are to be carried in one wagon, we’ll need help unloading the furs.”

San put his back into helping turn over two wagons that had been blown over by the Mage. Both wagons were pretty damaged, but one of the wagoners quickly got them stripping one down and replacing the damaged parts on the other. Within two hours it was ready to pull the injured. The walking wounded were quickly stripping the dead, Pavano included.

He tried telling himself it was just the way of this world. He imagined that in any pre-industrial society, the sheer effort it took to make most things, like the cuirass the Nox soldiers wore, or even their black clothing. Everything had value, even if to San it wasn’t worth taking. By mid-morning the dead were lying naked in heaps, the wagoners, trappers, and guards had more care taken into laying them to rest, but the Nox were just dumped to the side of the road.

Breakfast was a hearty meal of woolly steaks. Only three woollys had died in the attack, along with two horses, and three deer. The deer calvary was supposedly a mark of a high born Nox, only their Blooded rode those. That meant that the caravan was attacked by a noble family or someone allied to a noble family. It just made things more interesting, according to Pavano.

“The horse is yours,” Sagaris said to San.

“Why?”

“Why? Just take the damn horse,” she snapped.

“He killed a Mage,” Pavano said. “Should be a bigger bounty for that.”

“This ain’t the military, old man. We don’t pay out bounties for dead Mages,” Sagaris replied. She looked at the travois that San and Pavano had made. “It looks like you’ve already grabbed your fair share.”

Pavano grinned down at Sagaris. “I’m looking out for the boy, reminds me of when I was young. Big, strong, and who knows, he might also have a giant cock just like me.”

Sagaris snorted and walked off.

“They pay bounties on Mages?” San asked.

“Aye, enemy mages. Five thousand sars a mage is the going rate. They’re the real kicker in any battle. Every dead enemy mage is a hundred soldiers who will live to see the next fight. We were lucky, this Mage wasn’t prepared for a bloody fight; he had to come in and try to salvage the battle, but you got to him instead.”

San patted the horse. It was midnight black and sleek. He didn’t know much about the animals, although Mary had. The most he understood about horses was not to look a gift one in the mouth.

The animal had been well cared for, the coat was still glossy and his hooves were neatly trimmed.

“How much would this horse cost?” San asked.

“Two thousand sars. It’s a Nox light calvary horse. Made for speed and distance. Good for raiding.”

San looked at the gear that Pavano had gathered ‘for him’ as San had been too busy helping the caravan. There were cuirasses, swords, spears, and more matchlock pistols and a pair of rifles, along with ammunition and gunpowder. He also saw packs of food, water, and other items that Pavano had salvaged. He didn’t question the man or tell him to leave it; instead he just shrugged and, as the caravan headed out, walked by his side.

A woolly was braying and trying to struggle out of its halter. San watched it, the beast constantly looking back at the campsite and letting out a mournful cry. The dead horses, woollys, and deer all had been butchered for the meat and not much was left behind.

“Always sad to see,” Pavano said, watching San. “Woollys are trained from a year old to work with another of their kind. Males with males, females with females. If one dies, the other is useless. Can’t pull a cart and eventually they get sad and die. That’s a good one too, still young and healthy, probably gots about seven more years left on it.”

San nodded. It would be hard to keep going if you lost your partner.

***

Midway wasn’t a town but more of a fortified brothel and bar. It had high wooden walls and a narrow gateway to the interior. The fort itself was small and seemed to be stocked with the dregs of the Sol Savanis military. Most were old, too young, or drunk, although they were overseen by a thin wiry man who called himself Captain Powen.

The fortress healer and the town healer were called up, both weren’t great and didn’t have Levels. Pavano and San weren’t allowed into the fortress and headed toward the walled town beside the wooden fort.

The only reason the town existed was as a rest stop between Blackened Bridge and White Tower. It was a military garrison, or had been, but a town developed around it and it made a decent amount of money off of travelers, merchants, and soldiers.

Sex and booze were the main attractions. Those trappers who were still able, immediately bee-lined toward the brothels, their loot in tow. Pavano scoffed, claiming he didn’t indulge in whores when the sun was still up, else Senta would get jealous.

Instead they parked the horse in a quiet spot, with the fort and the brothels visible. San sat down on a stump, feeling the exhaustion finally beginning to settle into him.

He stared at the dirty buildings that lined the dirt street, women and men in various states of undress prowled the boardwalks even as a cold wind blew down the narrow streets. They called out to men and women, displaying goose bumped flesh and making lurid catcalls.

“A woman’s touch is always better in the winter,” Pavano said, looking at the sex workers. “It feels more real when the world is death and slumbering.”

