Wintertide by Michael J. Sullivan Page B

blankets hid the wooden floor.
    In a chair crafted from branches, a slim figure smoked a pipe. “Welcome, Mr. Royce,” Ryn said with a smile.
    He wore crudely stitched clothes made from rough, treated hides. On his head was a hat that looked like an old, flopped sack. Even with his ears hidden, his slanted eyes and high cheekbones betrayed his elven heritage.
    On the other side of the room, a woman and small boy chopped mushrooms and placed them in a battered pot suspended in a small fireplace made of what looked to be river stones. They, too, were mir —a half-breed mix of human and elf—like Royce himself. Neither said a word, but they glanced over at him from time to time while adding vegetables to the pot.
    “You know my name?” Royce asked.
    “Of course. It isn’t a name I could easily forget. Please, come in. My home is yours.”
    “How do you know me?” Royce pulled up his legs and closed the door.
    “Three autumns ago, just after Amrath’s murder, you were at the Silver Pitcher.”
    Royce thought back. The hat!
    “They were sick.” Ryn tilted his head toward his family. “Fever—the both of them. We were out of food and I spent my last coin on some old bread and a turnip from Mr. Hall. I knew it wouldn’t be enough, but there was nothing else I could do.”
    “You were the elf that they accused of thieving. They pulled your hat off.”
    Ryn nodded. He puffed on his pipe and said, “You and your friend were organizing a group of men to save the Prince of Melengar. You asked me to join. You promised a reward—a fair share.”
    Royce shrugged. “We needed anyone willing to help.”
    “I didn’t believe you. Who of my kind would? No one ever gave fair shares of anything to an elf, but I was desperate. When it was over, Drake refused to pay me just as I expected. But you kept your word and forced him to give me an equal share— and a horse . You threatened to kill the whole lot of them if they didn’t.” He allowed himself a little smile. “Drake handed over the gelding with full tack and never even checked it. I think he just wanted to get rid of me. I left before they could change their minds. I was miles away before I finally got a chance to look in the saddlebags. Fruits, nuts, meat, cheese, a pint of whiskey, a skin of cider, those would’ve been treasure enough. But I also found warm blankets, fine clothes, a hand axe, flint and steel, a knife—and the purse . There were gold tenants in that bag—twenty-two of them.”
    “Gold tenants? You got Baron Trumbul’s horse?”
    Ryn nodded. “There was more than enough gold to buy medicine, and with the horse I got back in time. I prayed I would be able to thank you before I died, and today I got my chance. I saw you in the city but could do nothing there. I am so glad I persuaded you to visit.”
    “The mittens were a nice touch.”
    “Please sit and be my guest for dinner.”
    Royce hung his scarf alongside his cloak on one of the branches and set his boots to warm near the fire. The four ate together with little conversation.
    After she had taken his empty bowl, Ryn’s wife spoke for the first time. “You look tired, Mr. Royce. Can we make you a bed for the night?”
    “No. Sorry. I can’t stay.” Royce said while getting up, pleased to feel his feet again.
    “You’re in a hurry?” Ryn asked.
    “You could say that.”
    “In that case, you will take my horse, Hivenlyn,” Ryn said.
    An hour earlier, Royce would have stolen a horse from anyone he happened upon, so he was surprised to hear himself say, “No. I mean, thanks, but no.”
    “I insist. I named him Hivenlyn because of you. It means unexpected gift in Elvish. So you see, you must take him. He knows every path in this wood and will get you safely wherever you need to go.” Ryn nodded toward the boy, who nimbly slipped out the trap door.
    “You need that horse,” Royce said.
    “I’m not the one trudging through the forest in the middle of the night without a pack. I