“You deserve it.” And more. He waited until she closed the door before he turned and began the walk back home. When he reached the bakery, he was almost as tired as when he spent an entire day working with Jorhan.
Meldryn was in the kitchen. “How did the healing go?”
“I learned some things about healing. I also learned more about Elparta.” Beltur filled two mugs with the dark ale and set them on the kitchen table.
“Such as?”
“Can women own property or operate shops? Could they run a bakery? As I recall,” Beltur said, thinking of his first days when Athaal had described all the bakeries on Bakers Lane, “all the bakeries are run by men.”
“Not all of them. Saelyna is less than two blocks west of here, and she bakes in the style of southern Hydlen. That’s why her place is called the Pirates’ Pastries.” Meldryn paused, then added, “She’s the only one.”
“Does Celinya have the only tailoring shop operated by a woman?”
“She’s a seamstress, properly speaking, but she’s the only one I know who doesn’t work for a tailor.” Meldryn smiled wryly. “You have a good point. I don’t know of any law or rule that forbids women from owning property or having shops or anything, or even being traders, but there aren’t many. That’s because anyone who does business has to put up a bond. For small shops, it’s not much. From five to ten golds, depending on the size of the space.”
“Who holds the bond? The Council?”
“Who else? Are you ready to eat?”
“More than ready.” Beltur eyed the hot meat pie on the platter. “More than ready.”
IV
Beltur didn’t wake up shivering on sixday morning, at least not until he climbed out from under his blankets and his bare feet touched the floor. He hurried to wash and dress, although the wash water felt ice cold, and he was more than glad to step into the warmth of the empty kitchen, where he immediately set to fixing breakfast over the hearth fire. He glanced out the window. While he didn’t see either rain or snow, he did hear the low moaning of the wind.
You can’t put off getting a winter coat and gloves any longer. He pushed that thought aside and concentrated on making sure the small bit of tallow in the heavy cast-iron pot had spread evenly before he began scrambling the eggs and then adding the cheese, saving a little of the egg mixture for the egg toast, to be made from several slices of stale bread.
Meldryn arrived from the bakery just as Beltur was about to put the cheesed eggs and egg toast on the platter. “That looks like a solid breakfast.”
“It would be better if we had melon slices, but I haven’t been near the market when anyone had any late melons.”
Meldryn sat down at the kitchen table. “There might be a few.” His tone was dubious.
“I can hope,” said Beltur dryly as he set a platter in front of the older man, then put one at his own place and sat down. He was warm enough that the dark ale tasted good.
Meldryn ate several bites before speaking. “Your cooking’s gotten better.”
“I’ve had some good instruction. Before I came here, it was all by guess.” Beltur still knew his cooking wasn’t as good as Meldryn’s or as good as Athaal’s had been.
He waited until Meldryn had finished eating, not that the older mage took very long, before he asked, “Where might I be able to get an overcoat and a pair of gloves?”
Meldryn smiled. “Ask and you shall receive.”
“I couldn’t—”
“You can and should, but there’s a better solution than what you think. Just wait.”
Beltur didn’t stand and wait. Instead, he started cleaning up the kitchen because he needed to get to Jorhan’s by seventh glass. He didn’t get all that far because Meldryn returned almost immediately, carrying a heavy long and dark brown coat.
“This coat belonged to Athaal’s father. He was bigger than Athaal, about your size. Athaal never wore it. He said it was too big for him. There’s no one else who’d want it. No one else will ever wear it, and it shouldn’t go to waste.”
“No one else? Athaal said his father disappeared when his ship was lost coming back from Hamor. He never mentioned any brothers or sisters.”
“He has a brother and a sister in Spidlaria. When we got together, they cut him off.”
“But…”
“Athaal would rather that you have it … and the gloves.” Meldryn held up a pair of dark brown leather gloves. “You’ll freeze to death once winter hits if you don’t have a good coat.”
“You’re sure?”
“Lhadoraak told me you did everything you could to try to save Athaal … and that’s why you almost died. No one could have asked more.” After a pause, Meldryn added, his voice mock-plaintive, “Besides, you’ll freeze to death, and if you don’t accept the coat, it will be my fault.”
