With her useful left hand and her teeth, Ysabet knotted the heavy canvas sling between the two ash poles and clipped the forward loops onto the iron draught-rings of Tern’s and Moth’s shoulder harnesses while old Siv stood watch at the turn with his nose to the upper draft. Kiv had built those harnesses for hauling injured miners out of narrow drifts, and the two younger wolves stood rock-steady while Osha padded the cross-strap that would take the weight under Edris’s arms.
As Ysabet knelt to check the clearance around Edris’s splinted left hip, the priest looked down at her bent right knuckles resting against the pole.
“An hour ago on the causeway, you wouldn’t let me within reach of a spare rope,” Edris said quietly. “Why trust me to carry a warning against my own order’s soldiers now? Once Osha and I are around the bend, one shout from me would bring Veyt’s patrol down on the spring before you could stop it.”
Ysabet pulled the canvas buckle tight with her left hand and stood up, wiping wet stone dust off her knees.
“I’m not declaring your character mended, Precentor,” she said plainly. “And I’m not trusting you with the whole world. I watched Veyt’s corporal kneel on your chest when you asked for five minutes to think, and I watched you move away from the cage when Pip asked you to. You’ve agreed to do one specific job between this rock and the warm pools. Whether you keep…
