She looked to Beltur. “It will be easier if you can immobilize the leg.” Then she turned to the two men who had carried their comrade in. “You two will have to hold him down.”
Beltur moved closer, to where he could see without getting in Herrara’s way.
He had to admire the older healer’s speed and skill in not only sawing through bone, but especially in sewing shut the blood vessels. He tried not to wince when the healer used a rasp to smooth the end of the bones.
Almost before Beltur realized it, she finished off by sewing the skin so that only a small area was left open to drain.
“You’ll need to take out as much chaos as you can,” she said to Beltur.
Beltur was definitely light-headed when he finished.
“Go get something to eat,” Herrara said. “There’s some bread and cheese in the study.”
Beltur didn’t question her. He just left the surgery. Behind him he caught a few words.
“… healer and a mage … getting the chaos out is hard…”
Once in the study, Beltur found the cheese and bread, and slowly began to eat. A good quint passed before he felt better, and it wasn’t long after that before Herrara appeared.
“I’m sorry, but there was a lot of chaos there.”
“He just might live because of what you did. It took them two glasses to get him here.”
“You’ve done that more than a few times,” Beltur observed.
“Enough,” she replied dryly. “Between sledges, wagons, and timbering, I do a score or so a year. This one was easier because you kept his leg absolutely still. If you can keep the chaos out of it, he should recover, and the damage was low enough that he’ll be able to walk with a peg leg.”
The rest of the day was comparatively uneventful, for which Beltur was most thankful.
At a quint past fourth glass, after walking back to the cot through the scattered snow flurries that had barely dropped a digit of snow, Beltur stepped inside, still marveling at the fact that he was consorted and had a place for the two of them as he took off his coat and hung it on one of the wall pegs.
Jessyla hurried out from the kitchen and hugged him. “It’s good to see you. You look a little worn.”
“I could use some of that ale.”
“Just sit down. I’ll bring you a mug.”
“I can get it.”
“Beltur … I can tell you’ve had a hard day. Sit down.”
He didn’t argue. He just accepted the mug of ale gratefully when Jessyla returned with it, and took a long swallow.
“What happened?”
“It started with the serving woman who was stabbed by a trader from Certis…” Beltur summarized the day’s events, ending with, “You’ve never mentioned things like that, but I can’t believe they haven’t happened to you.”
“I haven’t had to watch Herrara take off a leg, but we’ve had broken bones, bad burns, some deep, deep cuts.”
“She’s very good. I could never do what I watched her do with that man’s leg. My fingers aren’t that deft.”
“You’re good with other things. She might not have done it so well without your help.”
Beltur took another healthy swallow of the ale. “This does help.”
“I’m glad.” She paused. “You don’t mind if I don’t come to the Council House with you this evening, do you?”
“So long as you don’t mind if I go.”
“I don’t mind. I think it’s better that you’re there. Also, I can have dinner ready when you come back.”
“Can I ask—”
“No, you can’t. It’s a surprise.” Her smile was wry. “Not too much of a surprise, I hope. Just sit here and talk to me for a few moments. If you’re going to take Slowpoke, you can’t stay long.”
Jessyla was right about that, and less than a quint later he was at Barrynt’s stabling Slowpoke. Jorhan had already saddled his mount and one for Barrynt. Then the three rode to the Council House. This time, Beltur raised full shields before entering the chamber. Again, they sat in the front row.
Beltur turned to Barrynt. “Is the councilor in the middle the head councilor?”
“Karanstyl is for this season. They change every season. Except the mage-councilor never heads the Council in the public meetings.”
Others began to drift into the chamber, close to a score by the time the councilors filed in. Once again Beltur sensed the woman with the strength of blackness to be a healer, but unlike at the previous Council meeting, when she had been alone, this time she had come with another woman, since the two exchanged a few words every so often. Neither Taegyn nor Naerkaal seemed to recognize Beltur, and that was for the best, Beltur thought.
Karanstyl addressed the chamber. “The first matter is that of the proposal of Jorhan the smith. Jorhan, please stand.”
The smith stood and waited.
“Jorhan, the Council has approved the use of the Widow Santhela’s building for your use as a coppersmithy. You are limited to yourself and no more than two other assistants or smiths at any one time. No more than two barrels of wastes may be stored on the premises. All wastes must be carried to the dump at the southwest corner of south town and placed in the area for slag and metal wastes. Since you will be rebuilding the forge in the building, the Council will inspect that forge at some point after it is completed. Repairs may be required if the Council finds the forge unsafe. You owe the Council two silvers, one silver for a season’s worth of dumping wastes, the other for snow clearing of the street in front of the premises. You will owe another silver for dumping in the first eightday of each season.” Karanstyl paused. “Is that clear?”
“Yes, Councilor. Can I pay you now?”
“You can indeed.”
Jorhan handed over two silvers.
“You may go, Jorhan. The Council has several other proposals to consider.”
Barrynt rose and nodded to the Council. Beltur followed his example, and the three walked from the chamber.
Once they were outside, Jorhan looked at Barrynt. “Every time I come here, I have to pay more silvers.”