Beltur shook his head. “You do that guilty voice worse than I do. I’ll accept the coat—with appreciation.”
“Good.” Meldryn smiled. “Now … I need to get back to the bakery.”
“Go,” replied Beltur warmly, hoping nothing had burned.
After setting the coat across one of the chairs, Beltur went to work cleaning up breakfast and the kitchen, then hurried upstairs to wash and don the older tunic he wore for working at the smithy. Before all that long, he was back downstairs, had put on the coat and gloves, and was walking east on Crossed Lane to the eastern wall street, and south on that to the southeast gate. The wind was definitely the coldest he’d felt since coming to Elparta, especially when it gusted through the city streets.
As he stepped through the northeast gate and onto the road to Axalt, he looked to the northeast, wondering if there were any storms coming, but the sky was clear, although an almost leaden greenish blue. By the time he reached the smithy, his ears felt frozen, and he was more than glad for the warmth inside the small stone structure when he hung up the coat and his tunic on the wooden wall pegs.
“Feels like a storm coming,” offered Jorhan from where he stood by one of the benches.
“A northeaster?”
The smith shook his head. “Doesn’t feel that way.”
“What are we working on today?”
“We’ll start off casting one blade, then a mirror. I just hope Barrynt gets here before the storm. You didn’t see anyone on the road to the east, did you?”
“No.” Beltur hadn’t sensed anyone, either, and since the road curved somewhat east of the smithy, he could sense farther than he could see.
“Well … we won’t get any smithing done standing around.”
Beltur smiled and moved toward the bellows.
Well before ninth glass, they had poured the melt into the mold for one straight-sword, and Beltur had laid down the fine mesh-like net of chaos bounded by order in the hot bronze and held it until the bronze had solidified enough so that the pattern held.
Next came heating and pouring the melt for an intricate mirror.
Beltur had just stepped away from the mold after setting the chaos/order mesh when someone pounded on the door to the smithy.
Jorhan immediately hurried to the door and opened it to reveal a man in a long tan leather coat. “Barrynt! I was a mite worried that you might run afoul of a storm.”
The trader was broad-shouldered and a digit or two shorter than Beltur, and he smiled broadly and warmly at Jorhan as he stepped into the smithy. “Wind or no wind, I said I’d get you your copper and tin. Besides, Johlana wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Always a man of your word.” Jorhan closed the door and half turned. “This is Beltur. He’s the mage I wrote you about.”
Barrynt stepped forward, still smiling. “It’s good to meet you. I understand you’ve helped Jorhan a great deal.”
“He’s helped me even more, I suspect,” returned Beltur.
“I wouldn’t be able to smith for long without Beltur,” said Jorhan.
“If you don’t mind, we can talk while we unload your copper,” said Barrynt. “I can see clouds t
o the northeast, and I’d like to get the rest of my goods into the warehouse in Elparta before the storm hits full.”
“Everything else is going to Elparta?” asked Jorhan.
“Most of it’s bolts of woolens from Montgren.” Barrynt grinned. “I got word that woolen prices were higher here. Something about having to uniform a lot of men.” He opened the smithy door and gestured toward the wagon down at the foot of the lane. “I hope you don’t mind, but it’d take a lot of time to get the wagon up here and then back down.”
“I’m just glad you arrived when you did. Council’s been giving me trouble.”
“You’re always welcome in Axalt. Johlana’d be more than happy to have you there.” Barrynt looked to Beltur. “You, too, Mage. Axalt could use a good mage.” With that, the merchant turned and walked briskly toward the wagon.
Although Barrynt had voiced what could have been pleasantries, Beltur had sensed that the invitation to Axalt had been genuine, not only for Jorhan, but also for Beltur, not that Beltur had any intention of leaving Elparta, especially given Jessyla’s presence in Elparta.
With a half smile, Beltur hurried from the smithy and followed Jorhan down the lane. By the time he reached the open tailgate of the high-sided and covered wagon, he was beginning to shiver.
