Sixty Three: Scouted

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"You still with me?"

Hap glanced over his shoulder, and Jordan scowled back. His face was plastered with sweat, and his shoulders ached under the weight of their shopping. Jordan was carrying almost all of a supply run for eight Unspoken, not including visitors, and the only thing he'd gained from the trip was an accurate knowledge of how much food Unspoken could get through. He carried two bulging bags of vegetables, herbs, bread and grain. A sizeable wheel of cheese nestled in one, the straw that broke the camel's back – or the cheese that pulled his arm out of its socket. Every time he readjusted his grip he felt his joints groan.

"He's barely still with the living." Someone grabbed one of the bags from behind, and the lifted weight almost tipped him over. "I'll carry this one, boy."

"Well met, Yddris," Hap said. "He finally let you go, then?"

"Not for long." Jordan's tutor drew alongside them, the bag in one hand, held as casually as if it weighed nothing. Jordan's scowl deepened. "Would've been out sooner, but I got held up by a Fleshmonger terrorising some old people."

"Don't see them very often," Hap said. "Old people, I mean."

Yddris snorted, but all Jordan's blood had drained into his feet. He did much better when he wasn't reminded that the entirety of Nictaven was a death trap.

"Respect the elders, boy," Yddris said, "The luckiest, fastest and smartest in society. Worthy of respect in all events. Everyone else follows the rules and cop it for the trouble."

"Are you encouraging your apprentice to break rules, Yddris?" Hap said. "I'm shocked at you."

They began to walk again, Jordan trying hard to look like the bag he was still carrying wasn't causing him any more trouble than it was Yddris. He thought the panting might have given him away.

"It's a sound strategy," Yddris said. "As long as you break the right ones. Speaking of rules," Jordan tensed at the change of tone, "what I've really been sent out for is you, boy. Harkenn wants a word."

"Fuck." The last thing Jordan needed after the last few days was a grilling from the Lord of the Reach. He suspected he knew what it was; it would either be about Grace, or it would be about his progress, and neither were things he wanted to discuss with Harkenn. He didn't need to be a genius to work out that he hadn't got very far with his training by the usual standards, and that constantly butting heads with Yddris wasn't going to help.

"Fuck indeed," Yddris muttered. "We'll drop this lot off on the way there."

Jordan looked sidelong at his tutor. He spent approximately half his time cursing the impenetrable nature of an Unspoken's hood and the other half being grateful for it. At that moment, he would have given a limb to see his tutor's face and what expression was on it.

He was at least glad of the excuse not to enter the house when they dropped off the supplies. He didn't want to run into Astra again; she'd spooked him in some inexplicable way and he'd have been quite happy to avoid her indefinitely. Not only that, but the death hung over the house like a stormcloud, the air heavy with grief. He didn't think it a coincidence that sleep had been hard to come by in recent days. He wondered if it was disrespectful to think these things, but Yddris seemed just as eager to get away, if not more so.

"Come on," he said, all but frogmarching him back the way they'd come. His grip on Jordan's arm hurt and it was all Jordan could do not to trip over his own feet; he didn't even have the wits to say something when he realised Yddris wasn't taking him to the castle gate, but along the castle wall in the other direction, only stopping when they were out of sight of the guard.

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