A sennight later, she wasn’t so sure she had made the right decision. Fourteen meticulously carved slabs of limestone had been arranged on either side of the river for the twenty-eight slabs of the whole arch; the smaller keystone for the arch was on the side nearest the Hill. The footings for the two spandrels had been laid and built up to the roadbed. A pair of Master Blacksmiths had complete forges set up on either side of the river to make the dovetails and hurry them red-hot to the arch to hammer them in. A small mountain of lumber had been turned into the scaffolding to support the arch until the keystone was slotted into place. Almost everything was in readiness to begin the bridge itself.

And she was packing the last of her packs for this trip.

Not happy, she thought, trying to decide if she should pack in more soap or more underthings, and being reminded by the decision that where she was going, she might have to do her own laundry. In a stream. With frogs and snakes.

Ugh.

On the other hand, there were, so Master Ketnar promised, going to be support people along. What that meant, she had no idea. When the highborn went off on journeys, they had carts full of tents and furnishings, and servants who went on ahead to set it all up. They had every sort of servant they’d have at home, and all they did was ride from one set-up encampment to another and arrive at each to find their food cooked, their laundry done, their water drawn—even baths prepared, should one be desired.

Somehow I don’t think that’s what he meant.

On the other hand, Heralds traveled only with what they could carry, sometimes a pack-beast, except on rare occasions.

They did get to stay in Waystations, which were quite solidly constructed little buildings—

—which we won’t. We’ll have tents when there are no inns, I guess. And Kernos only knows the quality of the inns down there. We could be sleeping all of us in the one bed, or on the dirt floor of someone’s hut.

And meanwhile her bridge was going to be built without her.

But it was far too late to change her mind.

Dammit.

As if she even could have changed her mind, after her mother had all but begged her to do this.

Parents always know what strings to pull. After all, they tied them there.

On the other, other hand (is that three hands?) she was going to be surrounded by several Master Builders and Artificers, and it was one thing to learn about techniques in a classroom. It was quite another to see them demonstrated under less than ideal circumstances. This would be incredibly educating.

But . . . tents. And dirty inn floors. And bugs. Ugh.