Jes gave a puzzled frown. It might have been that he found Lehr’s explanation too complex—or something else had distracted him.

It was ironic that Jes, who looked as Rederni as any village son, would be the one to pay the highest price for his mother’s Traveler blood. The lesser part of that price was the slow thoughts and slower speech that set him apart as a simpleton—though he wasn’t, quite.

“It doesn’t look right,” said Jes after a moment.

“What doesn’t?” asked Tier. Jes’s conversations sometimes were as difficult to follow as a hummingbird’s flight.

“The buildings.” Jes stopped abruptly and stared ahead.

Tier stopped Skew and tried to see what might have attracted Jes’s attention.

“There’s no smoke from the smithy,” said Lehr.

“That’s it,” said Jes, nodding with his usual exaggerated motion. “Smithies have smoke.”

“Maybe the smith isn’t working today,” Tier said. “We’ll be there soon enough.” Urging Skew forward, he squeezed a little too enthusiastically with his legs and couldn’t bite back a yelp.

Shadow take these knees, the wizards who broke them, and the Traveler healer who can’t fix them any faster.

That last wasn’t fair, and he knew it. Brewydd had told him that riding Skew rather than one of the carts was making his knees take longer to heal than necessary. But it was bad enough to have to ride while most everyone else proceeded by their shoe leather—he was not going to sit in a cart.

“Are you all right?” asked Jes, his hand hovering just over Tier’s leg. “Mother told me to watch out for you.”

“Just my knees.” Tier gave his son a smile despite the way his right knee was throbbing. “They’re taking a long time to heal up—I must be getting old.”

“Mother says you push too hard,” said Jes frowning. Obviously Tier’s smile hadn’t been as convincing as he’d intended.