The words tickled San’s mind. Someone had said something similar before, but he could not remember who.

“Look alive, son,” Pavano said.

San looked up to see Sagaris walking toward them. The tall woman had her hand on her sword and scowled at the beggars and whores lining the boardwalks.

“Where you two off to?” she asked.

“Just looking for a spot to rest. The captain isn’t welcoming to travelers, eh?”

“Military,” Sagaris replied. She looked down at San. “We’re heading back to the ambush sight, Powen’s got a tracker and an intelligence officer, says they might find out why the Nox are out here. Wanna join?”

“The boy’s been through a lot,” Pavano said. “Up all night healing the wounded, going with Markona to the Nox camp.” San noted he said nothing about the wagons or the gold.

“I’m pretty exhausted,” San said. “I wanna check on the wounded too.”

“They’ve got healers here,” Sagaris said.

“Have you seen them?” San asked. He had glimpsed the town healer, a man with dirty robes that had been coughing raggedly has he rushed into the fort.

Sagaris frowned. “Yeah.” She looked to the brothels and frowned again. “What are your plans?”

“The Mage Killer will probably have every whore swooning for him,” Pavano grinned. “Plus, we have to liquidate these items we ‘salvaged’.”

At the word liquidate, Sagaris grinned. “Tomkin is our quartermaster. The one with the broken arm. He’ll buy anything off of you that you’re not interested in getting killed for in this shithole of a town.”

“Easier to hide sars than a cuirass,” Pavano said.

Sagaris chuckled. “Easier to sell them here than in White Tower.” She looked at the two. “I’m off then. We’ll be here for a few days, stick around. The captain is sending a priority message to White Tower, it’ll be much safer in a few days.”

San nodded. “Sure,” he said.

With that Sagaris walked off, shooting glances at the brothels.

“So they gonna try and kill us?” San asked.

“Oh, definitely,” Pavano replied. “We were dead the moment that crate hit me.”

“What about the trappers?”

“Dead,” Pavano replied. “Accidents during the night. Too much wine, too much sex, or too drunk that they pass out in the snow. The usual things, like accidentally hanging yourself or being gutted by a beggar turned thief in the night.”

San nodded again. He felt he should warn them, tell them to flee, but his reputation with the trappers was beyond abysmal even after the battle. He would be laughed at and then probably attacked. They were well into their cups and if Pavano was right, well into their women too.

He rubbed his face and looked back as Sagaris disappeared into the fort. The sun was still in the sky, but it was heading toward evening. San guessed there was about three hours of daylight left.

They sat there for another hour before Sagaris, Markona, and the other men left. San had nodded off but was nudged by Pavano’s spear. He tilted his head toward the fort and they went to find Tomkin.

***

The quartermaster was a thin man with a bushy beard. He sat cradling his arm in the fort’s mess hall. Pavano had managed to get San and him pass the guards, liberally using San’s exploits and Sagaris’ name.

“Aye, Sagaris said you’d come by,” he said. He had his hand around a clay cup of wine and by the look in his eyes, it wasn’t his first either. “Selling your goods, always good to have coin.” He swirled his cup. “I think we can get you a good deal on those cuirasses, a little smith work and those holes will be gone.” He laughed at that.

“We’re not selling the gear,” Pavano said. “How much for the horse.”

“Horse?” the man blinked. “Oh, the Nox horse. Why are you selling the horse?”

“Have you ever owned a horse?” Pavano asked. “Those blasted animals are expensive. Grain everyday, water, brushing, the tack needs to be constantly oiled, not to mention the shodding and stabling.”

The quartermaster nodded. “Aye, but they’re lovely animals.”

“And we can’t sell the horse in White Tower. The Horse Tax is still in effect. Unless you have the Baron’s Seal or are a Trader like Sagaris. I’m not paying a quarter of the value in taxes for a fucking horse.”

“Aye, aye. Taxes.”

“Plus we ain’t lords. You might have mistaken me for one, but my blood is as salty as the Inland Sea, as bitter as the wine you’re drinking.”

“Sagaris didn’t leave me with much coin,” the man said. “Not enough for that horse and your gear.”

“We trade then,” Pavano said. “That’s a Nox light warhorse, worth at least two thousand five hundred sars, we’ll sell it to you for the three woollys without a wagon to pull and five hundred sars. That’s a fucking steal, mate.”

“The hell you want woollys for?” the man asked. “The boss is already talking bout selling the lone one for meat. A good price we’ll fetch in winter.”

