The brass tongue of the harness buckle was jammed with dried river silt and horse grease.
Tobin’s bloody fingers slipped twice across the metal prong, leaving smears of gore across the stiffened bull-hide strap. The boy’s teeth were gritted so hard against the pain that a fine spray of crimson flecks misted from his lips with every convulsive breath. He could not lift his hips from the wet flagstones, but his left shoulder twisted with a desperate, dying strength, trying to wrench the harness free from his side.
“Let me,” Jon Hale said softly.
He reached down, his fingers finding the buckle pin beneath Tobin’s coat. The leather was thick, double-stitched for courier service along the imperial post roads, designed to withstand rain, mud, and the clawing branches of mountain trails. Jon pressed the tongue inward, feeling the mechanical resistance give way with a dull, wet click. He slid the wide leather strap from the brass keeper and lifted the harness clear of the boy’s hip.
Attached to the heavy belt by two brass rings hung a dull, cylindrical tube fourteen inches long and three inches thick.
It was fashioned from solid, rolled lead, half an inch thick, its surface pitted and scarred by hard miles in the saddle. Both end caps were sealed with stamped plugs of soft grey metal, cold to the touch and heavy in Jon’s hands. Lead was not used for common letters or merchant bills; it was used exclusively by the High Chancellery for dispatches…
