On the second morning after the descent from the ridge, the swelling around Seyun’s left shoulder had settled from a sharp tearing heat into a heavy, stiffening throb under Mina’s fresh comfrey plaster. He walked the flat stone slab hall to keep his legs from cramping. He met Commander Keth Or outside the barred door of the side room. Keth’s right arm was bound in a broad linen sling over the hand Daro Kesh had shattered in their first northern meet and the two fingers the Measure’s needle had cost him at the lower shrine. Yesterday’s final recoil from breaking the second test socket had left his right shoulder dark with bruising.
In his uninjured left hand, Keth carried a heavy, curved piece of metal about a foot long. It was wrapped in coarse hemp sacking. At Keth’s quiet request, the guard lifted the iron bar. Seyun stood in the open doorway while the former recovery commander stepped inside.
Reth Mal sat on the plank bench with his braced right wrist resting across his knee, his breakfast trencher pushed aside half-eaten. When he saw Keth enter without a recovery cloak or a commission badge at his belt, Reth’s lip curled.
