Crow's Nest Horse Race

Crow's Nest's soldiers had formed a circle beside the stables, helping Ron's men unload the horses. Hans was being supported by two soldiers, one arm draped over someone's shoulder. The blood on his face had yet to be wiped clean, but his mouth was already split in a grin.

Several old soldiers squatted before him. One patted the back of Hans's head and cursed, "You lucky bastard," sounding like he was scolding him, though his hand never left Hans's shoulder.

An old soldier who ran errands for the baron caught half the conversation in the crowd, then turned and ran toward the castle.

In the hall, the baron was slumped in his high-backed oak chair, dangling an empty wine flask from his fingers. He heard the footsteps but did not look up.

"My lord," the old soldier stopped at the entrance to the hall and caught his breath, "the sergeant major is back. Hans has been found. He's alive."

The baron's fingers twitched.

"And..." The old soldier swallowed. "The sergeant major rescued a young girl."

The baron's eyes flew open. Not from sobriety, but from the instinctive reaction of someone who had been struck.

He pushed himself against the chair, failing to rise on the first try. He grabbed the armrest and pulled himself out of it, staggering one step onto the empty wine flask on the floor. He kicked it flying, and it rolled across the flagstones before striking the base of the wall.

He strode toward the door. At the threshold, he paused and looked down at his loose robe, stained with wine. He tugged twice at the front of it, trying to pull himself into the dignity a lord ought to possess. After two attempts, he gave up.

Then he shoved open the door and strode into the sunlight of the courtyard.

Ciri stood in the courtyard, her right arm wrapped in a makeshift bandage. Her hair was a mess, and her face was still streaked with dust and sweat. Gretka stood beside her, one hand clutching her sleeve.

The baron stopped at the edge of the courtyard. A young girl, but not Tamara.

Ron stood a few steps away, watching the baron's expression shift from hope to disappointment, then from disappointment to something more complicated. The baron took a deep breath and walked over to Ciri.

"Philip Strenger," he said hoarsely. "Lord of Crow's Nest."

Ciri looked up at him.

The baron stood before this unfamiliar girl, who was about Tamara's age, for a moment. Then he turned and shouted at the cook behind him, "Clean out that empty room upstairs! Prepare some food! And ointment, get some ointment!"

The cook hurried into the kitchen. The baron turned back to Ciri, lowering his voice. "Stay here for now and rest properly. What I say goes in this place."

Ciri did not answer, but she gave a slight nod.

Ron took it all in, then turned toward the stables. He did not slow as he passed the baron.

Gretka had stayed at Crow's Nest for three days. She no longer clung to Ciri's sleeve and had begun wandering all over the castle.

In Crow's Nest's courtyard, the cook's tabby cat sat on the rim of the well, licking its paws. Several old soldiers leaned against the stables, dividing up dried meat.

Gretka ran from the stables to the kitchen, then from the kitchen to the courtyard. The cook shouted after her not to run so fast or she would fall, but she merely waved without looking back.

Ron was crossing the courtyard after completing his routine inspection when Gretka ran over from the well and stopped before him. She tilted her head so far back that her neck looked ready to snap.

"You're taller than my daddy! So, so, so much taller!" She rose onto her tiptoes and stretched her arm upward. Her fingertips only reached Ron's belt. Then she started giggling first.

Ron looked down at her for a moment.

She stepped up to his leg, gazing up at him with blinking eyes. "Can I sit on your shoulders? Please, please?"

Ron bent down, slipped one hand under her arms, and lifted gently. Gretka was picked right up, turned half a circle in the air, and landed securely on his left shoulder.

She grabbed his hair with both hands, then switched to tugging his ears. When she discovered his ears were not steady enough, she went back to his hair. Ron tilted his head slightly so she could reach.

"Wow—wow—" Gretka's mouth formed a round O, her eyes wide. "I can see the roof! I can see the chimney! There's a bird's nest! There are baby birds in it!"

Ron carried her across the courtyard, along the stone path beside the stables, toward the castle gate.

Several old soldiers by the stables looked up. The dried meat dangling from one man's mouth fell onto his knee. A Fiona drawing water by the well stopped halfway through lifting the bucket, the corner of his mouth twitching as though he were holding something back. Ron kept walking.

Ciri settled into the empty room upstairs. The cook brought her three meals a day, sometimes bread and meat stew, sometimes boiled oats and a piece of dried cheese.

Whenever Ciri went downstairs, she passed the baron's room. The door was half open, and she could see a half-finished cup of ale and an old comb on the table. It was a comb Anna had used.

By evening, a bonfire had been lit in the courtyard.

The baron sat beside the fire, far more sober than he had been in recent days. He held a cup of wine and drank more slowly than usual. Ciri sat across from him, and the firelight turned her ash-blond hair pale gold.

Crow's Nest's old soldiers sat around the outer edge of the fire, mixed in with the armored cavalry. At first, neither side spoke.

But someone pressed ale into another's hand. Someone muttered, "Too weak," and someone else snapped back, "Then go back to your manor and drink your own brew." They traded insults, but no one got up to leave.

Someone brought up how Ron had killed the werewolf in the cave. While describing it, he stood and imitated the slash, doing it all crookedly until someone beside him dragged him back down.

Someone mentioned the Petrifying Chicken Snake Ron had hunted before, saying its spread wings had been wider than a wagon, and that the sergeant major had severed its neck with one blow of his battle axe. A few horses whinnied from the direction of the stables, and someone got up to bring them fodder.

An old Crow's Nest soldier downed half a cup of wine in one gulp. "The sergeant major doesn't seem to be from around here." He looked at the silent tin can across from him. "Where exactly are you people from?"

"Calradia," a Fiona said in stiff Common. He sat at the outermost edge of the fire, his bow propped beside his knee.

"How far away?"

The Fiona did not answer. He merely pointed east with his thumb. "Beyond the sea. A storm brought us here."

Ciri raised her head and looked toward Ron, who sat against the stable doorway not far away.

"What did the sergeant major do back there?" Ciri asked.

Miko's hand paused for an instant as he added wood to the fire.

"Your Highness." His voice was so low that only those beside the fire could barely hear it.

Ron's hand stopped on the whetstone. He raised his head and looked at Miko. It was not a reproach, but it was enough to make Miko fall silent.

The baron lowered his cup from his lips. Several old soldiers from Crow's Nest exchanged glances without speaking.

Ciri did not press the matter. Her gaze crossed the bonfire and settled on the giant silently sharpening his throwing spear with a whetstone at the stable entrance.

After a while, the soldiers began laughing and talking about Ciri's catch. A boar that huge had actually been hunted with a sword—truly impressive. But being good with a sword did not necessarily mean being good on horseback. Ciri set down her cup.

"Well? Want to make a wager? At dawn tomorrow, we race. We'll bet on that black mare in the stable." After saying that, she stood and pointed toward the stables.

Crow's Nest's soldiers fell silent.

"Why aren't you saying anything? Scared?"

The baron rose from beside the bonfire. "Because that's my horse. But never mind, I'll ride against you for a stretch."

He set his empty cup on the table. The corner of his mouth shifted, revealing a long-lost expression of fighting spirit stirred anew. "My horse is the finest in Velen."

The crowd around the bonfire let out several muffled, taunting laughs.