《A FORGEMASTER OF WAYLAND》


 A Forgemaster of Wayland

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    (Parchment Scrap, from the Stacks of Corbel City.)


    I cried out, calling on the very stones of Old Findias, as I hammered within the flaming cleft, spending my Ka shamelessly upon the claideb of Nuada. I smote his essence out of the sword, to replace it with my own. I called upon Nemed, the forefather, and pleaded with all the displaced gods of Fir Bolg for the right to wield it, and to salvage my people from the wrath of King Bres the Formorian. So hard did I hammer, that my blood sweated down upon it, to quench it.


    All the skills of the Tri De Dana, did I call upon, for what greater power than ours exists among all gods now? You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    And this night of Beltane, my Ka rushed into it, and tightened its grip upon it, that I might bind with it. I came out from the crag victorious, and my people fell aground before me. I strode out across their worshipful backs, singing the tell of my skill.


    We would leave this place for another, far from the madness of King Bres.


    Unto the hall of the King I went and took up his crown, that I might rule fully all that Nuada''s claideb, the Corm-Da, could not conquer. I raised the blade high then, and brought my servants forth to a new place.


    The thunder heralded me, but the lightning and the Aos Si'' plotted against me.-

 Chapter One: A Difficult Order

    Our sabers clashed and rang above the gallery''s hoots and shouts of encouragement. I turned my wrist to try for an upwards cross-chest cut, but Reynaldo parried it low and jumped back, pushing my blade out of line. A weak move on my part.


    I recovered and took a new stance, point extended forward from my left shoulder towards his mid-line, as he came on again. The blades barely touched before the electric clatter of the session bell sounded. We both turned our points to the floor and removed our masks. There were no carbon marks across either of our vests, but welts throbbed ... beneath my padding, at least. I feel to have improved since our last match, and given Reynaldo a run for his money.


    Others from the class took our place, while the referee finished up his notes on our bout. Behind us, the bell clanged again.


    "Must tell you, old boy," said Reynaldo, rubbing his right arm, "you put a lot of muscle into your attacks but you really don''t have the reach for competition, you know."


    It''s always something with this guy. "What, run out of blonde jokes, Reynaldo? Down to talking about my height now? I got you on points, my friend." This is just bravo, as neither of us had seen the referees scores yet. But I couldn''t let his comment go unanswered.


    The slender English ex-patriot waved this away, giving me his usual condescending smile. "Sheer luck William, just chance." Renaldo''s eyes flicked to the scoreboard, to check for our match post, which, of course wasn''t up yet. "Now, this is a wonderful sport, but I can''t help wonder why you pursue it as opposed to some other equally vigorous alternative given your build. Good practice session, William, by the way."


    "Helps me get into my work, I guess. I make things like this," I said, lifting the practice saber, "for historic re-creationists and such. Hard to get the blade balance right if you don''t know what you''re going for."


    We were both trying to capture the last spot on the intramural team''s roster, so I took his comments for yet another stab at obtaining my withdrawal. He was right about the sport though. Re-creationist saber dueling is exhausting and dangerous. Unlike relatively light, 500 gram fencing sabers, these weapons pattern after true Cavalry forms. The style taught here was more a bastardized form of Japanese Kendo than classic saber technique. Edged or not, you can get severely hurt whacking away with them. Plus, they are at least triple the weight of a fencing foil or epee''. Good exercise though. I peeled off the padding, left the gymnasium and headed toward the showers. With luck, I might make it through the cross-town traffic in time to put some effort towards the strange piece of work currently gracing my bench.


    ***


    Blackened, dirty and cracked, the shadowed, smoky beams of the ceiling weep down tears of dust, echoing each strike of my hammer.


    The hammer''s haft shuddered as I struck the glowing iron rod against the anvil''s cold surface. There is a comforting tempo to these things. The familiar ring and beat, flip and pound, rang through the shop. I tapped my hammer on the cold iron to clear its head of metal scale, then thrust the flattening rod back into the sparking coals of the furnace. My arms, thickened from the profession''s grind, ran with sweat and black ash.


    The forge''s stained oak and stone walls are covered with examples of my art. Fireplace andirons hang to the left, caressed by delicate vines of forged ivy that twist and strive up them, as though the warmth of spring urges at living roots. On the opposite wall, a lion''s head thunders a challenge through rippling gums, neck belled with a steel ring knocker, its welded mane swept by unseen veldt winds. Even the spikes and hooks from which these works dangled were forged here. I am truly happy when at work.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    The sign outside reads ''Drake''s Custom Ironworks.'' In an age of mass production, I feel blessed to know the pleasure of molding cold iron and steel into useful art, and throw my heart into what I make.


    I pump the forge''s bellows, tossing out waves of heat and blooms of carmine light, that waver across the walls like tormented imps, dancing as the furnace glow fades and returns.


    Markham will be happy with this one.


    Again retrieving the smoking cane from the furnace, I placed it on the anvil and continued to beat it, working my way down the blade. It''s a pattern weld of several steels, some hand folded, melded from the alloys Mr. Markham supplied.


    This blade will be strong, take a fine edge, but still bend like a willow branch and spring back arrow straight. The tang, long and thick, will allow for a substantial grip. That is, if Markham ever comes up with the handle material he promised. Already, a serpentine pattern showed within the wrought. When finished and polished it would, I knew, take on an iridescence that could never be achieved by a factory design. The phone rang just as I thrust the cane back into the coals. Turning to answer it, a voice, Markham''s, came scratching over the poorly installed connection.


    "How goes the war, Will?" Then with some concern, "Think y'' can finish up that poker of mine before the S.C.A Convention?" He had ordered the blade for display at an upcoming event hosted by the Society for Creative Anachronism.


    "I''m working on it right now, should have it on the grinder tonight. Were you able to get the handle materials you wanted?"


    "Just this morning. Did the forging go well? Were there any problems with the process?"


    The process was to say the least, bizarre. The blade required techniques similar to those for a classically wrought Yasuyuki, but to Markham''s requirements, I had infused the steel layers with a strange mix of powders, other agents, and tempered the blade with odd clays. Some of these powders had been supplied directly by Mr. Markham, and were entirely a mystery to me. The results were looking good though, and ''custom made'' defines what my business is about. As long as the cost didn''t bother Markham, the strange process didn''t bother me. "Most complicated piece of handwork I''ve ever done, but I had no problems with it."


    "Good, real good, Drake. You''ll get the handle stock in Monday''s mail. Probably not see you until Tuesday, busy till then."


    I glanced at the handle design on my desk and made note to set up the lathe on Sunday night since I rarely have weekend plans. The shop is my social life and almost everything revolves around it. While talking, I fiddled with the handle designs strewn over the workbench. The handle would include two horizontal rows of oddly shaped Celtic runes. While formed incorrectly in my limited experience with such decorations, they held an ageless air of authenticity that gnawed at my imagination. Above and below the runes were matching wraps of a Celtic knot pattern reminiscent of marriage band designs. I have done some before, but again these were subtly off. For some reason I found them unsettling.


    "Talk to you then, Mr. Markham."


    I returned to the forge. Heated and quenched as instructed, the steel warped to take on a slight upward curve, as predicted, resulting in a smooth and tapered look.


    The finishing went well. Polishing the blade, the grinder spat a rainbow of colored sparks, some of hues I had never seen iron produce before. When sharpened, the blade took a keen edge. I dragged the hard brown leather apron off my chest, stepping back to admire the work. A sheen of green and gold reflected along its silvery length. No chasing or inlay could possibly improve the beauty of it.


    ***


    Sunday found me finishing a set of custom horseshoes, but I remember to set up the lathe and mill. On the way home, I stopped at the cemetery. Once income from the shop enabled it, one of my first purchases was a memorial niche for my adoptive mother''s urn. My step-father had been buried at Arlington, gratis of his military carrier, but when Eunice passed, I arranged for her to be cremated, and interred locally. I never determined who my natural parents were, and I did not want the few remaining scraps of such past as was left me scattered across the country. After her funeral, I had also salvaged her cat, Bangles, paying to have him kept until my discharge from the Marines. After, we had roamed the country together until I settled here in Illinois. The cat, well, he''s gone now.


    I retired early, as usual. Although sleep came quickly, my dreams were disturbed and dark, cycling around the silvery blade that still rested on the notched and hammered bench of the shop. Almost, a warning premonition came of the dreams, and yet, they were elating as well. A welter of forests, jagged mountains, verdant vales and fey creatures pushed aside the usual cast of unconscious vagaries. My imagination even named some of the creatures, and left me to feel strangely connected to them.

 Chapter Two: A Burglary!

    In a hollow mountain deep, within a rocky split,


    the Burlies sense the imminence of a darkling messenger.


    They leap to score the craggy mountain walls wherein they swarm.


    Black claws open and clutch in weird rhythm to their keening whine.


    Anxious they are, for they smell its coming,


    Filled they are, with unnatural tuition.


    A summoning! A summoning!


    Yellow eyes glitter like citrine pits sunk deep in obsidian shadow.


    Closer comes the darkling wraith. Greater grow the Burlies'' cries....


    My bright blade cleaves the mountain vale, and they vanish, like vapor waft away by the rising sun.


    -From The Lay of the Smith, by Thavis Wayland


    I awoke sweating and tormented but the bizarre images slid out of mind like oil off Teflon. Eyes stinging with night sweat I rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom to splash away the evening''s ephemera at the sink, still troubled by dissolving nightmares. My fingers hunted blindly for the after-shave shelved above the mirror. A prior owner had installed the ledge higher than suited me. For one reason or another, I never got around to adjusting it.


    Wide shoulders make it tough to find jackets that fit without tailoring so I normally go everywhere casually dressed. I have only one custom sport coat kept should a client need to be met somewhere swank. Today, it stayed in the closet.


    At an armor exhibition, someone remarked that few modern men were short enough to fit the steel suits on display. They had looked pretty much a good height for me, but my chest would never have fit in any of them -- fat-free and 285 pounds, I make up in breadth for a lack in height.


    I scraped a comb through my hair and threw on a tight fitting, extra-large cotton undershirt. Good enough for the shop.


    The package from Steve Markham arrived as promised. It contained unfamiliar material that felt like ivory and had a partially transparent, watery finish, similar in hue to the blade itself. The material looked to be a good match for Markham''s order.


    I set to work immediately and between the lathe, mill, and a few hand tools, finish up the unsettling designs in good time, being a pretty good carver. Assembled, the blade was incredible. I carefully wrapped it in oilcloth and put it up for Markham.


    Evening brought a repetition of Sunday''s nightmares, so I woke up Tuesday morning in a fog. Markham turned up early to the spiny tinkle of the entrance''s service bell. His bored gray eyes roamed the store walls. His long yellow hair hung in a trim, if out of style ponytail and a black blousing shirt tucked into a pair of designer jeans completed a cavalier, if dated look.


    Markham always seemed to exude a certain habitual furtiveness that bothered me. A tendency to look away from you when he spoke, a forced bravado in his manner, that put me off a little. Still, a customer''s a customer, in my book.


    "How goes the war, Drake? Did you get those materials I sent?"


    I nodded. "Came in Monday morning as promised, Mr. Markham. I finished the handle before closing just last night."


    "It''s ready?"


    I retrieved the blade and set it on the counter, pulling the oilcloth aside to display the sword. His eyes roamed the piece with calculating admiration. I clamed up, as the work spoke for itself.


    "My God, it''s beautiful," he said.


    "It''s twenty three hundred including taxes."


    "Bill me. I want to take it with me."


    "Bank''s still open; go get a certified check and it''s yours."


    I hadn''t known Markham very long; he wasn''t one of my regulars. Twenty three hundred is a lot of money. I had waived the usual deposit for the work, since the man supplied most of the materials for it. Possibly a mistake.


    "Look," he said, "I''ll give you fifteen now and the balance when you bill me." He reached to take the blade.


    I flipped the oilcloth back over the sword and put it beneath the counter. "No hurry. It will be here for you when you''re ready."


    Color rose in Markham''s face and he squinted, starting to speak. I rolled my shoulders forward leaning both of my forearms on the counter, giving Markham my patented Being-Patient-With-The-Customer look. He snapped his mouth shut, took a breath, and smiled blandly.


    "Tomorrow then."This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Closing up early for a change I dropped by Pete''s Eats n'' Brew, a sort of rundown establishment on my usual route home. The late fall overcast made the lot seem dark, despite the gaily crackling neon lights fronting the lounge. Over the door, Pete has a horseshoe that I unbent on a bet barehanded. Above the shoe a small sign reads, "Bring Your Own Luck." I try to buy it back from time to time, but he just laughs the offer off.


    Pete''s tending bar for Lucy, who''s off sick, so a standby cook currently clatters pans in the back kitchen, Pete''s usual station. The pair of them are relatively new additions to my small pool of non-work related acquaintances. Pete pops up from under the bar''s counter grinning, ducking the low strung 50''s¨Cstyle lights he hangs there for ''ambience''.


    "Ah, the village smithy has returned! So what''s new, Bill? Got that new truck yet?"


    "William."


    "Sorry. William then. I forgot."


    "I used to let people call me that, you know."


    "So what changed your mind?"


    "After a while it was Billy, then Billy-Dee. So I quashed it. William. Just William is fine. No offense, its just a thing with me."


    Pete looked embarrassed, so I went on, "Anyway, no, still thinking about it--I''d need heavy-duty suspension on it for the smithy. Not cheap." I waved the problem off. "Anyway , there''s no hurry. Been too buried in work lately, haven''t had the time to shop, or even look at the local papers. Speaking of which, anything new going on in this burg? Word about town is, anything you haven''t heard about, didn''t happen. So what''s new? Spill."


    Pete wiped hands through his curly red hair and snorts, "Aw, got me figured out already, eh? So...got anything in mind, or do you just want the smut of the day?"


    I frowned. "You know, there is something. Finished a custom order for this guy, a Steve Markham, you know him? He came in today all hot and ready to pick up this order, then backed off when asked to pay up."


    Pete''s mouth formed an "O." He rocked back from the lights and straightened up. "Well, he hasn''t been in town long. He came here from the west coast, as I heard it, some kind of archaeologist or something. Anyway big time medieval hobbyist. He leased something in the Townsend Tower area on the west end."


    There aren''t many properties renting out in Townsend, save for the tower it self, for which the district is labeled. It''s a pretty countrified area. Remembering Markham''s billing address, I make a guess at what the Townsend tower''s street address might be - would have to look it up but they could be the same place, now that I thought on it.


    The Townsend property is a medieval Scottish tower, every stone of it imported by a wealthy, if suicidal, local celebrity, a recording executive or something. Soon as it went up, he leapt off the top of it. It had been built on a three-acre fenced property west of town, and these days, rented out cheap, since it was impossible to heat. All in all, no one intending a prolonged stay would take a lease on it.


    I had been hired to inspect its wrought iron staircase a while back, so the address should be in my records. The tower had eight or nine vertical rooms accessible from the iron spiral as it wound up the center. The relic terminated in a real battlement that offered a superb view of the horizon in every direction. The fact Markham might have leased the place didn''t tell me very much about his personal habits, like if he paid his bills on time, except that he was a transient and given the problems with the place couldn''t possibly be planning to stay on there. Still, it would support the detail about being an archaeologist. I could see a medieval scholar being attracted to it, at least for the summer. His story about wanting the sword for an SCA event matched up with the choice well.