“You don’t owe anything more until the first eightday of spring,” said Barrynt.
“Except what it will cost me for stone or bricks and mortar … and a good solid anvil. That chandler of yours promised he’d have one for me by the end of the eightday.”
“If he said he would, he will.”
“He did have a few things I liked enough to buy,” admitted Jorhan.
Beltur hid a grin in his scarf.
After the ride back to Barrynt’s, he quickly groomed Slowpoke, then walked back to the cot, where he was greeted with the warm odor of cooking, with a hint of something burned. He almost made it to the kitchen before Jessyla spoke.
“The burned stuff you smell isn’t for dinner. We’re having fowl in a sort of pearapple sauce. Just sit down at the table. No … pour us each a mug of ale, and then sit down.”
Beltur did just that and then asked, “Where did you get a fowl?”
“Johlana brought the fowl for us. We talked for a glass. She’s really very nice. I think she misses Halhana.”
“But Halhana lives right here in Axalt.”
“I think Johlana would like to spend more time with her. I get the feeling that Eshult’s parents look down on Barrynt and Johlana, especially Johlana.”
“That was obvious when I met them, and I told you what they were wearing, and how much it likely cost. I learned a little more today. Herrara mentioned Emlyn. He’s as wealthy and powerful as the large traders in Elparta. He’s the one who handles the mountain silver trade.”
Jessyla set a platter in front of Beltur, with half a fowl breast and a leg, along with quilla strips, and boiled potatoes. “I know it looks odd, but it tastes all right.”
He looked at her platter, which had the wing with half a breast.
“The other half of the fowl is for tomorrow night.”
“I suppose Johlana told you only to give us hal
f tonight,” said Beltur, mock-mournfully.
Jessyla laughed as she seated herself. “She did.”
Beltur cut a morsel, making sure it had some sauce, and ate it. “That’s rather good.”
“I’ll take ‘rather good,’ only because you’ve been spoiled by Meldryn’s cooking.”
“I said it was good,” Beltur protested.
“‘Rather good,’ I believe.” Jessyla spoiled the severity of her words with a grin. “For that, you owe me another lesson in magery. After dinner.”
“I can do that. And this is good.”
Smiling, Jessyla shook her head.
Beltur laughed sheepishly.
XLVI
On sevenday, Beltur cleaned up the kitchen and the rest of the cot, cleared the night’s snowfall snow from the walks, and walked to Barrynt’s, where he cleaned the stables—after he spent some time with Slowpoke, talking to him as he groomed him and checked his hooves. After that, Beltur walked to the side door, where he knocked.
Asala opened the door. “The mistress says that you and Healer Jessyla don’t have to knock. You’re family. You do have to clean your boots.”
Beltur grinned and cleaned his boots before taking off his coat and making his way to the parlor, where he actually found Johlana, seated in an armchair, apparently sewing.
“Good morning, Beltur. What can I do for you?”
“I didn’t have anything in mind. What are you sewing?”
“I’m not properly sewing at all. This is lace. I used to do it for Barrynt, but I made him promise not to tell anyone that I’d done it. This will be for Halhana.”
Beltur looked more carefully, taking in the design. “That’s beautiful.”
“My mother taught me. It’s better than anything Barrynt found anywhere, and it helped him back then, but…” She smiled. “Merchant’s consorts aren’t lacemakers, and if anyone found out, especially Sarysta, it wouldn’t have been good.”
“He wants the best for you.”
“He always has, and I’d rather not see him unhappy … or angry. He can be terrible. Not at family, but at those who belittle or hurt those he cares for. He’s very protective of his family and his close friends.”
Beltur recalled Jorhan saying something of the sort. “I don’t want to pry, but … you worry about Halhana? Eshult’s parents, perhaps?”
Johlana lowered the small frame she held. “You see more than most men, Beltur. Or you listen to your consort,” she added. “That’s almost as good.”
“Some of both,” admitted Beltur.
“In the family, it’s no secret. Sarysta wasn’t all that keen on her boy consorting Halhana, but they’re so much in love, and he wouldn’t have anyone else. Not that there was a girl in Axalt to compare to her.”
“Is he the oldest son?”
“The oldest of two. He’s much older than Escaylt, and compared to Eshult, Escaylt’s gray ash, not even a clinker. Despite pretty faces and figures, their daughters aren’t much better. Thankfully, Ryntaar and Frankyr have already seen that.”
“Sarysta wanted Eshult to consort for more golds?”
“That was part of it. The rest … it was turned to ashes a long time ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I appreciate your kindness. You don’t have to be sorry. You and Jessyla have already been through more than I ever had to weather, and you’re still young.” She smiled. “I am grateful that you brought Jorhan here.”
“It’s more like he brought me.”
“He couldn’t have come without what you did.”
“We work well together.”
She nodded. “He’ll be happier once he’s back to work. He’s never liked being idle.”
“I’ll be riding to south town to see how things are coming with the smithy.”
“No matter how much he complains, that’s what he’d rather be doing. You know that.”
“That … and that he wants everything he does to be the best.” Beltur looked at the lace. “As do you, I suspect.”
