Sigra had room for them, but she made them take their boots off first.
Bellwether’s sleeping hall had a clean reed floor, a stove set into a stone corner and three rows of low beds. Iven saw the beds and understood that he had been thinking about them for several hours. He saw the floor and understood why Sigra stood in the doorway with a bucket.
“Boots there. Wet things there. Anyone bringing a weapon into the beds can sleep with it outside.”
Jora looked at the locked weapon rack.
“Who keeps the key?”
“I do. Night watch has the other. You can meet them after supper.”
Jora examined the rack, accepted the arrangement and unloaded her rifle before handing it over. Her guards followed. Iven put the lance in the long lower compartment and kept his ordinary tool roll. Sigra looked at it, decided she could live with a spanner and let him pass.
The party had reached the shelf a day ahead of Safa’s cautious first-stage estimate. The rain had slowed them, but the upper springs were running, and no pack animal had gone lame. They would use the gained day for rest, purchases and the next route check.