    " Huh. Maybe he''s staying at the tower itself. He talks about the SCA a lot."


    "Oh, yeah." Pete agreed, "The Renaissance festival guys, right? Ah, the Society for Creative Anachonisim. I heard of ''em. You''re a little old for that kind of stuff aren''t you? Mid-thirtys, I''d guess."


    "That''s them. I set up a small smithy exhibition at their festivals once in a while. Just business. In fact, I met Markham at the last exhibition."


    "I wish I could tell you more," said Pete, "but like I said, he''s not been by here much."


    I finished my drink and rose, flipping some cash on the bar. "Give my best to Lucy."


    All this talk about Markham starts the back of my neck itching,so I decide to return to the forge, check the address and secure Markham''s order in the safe.


    A cold draft gusted outward when I unlocked the shop front and defeated the alarm. The door closed rather quicker than usual, which was curious, but nothing special. Hurried, I cross to the counter and stepped behind it. Looking down, something seemed odd about its lock-up chest. My fingers explored the casement to find the latches pried open. I swept my arm back and forth inside. The sword was gone!


    My arms knotted, and a throbbing pressure built behind my eyes. As my adrenaline rose the draft again caught my attention, coming from the rear of the shop.


    My hand hesitated over the counter''s phone for a moment, but my anger needed walking off, so I decided to inventory the rest of the forge before calling the police. Everything else seemed undisturbed until I made it to the back of the shop.


    The contact alarm on the rear window was shorted with some sort of sticky foil and wire, still plastered to the magnetic contacts and the frames clasps were jimmied open. Already angered, a red haze overtook my eyes, and my temper flamed. I imagined Markham, waiting around until closing, then climbing through the alley window. Nothing else in the shop had seemed disturbed, and Markham was the only person who had seen me place the sword under the counter.


    ###


    My tires shrieked around the tight, unlit curves of the tarred country road. Furious, I''d even forgotten to call the police about the break-in. Nothing mattered except getting back my stolen property. The white stripes stuttered by matching the color of my clenched knuckles as I ground back my anger. Then, speared in the headlights, appeared the forested private drive of the medieval tower. A black-gated entrance closed the lane. Swerving off onto the gravel shoulder, I exited, slamming the car door and sprinting around the gate''s pylons to storm up the winding dirt drive on foot.


    The flimsy poorly painted tower door barely slowed my progress. I grabbed the knob and push through the simple latch plate of the lock. The door burst inward. Faint sounds of singing and mumbling echoed down the tower''s central hollow.


    Markham''s wheedling tenor! I leapt up the winding stairs two at a time, following the noise. By halfway up the spiral the sing-song cadence resolved into a staccato chant. One or two of the tower room doors stood ajar, revealing the antique flocked walls and bare wood flooring of the rooms behind them. Dim light streamed from these, to bloom softly against the unlit rough stonework of the shadowed stairwell. I neared the hatch to the tower''s crenelated top, and from the clatter, it sounded like Markham might still be up there. Before quite mounting to the battlement''s roof-hatch a glitter from inside one final room caught my eye. A further glance inside revealed my stolen property mounted to a wooden frame point down, on a covered table in the room''s center. Light from a bare bulb shone on it, glinting off the blade.


    To hell with that bastard. I divert my search for Markham to go after the sword. Above me, the chanting has concluded, and through the red roar of my outrage, metallic footfalls descend the battlement steps. I was in the room, right hand closed upon the haft of the sword to pull it free, when behind me, feet shuffled.


    I swung around to confront a surprised Markham, and a giddy sensation passed through me. The room continued to spin beyond my turning, and a lampblack veil fell over the world.

 Chapter Three: Swept Away

    A pretty girl in a doeskin jerkin


    The gleam of a blade of surpassing brilliance,


    A flash of light in a dark place,


    A sense of loss, A kiss of laughter.


    The meeting stanzas-From the lay of Thavis Wayland


    I hit hard ground, as if defenestrated from one of the tower''s upper rooms. I am not a lightweight, and gravity is not my friend. My left hand had plowed a deep furrow in the soil, and sword in grasp, struck jagged rock tearing away skin with an ice pick lance of pain.


    Stunned, breathing dirt in time to the throbbing sear of bruises and cracked ribs, eventually I managed to pull myself together and groaning with effort stumbled upright. Before me wandered a wide trail; a footpath really.


    As a blacksmith, I automatically look for evidence of divots on woodland lanes since farrier work is part of my business. It''s odd how persistent such simple habits are, even when recovering from a fall. You focus on meaningless details, little things. In any case there was nothing like hoof prints here. The area around the tower was a favorite for horse owners but the absence wasn''t registering right then.


    Amazingly, my right hand still had a death grip on the sword, so I tried to tuck the poker into the belt of my jeans without cutting them up in the process. My hands were bloody, and fumbling with the blade inadvertently causing a little to smear on it. In that moment bizarre really entered my life, for unbidden, a whisper ran through my mind


    So am I sealed to thee for life and to no other.


    Now, my mind doesn''t normally spout off enigmatic phrases so I put this to scrambled wits, something else to heap on my pile of confusion. The landscape looked altered. But as I took in the surroundings anger faded away to be replaced by quandary. In short, just where the hell was I?


    I remembered turning to confront Markham, who had costumed himself in a robe and cowl like someone at a fraternity hazing. There had been a flash as the sword touched his robe, then blackness, and skidding in the dirt.


    Confounded to be in broad daylight, I reexamined the unfamiliar surroundings. A climax forest crowded in on the trail. Tall, rough-barked oaks and maples overhung it segueing into a stand of smooth skinned silver birch farther away to the right. On the other side, the path wandered an uphill slope, over the crest of which rose the top of a stone tower. At first, it looked like the Scots tower but after a moment, I realized it was taller, darker, and newer. The light wind carried lush, sweet odors, missing the taint of city smog or nearby tarry roadways. Suffusing the wood came only a calming litany of birdsong and a threshing of wind grooming tall treetops. I sat under one of the oaks and tried to order my thoughts. The sword nearly severed my belt in the process so I removed it, setting it down on the grassy sedge.


    Had I passed out and been moved while unconscious, during the night? I knew the countryside nearby pretty well, but the smells, land-forms and the trail before me were unfamiliar. My inner clock argued against having passed out. I ran through a variety of other possibilities but none of these made any sense.


    I had been There, and now, I was Here. Forcing myself to relax, I sat and focused on binding my wounded hand with a pocket handkerchief numbly taking everything in while massaging abused legs and arms. Eventually an approach of footsteps coming from further up the trail broke this shocked reverie. A young woman with chestnut hair, perhaps in her mid-twenties trudged up the hill between the tower and my tree. I stayed seated, hands folded in my lap, wondering how stupid it would sound to ask where I was.


    She spotted me before quite topping the rise and hesitated there. At least from her approach, the naked blade lying on the grass behind me couldn''t be seen. Apparently she must have decided it safe to continue on and nodded to me as she walked. Something in my bewildered attitude must have encouraged her to speak. I can only imagine that the sight of me, confused and utterly despondent, moved her to the kindness.


    "Are you hurt? Were you robbed? You look awful--are you alright?" She stopped, still at some distance, cocking her head to one side, eying my much abused blue jeans and stained white tee-shirt. "Not local, by your dress. Are you lost?"


    "Not an easy question to answer. Lost is a good start. I...fell."


    "You''re not a runaway are you?" She asked, edging slightly away.


    The question drew me out of my embarrassed daze; an odd thing to say, as I''m a little old to be featured on the side of a milk carton. Determined to keep her talking, I answered anyway assuring her that was not the case.


    Her clear blue eyes seemed to laugh, lingering on the breadth of my shoulders. Her forearms canted out at the elbow in a puppet stance, as if daring an answer. It made the young woman''s form only seem more beautiful, in that peculiar way that only a lithe girl can manage. I noted her trim waist, cross-laced into rough woven, loosely fitting pants. All in all, despite my situation I was too charmed to be less than honest. "I''m a blacksmith," I ventured, "a good one...not running from anything, just... confused. Where is this place?"Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    She laughed aloud at this, then continued, "You don''t know? A Smith, you say? You will not need to look far for work then, if that be your purpose on this road. You don''t seem very certain of yourself. I am Dimanda, daughter of Mage Chord, look you, from that tower." She pointed toward it with her chin. "A civilized fief, if not quite Corbell. Mostly a farming community, as it happens. Some of the frontier colonies further out, are so in need of labor, that they indenture their criminals, rather than hang them, but such communities are not anywhere close-by. Sometimes, they do escape." She made a shooing motion with her hands, "Runaway." Once again her head canted to the side a bit and she asked, "Have you a name, Sir?"


    "William," I volunteered. Her words whirled in my head. Fief? Indenture? Corbell? I felt lost, far from home, but the picture she painted was so out of expectation as to be barely understandable.


    "Well, William," she said, "we meet at a bad time I''m afraid. I am headed the other way, towards the farms to barter for my father''s services else I would introduce you, if you wished. As it happens, he is in need of a good smith, if you would care to work at the tower. Do you have any examples of your trade?"


    I shook my head numbly, but then remembered the blade. "I do have a sword here of my forging." I motioned to the grass next to the tree, then mentally cringed. She would now run screaming from this park, or whatever it was, and fetch the police. Surprisingly, Dimanda picked her way past me, peered at the blade and even stooped to touch it.


    "It''s beautiful." Brown hair cascaded over her lovely features as she bent forward to see. "So, you are a sword smith as well...May I?"


    She gestured at the sword. I gave my consent, and the girl took the hilt and pulled, but the blade remained tight to the ground as if glued there. She gasped, consternation wrinkling her smooth forehead. "You think to embarrass me?" she accused, hands snapping back to her hips."This is no ordinary weapon; the blade is arcane! You must be bonded to it, and so no one else may move it. You could have told me before I tried to pick it up. Just how is it that you do not know where you are?"


    I stared at the piece, not understanding. I had seen her tug at it, she hadn''t faked the effort.


    For some reason, I remembered the words that had whispered in my head and bleeding on the metal. Suddenly all these inconsistencies overcame the shock of my fall, and I lost composure. All of my recent experiences poured out of me. Running up the tower steps, finding the blade, turning into darkness and waking here, not knowing where I was, all of it despite my intentions, releasing into her patient ears.


    She listened quietly as I talked, and a softening slowly overtook her features. I felt sure she would think me mad. However she seemed genuinely concerned, and oddly, didn''t question my account. At the moment, that helped some. Questions and scowls, at that point, especially questions I couldn''t answer, would have unhinged me.


    She squatted then, pulling up at her trousers to reveal a pair of well turned ankles. The girl eyed me tightly. "As a Mage''s daughter, I see many unusual things, but your story is certainly unique. I am truly sorry. To be caught up unaware, in such a thing..." She shook herself. "It sounds as if you have been moved through the planes unwilling, and stranded, if I understand you. A sending of some sort. My father would know. You have my sympathy, Master William. Still, you can do well in this fief, if you wish to stay.


    This," she indicated with a sweep of her arm, "is the fief of Lord Wayland, the nephew of our king, Fredrick Esterford the Second. My father stands as Baron to this patch, so you could do worse than to seek work with him. Anyway, you really should speak to my father about your plight, if not employment. She looked regretfully back towards the distant tower. "I needs must go now, or I will not reach the farms ere nightfall. Talk to my father. It is only a little further on. Good luck to you..."


    With that and a look of wistful pity, she left me. I retrieved the sword in a renewed state of shock and continued up the path towards the tower lost in thought. I went over the conversation, trying to sift as much intelligence as possible from it. Her words suggested that this was not my world at all, but some other place entirely. The girl''s talk of mages spoke of a belief in magic as if it were a fact of physics. Further, the inhabitants, according to Dimanda''s statements, depended on barter, if her story of dickering with farmers pointed to the way goods were brokered here.


    It then dawned on me that she had spoken in plain, if somewhat archaic English, which argued against her story to me. I cursed myself for a fool at this point. Yet, there remained some nagging oddity to the words we had passed, beyond just her strange tale of mages and fiefs. Something about my words themselves. Stopping, I voiced an old saw, "Rubber baby buggy bumpers" and listened closely to each syllable my mouth formed, making, much to my surprise, a variety of harsh consonantal noises, now that I tended to it. Yet baby buggies and rubber buggy bumpers sallied forth anyway, as I understood them. My sense of language seemed to also be somewhat altered, as if I now thought in the local mode, as it were.


    My head instantly flooded with rationalizing terms like hypnosis, drugs and dreams, but I was not sleeping, hypnotized or high, just numb and shaken. Perhaps the fall had left me a little dyslexic, but what I understood had not matched the sounds made!


    On the other hand, maybe my wits were scrambled. Was the building ahead of me some kind of weird commune, or asylum? If so, I might just have met one of the inmates, or be one of the inmates. I felt as though I should be shaking all this out of my head, reject what my senses reported and try to find a way back to the roadway and car that I intuited would not there.


    I wandered about for a while staying well clear of the tower, but discovered no paved roads, electrical lines, or other appurtenances of civilization. Should I attempt the tower after all? Evening had swept its opaque curtain across the countryside before I finally, if hesitantly, approached the castle tower. It perched well up the rising slope of a shallow cliff-side. A branch of trail wandered up past a cavern and after several switchbacks, on to the citadel''s front. Some smaller buildings and shadowed sheds dotted the far end of the stronghold''s plot, all of these at a remove from the black cave entrance. Looking at the dark hollow of the cave, I thought it might offer a way to get out of the open and think about things further.


    The moon shone whitely by the time I actually finished scouting the area and made for the cavern. However, a wavering luminescence now spilled out from the rocky mouth, and a pulsing beat of drums began to issue from it. I had not counted on the cave being occupied, but my curiosity, terminally piqued, overcame my fear.

 Chapter Four: The cave of nightmares

    A fumbling tremble of the night,


    Red runes flare before me bright


    Around the dais nightmares fly


    Should I hide? Or should I fly?


    The meeting stanzas-From the lay of Thavis Wayland


    I crept towards the entrance scrabbling to make use of whatever natural cover the broken landscape provided. Eventually I found a rocky outcrop to squat behind that offered a clear view of the interior and hid my presence.


    The cavern walls glowed, appearing almost alive in the lurid illumination of leaping gaseous flames that licked out from shattered vents in the rocky floor to curl up, lost against a high cathedral-like ceiling. A pervasive stench of sulfur and decay fouled the hot close air. From the depths, growing louder, shadowed drummers beat out an arrhythmic pulse. Drumming that pounded against my ears as if signaling the doom of the world. In the center of all this, on a raised dais, crouched a naked thing in whose tattooed manlike head, yellow eyes burned.


    It bent low, muttering cloying importunities in a hissing breathy whisper. Its thin sweat-filmed form quivered and rocked insanely as it worked. One clawed hand fisted a blood red crayon which it dragged clumsily between the lines of a double circle that surrounded it, leaving behind a trail of perfect runes that glowed blue against the ocher stone.


