Free Path of the Eclipse by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

happened?” Chih-Yü asked, drawing in her sorrel some little way up the track.
    “He cast a shoe, I think.” Reluctantly Saint-Germain swung out of the light Persian saddle he favored, and drew the reins over the gray’s head. Speaking softly, he stepped to the horse’s head and bent to lift the leg. “Yes. If you’ll give me permission to use your forge, I’ll replace it this afternoon.” He began to walk up the hill, leading his horse.
    “You may do what is necessary, but my own smith can attend to it.” She had brought her sorrel back toward him.
    “Undoubtedly, but as I prepare my own alloys, I prefer to work them myself.” He looked up at Chih-Yü, and his expression became enigmatic.
    “About this ditch. Do you think it would make a difference?” There was intelligence and determination in her face, which, though not pretty, had a strength of character that made her attractive.
    “It might very well. The Mongols do not use heavy armor, so it will not be as much to their disadvantage as it would be to a troop of Frankish knights, but their horses will not want to gallop through it, and if we put gravel on our side of the ditch, they will fall if they jump. It might keep them from mounting a full assault on the stronghold.”
    She gave this her consideration and accepted it for the moment. “I’m not in a position to overlook any advantage we might find. I will give orders in the valleys that we need workmen. The winter has been mild so far. Usually there is a foot of snow here when the new year comes. The holding damns on the streams have kept the rain from causing much flooding, though two shepherds lost some sheep during the last storm. I will issue orders that each family is to send one man for two days in every fortnight to make this ditch, and to strengthen the walls of the stronghold.”
    “Will they obey?” Saint-Germain could not help asking. He had seen how many of the farmers were unwilling to assist the militia, choosing flight instead of confrontation with the Mongol horsemen.
    “They will,” she said with confidence. “I will give the same order to my soldiers, and the farmers will see that no one is being treated preferentially.” She rode well, with an economy of movement and capable hands. “I will work on the ditch as well.”
    Saint-Germain’s fine brows lifted. “You?”
    “I am Warlord here,” she reminded him sharply. “If I give orders, it is only fitting that I follow them myself. That way, my men will go into battle knowing that I will not desert them.” She glanced at the scabbard on her left hip and smiled. “I have my father’s sword, and it is revered.”
    “Isn’t it unusual for you to have your father’s sword? I am aware that there is no reason you should not, but I understand you have brothers. Under the circumstances…” He had been curious about this for some time, but had never felt at liberty to ask her about her family. Now, as they went slowly toward the rough walls of the stronghold, he thought she might be willing to speak to him.
    “My older brother,” she said slowly, “had no liking for this life. He left Mao-T’ou stronghold as soon as he was allowed to, and has not come back. When last I heard of him, he was living in the southern Empire with three sing-song girls. He went through his inheritance and I was forbidden to provide him with any funds except for his honorable burial.” Her eyes were flinty, fixed on the pass below them. “My other brother was born with a malformed foot. He is a good and gentle man, living now with our mother’s uncle, who retired from diplomatic service three years ago. He was pleased to have my brother with him, and the way of life is less strenuous in Pei-Mi.” At the mention of her younger brother, her features softened. “My father found that I was capable of martial skills, and trained me to continue his work.”
    “And you have encountered no opposition?” Saint-Germain could not believe this