The Dragon's Path

position they’d held on the cart. Master Kit chuckled and shook his head.
    “I think Cary would prefer to train with weapons that better exploit her natural abilities,” Master Kit said.
    “Like being small and weak,” Sandr said. Without looking over, Cary flicked a clod of earth at his head.
    “Short bow,” Cary said.
    “Takes power to pull back a bow,” Yardem said. He seemed on the edge of apology. “With a sling and stone, it matters less, but it still matters. A spear has better reach, but takes more muscle. A blade needs less strength, but callsfor more reach. A strong, big woman’s better than a small, weak man, but there’s no such thing as a woman’s natural weapon.” The Tralgu shrugged expansively.
    “There has to be
something,
” Cary said.
    “There doesn’t,” Yardem said.
    “Sex,” Sandr suggested with a grin. Cary threw another clod at his head.
    “How are your mules, Tag?” Master Kit asked.
    “Better,” Cithrin said. “Much better. Thanks to Opal.”
    “It was nothing,” Opal said.
    “I’m pleased it worked out,” Master Kit said. “I was beginning to worry that we’d leave you behind.”
    “Wouldn’t have happened,” a voice said from behind them.
    Cithrin twisted in her seat, and her chest went tight with anxiety. Captain Wester stalked into the room. Snow caked his wide leather cloak and matted his hair. His face was so bright, it looked like the cold had slapped him. He walked to the heat, scowling.
    “Welcome back, sir,” the Tralgu said. The captain didn’t so much as nod.
    “I take it the scouting went poorly, then,” Master Kit said.
    “No worse than expected,” Marcus Wester said. “The ’van master’s breaking it to the others right now. There’s no getting through that pass. Not now, not for months.”
    “
What?
” Cithrin said, her voice sharp and unexpected. She tried to swallow the word as soon as she’d said it, but the captain took no particular notice of her.
    “Snow came early, we took too long, and we didn’t get lucky,” he said. “We’ll get some warehouse space for the goods and bunks for the rest of us. Not much room, so it’ll be close quarters. We’ll make for Carse in the spring.”
    Spring. The word hit Cithrin in the gut. She looked at the flames dancing in the furnace, felt a trickle of snowmelt tracing its way down her spine. Despairing laughter bubbled at the back of her throat. If she let it out, it would turn to tears, and it wouldn’t stop. A season spent in disguise. Moving everything in her cart to a warehouse and back without being discovered. Months to Carse instead of weeks.
    I can’t do this,
she thought.

Marcus
     
    N ightfall came early. Only half of the carts had been emptied, and the caravan master was all but chewing his own wrists over it. Marcus didn’t think it would be a problem. The storm had come from the west, and the mountains would squeeze the worst of the snow out. They might be tunneling up from the roofs in Birancour, but Bellin was in the rain shadow. They’d be fine. At least when it came to snow.
    Yardem had arranged a separate barracks for the so-called guards. Two small rooms with a shared fire grate, but in the town proper, tucked snugly in the living rock. Carved swirls and whorls caught the firelight, and the walls seemed to breathe and dance. Marcus pulled off the soaked leather of his boots and leaned back, groaning. The others were about him, lounging and talking and negotiating for the best sleeping spaces. The ease the actors took in close company wasn’t all that different from real sword-and-bows, and the jokes were better. Even Yardem seemed half relaxed, and that wasn’t a common thing.
    Still, Marcus’s work wasn’t done.
    “Meeting,” he said. “Our job’s changed now. Best that we talk that through, not find ourselves surprised later.”
    The chatter stilled. Master Kit sat beside the fire, his wiry grey hair standing like smoke gone still.
    “I don’t see how the ’van can afford this,” the actor said. “Even with small quarters, it’s going to cost having us kept and fed for a full season.”
    “Likely they’ll lose money,” Marcus said. “But that’s the caravan master’s problem, not ours. We aren’t here to see a profit turned. Just everyone kept safe. On the road, that means bandits. Holed up for a winter, that means no one gets stir crazy or starts sleeping with someone, makes someone else jealous, or gets in mind to cheat too much