    I had seen the thing in my recent dreams; I had a name for it. A Burlie, I recalled. In a far corner, inhuman screams issued from the black hole of an oubliette bored into the cavern floor. The Burlie began a keening whine that increased as it completed the circle and it beat at itself, slapping clawed hands at its neck and shoulders. I felt blessed not being able, at my distance, to resolve the Burlie''s obscene utterances for the images provoked a sick and disgusted feeling in me that I did not care to explore.


    Above the circle in the flickering dark, a towering red shape took form. The crouching Burlie slithered onto its back in the rocky dust spasming arms and feet, mewling at the solidifying horror above it. The towering form resolved into a lizard-like head whose maw, fanged like a baboon''s, dribbled spittle down its Buddha-like torso. It lowered long apelike arms and lovingly reached to pull up the tattooed thing.


    Slowly, the monstrosity began to feed. As it nipped off small pieces of the Burlie''s arms and legs, the mewling changed to deafening screams and ghastly shrieks. No human or natural animal could have survived the torture. Could some kind of drug or other agent be keeping the thing alive this long? Finally the demon stuffed the Burlie''s head into its maw, and the screams ended with an audible crunch. Almost disinterestedly now, the apparition sucked the torso in after it. It lifted its spattered head and glared at a shadowed and cowled figure standing in an arch cut into the craggy face of the cave wall, looming thirty feet above.


    In the wavering pith thrown by cave''s sinuous fires, the man had gone unnoticed by me till the monster''s attention had focused there. It leaped suddenly at the figure, crashing with a sound like thunder against a borealis of blue light that streamed up from the warding circle of runes. Repeatedly it raged, pounding its arms against the warding wall of light and once more the booming shook the cave. Eventually it subsided, glowering in its frustration.


    The drums became silent. In the dim, flame-lit archway, the scarlet cowled apparition raised its hands and intoned a basso chant. The cadenced words reverberated throughout the cavern and seemed to repeat endlessly in the mind.


    The huge demon covered its head with his arms and cried out, "Stop! Speak now of your feeble desires, conjurer! What would you have of me?"


    The shrouded figure brought down his hands, rubbed one under the shadowed cowl, and spoke. "By the circle that binds you, the sacrifice that summoned you and the drums of war that sooth you, I compel you. Astheroth, I name you and lay upon you this task..." Petulantly, the robed figure flicked one hand in a gesture of irritation. "It''s the transport spell again. Every time I use the Boots of Leagues, they drop me off half way, and I have either to walk, or do the spell all over again. I need those boots to work properly."


    The demon slit its eyes, gazing slyly at the unobtainable figure. "A great deal you ask, just for dinner and a show, little mage," the demon rumbled. "How many leagues do you have on those boots?"


    The cowled figure continued stroking its chin, and temporized. "Two, maybe three thousand leagues; give or take."


    Astheroth snorted, licking the dripping remains of the Burlie from its jaws. "I will do as you ask but your offering is insufficient."


    The man demurred, and the pair argued back and forth for a time, but eventually a agreement seemed to come of it. "I shall renew the charge, but next you call me, a new set must be bargained for and more will it cost than a soul and a sonata. The reinforcement will only empower the boots an additional 9,000 leagues, and only till the boots wear through."


    "I suppose that will have to do. Very well, you are dismissed." With that, the conjurer clapped his hands with a shout, and the unnatural horror faded and was gone.


    I remained crouched behind the rocky outcrop, feeling stunned and soiled, until the mage left. Heart racing, I pondered what I had seen. I could not, given what I had so far witnessed, afford to reject the bald statements of the girl about magic being a real force here, wherever ''here'' might be.


    What kind of culture traded in torture and death for transport? Still shaken, I considered my options, and decided to pare them down to those solutions as would serve my immediate survival. I would have to fit myself into this horrific landscape somehow. I would at least need to provide myself with shelter and food. My smithing skills could provide that, if employment could be gained.


    From what I assessed to be the level of culture in this place, I should even be able to do quite well. If ''magic'' sent me here, then magic, for lack of a better term, might get me home again. Despite my fear, staying close to a source of it might be the only answer. Meantime, I needed to avoid ending up as demon food or making some kind of civil error, so I had much to learn. I slowly backed away from the cavern mouth and debated whether to approach the tower door, or go on in hopes of finding a town or village.


    On the one hand, it seemed as if more than coincidence might be involved, in that I had entered from a similar tower in my own world. I felt at my side for the one item of my craft remaining to me, fingering its hilt. If Dimanda could be believed, I should be safe enough if I stayed carefully within the law of this land. On the other hand, the macabre happenings shook me. But if the residents of this land could cope with life here, then I could as well.


    Again, there was Dimanda''s pert assurances, and the girl herself had provided good emissary..


    I decided to sleep on it, having faced enough insanity for one day. I waited out the evening in the wood by the path leaving any final decision to the morning.


    Ah, sleeping beneath the sheltering branches of an elder oak; while moonlight caresses the thoughts that fill mind''s gentle coils, when night dusts the world.


    Awakening with the sunrise, my head hurt in twenty places where small shards of rock had tried to dig holes in it. My feet were numb and icy right through my shoes, and I itched everywhere from swollen bug bites. My gored leg throbbed worse than ever. A miracle the the pain had not woken me. I arose hacking up phlegm from ground chill, legs otherwise stiff and sore inside the damp, gritty Levis that sucked onto me like sanded honey. I sought out a boulder big enough to warm myself on and sat hunched, letting the early sun do its work, drying my clothes until I could brush them off.


    I still felt muzzy and poorly rested. The hunger percolating in my belly decided me. At least I had a name to ask after. Chord, I recalled, and a reference, Dimanda. Plus, if I took work here, the shelter and food problem would be solved until I came to know more of the surrounding country. There were no phone lines evident, and somehow I doubted there would be any in the reputed village either.


    The keep''s door was an imposing oak construction, roughly hewn but well fitted, set deeply into the solid black stone of the entry vault. It felt very solid to my touch, nothing like the flimsy structure I had all but ignored when bursting into the Townsend tower. A small square hole was chiseled into the door at eye level. It ended covered on the inside by a plank, doubtless to provided a shield over a peephole. I gauged the peephole to be well over three inches through. A few unglazed windows pierced the tower, the lowest, above the door, easily fifteen feet above the ground. The narrow window beveled suspiciously downward through at least two feet of thick wall, providing a handy view of the entrance-way from above. Doubtless comforting to the residents, the arrow slit certainly didn''t provide me any.


    With no other provision to announce my arrival, I slapped the door with an open palm several times, drawing back a stinging half-numb paw for my effort. This exercise evoked only dull echo-less pats from the dense wood, but the peephole opened regardless, and a squinting gray eye replaced the plank covering.


    "Your business...?" came a rough and muffled voice from beyond the door.


    "I am here at the suggestion of Dimanda on a matter of employment with, ah, Mage Chord," I said.


    "Wait here. What service do you provide?"


    "I''m a blacksmith. My name is William Drake."


    The eye withdrew and the plank shut. I waited. Eventually the eye returned to its wooden nest. Satisfied, it again vanished. The door swung outward, revealing the eye''s owner; a thin fellow dressed in a loose-spun, yellowed woolen shirt and tight knit pants that gave off an animal smell. His sported gray hair, cut close to the skull. The entire tonsure twitched as he squinted at me with a hesitant suspicion.


    "You may as well stand in here, as clog the doorway," he noted gruffly, motioning me inside. I smiled and tried to look friendly. "You can leave that by the door." He pointed to my sword. I pulled the blade from my belt and leaned it against the wall, then entered after him. The floor was strewn with small knot-woven rugs of simple colors, and the north-facing wall sported a large tapestry, stirred by a constant draft ruffling through the rock. Some water staining marred the tapestry''s bottom edge, and a trestle table and bench fronted it. Two hammered braziers flanked the arched entrance to a wooden staircase that wound upwards between the outer and inner tower walls. This looked far different from the iron spiral of the last tower I had entered, which screwed its way up the center of that edifice, its small rooms pitched off to the sides.


    Footsteps bumped down the staircase, eventually followed by the red-robed presence I had seen the night before. A flashback of the gory scene in the cave engulfed me, images of cruel dismemberment, and sulfurous smells. I swallowed my horror of the memory, balanced it against the remembrance of the helpful girl I had met, and the certainty that I would have to deal with what this world presented, were I to survive it. The need stiffened my resolve.


    No longer muffled in a shadowing cowl, the robe''s owner turned out to be a middle-aged man with short hair, though darker than his servant''s and more carefully tended to. He appraised me with mild brown eyes and calm, peaceful features, a fatherly image that projected confidence, and soothed my nervousness, despite all I had witnessed in the cavern.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    "Harold here says you know my daughter. How is this?" he said, motioning to the servant, who quickly retreated now that his master had arrived.


    "She met me on the road yesterday evening, and said I should ask after employment here. It was late in the day, so I waited out the night before approaching your...keep. Excuse my appearance; I came on foot and haven''t had a chance to make myself presentable."


    Mage Chord looked oddly at me when I said this, but did not question the statement. Instead, "Where are you from?"


    "Illinois."


    "Never heard of it. You claim to be a smith. Are you any good?" he asked.


    "I am," I said, passing over his unfamiliarity with statehood. "I''m willing to show you, if you have a facility, but I have no tools with me. Also, I can show you at least one example of my work now, if you wish."


    He motioned me to do so. I retrieved the sword, carefully holding it by the spine, and showed it to him. His brows arched, and he brought his hand forward to take it, stopping with a frown just before touching the handle. He held his palm about an inch above the blades spine, and ran his hand across it.


    "This is a blade of power. You forged this? It is a fine piece of craftsmanship. Not many have such skills." He ran fingers lightly over the blade, muttering something I couldn''t follow. "Well, you have the talent I need, doubtless, and it is rare."


    He moved his hand away from the work and considered me for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision. "Yes, I could use a good smith here, as it happens. Would you be willing to work as I direct in other matters as occur? My keep is a complicated little outpost to run, It wouldn''t be just banging metal every day, you know."


    "I''ve run a forge as a business, so I can understand that."


    "Then perhaps we can agree to terms. The land here is held in fief, so I need men willing to work at call, when my obligations require it. Come, let me show you the forge. Have you eaten?"


    Food. Here at least I was on familiar ground. I admitted I had not, so Chord called Harold back and gave instructions to lay on some edibles. Meanwhile we proceeded outside to an area where outbuildings clustered. He seemed amiable, and we talked as we went. Having already provided the details of my plight to his daughter, it was too late to engage in a little paranoia, and withhold them now.


    I told him my full story as we walked, and he nodded, taking it all quite soberly, listening carefully and asking occasional questions.


    "I would guess you were caught in a sending this Markham fellow had prepared for his own use. The sword, likely a part of a return ritual, and perhaps has other purposes beyond the obvious. Be wary of it. I do not know this...place of your origin. There are many divisions of the cosmos; sometimes a mage of wealth or of more curiosity than sense, may pay the price to experiment with them. Unless we can find out more you are stranded here, sorry to say."


    My gut tightened. Markham! Anger, resentment, and disbelief coursed within me. "There has to be a way. If the sword..."


    Chord lifted a hand. "I didn''t say there is no way, just that it may well take some time to unravel what might be done. Meantime," he encouraged, "let me show you my forge."


    At least I was not being taken for a lunatic. If delusional, I had condign company, which for now seemed a soothing thought. Noticing my limp, Chord''s attention followed down to my torn and stained jeans. "I will send Harold for some fresh dressings for that leg afterward, if you wish."


    We approached one of the outbuildings, a rough structure of wood and stone with a slanted roof. High at the back, it sloped so low at the front that it almost required me to duck in passing beneath it. An artesian spring flowed from the cliff side in the building''s rear and a rude clay pit showed itself farther down the bank of the stream it spawned.


    "Here it is. Unused for a year or so for lack of an appropriate talent, yet the tools remain. It will take some time to put back in order, I doubt not. What think you?"


    I clapped onto the familiar, if antique sight, like a drowning man reaching for the gift of a raft. The forge''s hand bellows were of deteriorated animal hide that would need replacing. I pointed out the sorry state of many items. Rotted wooden handles on tools that would have to be refit, punches needing to be cleaned of rust, or replaced, the generally poor state of the structure.


    Chord noted my dismay and nodded. "Yes. Much disrepair. But it has been a while since anyone with either the skill, or the learning to teach such skills has been among us." He pushed in further, wending through the overturned tables and cobwebbed stacks of fixtures, to where stocks of copper ingots, billets of iron and some crude melts of tin were stacked. The mage seemed heedless of the tarry, dirty mess, and more concerned with the possibilities of the place, an attitude I found contagious.


    "Copper ore is mine-able from further up this hill of ours, other supplies can be traded for in the village."


    "And coal?"


    "Ah," Chord returned brightly, "many of the cottagers around here prepare char, and hard coal is also available by trade." He showed me two bins. One contained coal; the other blocks of hardwood.


    Gratefully, the forge''s anvil looked a good one. It was of drawn iron, about 300 pounds, to my practiced eye, with a serviceable mouse hole and thick horn--familiar sights that I immediately focused upon, another island of normality in my sea of discord. Many things though, would have to be made from scratch. These thoughts freed me a little from my frustrations, as work always tends to.


    "I would provide you with a couple of lads as helpers if you decide to take it on."


    Talking further, I found few of my questions needed to be referred to others. My respect for Chord grew accordingly. "How would I be paid?"


    Cord looked briefly bemused, but this cleared away. "I forget your origins are not local. Here, you will have shelter, food, my protection, and may make such purchases as are appropriate to the upkeep of your position as a master craftsman, both personal and for the forge. Also the aid of any in my fief, as due your station, of course. What would you?"


    Of course, I thought, a feudal system, barter based, and me not knowing the ins and outs of it. I didn''t see how I could afford to turn down food and shelter right now, or wait until I learned how things were done here. "I would need some free time, and your continuing help, in discovering some way of returning home."


    "I would expect that. Everyone has a free day each week and the privilege of the holidays of course. I am a bit curious myself as to your case, so I will be looking into it. I can promise to keep you informed." Chord appeared to be becoming restive. "Anything else?"


    "If I can make the forge profitable for you, a share in its success?"


    Chord''s eyes glittered. "Hah! You have a merchant''s sense, then. Very well, as incentive a tenants share," he lifted a finger in warning, "but only after I can discern a good return from the forge."


    Eventually we concluded our arrangement. I asked about the absence of any farrier''s tools, not having seen any. The mage didn''t seem familiar with the term. Following up on that fact I was surprised to hear there were no horses or riding animals, which explained Chord''s earlier confusion when I mentioned coming on foot and why he had found the comment strange.


    "We are not native to this land. My forefathers tried to train some of the local beasts," Chord continued, "as draft animals, but they become intractable when away from the safety of the herd. The smaller more trainable ones, such as our fore-bearers brought with them, are too limited for most practical uses. Some of the farmers make goat-carts for their children''s amusement, but this is mountainous, hilly country for thousands of hectares in any direction."


    A dozen different answers to this problem came to mind, but I felt it best to keep these speculations to myself for the time being. Instead I asked, "How do your farmers get their crops to market, then? Clear land? Build?"


