The serving girl said nothing as she led the way into a long, low barracks, a warren of semi-partitioned rooms and bunk beds. They looked scarcely more comfortable than the training hall floor, and the building stank worse, of men and sweat. Or rather of more men and more sweat. She found Varin lying on a bench beside a fireplace right at the center of the building, his ankle clumsily bandaged and resting up on a stool.
“Someone here to see you,” the serving girl said. She hurried out.
Eppie couldn’t see anyone else, but with the low, thin walls of the barracks, anyone might have been listening.
Varin sat up. “Eppie!” He smiled, wincing with pain as his foot slipped off its perch. “Cursed rock in the training grounds turned my ankle. D’you think you could send for a healer priestess?”
