Kezra Venn re-entered the Alderfast community hall. Then, the oil lamps had been trimmed low to conserve animal fat. She cast deep, flickering shadows across the rough pine paneling. Around the master council table, Adra Pike, Yseld Arken, and Paxa Sel were still bent over the topographical map of the pass, measuring distances with brass dividers and debating the timing of the morning movement.
Kezra walked straight to the table and laid the small terracotta metal tube, with its broken wax seal, directly onto the center of the drawn pass. Beside it, she placed the flattened scrap of oiled linen paper carrying Maud’s five lines of ink.
‘Read the southern dispatch,’ Kezra said, looking across at Adra and Yseld.
Adra drew the paper under the lamp. Her dark brows drew together as her eyes traced the sharp, angular lettering. As she finished reading, a slow, grim smile touched the corners of her mouth. The rare, hard smile of a miner who has just heard the timber props take the weight of a shifting roof without a single crack.
‘Seventy-eight townspeople evacuated without a scratch,’ Adra murmured, looking up at Kezra with genuine admiration. ‘The public inventory left open to show empty bins. The stone anchors dug up and thrown into the lime pit. The fire shut down to create a smoke screen. And thirty cavalry troopers sent chasing an empty runaway cart down the turnpike. Your mother is a tough woman, Kezra. She fought a thirty-man guard post calm distance…