    Chord motioned to Harold who had caught up to us bearing a small tray on which perched a bottle of wine, a sizable wedge of cheese and a half loaf of bread. I consumed the cheese and fresh sweet tasting bread, washing it down with part of the contents of the wine bottle minus a generous glassful the Seneschal had first passed to his master.


    Chord took up his subject where he had left off. "Overland, goods go by porters, though we ship what we can by barge of course. Large projects are community efforts. Many make their living as members of work parties--permanent groups that travel the fief and hire themselves out for shares or other goods." The mage took a swallow of his wine and dismissed Harold. "The Fief-holders can call a Levy for civil projects. Otherwise, we depend on supernatural aid from the demonic plane to supply power, both brute and subtle, when it becomes necessary. This is expensive, as demons will not work for free but sometimes," he shrugged, "the only answer. It is how I make my living, though I specialize in agricultural applications mostly. Weather and pest control, such like. Demons provided our anvil based on a relic held in Corbell. Not many have the skills you possess and fewer the tools I have managed to gather here."


    Again, images of the demonic rites I had witnessed rose up, and I could not contain myself from asking further questions of their nature. "I heard drums and noises from the cave near the keep last night." Normally I am more forthcoming but in this case, I needed to take some measure of this man who had stood calmly by while one monster fed on the living body of another.


    Chord nodded. "Yes, a summoning was worked last night. There are soulless creatures here, called the Burlies, that feed upon the power of the Ley lines, arcane energies humans can barely tap. We believe them native to this place, but it seems, with inborn connection to the demon realms. Demons will do our bidding in exchange for them. The power absorbed by the Burlies is usable by demons. They crave them, but cannot enter here without a summoning ritual, obviously. So, with care, they can be bargained with."


    "They are animals only?" Difficult to believe, having witnessed the rite in the cavern.


    Chord frowned, squinting across the compound''s buildings. "That is partially the case but not all of it. They are magical creatures and have an instinctual magic sense that seems also to tap somewhat of the human mind. They seek after demon kin eagerly, but can only be joined to them by our intervention. They seem unable to make even this connection between mages and demons however and must be hunted and contained as true beasts are."


    I digested this. "Could they be raised in captivity? Bred instead of hunted?"


    The mage pursed his lips, shaking his head regretfully. "We do not know how, or even if, they spawn. Certainly they do not try to in captivity and don''t seem equipped for the task in any case. They seem mostly passive on their own, until a door is opened, when again only containment can prohibit the instinctive rush to join with demons. This much is no secret; all that dwell here know this. I must return to finish some business at the keep. Poke about a while till I return."


    Left to my own devices, I spent my time snooping around the smithy. The spring at the rear caught my attention. I approached the hole in the cliff from which it came and watched it for a time. It geysered from the craggy cliff-side with a cold vigor and I leaned over the spreading stream below it to push my hand into the hole from which it poured. The thrust of the stream was strong, pushing back my hand with adamant force.


    I envisioned mounting a screw or water wheel there, mulling over what might be accomplished with the power freely available from it. Walking along the bank I inspected the adjoining clay pit more closely, scooping up a handful, working the fine red earth between my fingers. A potter''s dream, it felt buttery, clean of inclusions and heavy, with a good working texture. Any blacksmith knows the basics of clay. Some forges are lined with it, and many processes, from the making of china steel, to tempering techniques, require it. The kiln is the father of the true forge in all respects.


    I had not asked if the tower sported a kiln or pottery facility, but if not, with such rich resources available, I would see to it. Such bounty present here, put to so little use. Reflecting on Chord''s words, I wondered if this dependence on demon-driven power and the lack of animal labor might have weakened these peoples'' drive to build, to develop a higher culture than I had so far seen.


    Why build an irrigation system if the local mage could just force the rains to fall? Why develop chemistry if a blast of mystic force could level a rocky mountain pass? What need for advances in mechanical advantage if a stone wall could be raised with the wave of a magician''s hand? Then again my world was enslaved to oil, and the power it provided, perhaps not so different from here. Still, they seemed oddly rooted in some indeterminate state between medieval technology and hunter-gatherer barbarism. It came hard to imagine farming without even animal aid to drive plows. Socially, this civilization seemed comparable to medieval in stature but even smithing, a truly ancient technology, had not developed as well as it should have, and according to Chord, as yet dependent on some tools that they could not yet make for themselves like the large anvil he had proudly shown me.


    I shook my head and returned to the smithy. One small area in the forge seemed to be a personal space, with a greenwood pallet for bedding and chests to store a man''s effects. I cleared away perhaps a year''s worth of debris and lay down exhausted on the thin springy frame. After a night sleeping on the hard cold ground, it was a comparative luxury.


    My mind turned in frustrated circles upon the hard news I had gathered. I had left no one important behind to either worry or care what had happened to me save an unsatisfied customer or two. It seemed whatever came would have to come from what could be discovered here. Was this depression? Unconcern? Hidden excitement for what the winds of change had challenged me with? I sank to sleep aboard the drifting ship my life had become.

 Chapter Five: A New Start

    Gone the smell of Iron


    Gone the ringing forge


    Abandoned, rusted dreams of auld.


    Renew the flames, the fire,the lust


    Bring back steel, my life, and trust.


    -From the lays of T. Wayland


    Renovations on the smithy had been going well. It had only been a few days but The forge had been cleaned out, and the cast-iron fire pan chipped free of a prior old clay lining. I finished smoothing on the new clay freshly dug from the pit behind the shop. The two young boys assigned to me by Harold were busy sweeping out the place and sorting through the smaller tools.


    Old scraping knives, tongs, and jigs had been scoured clean with fresh sand. Files had been brushed and sorted out. We found a bender set for cold forming door hinges, along with several usable sizing rods. The new bellows gaskets had arrived. With luck, the first live fire would be struck tomorrow. This was largely because the keep had its own leather maker and carpenter, among other things. Like any good medieval establishment it was virtually a community unto itself. Chord appeared pleased and promised me more useful help soon. Despite my urging, he wouldn''t discuss details. Chord, I noted, was something of an entrepreneur and expected to hire out forge work to the village and supply the surrounding residents. Therefore I didn''t doubt that more help would be forthcoming, but patience is not one of my gifts.


    Dimanda returned from the farms heading a column of bearers laden with baskets of grain, onions, potatoes, smoked meats and other staples. I stopped to watch as she swayed up the hill. Her well tanned form had an energy and a bounce to it I found endearing. She waved and detouring towards the forge, stopped to talk to me.


    "So, you decided to take work here with us it seems. How do you find the forge?"


    "Better and better every day. I''ll be starting the fire soon. The work keeps my mind occupied, anyway. You were awhile at the farms. I wanted to thank you for your kindness. Do you often take such long trips and alone?"


    She wrinkled her nose and shrugged, glanced back at the bearers who were stacking supplies against the keep''s rear. Doors to a root cellar erupted from the ground there, the destination for most of the goods. Then she turned her sparkling eyes back to me where they played a melody or two on my soul.


    "Alone? Why, think you the baron''s daughter needs escort in her own demesne? Do I look feeble, slow, pregnant or foolish? No," she relented, "just twice a year, these trips. Pardon, William. I forget you come to us from strange shores. I went to set the quantities of the harvest tithes and the delivery dates, discuss their needs for father''s services and when they would like them. I have friends there so a lot of visiting, as well as business goes on. Did you get to talk to father about your problems?"


    "I told him what I told you, which is all of it that I know. He feels it will take time to sort out anything. Likely, I will be here a good while."


    Dimanda''s smile seemed to turn inward for a moment then she turned away briskly saying, "I have to tell father about the arrangements struck with the farmers, William, and see to these supplies. We can talk later...you can tell me all about this place you come from and how women comport themselves there."


    I had planned a short trip to the village where I hoped to purchase some salts and oil for quenching and tempering. Since Dimanda could spare me no further attention and having put my foot firmly in my mouth with her, I reluctantly refocused on that. I had traded some rivets to Benton, the keep''s general artificer, tanner and leather worker, in return for a sword sheath of my design. Tired of trying to keep the blade from dragging in the dirt and cutting my belt, I had designed a sort of back sling harness for it. Buckling it on, I set forth to try my luck with the village merchants.


    The village main street looked as though someone had ''painted the town red.'' It being the cheapest pigment color available save for black, and every stall was splashed with it complementing the natural tans and grays of the raw oxidized wood constructions. The place smelled like an old oak barrel, and everywhere men and women in a mix of homespun and softened hide clothes bustled about their affairs.


    The first shop I investigated appeared to be a dry goods store. The owner, a portly fellow, turned as I entered raising his eyebrows at my dress. The close woven cotton seemed to evoke this however harshly used. It marked me as a stranger, but in a village of this size not something I could hide anyway.


    "How may I be of service sir? What brings you to Tennman''s this day?"


    " I am here on behalf of Mage Chord," I said. "With my help he is reopening the forge. There are some supplies we are minus, salt for one, oil for another. Do you carry either of these?"


    Tennamen considered. "Salt? Oil? To be sure I do, Sir. Mage Chord, you say? My pardon, sir. I am used to dealing with Master Harold about such matters... But yes. Your name, sir?"


    I introduced myself and explained that I would be running the forge for the keep. I stayed away from asking questions that would inevitably bring up my origin. Information flows both ways in conversation and I prefer to keep some things to myself until I knew more of a place and the people in it. So I kept the topic to business. I have spent most of my life moving from place to place, both before and after my stint in the military. Keeping my mouth shut and my eyes open in new situations is a hard earned knee jerk habit, which my current problems only reinforced.


    "Ah! Master William, so you will be the new Blacksmith, then. What amounts will you be needing?"


    He was willing to trade a barrel of each for a dozen flat hinges but wanted the hinges to complete the trade, which vexed, since I needed the salt for tomorrow. Strolling from shop to shop talking to the merchants produced similar stories everywhere. Most knew Chord well, but I would have to drag him through a gaggle of shops to set up each account. This would be fine for some things but even the town tailor needed the arrangement in order for me to purchase britches and other personal items, which left me at a loss. I returned to the keep frustrated, deep in thought. Obviously this place needed some replacement for the current system of direct barter. One that didn''t require a pocket full of gemstones or sack of bulky trade items.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    A red blot bobbled down the tan path toward me as I trudged up the final turn toward the keep. I was amused, not to say startled, to see Chord, floating towards me suspended a foot above the roadway, legs ending in a pair of unusually shiny black boots. The mage pulled up just in front of me with a gesture. He ignored my amazed interest in his mode of travel and pulled my attention from the boots with a query.


    "Getting the lay of the land, eh?" noted Chord. "I asked Dimanda to fetch some fresh bedding for you. She should be bringing it by the forge before long. I have some tasks to do for the farms, for which we will need to gather up some Burlies. A hunt party is called for. I would like you to join it. You have no reservations, I trust?"


    I knew this to be something I had to become familiar with here so reluctantly, I agreed to go.


    Chord nodded, looking pleased. "Be at the keep''s front when I return. Have Harold fill you in meantime." Again I agreed, and with another gesture the mage elevated and whisked off toward the farms. I returned briefly to the Smithy and rummaged around a bit, checked on my two helpers, then went on to report to Harold.


    "Mage Chord will open a fist sized portal to the demon plane inside a cage trap we will set," he explained. "The opening will attract a Burlie and once it is trapped, we will haul it back here and release it in the oubliette. We repeat this until the light wanes or we have sufficient stock. The difficult part comes when more than one Burlie is attracted at the same time -- often the case, I am afraid. We are left having to chase off the surplus creatures. We do not want to kill or harm them if possible. But so strong is the attraction of the portal, they will not always be chased away with brands and noise, our usual strategy."


    I looked at Harold. He was holding back, so I prompted, "What if they won''t be chased off?"


    Harold cast his eyes down and shrugged. "At such times they may even attack and needs must, we will slay them or herd them off by force of arms. This is a dangerous business for these are fierce beasts, sly and long of claw and reach. We do everything we can to avoid these kinds of confrontations, but they happen and at such times it is more like a small war than a hunt, mark you."


    Harold waited, measuring my reaction with his eyes. I have experience with game hunting, even bear and peccary, so I knew generally what he meant. Since I made no comment he continued. "This is important work, not sport. Without the Burlies we cannot barter with demons. Then all suffer for want of those things our magic alone provides. Not every expedition is fruitful of late but sometimes the numbers attracted are so great we must withdraw, should they be inclined to violence. You are chosen because you own good steel and are strong. On the other hand, do not forget you are new to this game and heed Chord carefully. Be wary, always. Maiming and even death is not unknown on these outings."


    I agreed to follow carefully any instructions given. Changing the discussion I related my experiences in the village, asking the Seneschal for his advice. Harold looked amused.


    "The villagers tend to be suspicious of newcomers as a matter of principle. Either Chord or I will go with you next time to set things right with the most important shopkeepers. You will find, after a time that things will be easier. Some effort spent socializing in the village, in your free time of course, will work wonders. Gemstones and other portable trade goods are best for large purchases. I would advise against their use for small affairs as you will end up with credit beyond your need with too many merchants. It would be best to keep what you can in hand for future use."


    "Why won''t they accept some sort of script? I am sure the king doesn''t do all his business by bartering services and staples," I replied.


    "True enough," agreed Harold, "but the king''s letters of credit are hand signed, contain his seal, and are delivered by his royal agents appropriately and backed by his lands and treasury. I doubt hand signed notes by your own good self would hold such esteem, besides which, forgery is not very likely in the king''s case, given the care taken in delivery."


    "I might be able to make some embossed metal markers that would be difficult to fake. If I could do you think the local villagers would accept them based on the output of the forge?"


    Harold considered this. "Possibly, but what benefit would that be?"


    "For small purchases the markers could be easily transported and could be based on a small enough worth in work, say a half hour''s labor to make personal accounts unnecessary. Since the forge would honor all bearers they could be traded freely for a diversity of purposes between the vendors and workers, or accumulated for larger work processes here at the forge. I, at least, would find it convenient to work that way."


    Harold rubbed his chin, and grinned. "And we could produce as many of these tokens as we wish, and buy all based on the barter of the forge''s future services? The idea holds merit."


    I stared at the Seneschal for a moment, and then refined the concept. "Well, no. We would have to limit the tokens produced to some practical percentage of the forge''s operational hours. Say initially only twenty percent or so. Otherwise, we could not guarantee redemption within a reasonable period. Besides, we might end up swamped with redemptions. I don''t think Chord would want his tower besieged by angry creditors demanding hard goods, do you?"


    "But as you say, it is likely many of the tokens might be hoarded or re-traded, or lost, never turning up for redemption at all!" The thought caused Harold to smile.


    We argued the fine points of currency for a time, settling on a plan to put before Chord for about thirty percent of the forge''s time. I pointed out that we could always control the release rate of the tokens to any speed we felt comfortable with. I promised to create some examples of calendared coinage to present within the week.


    By the time Chord returned to the keep, Harold''s two sons Dwayne and Einte, and two of Chord''s apprentices had joined us. Chord appeared later accompanied by three farmers, which brought the number of men in our hunting party to ten. Harold''s sons came dragging a wheeled cage with a long barred fork that gave ample purchase for four sets of hands. Everyone bore arms of some fashion, knives and pole-arms in the main.


