Outside Ash Reed Sect’s main timber wall, where a temporary paddock of rope and pine poles had been erected for the refugees and caravan mules, Kes stood stamping his boots in the trampled snow beside a two-wheeled handcart. The youth’s breath plumed white in the late afternoon chill. His left shoulder still carried the slight inward hitch left by the Aperture Court’s rigid substitute breathing method. The standardized training list the test judges had forced upon the Black-Roof School after revoking Daro Kesh’s teaching license.
Despite that permanent scar in his channels, Kes had hauled the handcart thirty miles up the frozen valley trace from the school north of Oran. That brought sacks of very thirsty barley, salted turnip cakes, and three double-wrapped oilcloth parcels containing Archivist Vel’s approved copies of the Counterpoise Sect memorial rosters. Seyun walked out to the lane behind Daro. That kept his stride slow on his braced toe while listening to the crunch of crusted snow under their boots.
“The axle pin held on the upper switchbacks, Master Kesh,” Kes reported as soon as Daro reached the cart, untying the frost-stiffened hemp lashing with nimble, purple-knuckled fingers. “Archivist Vel wanted to ride up in the cart bed himself to check the northern seal stone carvings. But his hip locked up after the frost two nights ago. He made me swear on the kitchencleaver that I wouldn’t let Osen Tal near the duplicate name-leaves.”
