Entering the river city of Oran under crisp autumn skies, the mountain carts parted ways at the lower crossroads. Daro Kesh rode north toward his black-tiled compound with Kes. Meanwhile, Pera guided Senn and his children toward their river-ward lodging. Before looking at a single rented room for herself, Mina walked uphill to the two-story timber medicine room of Master Healer Kaelen, who had held her apprenticeship contract for the past four years.
Seyun walked one pace behind her carrying her cedar medicine chest against his waist with both hands. Keeping well within the lifting limit of his figure-eight shoulder wrap and wearing a plain gray linen coat that hid the scars at his collarbones. Halin followed at his elbow. He looked up curiously at the twelve carved stone steps and the polished brass pestle hanging above Kaelen’s street gate.
Inside the front hall, where fine china jars of candied ginseng and scented bitter pine-resin stood behind glass lattices for wealthy merchants, Master Kaelen looked up from his counting frame with an expression of mild, put-upon relief.
“So you have finally come back down from the hills, Mina,” Kaelen said. He gestured toward the rear curtain with his ivory tally stick without asking a single question about the northern ridge or the patients she had tended. “Your prolonged absence chasing after your brother’s troubles left the back room three weeks behind on winter warming plasters. Hang your cloak on the peg, tie on the gray apron, and start sieving the…