    Curiously, there were no bows present and when questioned, Chord responded, "We have no expert bowmen here, or professional men at arms such as the Duke maintains. I would not chance a fatality caused by a stray arrow in any case. Hand spears and such only. Besides the expense, we mean to capture the beasts alive, not slay them."


    We looked more a motley brute squad than a hunting party. Before long, we were trudging down cloistered forest paths toward the craggy mountain slopes east of the farms. The idea of facing a nest of the horrifying creatures I had seen in the Tower''s cave left me uneasy. Built as I am, the thought of physical confrontation rarely set my mind wandering such paths, but this particular kind of wildlife brought on different thoughts entirely. The fact they were manlike in form bothered me, as I had only Chord''s word they were not sentient. I reminded myself that this was to be a live capture expedition, and soldiered on.


    The men around me all wore somber expressions. There was no joking or chatter between them, and something of that infused me, though their obvious experience gave me comfort. Life here was more demanding and physical than I was used to, but for me, more fulfilling for all that. All I had left behind me seemed drawn in pastels, as opposed to the vivid colors that etched out this land. People gathered together here for purposes much more closely linked to survival. The interdependence was a tangible thing, not driven by social boredom, or convenience. It left me feeling...needed, on a level I have rarely experienced.


    We walked for more than an hour pushing and hauling the considerable weight of the wood-wheeled metal cage over dirt trails. At some places we had to hack away overgrown sections of the path, or roll away deadwood but eventually we arrived at a vale nestled in the mountain roots.

 Chapter Six: A Harrowing Expedition

    By arm and iron , is change wrought


    By one''s own hand, the wheel''s turning bought.


    Of evil to confound the good, I


    Gather in the Burlie night,


    Breathing out renewed daylight.


    From the Lay of Drake by Thavis Wayland


    Chord directed the unloading and setup of the cage while the rest of us located adequate nearby cover from which to monitor the trap site. When all were ready, Chord laid his enchantments, opening a small glowing spot within the cage. A rope connected to the now open cage door trailed away behind some brush, where two of the farmers waited, ready to swing shut the trap. This done, Chord also retreated, joining Harold and myself behind another nearby copse. We didn''t wait long.


    Their black shiny skin glistened, and lambently glowing yellow eyes flashed in the mountain''s shadowed vale. Scrabbling claws found easy purchase as they dropped down from the rocky clefts of the mountain''s roots. The low keening I had heard before in the cavern elevated the hair on the back of my neck, chilling my spine as they came.


    There were six of them, and they loped across the open ground, drawn toward the pulse of the glowing hole within the cage. They sniffed and fingered the bars of the cage, swaying and scuffling. One found the open side, entered, and bending low, slid his face over the bright hole. Another followed quickly, pushing on his pack mate to grovel at the spot, crowding the cage to capacity.


    Chord laid his hand on my arm, which had knotted with muscle tension as the grip on my blade tightened, to still my unease. Then he shouted and the two sequestered farmers hauled on the rope, shutting the cage door on the startled Burlies and engaging the simple latch. Chord released my arm and shouted again. Out from behind cover we rushed, yelling and waving as Chord dispersed his spell. The four remaining Burlies jerked alert, clawed hands elevating, eyes focusing on our sudden appearance. The keening increased, and three of the Burlies leaped back from our goading line of beaters to climb the mountain slope and threaten them from safety or disappear into the rocks and rubble.


    The last creature stood its ground sweeping long dangerous arms toward Harold and his sons. Unaccountably, I froze, like a startled deer caught in a headlight. Cursing, I thrust myself forward just as one of its sweeps connected with Harold, knocking him down. His sons had done as well as they could, but their cumbersome pole spears were easy for the quick beast to dodge, and it had decided not to be chased off. Large bloody wounds opened on the Seneschal''s thigh, and a wet red stain spread over his leggings. Interposing, I slashed at the thing, and it withdrew from the blade. My hesitation had allowed the beast its opportunity to maim Harold, and I felt disgusted with myself.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Einte rushed the beast from my left, thrusting at it with his spear, fear for his father haunting his face. The Burlie knocked the spear away with one clawed arm as it glared open-mouthed, animal hate radiating from its eyes. Dwayne had meantime dropped his spear, and was dragging his father back from the beast. The other beaters were still busy chasing off the rest of the withdrawing pack, so for a few moments, I would have to hold my own.


    Suddenly the Burlie lurched forward, raking at me, shoulders rotating as both extended arms alternately swept for my head. I was angry now, and let rage get the best of me. In no further mood to play at defense, and shamed by my former inactivity, I ducked under its swinging arms and thrust deep into its belly, twisting the steel as I did so.


    My arms bulged with effort as I skewered it; my face, reflected in the Burlie''s glaring eyes, distorted with the rictus of my clenched teeth. As the blade rotated, a ragged hole ripped open in the tough hide of the monster. Its red life guttered and ran down the steel, slopping onto the ground.


    The beast screamed, spasming out the remaining moments of its existence. It slipped loosely off the sword and fell dead at my feet. Almost, I felt surprise at this exhibition of anger, but a strange satisfaction had coursed through me when I had unleashed it. The satisfaction haunted me. True they were, I told myself, only animals, but killing in defense, or for food shouldn''t give rise to feelings of hatred or satisfaction. I had never felt these aberrations before. Had this place changed the way I felt about things on such a basic level?


    I felt a heat rise in my blade, and perhaps a trick of the fading sun, it briefly infused with a strange glow. A feeling of exaggerated well-being pushed aside the adrenaline of the melee, surging up inside my hammering chest. I stood and wiped the blade clean. I cannot say why I did not question this headiness at the time. It just seemed proper somehow, as if I had set right an imbalance.


    Dwayne knelt by his father, intent on wrapping the leg wound tightly with clean cloth.


    Having finished his ministrations, he rose, threw me a grateful look, then helped Harold to his feet. Apparently no one had noticed my earlier hesitation, or felt disposed to mention it. The farmers had already threaded long poles through the cage, and with the help of Einte, the four managed the feat of remounting the cage to the cart base.


    Still keening, the two trapped Burlies were otherwise passive. I sheathed my blade over my back, and supporting Harold who staggered on weakly, we started off towards the tower. There was no elation over the success of the hunt among my companions. I reminded myself that these people did not consider it sport. Chord eyed the blade and seemed about to speak, but changed his mind, and we marched on quietly for a time, saving our energy for hauling the cart.


    We trundled the cage through the cavern entrance and tilted it forward over the oubliette. Einte swung the trap''s gate open, and by banging the cage while prodding with long poles, we discharged the things into the depths of the pit. In leaving, I crossed the dais where I had witnessed the rite two nights before. I noticed the sword warming against my back as I did, but kept my curiosity to myself, and said nothing to Chord. We went out twice more, to capture a full count of five beasts, which, adding to those on hand, brought the total number in the pit to eight. It was long after dark, and we were all thoroughly exhausted.


    A stack of woolens and thick furs had been heaped on my pallet inside the forge. Mentally thanking Dimanda, I gratefully arranged them to form a comfortable nest for myself, onto which I threw my tired body. Exhausted, I let sleep claim its dominion over me, and sank at once into a deep slumber. Again, my dreams sailed upon strange waters, disturbing and dark.

 Chapter Seven: Disquieting revelations

    A circle with radiant arms, a sword at its center


    A melted crown, and I upon a mountain peak,


    Pulsing red with every heartbeat.


    - From the stacks of Corbell library, Author unknown.


    First, the kindling caught fire, and deep yellow flame billowed up the forge flue in a smoking haze. I tossed the brand in after the crackling mass, and started throwing chunks of hardwood on top of the burning sticks. turning from the flames, I signaled to one of the boys. He began pumping the bellows slowly, and the brush burned faster and hotter. As the process continued, I carefully added either kindling or block, watching through squinted eyes, feeling the glow as it built heat upon heat, pushing needles of warmth into my bare chest. All three of us were stripped to the waist against the blaze and, careful not to burn ourselves, we carried on with the slow process of awakening our furnace from its cold sleep.


    After a time, a thick bed of glowing wood char covered the fire pan, and I switched to adding only the hardwood blocks. I motioned to the other lad to bring up a scuttle of hard coal, and began feeding that onto the Mephistophelean bed. Satisfied, I turned the feeding over to the lads, stepping back from the lava-like glow of the building furnace. Dwayne entered the smithy with a call to attend Chord at the tower, and to bring my blade.


    I instructed the boys to keep after the fire until at least a four-inch bed was built, and left to find Chord. Harold met me at the keep door, still limping, his left leg neatly wrapped in fresh bindings. Again shame washed over me.


    "I am sorry, Harold. I should have been faster to come to your aid yesterday. How''s the leg?"


    "Mage Chord waits in his study, first room up," said Harold. "If you hadn''t done for me, I would be dead now," the words stumbled out. "The leg heals. Burlie hunting is dangerous. We don''t do it for sport, boy. Enough of this. Ah, I talked to Tenaman, the salt and oil vendor in the village. He agreed to send up those barrels you were asking after. He does ask that you complete his hinge order as soon as you can."


    I thanked the Seneschal, promising to complete the order, then made for Chord''s study. The wooden treads creaked, their hollow groans echoed up the winding passage as I climbed. The scant light from the small windows in the outer wall provided only a weak illumination to guide my steps, but I found the correct door, knocked, and Chord bade me enter.


    The mage glanced over my shoulder at the blade. "Place that thing on the table, if you would. There is something I would try."


    I did as asked, seating myself beside it. The room was large and filled with clutter. Piles of scrolls and odd containers of blown glass littered the otherwise undecorated interior.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Chord produced a small pouch, and opening its drawstrings, procured a pinch of powder which, with a short incantation, he flicked at the sword. The dust glittered and sparked as it touched the blade. Chord nodded, and faced me thoughtfully. "The one who instructed you in the compounding of this blade told you nothing of it?"


    "Nothing," I said.


    Chord folded his hands, and leaned towards me taking a hesitant breath. His eyes wandered across the length of the sword between us. "I will tell you an old story. It is the oldest story we have of our land, a myth of our world''s founding.


    "There was a battle long ago for the legendary Green Lands, goes the tale, in which Nuada, god-king of the Tuatha De took the land from King Fir Bolg. Having lost an arm in the battle, Nuada the Eternal called for his mage, some say physician, Dian Cecht and his artificer, the god Credine. They replaced the missing limb with an arm of silver. Our story tells that during this, the fascinated Credine had opportunity to carefully inspect Nuada''s enchanted sword. Later Credine surreptitiously copied it, for the blade could take the life from any it was drawn against.


    "King Bres later replaced the great Nuada, and such oppression of the people followed that Credine stole the crown of the Green Isle, and using the sword, divided the skies and brought his household here. Intending to mark it as his for all time, Credine called down the light of the heavens and smote the crown, infusing it into the land. Some say the stolen artifact revenged itself, catching Credine in the lightning. Others, that beings called the Aos Si'' corrupted his workings. Either way, Credine''s essence fused with the land and the sword was destroyed. It is said only the sword could conduct the essence of its maker, as ever it could take the life of any man, and that Credine''s force forever roams the Ley lines of this world, where it remains bound, and the source of all magic."


    Chord stopped, glanced at the sword before me, and continued. "This is a very old myth. Yours is a very new blade. Still, it sets me to wondering again about the place of your origin. Your steel absorbed something of the Burlie''s essence when you saved Harold, I am certain of it. This first band on the hilt indicates the marriage of man to steel. It is why no one but you may wield it. But see, there is a second marriage band, at the hilt end. What else bonds to it, or to you, I cannot tell. The runes on it speak of binding and release, of fire and of making--and this," he said, pointing at a figure centered on the hilt, "is a symbol for king, or crown. I had seen these when first we met, but looking into the glyphs, I have found nothing like it in my researches."


    "What is that powder you sprinkled at it?"


    Chord smiled. "You wouldn''t want the details, but let us say Burlie dust. It evoked an interesting reaction from your weapon, yes?"


    I remembered the bloom of energy I felt after the encounter and the heat crossing the dais, which intersected a Ley line, I had been told. I brushed such ghostly thoughts aside and watched Chord as he rose from the table.


    "This weapon was not made to chase off highwaymen. The mage who ordered it wrought has something else in mind for it, or did until you bonded with it. You may not have seen the last of him, so keep your eyes open. I will try to determine more as I can."


    Chord gazed speculatively at me, as if weighing my worth. "Tonight I will bargain for the force needed to assure the farm''s crops. I want you to be present. There are things you must be conversant with as you work here now. Also I want you to dig up a barrel of clay from behind the forge, and bring it to the cave."


    With this, the mage dismissed me. I left unsatisfied, feeling the weight of the forged steel that had adopted me even more acutely. What was it I had wrought?

 Chapter Eight: Demon Trade and Strange Help

    The hinge order was complete and on its way to the village. I finished troweling the last of the clay Chord wanted into a barrel, then stooped to wash the clay from my hands in the spring''s frothy flow. The air, cool and crisp, complemented the mild afternoon sunlight. Already, orders for pot repairs, new plow blades, and spikes poured in from the keep and surrounding farms. As I rose, Dimanda''s lank form wheeled around the backside of the forge, hands deep in her pockets, hair a golden brown billow of smoke in the constant cliff side breeze.


    "William! I am sent to remind you to be ready for tonight''s work in the cavern."


    I patted the filled barrel and assured her I was.


    "I''m glad you chose to work here. You were such an awful sight on the road," she said laughing. "How is the bedding I left you?"


    Belatedly, I remembered that she had brought the soft furs and blankets. "Best rest I''ve had in a while, thanks to you," I said gratefully. "Working for your father is exhausting business; the bedding was very welcome."


    "Did my father shed any light on your predicament?"


    The words brought back images of my small house and shop, and of my strange dreams. I wondered what people would be making of the closed storefront, amazed at how little it consumed my thoughts lately.


    I had not developed many close ties in my life, having spent most of it on the move, but the ironworks remains the most solid anchor I have ever known, and furbished largely with the inheritance of my deceased parents, as much a memorial to my heritage as anything I had.


    Looking into Dimanda''s intent blue eyes, I replied, "Your father suspects the sword may be a re-creation of some ancient weapon named in stories known here, but nothing sure yet. I can see he is concerned for me."


    We talked on of the keep, her life here, and something of my former days. She never sat, but we spoke at length, more than I had talked with a girl in a long while. Odd, that I should seek more connection among these strange people than with those who had drifted thorough my life in my own place and time. Perhaps just a reaction to my displacement, a heightened need to find footing after being pulled from all I had known. Or maybe the dispassion of my existence there had been broken by my encounters with the people here.


    A good feeling, though.


    "Other lands, a world of fantastic machines, doubtless beautiful women, what a life you have had, William!" She pivoted about, and slipped on the slick clay, falling toward the stream with a shriek. My left hand shot forward, grabbed her shirt, and rising, I offered my right. Unbalanced still, she clasped it, pulling me forward so that we both fell, toppling into the cold water. Dimanda laughed the whole time, for the current was not dangerous, here in the shallows. Her hand felt warm and electric in mine, and stayed there. We hauled ourselves back out, and talked further, letting the sun dry us out.