“Exactly, my man,” Pavano said. “I couldn’t sell a damn horse in White Tower if I had all winter, but I can sell three woollys in three hours there. Plus the ugly things will eat anything. I could toss one down a well for the entire winter, only feeding it my table scraps and come spring it would be good enough to haul Tribe timber from Blackened Bridge to Senta’s Temple.”

The quartermaster was nodding. “The Baron is always looking for horses,” he said. “Sagaris’ got an in with the man, a new Nox horse to breed with his own, he’d probably like that.”

“Aye, aye. Those rich bastards always like making things fuck for them,” Pavano said. The quartermaster laughed and drained his cup.

“Let’s go look at this horse of yours,” the man said, getting up.

Pavano winked at San as they exited the mess hall.

***

Night fell and they left Midway as the lax guards were closing the gates. The guards didn’t care and just looked annoyed as they crossed the threshold and headed down the road to White Tower.

“How much are these woollys worth?” San asked.

“They’re young and strong, a good price at four hundred sars each,” Pavano said. “About half of what the average farmer makes in a year.”

“So we just sold a two thousand sar horse for seventeen hundred sars?” San asked.

“We got five days of grain too,” Pavano grinned.

“Yeah.”

“The horse is a trap,’ Pavano said. “Sagaris knows we can’t sell it in White Tower. No one’s gonna buy a horse without ownership tablets, they’ll figure it’s stolen and they hang horse thieves. If we do sell it, she’ll know where we went. Only nobles ride horses or the military. Not lowly citizens like us. Horse sales are always recorded.”

“These woollys are branded too,” San said. “They’ll know where we sell them.”

“Aye, that’s why we’re going to a friend of mine near here. About half a night’s travel.”

San didn’t argue with the man. He knew what he was doing and San was just along for the ride. He had no desire to die to protect the secret of the gold ore. For now he just wanted a warm meal, a soft bed, and a long uninterrupted sleep.

The woollys weren’t comfortable walking during the night and San had to keep tugging their leads. The lone woolly had stopped braying, instead had his head down and walked silently after them. San felt sad for the beast.

Well past midnight, Pavano lead them off the trade road and into the woods. San was a bit hesitant at first, as every experience seemed to revolve around the woods hiding some kind of horrors. Pavano said it was fine, the whole place had been blessed by Senta’s priests a year ago.

That didn’t mean much to San, but he followed the man’s directions. Soon they had passed through the trees and entered a wide open valley. San saw houses in the distance, small clusters of homes and wide open fields, all covered in snow.

“Some of the best farming is done around here,” Pavano said. “People call it Alkavarea’s Komai.”

“Komai?”

“It’s an Imperial title, means land owner, big land owner. When this place was settled by the Empire, the komai were land grants given to soldiers and officers. This spot was settled by the Alkava family.”

San noted a massive stone pillar standing in a field, it was an obelisk with strange carvings upon it’s surface.

“They build that?” San asked.

“No, that’s Old Tribe totems. This land used to be the Tribe’s, they moved in after the Empire destroyed the Hanged King’s kingdom. They were here for a good three hundred years, then the Empire came back, kicked their asses and took over.”

They traveled in silence as San mulled over the history of the place. One kingdom destroyed by the Empire, then the Tribes moved in, they were then tossed out, the Empire settled, then waned, the Barons took over, and now the Empire was in civil war, along with the Baronies.

There was a large single story stone house at the far end of the valley. False dawn was beginning and San looked to the heavens, watching as the strange stars and sky loomed over him.

“Announce yourself or be killed!” a voice shouted.

San jerked for his revolver, but Pavano stopped him.

“Pavano the Traveller, with his companion, San the Foreigner,” he announced. San sighed at the name. “I’m here to see Obaris Alkava.”

“Pavano, you sly fuck, that you?” a voice called from the other side of the road. San looked and saw dark shapes moving out from the snow. He hadn’t even seen them. More shapes emerged from the other side, holding crossbows.

“Obaris, you fat fucker. How do?”

“Damn late for a fucking visit, old man. Damn near froze my nuts off in this ambush.”

“Figured Magano would have taken them already,” Pavano replied.

A tall and gaunt looking man approached the two. He had a gap toothed grin and a face that looked like someone had used it as an anvil. He slapped Pavano on the shoulder and looked to San.

“Got horrible taste in bedwarmers, Pavo,” he said.

“The big ones keep you the warmest,” Pavano replied.

“Aye, looks like it. How do, foreigner?”

“Hello,” San said.

“Talks strange, this one,” the man said.

“Aye, good in a fight though. Speaking of which, why the fuck you out here in the middle of the night.” Pavano asked.