Barrynt pointed to the ingots stacked on the wagon bed and nodded to Jorhan. “You’ve got more copper than you asked for. The only ingots I could get were from Lydiar, and they’re a stone’s weight each. I figured you’d rather have more than less. So there are fifteen copper ingots and three tin.”
“That’s…” Jorhan broke off his words, then said, “Thank you.”
Barrynt glanced to the northeast. “We’d best get all this offloaded.”
Beltur followed the merchant’s eyes. The clouds moving over the horizon were definitely dark and ominous. Then he looked at the ingots. Each was roughly twelve digits long, nine wide, and five high.
Jorhan loaded Beltur with three of them. “Set them on the floor next to the far bench.”
Beltur nodded and started back up the lane. The three stones’ worth of ingots didn’t seem all that heavy when he started out, but his fingers felt like they were close to freezing by the time he eased the ingots onto the smithy floor. He didn’t want to get his new coat filthy, but he did put on the gloves before he headed back down to the wagon, drawn by two imposing dray horses. Accompanying the wagon were two mounted guards.
Despite the gloves, after five more trips, Beltur’s hands were cold, his fingers close to cramping, and he was definitely shivering as he stood by the forge, trying to warm up.
Barrynt returned to the smithy carrying a wooden crate. “What’s in here is from Johlana. She said not to go through all the pearapple preserves first.”
Jorhan laughed. “She would.” After a moment, he added, “I appreciate the copper.”
“It worked out well for us both,” returned the merchant. “I wouldn’t have been looking for something otherwise, and come up with the wool. Once we’re settled in Elparta, I’ll be out to see you. But not until the roads clear.”
“I’ll be here.”
“Until I can persuade you to come to Axalt.” Barrynt smiled, then turned toward the door.
Jorhan moved to join him, and the two walked down toward the waiting wagon. Beltur closed the smithy door and walked back to the forge, where he added more coal and then continued to warm himself.
Before that long, Jorhan returned, closing the door quickly and walking over to the forge. “He’s a good man, Barrynt is. He would have brought the copper even if he hadn’t found something to sell in Elparta.”
Beltur nodded, thinking that Barrynt seemed far more likable and straightforward than those of traders’ families he’d met so far in Elparta. “You said Barrynt was a merchant, not a trader. Is there a difference?”
“In Axalt, everyone in trade is a merchant. In Elparta, the largest and most prosperous are traders, the rest merchants. Barrynt might be considered a lesser trader if he lived here, but his family goes way back in Axalt. Johlana’s much happier there.”
“How did they meet?”
“He needed some copperwork done, quick-like, before he headed back to Axalt. Old Paeltyr sent him to me. Never saw such a forlorn fellow.”
“Forlorn?” That didn’t square with what Beltur had seen.
“He’d lost his consort and a daughter to the red flux while he was traveling and trading. Johlana tried to cheer him up.” Jorhan grinned. “He must have liked that. He kept coming back. Took two years, but he finally asked her.” The smith looked toward the forge. “You want to work the bellows so we can heat up a new melt?” He smiled happily. “We’ve still got two more straight-swords to cast.”
“I can do that.”
Some four glasses later, Beltur took a deep breath once he was certain that the order/chaos mesh was firmly set in the bronze held in the mold of the second straight-sword, then stepped away and just stood there.
As he blotted his forehead, he remembered what he’d meant to tell Jorhan. “There’s something you should know. The knife you finished for me … well, it’s especially useful when I’ve helped the healers.”
“It is?”
Beltur nodded. “That’s because it doesn’t favor order or chaos.”
“That’s something to keep in mind.” Jorhan frowned. “Healers really can’t afford knives like that, though.”
“No … but wealthy traders who employ healers can.”
“That’s a thought. Thank you.”
“Thank you.” In thinking about the knife, Beltur realized something else. “You know, we’ve cast at least a half score of mirrors, and I’ve never seen one that you’ve finished.”
“Oh … I suppose you haven’t. I’ll get your pay and bring back the one we did on fourday.”
