On the return road Nils fell in beside me for a stretch.
"Father thought it might be worse," he said.
"So did half my yard before Jonas opened his mouth."
"And you still came."
"I said I would." I adjusted the reins. "That's the whole trick of neighbouring, Nils. Do what you said. Don't invent dragons when the problem is mud."
He almost smiled. "I'll tell Father you said that. He'll pretend he doesn't agree."
"He always does."
--
We reached Frostfang after dark. The keep took the Bjornvik crew in without theatre—food, dry rooms, a proper look at the captain's leg from our own healer. I stood in the yard long enough to see them settled, then sent Nils to the message desk to write Harald before rumour did it for him.
Magnus found me near the stables while I was checking the horses we'd pushed hardest. He had a heel of bread in one hand and a look that said he'd already heard the short version from Anders.
"Mud," he said.
"Mud."
