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From that point on, I would be a journeyman woodworker, with only a horse left because of my unsettled youth and the trouble in Freetown.

With each step toward the plains of Gallos, the hills became more gentle, the trees less frequent, and the air warmer, if a temperature that left the clay of the road a cold gelatin rather than stone-hard ice could be called warm. The rock fences by the road gave way to rock posts and split rails, and these in turn were replaced by all-wooden rail fences that seemed too spindly to contain stock or to hold up against a strong wind.

The infrequent and clear brooks gave way to half-empty or totally empty canals flowing in grids between ever vaster and flatter expanses of stubbled fields.

After Passera, I finally stopped in a crossroads with no name and slept in the stable with Gairloch. It looked cleaner than the battered inn. Even so, the cost was three coppers for me and two for Gairloch. I didn’t ask about a room.

For breakfast, I paid another copper for half a loaf—a small half-loaf—of brown bread, and a cup of redberry.

From there, another day took me into land so flat and treeless that you almost couldn’t tell where the horizon was. In the middle of the treeless expanse flowed the River Gallos, nearly a kay across and less than a rod deep in early winter. Two side-by-side stone spans crossed it, one for traffic in each direction, each one wide enough for the largest of farm wagons. Another night in a stable followed, but the Prosperity Inn in Neblitt offered edible food and a clean strawpile for no more than the night before.

The right-hand road out of Neblitt and the end of the third day brought me to the low hills leading up to Fenard, and the welcome sight of trees. Bare and leafless trees, not conifers, but trees nonetheless.

It also brought the second guard station.

“Where are you bound, young fellow?”

“Fenard.”

“For the guards?”

I looked at the two brawny soldiers and shook my head. “I don’t know much about war. I’m just a journeyman woodcrafter.”

“Where are your tools?” the narrow-faced one asked.

“That’s my problem, ser. I was in Freetown…and things changed rather sudden-like…” I shrugged.

The two looked at each other. “Any weapons?”

“Just my belt knife. I can hold my own with it.”

The guards, veterans each, tried to hold back their grins. So did I. I would have grinned in their place.

“You understand, young fellow, that if you can’t support yourself, you have to leave Fenard or join the guards?”

“I would?” I asked, trying to look puzzled.

“You would.”

Creaakkkkk…A wagon pulled up onto the stones behind me.

“Be on your way, fellow.”

I flicked the reins, and Gairloch carried me forward and up the slope. Three hills and a bridge later, and near supper time and twilight, we stopped at the city gate. On the horizon to the north and to the west I could see a glitter of light, presumably the not-too-distant Westhorns.

Unlike Jellico, the wall around Fenard was token, where it existed, and the gate was more of a formality than a real check. A bored and much flabbier guard than the one at the hillside gate looked at me and waved me on.

Once in the streets, I stopped a youngster, round-cheeked and grinning, to ask for directions to the quarter with the most woodworkers.

“Mills, you mean? They’re out the mill gate, not in the city.”

“No, fine carpenters, crafters.”

“The kind that make cabinets and chairs?”

I nodded.

“That’s by the mill quarter, straight down the market street there, as far as you can go. A copper, and I’ll show you myself, take you right to the Tap Inn, where Masters Perlot and Jirrle drink. They might be there now.”

I tossed him the copper. “I can barely afford that, boy.”

The barefoot youth just grinned. “Come on. Move that toy pony.”

I could have found the Tap Inn with little difficulty, and even one copper was getting to be important. Sometimes you guess wrong, and the youngster probably needed the copper more than I did.

At the crossing