Beltur donned his old tunic, but not the heavy overcoat. He only had to wait a short time before Jorhan returned.
“Here you are.” The smith handed over four silvers. “Now that we’ve got the copper, you’re getting the rate for piecework. I still owe you a gold and more, but that will have to wait until the Lydian pays me.”
“Thank you.” Beltur slipped the silvers into his belt wallet, then took, almost gingerly, the finished mirror that Jorhan extended, examining the graceful raised and chased scrollwork on the back and along the handle, and then studying the silvery polished oval of the face of the mirror. “It’s beautiful.”
“The cupridium comes out more silver than the bronze, and that makes the reflection seem sharper.”
“I think that has to do with your finish work.”
Jorhan smiled. “It took me a long time to learn how to do it right, but the same work shows up better in cupridium.”
“What will you get for that?” As he handed the mirror back to the smith, Beltur wished he could have bought such a mirror for Jessyla.
“If I sold it, it might bring three golds, certainly two. But this one is for Johlana. She has a bronze mirror, but nothing this fine. I’ll give it to Barrynt to take back when he returns.”
Beltur nodded. Jorhan had said more than once that the small items forged in cupridium and finished artfully paid well, besides taking less copper. “You know I have City Patrol duty tomorrow.”
“I do, but there’s enough finish work here to keep me busy until oneday. I’ll see you then. That’s if the road is clear enough for you to get here.”
“Does the snow get that deep with one storm?”
“Not usually, and not this early. It has happened. I don’t envy you if you have to patrol tomorrow.”
“I can always hope it’s not too deep.”
“I’ll keep good thoughts for you.”
“Thank you. I can always use them.” Beltur donned the overcoat and then pulled on the gloves. After a nod to the smith, he stepped out of the smithy and into the wind, blowing harder and colder than before under a sky covered with thick and dark clouds. Scattered snowflakes whipped pa
st his face as he strode down the lane toward the road.
By the time he reached the city gate, the snowflakes were falling more heavily, and a thin layer of snow was beginning to accumulate in places sheltered from the wind. Beltur had absolutely no doubts that the question wasn’t whether there would be snow across Elparta in the morning, but only how deep it would be.
He turned onto the wall road heading north and kept walking.
V
When Beltur woke on sevenday, his room was even colder than it had been the previous morning, but by the time he finished fixing breakfast, the kitchen seemed warmer than it had been on sixday, perhaps because Meldryn had closed all the shutters the afternoon before, even before Beltur had gotten back from the smithy.
As soon as Meldryn sat down at the table, he said, “Did you see the loaf I left for you?”
“I did, thank you.”
“I also left a scarf on the chair in the parlor. You’ll need it to keep your ears from freezing. I think it was Duardyn’s, but I’m not sure. He died two years ago, and there wasn’t anyone to return it to. We kept it because you never know when you might need a spare.”
“Thank you. My ears almost froze coming home.” Beltur set a platter in front of Meldryn, with his effort at an omelet.
“I know. I could tell when you came in. It didn’t get this cold in Fenard, I take it?”
“Not that I can remember.” Beltur took his seat and immediately began to eat, thinking that he could have used more salt and a touch of something else in the eggs, but what he wasn’t certain.
“This is good.”
“It could be better. What spice might help?”
“Tarragon or sage, but not too much. There are dried bundles of each in the spice drawers.”
“Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind for the next time.”
They both ate quickly. Then Meldryn hurried back to the bakery, and Beltur cleaned up, carefully, because he doubted that Laranya would be coming, then donned his good tunic and his visored cap, overcoat, and gloves, belatedly remembering the dark blue scarf Meldryn had laid out.
When Beltur opened the front door to leave for Patrol headquarters, the light outside was so bright he couldn’t see anything, and the first breath he took almost hurt because the air was so cold. He immediately wrapped the scarf across his mouth and nose. After a moment, he could see—if he squinted—and he realized that the brightness came from the reflection of the sun off the snow. He was relieved to see that the snowfall totaled perhaps thirteen digits at most, not even a full cubit.
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