While Kes and Pera carried two of the heavy oilcloth sacks into the dry storeroom behind Mina’s clinic, Bel Sar sat on the long stone bench in the hospice courtyard with his iron-shod staff laid across his knees. He declined the mug of hot herb broth Mother Renn offered him, asking only for plain boiled water so he wouldn’t waste patient rations on an uninjured stomach.
Seyun sat on the opposite end of the bench. Meanwhile, Ilyra and Daro stood near the wellhead within easy hearing. High above the courtyard wall, the pale line of the northern sky-slit pulsed once against the morning clouds. It sent a faint shaking through the soles of their boots.
“Senior Elder Tor Ves unlocked the inner-basin storehouse himself two nights ago,” Bel began, his rough voice devoid of diplomatic polish. “Not out of sudden love for you, boy, and not because his conscience kept him awake over the winter check. After that Court rider’s device woke the stone spring guardian and you people helped put it back to sleep without wrecking the terrace, Tor finally realized that if the northern sky splits open, Ash Reed’s hot spring will drain into cold gravel along with every other vein in the valley.”
