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Even before he has finished dying, she has resumed her seat on the charger. “Hyster…gather the Gallian weapons.”

The thin bearded man looks from the giant on the ground to the slender woman upon the horse. He swallows, then dismounts without a word.

Two other men exchange glances.

“…see how fast her blade is…”

“…kill you as look at you…”

“…killed seven of the Gallians, though…”

She lets the whispers continue for a time, then clears her throat. “Let’s go.”

XLIII

SINCE WHAT I had to do would further upset tradition in Fenard, I needed someone with a personal interest, and Brettel was the only one possible.

I kept telling myself that as Gairloch carried me out the north road to the mill-master’s operation. Perhaps I had just picked the day because the sun was finally out, and the wind down, and the air so clean and clear that despite its bite on my face, I wanted to sing. I didn’t. That would have been inflicting too much on poor Gairloch.

The thoughts of song died as I neared the mill and the gray stone warehouse.

“Lerris, what brings you here? Did you finish that chair?” His silver hair glinted despite the afternoon overcast, and his smile was welcoming.

“You gave me the order two days ago. Good chairs take some time.” I grinned right back at him, but I couldn’t sustain the expression.

His eyes raked over me. “Come on into the parlor.”

“Would that be all right?”

“I’ll be there shortly. I need to tell Arta about some cuts. If you want some redberry, Dalta will get it for you.”

He was off, his short legs propelling the big torso and broad shoulders toward the mill with a walk that would have been running for most men.

Wiping my forehead, I dismounted and tied Gairloch to the post, loosely. Although he needed no tying, there was no point in advertising either his training or my abilities. I wondered if the people at the Travelers’ Rest had ensured that a mountain pony was always there at Felshar’s Livery when dangergelders arrived, or whether it had been specially set up for me. Talryn, nursing a guilty conscience?

Although the afternoon was clouded, the dampness and heat, and the lack of any breeze at all, created the feeling of walking through a hot bath in winter clothes. My growing internal order-mastery let me handle cold, but heat was another question.

At the long one-story house beside the lumber warehouse, I lifted the brass knocker and let it fall.

A young woman opened the door.

I smiled in spite of myself. Seeing the eyes as blue as the sky after a rain, hair as bright as spun gold, skin more finely finished than the silk of white oak, and a figure like a temple statue, I could have cared less that she came to less than my shoulder.

“May I help you? The mill-master is in the main building…” Her voice was firm, yet smooth as a good finish on black oak.

Gathering myself back together, I nodded. “I’m Lerris, the journeyman for Destrin. Brettel asked me to wait for him in the parlor.” I paused. “Are you Dalta?”

“I’m Dalta.” She smiled politely, with a natural warmth that promised nothing while cheering the afternoon, and for some reason I thought of Krystal, though I could not have possibly said why.

“He mentioned redberry.”

“I’ll take you to the parlor.”

She even provided me with a glass—a real glass tumbler—of redberry, and I sat in a chair probably made by Dorman, since it matched one I had seen in his plan book, and wondered what Brettel’s consort looked like to have produced such a daughter.

Then I wondered about Deirdre, and whether what I was planning was fair. Recalling Talryn’s acidic comments about fairness, I ended up shaking my head.

“You look like hell, Lerris…” Brettel carried another tumbler, but his steamed. The odor of spiced cider filled the room, mixing with the smell of burning wood from the hearth.

“That’s about the way I feel.”

“You look like you want to ask for something out of the ordinary.”

I nodded.

“Don’t tell me you want to marry Deirdre.”

“No. That would be