when

mounted.
Stephen's hill to the base of Northgate he counted four days travel, more or less—a little more without a remount, a little less without an army. Late afternoon of the fourth found him ten miles north of the hostel, a little west of the road. He made camp in a wood running down from the foothills. Beyond loomed the mountains, their far side home. He wondered what his oldest grandson was up to. A year. No doubt Gerda had coped.
The road north was empty; Harald spent most of the remaining daylight searching the woods for food. It was still empty when he got back. When dark fell he built his fire in a hollow out of sight of the road, dined on fresh meat and wild greens with a little of his dwindling supply of biscuit.
The next day the road carried a few riders and a mule train south from the Empire—Belkhani guards. He remained hidden, foraged for food, let the mare graze her fill. Late the next day his luck changed. Mules, horses, even a few wagons. Traders, mule drivers, from the Imperial provinces in the far northwest by their dress. Guards in lamellar armor. Cats.

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