    Finally, she left, and taking gauge from the waning daylight, I began rolling the barrel out to the path, and down to the cavern below the tower. Chord had me place the barrel on the dais, and then I waited while he conferred with his acolytes and made his other preparations. The lurid and consistent glow of the volcanic vent, for surely that''s what it was, made it difficult to judge time well, but it took easily an hour and a half before the drummers were seated, and a Burlie prepared for the ritual. I followed Chord out of the tearing fumes of the cavern back to the keep, where a corridor hewn through the rocky hill led us to the place I had first seen the conjurer.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    Once more, the eerie arrhythmic beat of the deep drums stuttered through the cave, and again Chord lifted his robed arms and began intoning his reverberant invocation. This time, however, I kept station behind the mage, watching all from the alcove above the cavern floor. Again, the keening and screeching echoed up from the agitated creatures in the oubliette, increasing as the Burlie on the dais began to wipe its crayon of clotted blood and wax around the portal platform.


    The blue glow curtained the dais, and as before, the awful image of iridescent red coalesced within its confines. The demon picked up the mewling, kicking thing, placing it upon its ridged back. The Burlie began to lovingly lick and preen the demon''s hide, moaning in orgiastic bliss. The demon again thundered at the barrier of light, fixing us with a stare that turned my stomach to cold stone. Eventually the bargaining began. In the end it agreed, for two additional creatures, that weather spells for the farms would be provided.


    The pit-black, liquid eyes lowered to the barrel of clay. "What is this for, little mage? I want no clay."


    Chord motioned at the barrel and said, "Some further work I would bargain for."


    "Ah? What do you require now then?"


    "I would have a Golem to work for my estate, tireless and strong."


    "What would I be paid for this task? Perhaps you will trade for that weakling cowering behind you there?" The demon''s eyes reduced to slits. They bored into me with cold evaluation that froze my racing heart.


    Chord''s face paled, and then reasserted its composure. "We deal for Burlies as ever we have. Name your price properly!"


    "Two times ten years will it endure, and cannot be unmade by the hand of man or his works. It will never sleep, never eat, and never stop in all that time. Then sift to dust, and be gone. It will heed your commands and those given by one other you name, whose blood you must smear within its ears. A tongue I will give it so that it may respond to you. It will defend you and yours, though it can never wield a weapon against your foes. I will do this for the balance of the Burlies you have in your pit, and three more...and that is cheap, little mage, as a favor to you."


    Chord reddened. "Five Burlies remain! Five! More than for the control over the season''s weather, you ask. Your creatures are not so easily procured, and every gathering puts us at mortal risk! Three will do you for such a task."


    The slavering maw wagged back and forth in negation. It raised one balled fist, and bellowed, "No more bargaining! Five it is or nothing! This work will outlast many seasons, and must be powered to animate for all that time. I am tired of standing here in your hole, and would be finished. Decide!"


    Chord drew his lips into a flat line. "Very well. A bargain is struck." He motioned to one of the acolytes, who threw a rope over the side of the oubliette, and quickly withdrew. The demon made a honking noise, and jet black Burlies scrabbled up the rope, pulling themselves over the pit''s edge, yellow eyes fixed on the obscenity within the pulsing sapphire ring. They crept and scampered forward and onto the dais reaching their long arms up to climb the demon''s form. The red giant swarmed with eight pandering creatures, five for the golem, three for the weather work, that scuttled across its legs, arms, back and chest, fawning and caressing it.


    Paying no heed, the monster stirred one hand in the clay barrel. I watched as it worked. The red clay roiled and rose, forming a stout figure little taller than a man, head sculpted like a cylinder, with two expressionless holes for eyes and an oval mouth. The demon formed two ears, one to each side of the head, of a more convincing mold.The golem had a slightly rounded chest, like a teapot, and arms and legs like pipes, ending in realistically sculpted hands and feet. The demon cupped his hands, and a yellow fire, like the light in the Burlie''s eyes, took form. The monster shoved the burning ball into the mouth of the statue, bent down, and whispered in its ear. The construct then turned on its own to face us. The demon rumbled, "We are finished. Let me go now. Too long have I suffered this place." Chord shouted, and the apparition faded from the circle, and was gone, taking the Burlies and their noise with it. In place of the barrel stood the manlike figure of the Golem, silent and waiting.


    We turned and made our way along the small passage and through a door back into the mage Chord''s workroom. I followed Chord outside and down to the cavern''s mouth. As we approached the dais, Chord produced a small bone knife wrapped in leaves, and turned to face me."Give me your hand," he said.

 Chapter Nine: Golems, Coins, Taxes and News

    I held out my left hand, and Chord made a small cut on it, wetting the blade in the blood of the stinging wound. Then he reached up to dab the red fluid into the Golem''s ear.


    "You can name it if you like," he said. The pottery man turned round to face us, and a hollow voice welled up from the chasm of its clay chest.


    "What will you call me? "


    "I will have it work for you in the forge," said Chord.


    I stood marveling, unsure how best to deal with the feelings that coursed through me. This was no piece of machinery, nor a man either. I had a portable computer once, programmed to respond to my voice, and decided to consider the clay-man in the same manner for now.


    "It can''t burn, and will free some of your time for other duties about the keep," said Chord. "Be mindful of it, for once set on a task, it will continue until you stop it. No other can control it save you and I. So if you set it to dig, and then we both died..."


    "It would continue to dig its hole for twenty years, and then vanish," I finished.


    "You have said it," Chord noted.


    "My name?" the Golem repeated.


    Chord looked at me. I shrugged. "OK, I''ll call you Gort."


    Something small cringed in me, as I had remembered the name from some old Sci-Fi classic, but hell, I had to call it something.Chord eyed Gort and flicked a finger against the ceramic figure. It did not ring.


    "The demon asked for you in exchange for this. I have never heard one suggest any trade for human flesh, ever. I need to think on this further, and do a bit of research. This is most disturbing."


    "Maybe some kind of joke," I offered.


    "Jokes are not made by bargaining demons within the ritual circle," said Chord seriously. "Its request was unnatural, and dangerous. I am not the only mage by any count. I would like to know if that kind of offer has been made to others of my profession. I hope not. Take...Gort with you and put it to work. Be sure we get our value out of it."


    "Always plenty to do in the forge," I noted. "Follow me, Gort." I moved toward the cavern opening watching over my shoulder as the pottery man shambled along behind. The next two weeks passed quickly, as days do when one is busy, and I found endless tasks for Gort. For one thing the Golem was super-humanly fast with its hands, even at fine work. I gave it the task of filing out a die design for my coining experiment. Its hands worked the shaping files with blurring speed, finishing out the entire design in an hour. Gort, tireless at the bellows, became a blessing when time came to replenish hardwood stocks.


    I focused my attention on the two apprentices and soon they were producing spikes and cold form hinges unaided, building up common stocks ahead of demand. The new coinage found rapid acceptance in the village once it became clear that the forge was in full operation and both offered and redeemed them appropriately.


    Harold, quick to gloat, pointed out that several of the small hot-struck iron disks were now adorning belts, and being traded about the village between vendors instead of being rushed to redemption at the keep.


    My pastoral existence ended with the appearance of a visitor from the court of Duke Reginald Wayland. Two litter bearers bore the curtained box up the lane to the keep. A small band of five armed men accompanied the litter; each sporting a deep red sash emblazoned with the circle and five star sigil of the fief of Wayland.


    Harold came by the forge and hailed me. "William! Chord would like you to join him at the tower front. We have a visitor, the Earl of our eastern provinces, Sir Connor."


    I arrived just as the porters settled the litter before the keep. The black polished door swung open, and a stocky well-dressed man with dark, shiny hair stepped out. His manner was bluff, and he moved with an exaggerated efficiency. Chord waited as the man took the last few steps, stopping a little closer to us than courtesy normally required.


    "A fine day eh, Chord? Been a while, it seems!" The mage offered a somewhat mechanical smile.


    "Good day, Sir Conner. Is it that time of year already?"


    "Yes, ''fraid so, ''fraid so. Here to discuss the accounts, of course." The nobleman waved away his escort, who went on toward the outdoor trencher tables behind the keep, where they could sit and rest.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    "Come inside then," said Chord, "and have some wine with us. We can discuss Wayland''s needs while you refresh. This," Chord indicated me with a wave, "is William Drake, my new Blacksmith."


    "Ah, yes. I heard your forge is back in service. Good day to you also, Master William. A Smith eh? Noble trade, we have one in Corbell, though ''tis a profession rare, especially this far into the provinces." He turned guileless eyes back to Chord. "When was it the forge were last opened? Five year agone, now?"


    A wary cast flitted over Chord''s features. "About then. You have a keen memory. Our Smith died in a fall while repairing the keep roof. A great loss to us, at the time."


    Sir Connor looked to be struggling to remember something, then brightened. "Garrol, his name was, If I remember. Learned the trade at his father''s knee, eh? Tinker''s son." Then to me, "Where did you come by the skill, Master William?"


    Chord hastily interjected himself, saying, "William comes to us by chance, the gift of some unfortunate conjuring drew him here through the planes, stranding him. The skill is apparently more common in his homeland. He agreed to make his home with us, and serve the keep."


    "Ah," Sir Connor nodded gravely, "how unfortunate, but a blessing for the province, then. He will have much to learn. He was told of his provincial duties, at least, if he is to stay with you?"


    "Some, as time has allowed," temporized Chord. "He has fit himself in well here, and become a great boon to me."


    "Well then, William," boomed Sir Connor, "be welcome to the Fief of Esterford. Good man!"


    I said something polite in response, and we went inside, where Harold had already set out a small wheel of white cheese, three square sided, stemmed cups of chased copper and a pitcher of wine.The four sided, stemmed cups, called mazers, were clumsy affairs, but could contain bird-bath quantities of liquid, doubtless a boon for those who waited table. Not being much of a drinker, I eyed mine ruefully. Our guest beamed at the sight of them, however. Sir Conner seated himself first, waving for us to join him at table, and helped himself to one of the filled mazers.


    "Interesting item of yours, those markers, Chord; I see them popping up everywhere hereabouts. Whatever gave you the idea?" Mage Chord pulled one of the mazers close, and pointed at me. "William''s idea, actually. He thought it might make trade easier, and it has." This drew a new evaluative gaze from the Earl upon me, which Chord hastily interrupted, asking, " What news from Corbell?"


    "Hah!" Sir Connor''s attention quickly refocused on this. "The Duke intends to add a new tower this year, if the labor tithes stay steady, for your friend, Mage Orton. Duke Wayland thinks to make an astrologer of the man. Orton goes along with it because he wants the space for his research in other things, doesn''t care a fig for Astrology, just makes interested noises at the Duke when he mentions the subject. You know how it is between the two. Sends his regards, and told me to mention that Duke Felway''s mage, Veddek, reported his chief acolyte missing, about the time you had inquired of." Sir Conner''s tone grew graver. "Some trouble there, you will remember, a year ago; Burlies thick as mice in a granary. The Duke of Felway had to send troops to drive them off the farmer''s porches, and then they all disappeared. Interesting, Orton''s response to you - makes me curious. What did you request of Orton, exactly?"


    Chord flashed a look to me, then said to Sir Conner, "I had some information that one of our mages had arranged to go exploring other worlds. Expensive, usually fruitless effort, as you know. We of the art warn our members against it. "Occasionally, some fool will try it, driven by old legends, or madness. Sometimes there is some small scrap of knowledge gained if one successfully returns. Or, more often the case, from perusing whatever notations or evidence remains of the attempt, if ... unfruitful."


    Sir Connor stabbed a piece of cheese with his belt knife, shaking his head. "I never understood the purpose of that. Suicide, as I understand it. The Demons list a high price, and then scoot the mage off at random, more often than not to places from which there is no return. Is this not so?"


    Chord nodded. "That is the case, yes. The demons cannot determine a destination the Magician does not have firmly in mind. A clear visualization is required for any work involving the creatures--it is a principal skill for working in the art. Else, more would follow the path than do. Not one acolyte in a dozen ever achieves full guild membership, and acolytes are carefully chosen specifically for this ability. It may have been such fiddling that drew Master William to us."


    It became clear to me why Chord had wished my presence. Business was never breached straight away. Even the intrusion of this tax collector provided for mostly a social occasion. Only after every possible ounce of gossip and story were exchanged would any issue of purpose be mentioned. This seemed an open opportunity to glean further answers to my many questions. I cleared my throat, and interjected one. "This Acolyte of Veddek''s, a young man, long yellow hair, and tall?"


    Sir Connor wiped his dagger on the tablecloth, and returned it to his belt. "I couldn''t say, having not met the poor fool. MaCaan, if I remember. You would have to inquire of him at Veddek''s holdings, or possibly of mage Orton. I trust we do not bore you with these doings, comings, and goings, Master William?"


    It seemed to me Sir Connor remained well content to sit and converse for as long as the steward had wine to pour; a duty he permitted Harold to perform once again.


    "I am still learning the customs and histories of Wayland, Sir Connor, so I am all ears for news and tales of the kingdom. It is all new to me, and equally fascinating. I hope to find time to travel some, and get to know it better one day."


    "Hah!" The Noble Assessor grinned, launching an open-handed swipe at my shoulder that changed my seating position a good two inches, despite his soft-fleshed appearance. "Hah! Good Fellow! That is the spirit! Likely have your way sooner ''an you may think so, as happens, but this is to be discussed later."


    I half smiled, half winced at the well-lubricated functionary. I noted some tension pass through Chord, as if he regretted having introduced me. Only slowly did it sink in that Wayland''s "tithe" might involve my labor, and some travel. Upon reaching this epiphany, I begged to be allowed to withdraw, feeling that the longer I fed the flames, the more drinking and less work would be done here, and I was anxious to hear the outcome of all this.

 Chapter Ten: Business, Cycles, and Apprentices

    I returned to the forge, where the two boys, who had taken to their apprenticeship with a growing pride, were busy filling orders and completing such chores as I routinely assign. Gort, as instructed, worked on my new project. I had decided to try to make a bicycle of some sort. I have never been very comfortable with bikes since I got my growth, but I wagered it would be a popular item here, where all but wizards went shanks-mare.


    I had been frustrated by the need for a proper gear-chain, which would have been very time consuming to hand forge, if not impossible. Then I remembered some old pictures of antique bikes with enormous front wheels connected directly to the pedal crank. This brought to mind a child''s trike as well, and after a little sketching, I felt something might be done. The result, a two-wheeler, with the larger wheel in front. The crank directly drove the oversize front wheel as is common with tricycles, but fitted with a simple ratchet clutch, so that it could idle while the bike coasted.


    The frame consisted largely of a light, very tough wood available locally. The wheels were flat forged wagon bands with cone-shaped hubs to substitute for spokes. It looked more like a chopper motorcycle than a bicycle, with a high seat to allow good leg leverage, but after several changes to the crank length, frame and seating position, it seemed to function well enough, even on mild grades, though it would require walking up many of the surrounding hills. The carpenter, in exchange for a significant fund of my iron markers, provided the wooden frames.


    I had worked with Gort to make a small stock of the metal components. The woodworker finally delivered an additional six frames, so I put Gort to assembling the bikes, and ''adjusting'' them.


    The adjustments were by brute strength, and amounted to slightly re-bending things so they lined up on the hand-fashioned and somewhat variable wood structures. An open box, fitted behind the driver seat, completed the units.


