Chapter 5: Ren the Pale Rides into Ashford on a Stolen Horse

The horse was named, by its previous owner, Blessed Constance, which Arthur had shortened to Connie on the first day and which Connie had responded to by trying to remove his ear. They had reached an understanding since then, the understanding being that Arthur did not attempt affection and Connie did not attempt injury, and on this basis they had covered four days of frozen road in moderate mutual silence.

He crested the low ridge above Ashford as the light was going grey and flat, the sun already surrendered behind the treeline, and stopped Connie with his knees to look.

Ashford was small the way a bruise is small — contained, specific, and telling you something about what had happened to the body around it. Fourteen houses. A mill on the near side of the river, wheel stopped for winter, its timbers dark with old damp. A market square that had room for perhaps thirty people if they were willing to be friendly about it. A tavern sign he couldn't read from this distance. Two figures moving across the square with the hunched speed of people who wanted to be inside and hadn't quite made it yet.