Year 938 of the Temple Calendar, January 3 — the Slepate Grasslands.
Beyond the royal capital, several yurts had been assembled into a small wayside inn where travelers could stop and rest. Leif was staying in one of them.
“Here’s the roast beef, bread, and beef offal you ordered.”
The attendant in a felt cap pushed open the door. With the curtain hanging half open, fine snowflakes as fine as salt dust blew inside. He could not help sizing up the foreign girl before him. She had rented an entire yurt for herself, an extravagant gesture, yet she had...
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