บททั้งหมดของ Blue Thread, Silver Scales: บทที่ 11 - บทที่ 20

AilisThe sack was heavier in the middle of the bridge.I was certain of this.It had already been too heavy when someone put it into my arms, but halfway across, while the temporary boards shifted beneath my shoes and the river moved somewhere below, it became considerably worse.Beren held the other end.“I have it,” I said.“You have half of it.”“I had all of it before you interfered.”“Badly.”The bridge creaked.I looked directly at the far bank.Beren looked down.“Don’t.”“What?”“Tell me anything about the water.”“I wasn’t going to.”“You looked.”“I am allowed to look.”“Quietly.”He laughed.We reached the other side.I released the sack.My arms immediately became more reasonable.Then someone handed me another one.I looked at Beren.He had already walked away.Coward.The wagons had to be lightened before they could cross, so most of the afternoon became a complicated exchange of carrying and waiting. Sacks, crates, bundles, and barrels went over separately while soldier

AilisThe southern road appeared the next morning, narrow and damp between two wooded slopes.Beren pointed at it as though I had not already noticed.“There.”“I can see it.”“Forward command.”“I know.”Hoofprints marked the softer earth where Aodren’s riders had turned away. There was nobody on the road now, which was reasonable. Forward command had continued forward. That was generally the point.I adjusted the strap of my bag and kept walking.The trees hid the turn before long.I did not look back.There was nothing there to see.By late afternoon, the column began coming apart.Not the wagons. I had acquired enough experience with wagons to understand that distinction mattered.We entered a broad yard crowded with carts, soldiers, clerks, bundles, and families who had travelled beside one another for days and were suddenly being separated according to instructions most of them had probably received only that morning. Names were called. Loads shifted. One family disappeared throu

AilisBreakfast was better on my second morning.This required investigation.The porridge was thicker than yesterday’s, with browned onions folded through it and a little crumbled ovrin cheese on top. Someone had also put herbs into the bread before baking it.I ate one piece.Then another.Maela passed my table.I pointed toward the kitchen.“Different.”She looked at the bowl.Then toward the kitchen.“Tovan.”I did not know that word.Apparently it was a person.I discovered this when I carried my empty bowl through the kitchen doorway and nearly walked into him.He was older than Maela, or perhaps merely looked it. Long Rhevan¹ ears rose through iron-gray hair, one angled toward the oven while the other turned toward me.Then both turned toward me.I stopped.He looked at the bowl in my hands.Then at me.Then said something in Aedrathi.I understood none of it.“Good morning.”Nothing.He pointed at the bowl.I gave it to him.Wrong.His ears moved.He took the bowl, put it onto

AodrenThe new commander had moved my map.Not far.That made it worse.I stood inside the command tent and looked at the southern road where it now lay slightly too close to the inkstone.General Erven followed my attention.“I needed the western reports.”“They were beneath the road.”“I noticed.”“You moved it.”“Yes.”I considered the arrangement.The road remained where he had put it.This was his command tent now.Mostly.Outside, someone was taking down one of my standards.That settled the matter more efficiently than ceremony could have.I picked up the western reports and handed them to him.“The scouts disagree about the lower ford.”Erven opened the first sheet. “Which scouts?”“All of them.”He looked up.“That is useful.”“It tells you not to trust the ford.”Torren came through the tent entrance carrying his gloves and no visible intention of helping either of us.“Are you still giving orders?”“No.”Erven looked between us.Torren looked at the map.“You moved his road.

AilisLady Serayne’s feathers were more difficult than they had looked downstairs.This pleased me.Easy repairs were useful. Difficult ones were interesting.I opened the damaged section farther than the tear itself, removing several perfectly sound stitches before I touched anything broken. It hurt a little.Not emotionally.The stitches were simply very good.Whoever had embroidered the feathers knew what they were doing. Each one had been shaped with changes in thread direction so small that the pale silk caught the lamp differently along the curve.I held the cloth closer.Then farther away.Better farther.Embroidery was rude like that. You could spend an evening making individual stitches beautiful only to discover that together they had become ugly.I began rebuilding the support beneath them.The first feather settled correctly.The second did not.I removed it.Again.Better.Downstairs, the tavern continued without me. Cups struck tables. Someone called loudly enough that I