There was no one moving on any street and hardly a light at any window. Once a wrong turn led into a blind alley, but that did not hold them back long, and now they were in the shadow of the gate, with a sentry barring the path with a pike and another holding up a lantern.
“This is a fine hour to be leaving the city,” grumbled the first.
“All hours are fine when one must go,” said Rodvard, and produced his paper; this was the moment of test.
The sentry puzzled over it a moment, looked back at them, to the paper again, and said; “Pass friends.” As he turned back to the sentry-cachet with his pike-bearing companion, Rodvard caught a fragment of words “. . . won’t be too glad to see that couple,” and wondered what the paper had said.
As they reached the far end of the bridge, where the ancient stone leopard stands, he urged his mount to trot, but the pace was too fast for Lalette, she had to beg him not to. They moved for a long time through a space without figures until, like a conjurer’s trick, trees and houses began to appear in grey outline around them, and then slowly to take on color. The road turned leftward, and the river was beyond, with ice on it. Lalette said; “Rodvard.”
He did not turn his head. “What will you have?”
“Can you forgive me?”
“For what?”
“Taking you away from—everything. Your new day, the work.”
“There is nothing to forgive. I had to go.”