“Got watches up now. Three days back, Hakkata and his boys were out fishing near the Red, they were all killed. Every last one of the lads,”

“Sweet Senta.”

“Aye, horse tracks and gunpowder wounds,” the man shook his head. “Bandits probably, could be Suvanna coming to fuck with us. Almost as bad as when the Tribes were raiding, but we learned how to deal with those fucks, eh, boys?”

The gathered men shouted in agreement.

“Fuck, it’s colder than Hetvana’s cunt out here, Ob. Let’s got somewhere my balls aren’t in the back of my throat.”

“What happened to your leg, old man?” Obaris asked.

“They got some new Far Kingdom whores at Midway,” the old man laughed as he limped toward the stone house. San watched them for a second, then a young man, barely out of his teens walked up and took the leads for the woollys.

“Thanks,” San said as the boy led the three woollys and their travois away.

“You gonna stand there all night like a poleaxed woolly?” Pavano shouted to San. “Orbaris only likes ‘em without beards, if you’re worried.”

***

“Magano, my love!” Pavano shouted as a stout older woman entered the room. “Every town I stop at, I tell the tales of the most beautiful woman in the western baronies.”

“Still telling lies, then,” the woman shot back. She hugged Pavano and stared at San. “Who’s the big foreigner?”

“San.” San replied, extending his hand. The woman looked at it, looked at Pavano, and then the man Orbaris.

“Taking in strays now?” the woman asked.

“Aye, he’s adorable, is he not?” Pavano said. He grinned at San.

“What are you doing out here?” Orbaris asked, he sat down heavily on a wooden stool as Magano began tutting around a banked fire. Soon it was burning again and the kitchen was filled with the warm orange light. “What trouble have you gotten into now, old friend? Times are hard these days, we don’t got much to offer anymore.”

Magano set three cups on a table and brought out a clay jar. She poured out a measure of drink into each cup and returned to the fire.

“To your health,” Orbaris said, Pavano repeated the phrase and they drank the liquid.

San was pleasantly surprised by the dry crisp taste. It was alcoholic, but not the vinegar wine that everyone drank. The alcohol, San realized, was much to be desired in this world. The Imperial drink of choice was cheap diluted vinegar wine that San thought of as posca, like the old Roman drink. San finished the cup eagerly; it was mead.

“Honey wine,” Orbaris clarified.

“Damn near a woodland savage now, are ya?” Pavano asked.

“Tribes sell it cheap and it gets me drunk enough,” the man said.

“Sorry about Hakkata,” Pavano said to Magano. “Good man, good boys too.”

“Fucking bandits,” the woman muttered, clearly emotional. “Hetvana will flay their souls when they’re caught.”

“We’re on our way to White Tower,” Pavano said after a moment of silence. “Thought we’d make a stop here, see if you’re interested in some woollys.”

“Steal ‘em now, did ya?” Magano asked.

“Nah, my love. Purchased good and clear. Got ownership tablets and everything.”

“Was a time when we could afford new woollys,” the tall man said. He grunted as he cracked his knuckles. “This was the year we were gonna turn it around. Harvest was the best in five years, but Suvanna is blocking the trade routes south. None of the fall merchants arrived, our entire crop of imbar is going to rot. All because of fucking Sentari gold. Those fuckers get rich while we starve.”

There was bitterness in the man’s voice. Magano poured them another cup of mead. They bitterly drank.

“We’ve been through a hell of a journey,” Pavano said. “We need a couple of days rest and then we’ll be out of your hair. Take the time to look over those woollys, see if you take a shine to them.”

“You’ll be wanting a place to sleep then?” Magano asked.

“Aye, the floor will do fine, but if you’re willing to share your bed I could be persuaded.” Pavano wagged his eyebrows.

San shook his head, finishing his drink.

***

People were screaming, the air was thick with the smell of gunpowder and blood. San struggled as a yellow eyed man shoved a pistol in his face. The man was laughing, blood spattered across his face. He shoved the pistol into San’s mouth and pulled the trigger.

San’s breath exploded out of him as something heavy landed on his chest. His eyes snapped open and he saw a pair of green eyes staring back at him. A dark haired little girl laughed and then jumped up again, landing heavily on his stomach.

“Careful with the foreigner,” Magano said, “they eat naughty little girls.”

The small girl screamed and ran off. San rubbed his eyes and sat up, he lay in the corner of the kitchen. Confusion clouded his mind for a moment and then the night’s events returned to him.

“Must be nice sleeping all day,” Magano said, as she chopped something on the table. “I don’t see what Pavano sees in you, told us to let you be until you were ready to wake. Everyone’s been up since daybreak.”

