Korrin argued for the riders with both hands flat on the table and two imperatives to every sentence, the way he argued in the granary when a sack had been short-weighted and the carter was lying about it.
“Ride,” he said. “Now. The Hard Hands are in the yard with the horses saddled. Six of them. The Forge has sent up the spare rope. The bar is on the cart and the cart is at the sluice, and the sluice is going to fall if somebody does not tell the Lessaran sappers to go home. Ride, Tallow. Tell them to go.”
Tallow answered without raising his voice, which was the only thing Korrin could not forgive him for.
“The Bond pledges your labour upon the land within the Crown’s claim line,” said Tallow. “I have read it aloud four times this week. It is the same sentence every time, and I am tired of the sound of it. The Crown’s claim runs past the sluice-house to the granary. If you ride to the granary in the Hold’s service, the Chancery will enter the labour on its own side of the line. It will be the Crown’s labour. It will be written in the Chancery’s book in Sallowmere within the week, under your name, as a Bonded Hand serving the Crown’s ground.” He turned a page of the Bond with one finger, very carefully, as though the paper might cut him. “The Hold would be counting its own rider for the…
