The rider heads for the lighted window behind the porch. Liedral opens the door. “Liedral?” “Kadara! Are you all right? Where’s Brede?” “He’s fine. No, he’s not. He’s tired. He’s not a marshal, but there’s no one else. He couldn’t come. So he sent me.” The redhead dismounts. A dull clanging resounds from the smithy. “He’s still at it? Does he always work this late?” “I think everyone from Reluce must.” A touch of bitterness edges Liedral’s voice. “If it isn’t Council services, it’s goods to sell. If it isn’t goods to sell, it’s engine parts.” Liedral brushes snow from her uncovered hair. “I’m sorry. Let’s put your horse in the stable. I’ll get you hot cider…and whatever else we can offer.” The two women walk toward the stable. “Is he still working on that darkness-damned engine?”
