The descent from the middle terrace to the lower bailey was a flight of thirty wet granite steps, worn smooth by the passage of heavy boots and iron-shod hooves.
Pei Jing and Cheng Shan moved down the shadows flanking the retaining wall with the fluid, timed together stealth of two hungry cats. The wet snow falling from the black sky deadened the sound of their movements. Meanwhile, the pungent smell of wet horse manure, damp cedar bedding, and fermented grain mash masked their human scent.
The lower bailey was a box-shaped yard eighty paces long by forty paces wide.
Along the western wall stood four expansive timber stables. It was built from thick pine logs chinked with dry mud and straw. Inside, two hundred steppe warhorses stood in narrow wooden stalls. Their breath rose in thick, pale clouds that escaped through the roof vents. The animals were restless. The approaching blizzard had unsettled their instincts, causing them to shift and stamp their iron shoes against the packed earthen floor.
Directly opposite the stables, occupying the center of the bailey, was the central hay granary. A two-story barn packed to the rafters with three hundred bundles of dry alpine rye grass and bales of threshing straw gathered for winter fodder.