A smile flashed across Johlana’s face. “I can’t imagine that.”
“I’d better be going.”
“If Jorhan complains about your not being there earlier, tell him I kept you.”
Beltur just smiled before he turned.
After leaving the house, he saddled Slowpoke, then led the gelding out into the cold, where he mounted, and the two set out for south town. As he rode, he thought over what Johlana had said. For some reason, the trouble between Eshult’s parents and Halhana’s parents dealt with Johlana and also had something to do with Barrynt’s first consort. He also couldn’t help but wonder about Barrynt being terrible when he felt those he cared for were threatened. But then, a few times, he’d seen a momentary bit of anger, and he had the feeling that Barrynt kept that anger walled away—and that was dangerous when the wall broke.
Maybe he should watch Barrynt more closely, especially when Halhana’s name came up.
Once he reached the smithy and dismounted, he made sure that Slowpoke was securely tied to the hitching rail before entering the building. In one corner were laid out Jorhan’s tools and everything relating to smithing, including some copper and tin ingots.
Jorhan was mortaring bricks into place to build up the forge.
“Wondered when you’d show up.” The smith did not look up.
“I work even-numbered days at the healing house, remember.”
“You’re wasted there.”
“I’m not wasted. I can help you forge things here and earn more coins. But you don’t need me every day, and I need to get better at healing so I don’t get into real trouble. I might as well get paid for learning as doing it for nothing.”
“Something to be said for that. Would you fetch me bricks from the pile by the door?”
“I’d be happy to.” Beltur walked back toward the door. He carried an armload back and stacked them neatly. He did the same once more, and repeated those efforts until there were enough bricks where Jorhan could reach them fairly easily.
“Appreciate that.”
“I’m glad to help. How are you coming with finding coal and copper?”
“Coal’s more of a problem than copper. Hard coal, anyway. It’s like Barrynt says. Nobody wants to mine when it’s cold. I don’t see why. It’s not that cold inside a mine, especially if you’ve got doors on the shaft, like you ought to anyway. They insist on keeping the roads clear.” Jorhan shook his head. “Took me almost an eightday, but a fellow will be delivering some tomorrow. By then, I should have the forge finished. Not to be used. Take a few days for the mortar to set the way I want. Could have started earlier, except I couldn’t get enough mortar. Had to pay extra silvers.”
“You seem to be doing well.”
“The way things are going, it’s going to be close to an eightday before I can even think about forging. The only thing I can get for molds right now is clay. You can help with that on oneday. Good thing I brought a good amount of wax. Would help if I had plaster as well…”
Beltur just listened for a time. When Jorhan seemed finished, he said, “Just let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
“You’ll know. I’d really like to get started.”
Beltur frowned. “You didn’t think we’d be doing that much in winter. Do you have something in mind? A new buyer?”
“Not a buyer. I asked Johlana what I could do for them. She said that she’d like a larger mirror on a stand for Halhana … if we could. That would be something special.” The smith barked a rueful laugh. “Something that would even impress her consort’s parents.”
“Emlyn and Sarysta?” Again? “I met them the other day. They’re very, very well-off, most likely because he handles the silver trade for the mountain people. For some reason,” said Beltur sardonically, “they don’t trust the Gallosians or the Certans … and apparently not the traders of Spidlar.”
“Those mountain people know a thing or two … but if Emlyn’s the best…” Jo
rhan didn’t finish the statement.
As far as Beltur was concerned, the smith didn’t have to. “I’ve got Slowpoke outside. He needs to be ridden a bit more. Is there anything I can get for you?”
“Not today. I want to get the brickwork done here.” Jorhan snorted. “I’ll need to be careful, what with the frigging Council poking around. Last thing I want is to have to redo it.”
“What about moving that workbench from the back room?”
“We’ll do that later. It’ll just get in the way right now. Do whatever you have to. You might stop by on oneday.”
“I’ll be here.” Beltur nodded and turned, deciding that he’d ride Slowpoke around south town for a bit, just to get a better feel for the place.
XLVII
Eightday and oneday passed uneventfully, but by twoday morning the snow was coming down in sheets so thick that Beltur could only see a few yards as he struggled first through the whiteness to Barrynt’s stables and then, after tending to stables and horses, to the healing house. He was glad that he’d ridden all three horses on oneday, and that he’d been able to help Jorhan wrestle his “new” anvil into place. He and Slowpoke had also carried two heavy bags of clay for molds to the smithy from a potterage at the north end of south town.
When he reached the healing house, Herrara immediately dispatched him to look in on Wurfael, whom he found in a chamber near the west end of the main level.
The burly man was propped up in a sitting position on the bed. His eyes went to Beltur and then dropped.
“Good morning. I need to take a look at that leg.”
“What’s left of it.”
“There’s a lot left.” Beltur studied the man’s stump with his senses, finding some small patches of chaos, but very few compared to the amount that he’d had to deal with in Poldaark’s case. That made sense, given Herrara’s skill. After taking care of the chaos, he said, “That looks like it will heal cleanly.”
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