The White Order by L. E. Modesitt Jr. Read Free Book Online

did not sit.
       “I'll help you if it comes to that. Sit down,” Brental insisted.
       Cerryl sat.
       “Off with the boots.”
       The youth looked stolidly ahead, as if Brental had not spoken.
       “Off...” Brental reached down and eased off one boot and then the other.
       Cerryl did not look at either his feet or boots.
       “Your toes are bloody.” Brental shook his head. “Darkness ... how long you been like this?”
       Cerryl looked at the stones of the causeway, his face blank.
       “Your feet are too small for those boots.”
       Cerryl kept looking down.
       Brental sighed. “You get chaos blisters there, and you'll not work again. You'll not walk again.”
       “Your da said I'd not go unshod, not in a lumber mill.” Cerryl managed to keep his jaw firm. “I almost have enough coppers for boots.”
       Brental laughed, not harshly but ruefully. “Lad ... Cerryl... you'd not ask for anything, would you?”
       Cerryl met Brental's gaze evenly. “I'd rather not.”
       “There are times to ask, and times not to. When you cannot walk, it be time to ask.” The redhead shook his head. “I've got an old pair of boots. They'll do better than these. Wait here.”
       “The boards ...” Cerryl glanced toward the mill door.
       “All right. You get the boards-barefoot. I'll meet you here before you go back into the mill.” Brental stood and gestured. “Rinfur! Watch the oxen for a moment.”
       Rinfur crossed the road. “Have to get the team.”
       “I'll be back in just a moment.”
       “Yes, master Brental.” Rinfur shook his head.
       Before Rinfur could see his feet, Cerryl stood and began to walk slowly, if more quickly than if he had worn boots, to the second lumber barn. The handcart was inside the door, and he pushed it to the right. The floorboards were on the low rack on the far right, and barefooted as he was, he was glad that he'd swept the second barn the day before.
       He inspected each board, letting his eyes check it, and holding it a moment, trying to get a feel of the wood before stacking it on the handcart. Sort of a golden oak, somewhere between black oak and white, floor oak wasn't bad. Three lengths he set aside because the knots were obvious, and two because he could sense, somehow, that the boards were weak.
       Once he had the golden oak floorboards stacked in four short piles, he pushed the cart slowly back out of the barn and along the cool stones of the causeway back toward the mill.
       Brental was standing by the oxen by the time Cerryl and the handcart reached the mule cart beside the millrace wall.
       “Da ... he's still jawing with master Hesduff. Got some boots here, and a bucket of water. Sit back down.”
       Cerryl sank onto the wall.
       Brental took a soaking rag and sponged away dust and blood. His eyes widened. “Darkness... what you did.” The redhead shook his head. “Cerryl. You have to wash your feet several times a day, no matter what. Till these heal. You understand?” Brental's brown eyes bored into Cerryl. “And wash 'em right 'fore you go to bed.”
       “Yes, Brental.”
       “Cerryl?” called Dylert.
       “You stay here.” Brental stood and pushed the handcart toward the mill, calling out, “Cerryl got the boards. I was coming this way, so I thought I'd bring 'em for you.”
       “Good.”
       “Good day, master Hesduff,” said Brental.
       “Good day, young Brental. Hard to believe I'm a-looking up to you.”
       As the three talked inside the mill door, Cerryl looked at the fresh blood welling across his bruised and blistered feet, then squared his shoulders.
       “Good boards for rough cut... Pick them out, Brental?”
       “No, master Hesduff. Young Cerryl did. Has an eye for wood, I'd say.”
       “Does indeed ... Would you load those on the cart? Now ... about the timbers, Dylert?”
       Brental slipped back out of the mill, pushing the