“Sorry,” San said.

“Life’s hard, boy,” Magano said. “Laziness is the song that Hetvana sings to us all. If we listen to it too much, we lose what makes us human. We become animals.”

San made a non-committal noise. The religious practices of the place were still a mystery to him, but the two deities he had heard most of were Senta and Hetvana. Some kind of good god and bad god, the devil? San didn’t know. He was never religious nor were his parents.

“Where is Pavano?” San asked.

“Out, trying to get my fool of a husband to buy those woollys you brought.” Magano said.

“Uh… thank you for giving us a place to sleep,” San said. “It’s been a while since I had a warm spot and a roof to sleep under.”

Magano sighed, setting her knife down. “Senta give me patience,” she said. “We’re good Imperials, descended from Alkavarea who first settled this place. We do not turn away guests or show inhospitality. Whatever foreigner savage place you come from might be different, but not here.”

“Thank you anyway,” San said.

“Kazo might have given you size, but he sure as hell did not give you brains,” Magano muttered as San exited the house. San made note of the name. Was Kazo another diety?

The air was cold and the day was bright. San shivered in his coat, his breath pluming before him. The sky was a brilliant turquoise with faint wisps of clouds, the sun was a hand’s width from the horizon and it would still be called morning in any part of the world.

The snow crunched under his boots as he made his way toward the only large outbuilding besides the house. It was made of logs and had a thatched roof. San could hear the cries of animals from within it, along with the smell of those animals.

“Beautiful pair,” Orbaris was saying. He was peering at the paired woollys, rubbing his gloved hands over their thick bodies and stroking their long necks. The woollys seemed to enjoy the feeling as they produced a low rumble that San didn’t know they could make.

“Females,” Pavano said. He leaned against a wall, his spear used as a cane. “About three years old, good breeding age. Give you plenty of little ones for the next five years.”

“Aye, but they haven’t been bred before. Always dangerous the first birthing,” Orbaris said, ruffling the woolen fur of the creatures.

“The other one; male and uncut. Probably two years old. Just newly trained, but his partner was killed.”

“Unpaired males get too ornery,” Orbaris said. “They tear up fences faster than they can be fixed. If they don’t just up and die from losing their partner.”

“We can do a fair swap. Those two old ones you got and the two youngin’s for these three.”

“The winter make you daft, old man?” Orbaris asked. “You want my four for your three?”

“Aye, you got two years left on those old ones, their teeth are probably worn down and their meat stringy. The youngin’s you have are barely trained. They got another six months before they’re of any use, definitely can’t use them come planting time. I take them off your hands, your feed bill goes down, and by Midwinter’s Reprieve you breed these two girls with that male and you’ll be swimming in woolly lambs.”

“The unpaired male is still the problem,” Orbaris said, but there was hesitation in his voice.

“Fucking is always a good way to get over your problems,” Pavano said and Orbaris laughed. “That male’s gonna be balls deep in those girls by midwinter, he’ll not think of his dead friend. Plus, I hear you’re good at keeping the unpaired ones alive.”

“Aye, I have some skill at it,” Orbaris said. “Half the time, it’s just luck.” He still looked at the woollys, like a man staring at a sports car while having a mid-life crisis. “What’s the catch, old man. I see those brands and the tablets, they’ve got Sagaris’ mark on them. She’s tough as leather, that one, wouldn’t part with her stock for anything.”

“Bought fair and square,” Pavano said. “Sagaris was ambushed coming from Blackened Bridge. Lost a few woollys and wagons, the unpaired male the the females were a wagon team. Can’t use ‘em if you got no wagon to pull.”

“Magano’s probably gonna geld me, but you’ve got a deal, Pavo.” The gaunt man pulled off his gloves and spat in it. Pavano did the same and they shook. “I’ll get ya the ownership tablets for those four.”

Orbaris moved with a pep in his step as he headed back to the farmhouse. Pavano grinned at San as he walked into the barn.

“Brisk business?’ San asked. He peered into the barn, seeing a pair of brown woollys staring at him. They were a little smaller than the three they had, a little thinner, and older. “We seem to be constantly trading down.”

“Better to have ten coppers and be alive than ten gold and be dead,” Pavano said.

San nodded, understanding what the man was doing. They had fled Midway and anyone out there would be looking for two men and three woollys, woollys that had Sagaris’ mark on them. Two men and four ghetto woollys wouldn’t be looked at too hard.

There was a rickety cart that was parked in the barn. San looked at it.

“How much for the cart?” he asked.

Pavano grinned. “Ain’t a fool, are ya?”