The patrol captain did not look down at the two iron gorgets on the bench. His jaw hardened as Tor and the lantern corporal stepped sideways out of the file and backed up the wet stone aisle toward Osha.
“Two deserters will answer to the provost when the basin is secure,” the captain said to the three soldiers still holding their pikes behind him. “An admitted error in an early trial does not cancel our orders or bring back the thirty men we buried at the border forts. Form two abreast and clear the shelves. Take the woman with the book first.”
He raised his buckler and stepped past the yellow flowstone pillar.
Up by the hottest rim of the pool, Chaska stood with her boot braced against a tall woven reed basket covered with a weighted slate lid. Inside the basket, three dozen large, harmless grey vapor moths clung to dry willow twigs, gathered the day before from the warm vents to keep them out of the cold draft.
“Cover your nose, Edris,” Chaska called out.
With her good right hand she shoved the slate lid off the basket, tipped the wicker rim straight over the scalding sulfur inlet, and gave the bottom a hard thump with her knee.
