Outcasts of Order by L. E. Modesitt Jr

Author:L. E. Modesitt, Jr.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

XLII

Fourday at the healing house was largely uneventful for Beltur, although he did have to spend time dealing with Poldaark’s wound chaos, albeit a smaller amount than on twoday. As soon as he finished, he hurried to Barrynt’s, where he saddled Slowpoke and then rode to the cot, carrying a load of wood, where Jessyla was organizing and arranging furniture and linens. After setting and lighting a hearth fire, over the next glass and a half the two pumped buckets of water that Beltur and Slowpoke carried back to the cot and used first to clean out the kitchen cistern, and then to fill it possibly a third of the way before closing up the cot and returning to Barrynt’s.

Early on fiveday, Beltur carried more wood to the cot, and made arrangements through Rhodos to have two cords of wood delivered, before he and Jorhan rode to meet Barrynt at his factorage. From there, the three took the narrow road to south town. Beltur noticed that the snow piled alongside the paved way was now almost chest-high.

“How high will the snow be here by late winter?”

“Not more than another yard, usually,” replied Barrynt. “That’s as high as they can pile it. After that, they have to cart it to the river.”

Before long they rode down the main street of south town, where the smoke from chimneys hung low over the various buildings. The air had a bite beyond mere chill, and Beltur had the feeling that in warmer times, that bite would be more pronounced and redolent of even more unsavory odors. He glanced at the other two, but neither seemed to notice, or they were better at ignoring the bitter tang that he was breathing.

“It’s not far,” announced Barrynt. “Another block on the right.”

“You said this building was the one that had been a smithy,” said Jorhan.

“Years ago. It’s been empty for a while. Widow Santhela decided no one in her family wanted it, but she didn’t wish to sell it. I persuaded her son to get her to allow it to be rented.”

“For how much?” asked Jorhan.

“Truly a pittance. A bond of two silvers, and three coppers an eightday, but any improvements you make, you pay for, and they remain.”

“There’s nothing inside, then,” groused Jorhan. “I’ll need to make workbenches and who knows what else.”

“Why so little?” asked Beltur.

“She’ll save two coppers an eightday. That’s what the Council’s charging her to clear the walks and curbs.”

“It’s the reddish-brown building there.”

The building was modest, a one-story rectangular stone structure, scarcely four yards back from the battered stone curb. Two narrow windows, with sagging shutters, flanked the door facing the street. The roof was less steeply pitched than most of those in Axalt, but the short walk had been cleared, and there was a stone-paved area with a hitching rail adjoining the walk. Barrynt guided his mount up to the hitching rail and dismounted.

Beltur and Jorhan did the same, and Beltur tied Slowpoke and Jorhan’s horse to the railing.

“That might be Theltar.

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