    The result, a very stable, if slow, ride that handled the dirt trails reasonably well, and could carry a bushel sized load of cargo. They used bushings instead of bearings, which required constant greasing, but were still better than nothing. The prototype drew curious stares from the boys when I wheeled it out of the shop for testing.


    They crowded around, handling it, trying to divine its purpose. They were amazed when I mounted it, and with a few false starts (it had been a while), managed to pedal it around the open area fronting the forge. Its practical turning radius was less than I had hoped for, but functional.


    Both boys immediately wanted to try it out, and soon I had two very scraped up and confused apprentices. However, with perseverance, both were riding within a short time, and strongly suggesting I should make more. With Gort''s persistent effort, I now had seven total, so I relieved one of the apprentices at the Forges'' counter and had him ride around in front, to see what effect it would have on the customers. In less than two hours, I had only the prototype, two sad helpers, and a significant mound of iron markers. I set Gort to forming another stock of bike components and strode off to find the carpenter.


    ***


    It was a cluttered day.


    Behind the keep, Sir Connor''s men sat at the open-air trenchers, shouting and laughing, pressing around the half-barrel of "small ale" that had been provided. This drink had been thrust on me several times since coming here. I hated it. But the water here, unfiltered and questionable, did not come from a tap, so the beverage served a real need.


    Made from the first, and most starch laden boil of grain and water, the primary wort fermented to a reasonably strong ale. The used grain, strained from that wort, was reboiled, making a far weaker mixture, that when in turn fermented, produced the "small ale" sometimes called "small beer", a vaguely beery tasting beverage of far less alcoholic content but at least safe to drink.


    I suppose one could get a buzz off it if a huge quantity were downed, but it would take a heroic effort. To avoid it, I had taken to keeping a supply of boiled water at the forge. The clanging and banging from the forge echoed behind me, while sharp bellows from the carpenter''s stall foretold of extra duties for some unlucky apprentice. Dimanda appeared from around the far side of the stall, a stick of a girl in tow, who looked barely ten years old, and short for that age.


    There were a few small cottages, one to two room affairs that barely qualified as such, behind the carpenters shop and my forge, on the stream''s opposite side. Not many, for the keep''s staff was small. The girl probably came from one of those.


    "William! This is Bree. Treste, her mother, tends to the brewing vats here." The girl sidled behind Dimanda''s full hips and peeked up at me shyly with big brown eyes. "Bree is very good with her hands, but not useful to her mother at the brewing. I thought maybe you might find some use for her about the forge. What do you think?"


    I looked at the girl a little baffled. I wasn''t about to deny Dimanda anything, but for the life of me, I couldn''t think of any possible use for the child around the forge, and doubted the brisk boys I had been training would treat her well if I did. I assumed Dimanda had been unable to find work for the girl elsewhere. Still..."What can she do?"


    Dimanda nudged her forward, and the girl thrust a handful of small objects at me. One, a small rose flower of sun-dried clay. Every petal beautifully detailed. The other item proved to be a hand formed cup, with a relief around it of Ivy done with impressive skill. This piece had been fired, or at least burnt black in someone''s fire-pit, though unglazed. I smiled at the girl, who tentatively smiled back."You made these yourself?"


    "Yes--of river-clay, sir."


    Dimanda''s eyes pleaded with me. "You mentioned when we last talked about making a pottery kiln. You said..."


    "Yes, and I intend to. But it is not built yet. Tell you what, if she wants, have her come around this evening, and I can show her how to make some pour forms. When we smelt copper, we will go through a lot of those. I suppose we could have her build up a stock. I could give her an iron marker every two days for that. Later, when I can get around to the kiln, we''ll see. She certainly has the skill. Will that do for you, Bree?"


    The girl''s smile brightened, and she nodded. Importantly, so did Dimanda. "It''s settled then."


    I yearned to stay and talk further to Dimanda, but needed to see the carpenter on forge business. So we parted, for now.


    Seth, the elderly carpenter, emerged from the front of the woodworker''s shanty in a state of irritation. His hands flapped against the front of his thin apron causing a cloud of sawdust to bloom and drift off in the light breeze. Rail thin and white haired, Seth''s chiseled bony features rested atop a long ropy neck. His watery blue eyes squinted up at my approach."Be your day goin'' better''n mine, William. What brings you ''round this time o''day? How didst those frames work out for ye?"


    "Very well, and thanks for the effort, Seth." His rustic accent came through, even in translation. While many of the common folk spoke with less formality, Seth obviously had roots in a different district than this one. "In fact, I came by to order more..."


    Seth''s face pinched inward even more than usual, if possible, and he shook his head. "Naw, no time, no time. I need to plank out the logs as came in this mornin'' and set em'' out to season. No time for carve work now. Come inside. There is sommat to discuss fer accounts. I''ve tea, if you like."


    I followed the tradesman into the shop, and the old worker swept wood-dust off a bench top with one gnarled hand and pointed to a half completed chair with the other. I am, if I may say so, skilled in the art of dealing with suppliers, and obviously Seth needed something from me.


    I seated myself, and waited patiently as he hustled around, magically procuring a brace of cups and a steaming copper teapot. He picked a small sack off the floor and chucked it onto the table. It clanked as it settled. Then he seated himself across from me, and pushed the bag next to my cup.


    "These were taken in by me from the townsfolk an'' farmers as trade last few days, alongside those markers you gave against the frames. It all comes to about sixty hours of forge labor, my reckoning." I eyed the bag speculatively but said nothing, waiting on Seth. "I''ll be needing spikes and such, and more O'' these here." A copper splitting wedge appeared out from his apron, joining the bag on the table.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    No issue there. The hills around the keep were veined in malachite, and stocks of copper were up, although eventually I would need to smelt more. Bree would be helping to prepare for that.


    I had put this off, as I needed to speak to Chord about assigning workers to mine out more ore than waited in the wooden bins beside the forge. Smelting is a dull business, which would preoccupy my furnace, once started. I had planned to build a separate smelter later in the season when there would be less demand on the forge. "Consider it done. Have one of your boys run a list of your needs up to the Forge, and we''ll get started on it right away." The gnarled Artisan grunted, but still seemed unsettled. "What else do you have in mind, Seth? You seem agitated today."


    The Carpenter sat and fiddled with his teacup for a second. I use the term "tea" advisedly. The stuff amounted to a hot, bitter herbal concoction, with no caffeine in it whatever. "I have to admit, William, these tokens of yours be a blessing. I am doing work from town and country I''d been obliged to turn away afore now. Mark me, I''m not always in a position ta'' do trades. Some as come fer'' work offering goods I''ve no need of, nor ha'' the time to trade away for those as I do. I don''t like to keep track O'' what''s owed , and tis'' rare, ken ye, that a trade be exact, or truly fair. The folk here bouts trust Chord, an'' are right willin'' ta'' accept his smithy markers on balance, as am I. But the markers round'' about run out quick, and at times I still has ta'' trade or turn work away. The trouble is, there''s not enough markers about, and the scarcity is makin'' folks tight with em''."


    That was ominous news. "What do you mean?"


    Their beginin'' ta'' try ta'' bargain fer'' a premium fer'' their use. Makes it harder ta'' get me price. Soon be needin'' ta'' pass some O'' that loss on ta'' you, if I continues to take em'' in."


    I could see where this was going, and launched into my spiel about Forge hour limitations and the marker quantities, but Seth cut me off with a wave of his hand. "Chord''s made this all plain afore, and said I should talk to you. See here, what if I threw in with ya, so''s the marks were based both on my shop''s time and yours? Couldn''t ya then see clear to makin'' more? The shops O'' the village are tradin'' em'' as goods, without even askin''. It''s not fair they be limited to the forge time alone, when so many dasn''t even reach the Forge ta'' be reclaimed. The more folk comes ta'' me with em'' stead a chickens and such, the easier it is fer'' me ta'' take orders. What do you think?"


    On consideration, I couldn''t see why not. We talked about the relative value of the carpenter''s time versus the forge''s, and hammered out an agreement to make more tokens. These would include the addition of a saw''s image. While crude, the disks were safe enough from forgery, given the scarcity of proper metal working tools. Mine turned out to be the only working forge this side of the district capital, where arms and armor were a market. I put this down to the lack of horses. Farrier work and wagoneering provided much of the common income that spurred the spread of blacksmithing, save for the rare traveling tinker''s repair efforts, and thin hammered pots.


    The new strike I could easily add to the current token''s impression, and quickly affix onto the old ones as they were turned in. Seth''s face smoothed out a little when I said so, and nodded. "As fer yer frames, come out back, as there is sommat I would show ye."


    I rose and followed the man out the shop rear where a pyramidal pile of peeled logs loomed. "We have ''em piled here, and then move ''em to the Vee Braces, where we split ''em down the center. T''is nasty hard work, but when done, we knows what logs''ll do for timber and which are to soft or center rotted for aught but fire wood. See now." He waved his arm toward two stacks of split wood, one of half logs, cleanly split, the other of hacked trunks with rotted cores, or poorly split examples. "The farmers and your boys make short work of the dross and cart it off ta feed their fires. The toth''er pile we split again, pulling free two flat boards an'' two quarter rounds, as take the contour of the logs. The rounds make good fencing and such, as is, and the boards go on ta'' be shaved square an'' stacked to season out."


    I nodded. While my thoughts hadn''t been on where the carpenter''s supplies came from, it didn''t surprised me to hear that there were no sawmills, and that this whole process fell to the woodworker and his apprentices directly.


    "This is why I can''t run up yer'' order just now. This all takes time, unless..." the watery eyes screwed intently into my own, "you can find a way to speed the process up. I ha'' been keeping my eyes on you, William. You''re a right smart tinker. I saw those riding machines ye made wheelin'' around affront the forge. Seems to me a man such as you might find a way to lighten my chores. If so, why, it''ud free me time to do more of those frames for ye. What do you think?"


    We returned to the bench and our cooling tea. "Are there any grain mills around here?" I asked. Seth tossed the contents of his cup to the floor, and poured new tea from the warm kettle. "Milling''s done at the farms. Most grind it out in a large stone basin with a great fluted granite pestle they push round about with a pair of heavy poles. But I ken what yer asking after. There''s a mill up at Corbell, on the Nolgate River. The farmers there run it. Well, tinker it as much as run it. Still, ''tis a sight to see an it is a'' work. The river pushes a wheel with big flat spokes around in the current, and that powers it. Has a big wheel-stone rolling around a stone track and grinds the grist. Big wood pegs push ''tothers on the shaft of it, to make it roll round. Spend as much time pound''in in new pegs as grind''in flour, but it''s a sight to see. Corbell services most of the central fief, t''is too much milling work to be all done by hand, the crops large as they are there. So the water mill is necessary, if a pain in the arse."


    That revelation made things simpler for me, and I explained my plans for harnessing the small waterfall behind the Forge. I pulled a piece of charcoal from my pocket and used it to sketch out a rough plan for a power shave plane to surface his lumber. I could make the plane, which would be mounted to a flat surface upon which he could lay his split wood, and a belt-powered roller could push the boards over it, peeling and refining their surface as it operated. Seth looked at the drawing, pulling at his chin, and brought up safety and operational considerations not addressed by the rough sketch. I responded, showed him how kickback, lifting, and other oddities could be managed.


    I also broached the possibility of making a circular saw large enough to deal efficiently with the timber, noting that such a saw would not be quick or easy to make. Seth sat back with a sigh. "Ah, such stuff as dreams are made of, William, but I can see as what this would mean, no mistake. Still, there are several months of skilled work to see this come to pass, and," he waved toward the logs piled behind the shop, "nothing here as will make all of that disappear anon."


    I bit back the urge to note that much of the skilled work would be mine. Seth would have to make the wheel and cradle, and most of the table structures. I had in mind several other shop tools that could be powered from the stream, and gaining his support for the waterwheel itself would be important when I went to Chord with the idea. I knew the carrot of future production couldn''t nail down his help by itself.


    "I could lend you Gort. He can move and split your logs easily, and I can manage without him for a few days, to catch you up. What do you think?"


    A grin cracked across Seth''s face, and he stood and shook my hand. "Done! Ye come by with yer Golem, and I will help you to show him what needs doing. Then I can set my lads to carving out yer frames right away. Tell me when ya go afore Chord and we''ll get the mage to agree to the waterwheel. I can see we will need to clear more land soon, to take advantage of all this. I knew I could count on ya."


    That being settled, I left to retrace my way back to the Forge. The day turned to long shadows by the time I had finished business at the forge and with the Carpenter. The Duke''s men had quieted down, many sleeping on the trencher, or passed out, others quietly gaming with each other, for what stakes I couldn''t imagine. The carpenter''s apprentices were sitting in front of his shop, finishing up a meal of fowl and weak beer. The sight of Gort jerking along behind me caused a general halt in mastication, but no comment. The thing had been working in plain sight for weeks now, and people had become used to seeing it about.


    I knocked on the entrance lintel and helloed.


    "About time!" Seth''s thin visage appeared at the door, and he motioned me in. "Bring it out back, and I''ll get the thing started on the logs."


    We walked Gort through the process a few times, and Seth grunted to see the clay figure drive his wedges ''barehanded'' into the thick trunks, straight down the center of each one. Then it reached into the opened crack and pulled the logs apart like a diner opening clams. It took several logs before Seth felt satisfied Gort could tell the difference between good timber and bad, and sort the slit trunks appropriately. By then, the sun had completely set, and since Gort made no appreciable racket parting the lumber, as it didn''t use a maul in the splitting, we left it to work through the night. For some reason, Gort didn''t need good light, or any at all, to work by. I left with a promise that at least some of the needed bicycle frames would be delivered tomorrow afternoon.


    I noted that bright candlelight made yellow holes of the keep''s high windows, and wondered if Chord and Sir Connor had gotten around to settling accounts yet. I was too tired to be very curious, at the moment.


    Something tickled at the back of my mind. Bree! I had completely forgot about my promise to Dimanda. I lurched around behind the forge to see the girl forlornly waiting near the clay pit. Arms wrapped around her thin form, head downcast.


    "I am sorry, Bree. I got caught up with the carpenter and forgot. I''ll pay you for your wait."


    Gazing briefly at the moon, I gauged it light enough to show her what needed doing. "Just a moment, let me get my form."


    I retreated to the forge and found the mold, just a wood frame and a block the size of the copper melt it would make, with a dowel in its center to form the pour hole. I returned and showed Bree how to pack the form, press in the melt hollow with the block, and a second one to complete the pour mold. I watched as she repeated the process flawlessly, then sent her home with an iron token and instructed her to return tomorrow to begin the work.


    Exhausted, I happily fell onto my pallet, still worried as to the result of Chord''s conversations with his Duke''s agent and what, if anything, it might mean for me. Oddly, the sense of wood splintering between my fingers, of life coursing between Gort, the sword, and myself played on in the back of my drowsing mind. As I descended into slumber, the leering face of Chord''s pit-demon flowed, pulling at me.

 Chapter Eleven: The Nublins Are coming!

    Though I stream through lands foreign to my tread,


    Alone and waiting,


    O my children; I will never leave you!


    Reclaim me, and all that is thine!


