Chapter 9: Half a Wagon

One wagon rolled into the courtyard of Hallgard Keep at dawn, and it was a third full.

Elior counted the sacks from the gallery steps with Teodric beside him.

There were forty, where the treaty named a hundred and twenty.

Snow fell on the canvas, and eight Savennian soldiers in blue stood at the horses' heads with their eyes on the ground.

Behind the wagon came a closed carriage lined with plum velvet.

The door opened, and Lord Aubrecht Dreyne stepped down, ringed and perfumed, holding a cloth to his nose against the smell of horses.

He saw Elior and smiled.

"Highness!

"You look remarkably well."

"My lord Treasurer," said Elior.

"You are late, and you are short."

"The roads, Highness.

"The snows, the bridges, the carters who will not be hurried.

"A gesture of good faith, you understand.

"The rest will follow at the thaw."

"The treaty says a hundred and twenty sacks at midwinter," said Teodric.

His voice was level, but the whole courtyard heard it.

Dreyne turned the smile on him.

"And the Grand Duke has his hostage alive and fat, as you see.

"I think we can call it fair."

Behind Teodric, Rolf Vesterhal had come out onto the steps with his men.

His face was a thundercloud.

The wagon meant the Moot could not vote the hostage's death today, and Rolf knew it.

But Elior saw Dreyne's eyes go to Rolf, rest there for exactly one breath, and slide away.

The Treasurer did not look at him again.

Elior felt the hair rise on his neck, and he did not know why.

"I want to see my father," he said.

"Alas, no.

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