Free The Magic Engineer by L. E. Modesitt Jr. Page A

cooking sets. “What about horses, ser? Is the stable across the way…”
    “Hope so.” A snort follows. “My sister’s man runs the place for Rystel.”
    Dorrin smiles faintly. “Do you have any saddlebags? Perhaps an older set?”
    “Halfway down the counter. Some sets there, a few others on the bottom.”
    Dorrin follows the instructions. One set is practically new, huge, and made of heavy stiff leather. He sets the bags aside, and picks up the second set, setting it down quickly as he feels the whitish red that signifies chaos. Although he has only felt chaos as a part of healing, there is no doubt that the bags have been associated with chaos. The third set is serviceable.
    Finally, he drags out a dusty pair from underneath the counter. Although the leather is stained, and the bronze fittings are pitted in places, Dorrin nods, more to himself than anything.
    “Good eye there. Cheap, too. A silver for you.”
    “How much are the heavy ones?” Dorrin asks idly.
    “Those? You’d need a draft horse to carry them. Half a gold.”
    Dorrin purses his lips. While he has enough coins for the cheaper saddlebags, he does not know about the trail food, and he really needs a waterproof of some sort. He also does not like purchasing goods before he even has a mount to carry them. Unlike Brede, he worries about such details. “I need some sort of waterproof.”
    “Hmmmm…”
    A moment later a square of dark fabric appears on the battered wood of the counter top. “Nothing fancy. Just a good cloth dipped in the waterproof stuff. Probably a little small for the likes of your friend there.” The shopkeeper drops a shoulder toward Brede, who stands before a barrel from which he is extracting small pouches of something. “So I couldn’t ask that much for it. Say…half a silver.”
    Dorrin nods. From what he has seen of Candar, he will need it.
    “Shopkeeper?” asks Brede in his deep and polite voice.
    “I’ll put these over here,” suggests the man to Dorrin. “Yes, young ser?” His voice flattens again as he addresses the tall blond man.
    Dorrin drifts over to Kadara. “How are we doing trail food?”
    “I thought we’d split the cost for meals. Anything extra you buy yourself. I told Brede that, too.” She smiles. “He did agree.”
    “I don’t have that much,” Dorrin says.
    “With your father, I can believe it.” Kadara looks back at the barrel.
    Shrugging, Dorrin goes back to the other counter, avoiding Brede and the shopkeeper.
    …hhhhnnnnn…
    With a grin, he walks back over and pets the dog, adding another touch of order and reassurance.
    …thump…thump…
    Perhaps it is his imagination, but her eyes look brighter. “Good girl,” he adds, before returning to pick out two oblong packages from the cooler, with the words yellow cheese scratched into amber wax.
    What else does he need? He has his heavy jacket, a bedroll, gloves, extra boots, what clothes he dares carry, a small pouch of healing goods, and now he has a waterproof and saddlebags. His only weapon is the staff. While he has a belt knife and the carving knife, of course, they are tools, not weapons. He could not carry a sword in any case, not with the conflict an edged weapon creates.
    More compressed food, perhaps, he decides, in case he is separated from the others. He adds several blocks from the counter to the cheeses and places them beside the waterproof and saddlebags.
    Brede examines the large bags Dorrin has rejected, and the shopkeeper slips along the counter back to Dorrin.
    “All together, that’s two silvers and two.”
    Dorrin fumbles in his wallet, still not used to the hardened leather outer case, and comes up with two silvers and a half. He hands the three coins across.
    “You want this stuff in the saddlebags?”
    “That would be fine.” Dorrin glances back at the dog, who has lifted her head. She struggles upright, then sits and looks back at him.
    “Boy, how did you do that?”
    “Do what?”
    “Stella.