Ten days after the venting of the subterranean shaft, on the morning of the twenty-first day of Flood Month, every bench and standing aisle in the timber-framed Harth Guild Hall was packed shoulder to shoulder with the householders of the valley and the unarmed delegates of the Northern Host.
High leaded windows along both walls stood hooked open to the late-spring breeze, letting in the smell of pine scaffolding from the river bridge and the clank of trowels where masons were resetting the coping stones along the quay. Beneath the hammer-beam trusses of cured mountain oak at the north end of the hall, the long walnut table of the municipal assize had been raised on a low dais of four steps.
Lady Signe Lorr sat in the center magistrate’s chair in her black wool circuit robes, her brass-bound copy of the Provincial Statutes open before her. Flanking her sat the four elected guild trustees of the Harth municipal compact: Mistress of Salt and Tallow Bessa Karr, Master of Masons Marris Gault, Master Weaver Joran Finch, and Master Smith Garrick Holt. At a slant-top desk to the right, notary Corve Penner sat with three goose quills and a folio of stamped rag-paper, recording every word spoken into the record.