    Cedine''s Promise, by Bard Rakasner. From the stacks of Corbel city


    I awoke soaked and cold. Again dreams, thankfully unremembered, clutched at the corners of my consciousness. The thin softwood boards of my pallet creaked beneath me as I rolled onto my side, waiting for the night-fog to dispel. A wall of pottery resolved out of it, and I jerked fully awake, startled to see Gort standing before my bed.


    The Golem stood unmoving, and I tried to recall if Gort had been told to return after finishing with the wood. A strip of warmth ran beneath my hand, and I refocused on the pallet to see a momentary glow flicker along my blade. I lifted the sword, turning it in the morning light. The polish caught the early sun, flashing as it turned, but it was not like the eerie nimbus I had just seen.


    Chord''s suspicions, the strange dreams, the odd heats and lights that flitted through this work of mine, were weaving a progressively alarming web. I no longer felt comfortable waiting for answers to come to me. I would have to talk to this Mage Orton. If Chord''s duties to the Fief didn''t take us to Corbell, I would have to take my leave of the tower, and strike out on my own. The realization weighed me down. Life was satisfying here; these were good people and the familiar bustle of the Smithy comfortable.


    While my mind turned on this thought, I dressed and made my way to the forge''s front. The difference between the forge, heated by the embering fire at its heart, and the still, gray chill of the new dawn, tightened my skin. Most of the tower''s retinue were already at work, and down the packed earthen lane I spotted my two apprentices making their way towards the shop.


    I checked my need to discuss this decision with the mage; still very early by any reckoning, too early to be bothering Chord and his official visitor yet. Instead, I turned back to Gort, who still stood passively by my pallet. Gort had been given a voice, though I had not really explored this function of the artifact. I still found its presence unsettling, and had been reluctant to plumb the full extent of its capabilities. I passed my hand over Gort''s chest, feeling the slightly grainy texture of raw ceramic. This elicited no response from Gort, who continued to stand unmoving exactly where I had found it on awakening. "The carpenter''s wood -- it is all split?"


    Gort turned its head slightly to center on me. A hollow response echoed from the unmoving oval of its mouth. "All is done as you directed."


    "Did the carpenter send you back here?"


    The Golem stood silent a moment, then the breathy voice replied, "You called to me."


    The announcement sent goosebumps down my spine. To know it could speak was a whole other thing from actually hearing it assess my words and reply. Besides being very disconcerting, I had done no such thing, unless perhaps, I had called out to it in my sleep, which set me thinking again of my disturbed rest.. The clomp of young feet entering the smithy distracted me, so I turned away to tend to the arrival of my helpers. Bree showed up soon after and set to work creating my molds. I had her fetch some straw to lay out behind the smithy, in the sun, and indicated she should use the area to dry them.


    "Me mum says she don''t got nuthun'' ta pay for the prentic''in, sir. She says she'' set aside her best brew for you- wants ta know if that''ll do, sir."


    I stopped, thinking about how apprenticing was done, about which I knew nothing. The boys had been assigned to me. I certainly didn''t want or need barrels of ale, and though evidently customary for families to raise a dowry of some sort for apprenticing children, the master/apprentice relationship would certainly involve reciprocal obligations that might be troublesome later.


    "Tell your mother that your help is valuable in its own right, that if and when a kiln is built, you will be apprenticed to Pottery work, rather than to the Smithy. She owes me nothing for this...practice. I owe Dimanda a debt of gratitude, and I am happy to help such a talented girl as yourself. Your mother should speak with Dimanda about that, rather than me. Thank her for letting me have the use of your work."


    Bree smiled coyly. "Dimanda likes you. She says you be a good man."


    There wasn''t anything to be said about that, so I just smiled in return. I left Bree with a lighter step, however.Soon the sounds of a busy shop filled the air, and I returned to my examination of Gort. I wondered what the extent of its thought processes might be. Was it truly just the magical equivalent of a smart machine tool, or could there be more, hidden behind the hardened cool clay exterior of this unsettling homunculus? I picked up the steel blade, and held it up before Gort, who seemed to purposely rock back from it slightly, though the reactions of a teapot are hard to gauge.


    "What can you tell me about this?"


    Gort stood silent for a moment, and one of its arms seemed to shift. "A conductor," it said.


    I stared at the Golem. True, as far as that went. Anything of iron or steel conducted electricity, but current was not used in this world.


    "What else?"The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Again, a slight shift of Gort''s stance registered its attention.


    "A weapon of men."


    The effigy again fell silent. There was something called the Turing Test, I recalled, that supposedly could determine whether something exhibited the quality of self-awareness, but I didn''t know enough about the test to apply it. Frustrated, I threw the sword back onto the pallet and decided to seek out Mage Chord. Before leaving, I instructed Gort to prepare the new saw engraving punch for the coins, and instructed him to begin manufacture of the new coin order.


    An altercation started at the tower''s rear.


    Dwayne and Einte, the Seneschal''s sons, stood before the trencher there, shouting at each other. The boys had been added to the carpenters staff recently, to help run errands. Blows must have been traded, for both boys'' faces were marked, and Einte wore an especially puffy shiner under his left eye. Dwayne gesticulated wildly, his red shirt torn on the right side. This offered profound amusement to Sir Connor''s men, who still cluttered the trencher, egging the boys on. I frowned to see what looked like a couple of my markers trading hands between one pair of men. As I closed on the lads, the words being bandied came into focus.


    "T''was too! Clear as day! Four of ''em!" Dwayne insisted


    "Liar!"


    "Fool!"


    "They are never about after sun-up! Da'' says so too. Anyways, there''s no colony fer miles a'' here."


    I pulled the two apart, and favored both with my sternest look. "I take it my order with Seth is filled? All my frames are delivered? The carpenter has released the two of you for the day?"


    Einte cast his eyes down, chest still working, and shoved his hands down into his pockets. "Na sir. We be just bringing firewood up to the keep. Was Dwayne as started it!"


    "Were not!"


    "Was so!"


    I didn''t know what they argued over, and though curious, didn''t want to chance seeing this fight flare up again. "That''s enough. Any more of this and I''ll have Seth decide what''s what, since it''s his time you waste here!"


    Dwayne blanched. "Oh please sir - no. He''ll hide us both! We be just bickering over four Nublins I see''d ina'' woods this mornin''. Ente says I din''t an was day-dreamin'', but I did too see ''em."


    Einte squinted and opened his mouth to retort. I held my hand up in warning, and his mouth clapped shut.


    "What are Nublins?" I asked.


    "They be the small men. The diggers."


    "Miners? There is a mining camp around here?" I had not heard of any such thing in my time here, though most of the townies, farmers, and workers were not verbose and kept their talk to business. I again needed to confront the fact of my lack of knowledge about this place, its people and culture. I had no one else to blame, for having buried myself in the familiar work of the forge to the exclusion of all else. A determination to change this occupied my thoughts. I had allowed too many day to day things here to dilute my focus.


    "Not miners, not humans, Nublins," Dwayne stated, as if this clarified everything


    "Naturals, you know? We got ta'' be gettin'' back. We''ll see ta'' your frames, promise. Don''t tell on us to Seth, please?"


    The porters were looking on with interest, and I was not of a mind to make a spectacle of my ignorance, so I let them go.


    Harold met me at the keep entrance. I kept silent about his son''s scuffle and requested to see Chord. As he turned to deliver my request, I reached out and put my hand to his shoulder. "Wait, I have a question for you." The Seneschal turned back to face me and lifted an eyebrow.


    "Yes?"


    "I heard something about a mining camp, or a group, around here--Nublins, I think, were the people named. What do you know about them?"


    "Not people, Nublins are Nublins, and not around hereabouts, I think."


    "Not people?"


    Harold''s face tightened impatiently, and he threw a quick glance into the keep.


    "T''is not the time for discourse, William. They are of another race. Our history tells that we are immigrants to this land. The Nublin are native to this place, but we have no dealings with them." Harold thought for a moment. "There was some bicker, I am told, long ago; settled now. We mind our own lands and concerns; they tend to theirs. They are small folk, heavy, coarse-haired. Dig their homes underground, hunt the woods at night, and don''t like full sun. ''Tis all I know. Perhaps Chord can tell more. Why do you ask?"


    "I overheard someone say they had seen some in the wood this morning. I thought I should ask who they were. Don''t want to appear ignorant, that''s all."


    The Seneschal''s face looked astonished. "Nublin? Around here? Incredible! Chord must be told! Where did you hear this?" Reluctantly, I conveyed the gist of what had occurred on the way to the keep, downplaying the fisticuffs involved.


    Harold looked concerned. "The boys are not given to telling stories. They should have told me right away, though, if true."


    "There was some disagreement over what exactly was seen, between the two of them," I said in their defense.


    "Disagreement. Yes, I have experience with their disagreements," growled Harold. "Go fetch my brats here. I will approach Chord, meantime. Sir Connor is preparing to leave, and I have my duties. I will tell Chord you wish to see him. I''ll send word to the forge when he has time for you. Leave the other matter to me."


    I had left instructions with my apprentices to put a few melts of copper and a bit of tin in the furnace, preparatory to doing the pours for Seth''s splitting wedges, a job I intended to complete personally. It only required a slight detour to check on the progress of the work and to set Gort busy making ready for the arrival of the cycle frames I was expecting. That done, I continued toward the carpenter''s to deliver Harold''s summons to the two boys.


    Dwayne looked worried, and Einte sullen at receiving the message. Einte kicked at the dusty lane fronting the carpenter shanty as if to punish it, and complained. "Said you wouldn''t tell."


    "I promised not to tell Master Seth, and I won''t. Your dad thinks what you saw might be important, and needs to hear it from you. I''ll just tell Seth you''ve been called away; it''s up to your father what Seth needs to know."


    This mollified the pair somewhat, and they made off for the keep together, though with much dragging of feet. I then sought out Seth to notify him as to where his helpers were going, and inquired about my frames. After that, back to the forge. The copper was ready to pour. I prepared an alloy with rivulets of molten tin, and moved the crucibles quickly to the clay molds. The molds crackled and sizzled as the red-gold pour entered, and I barely escaped a bad charring, but casting is the quickest way to make the basic forms. Once cooled, my apprentices could break them out and finish them on the stone hand-wheels.


    It occurred to me I might have Bree prepare a few more wedge molds, but these were a little trickier than the rough pour forms she worked on now, and that would have to wait until I had time to demonstrate their making. About then, the seneschal appeared at my shop.


    "Sir Connor is leaving this morning, Chord wants you to attend. You will need to hurry, so leave be your other work."


    I strapped my sword back on, and gave some last-minute instructions to my apprentices before I left.

 Chapter Twelve: I Accept An Assignment

    The Earl''s men were already arrayed before the keep by the time I arrived. Chord and Sir Connor were exchanging parting comments at the tower door. Both looked up at my approach. The heavyset official took my hand in an iron grip and pumped it vigorously. "Hah! Glad to have run into you before I left, William. Look forward to seeing more of you at court soon! We must have a long chat about this adventure of yours. Fascinating stuff, other-world travel, all that. Your talents will be most welcome in Corbell, no question! Off I go then. Always a pleasure, Chord, until month''s end!"


    One of the cadre opened the door to the dusty litter, and Sir Connor stepped in with a final wave. The men lifted the conveyance, and started down the lane from the keep. Chord motioned me inside, and we seated ourselves at the same table where I had talked with Sir Connor the day before.


    "I know," said Chord, "that you must be bursting with questions, but let me speak first. We will be leaving for Corbell in two weeks. The Duke is waiving the usual tithe of food and goods this year - instead, he will have a levy of our services for the raising of the new hall for Mage Orton. Your services for smithing, mine for raising stone for the masons. Seth will come, for his carpentry skills, and five laborers from the farms. I will bring Dimanda with me, and you are to bring Gort. Set your affairs in order accordingly, and do keep Harold apprised of everything, as he will stay here to keep things going while we are away."


    I listened with some satisfaction, since it meant I would not have to sever my position with Chord, after all. The mage watched me carefully, and doubtless saw signs of relief flood across my features. "I have spoken with Harold, who told me of his son''s encounter in the wood. This is a matter of concern to me," noted Chord. "We must establish the truth of this before we leave. If Nublin are starting a colony nearby, there will be talk among the farmers and villagers. Possibly some foolish action taken. This must be staved off, at all costs. There used to be some bad blood long ago, history now, between the Nublin and men."


    Chord shrugged. "No reason to suspect trouble; some of our communities are close by theirs, but it would be something new here. We tend to ignore each other''s business, actually.   All the same, I am going to mount a patrol to ferret out the facts, and I want you to lead it."


    This startled me. "Couldn''t make a worse choice," I groused. "I know little of this place and next to nothing of these...these Nublin; not even what they look like. I just heard the name in passing, from Harold''s kids!"The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    Chord smiled and cut short my protests with a waving hand. "Makes you the perfect choice. All that is known of them by most are children''s tales and the babble of bards. Better someone unburdened with such tripe and foolery meet with them. Also, you are bright and accustomed to trafficking with strangers. It is, after all, what you do at the forge. You will know them if you see them, no mistake. My concerns are local. I will confide in you. I would like you to probe them, if Nublin are found, to see if there is a possibility for trade. Whatever you can garner as to their intentions without entering into political discussion would be good as well, of course.


    "Besides, we don''t know that there are any to find, as yet. You will take three men with you each morning, to accompany the gleaners through the wood on their morning rounds. The Nublin like our ale, I am told. See that you draw some from stocks each morning before going out. If you have an encounter, offer it up, and see if they can be enticed to talk. That''s all. Will you do it?"


    I agreed, albeit reluctantly, so Chord sent Harold to arrange matters. It was remarkable to me how busy everyone kept in this seemingly pastoral world. When told to do something, they run to the work, instead of walking. The extra duties Chord and others had piled on barely managed to bring the pace of my days up to par with their own. Food, water, clothes, all the essentials of life were available here, but at what a stupendous cost in labor!


    I took leave of the mage, and decided to try an experiment before returning to the forge. The heats that ran through my blade from time to time spooked me. Resolving to be true to my earlier resolution, I thought to probe that wound a little, instead of trying to wish it away. The effect occurred every time I passed over the dais in Chord''s cave, so I took the downward path to it, entered, and walked to the dais, swallowing my reluctance to fool with matters, that in retrospect, I should have avoided.


    As usual, the sword warmed as I stepped onto the flat surface. The cavern was vacant. Even the oubliette, now empty of the stocks of Burlies, since Chord had scheduled no further rituals of late. The cavern''s vents still bloomed with billows of burning gas, and a hot stench still wavered in the air like barely visible spirits, making their journeys to the cracks in the cave roof. The timing of the vent''s blow-offs caused a strobe of shadow against the mottled walls, and then they seemed to change size and shape, as if I stood within the working lungs of some giant beast. I tore my eyes from the spectacle, and reached behind me, pulling the blade free. Its metal felt more than warm now, but screwing up my courage, I plunged it deep into the sanded circle''s floor.

 Chapter Thirteen: Stupidity, Being a Tool, Vengeance, and Nublin

    A flash of actinic blue light.


    A sabering bolt of pain and joy.


    Wave upon wave of heat cascading up from the earth, through Corm Da.


    The Friend of God, Sky breaker, All Slayer, Conductor of the Earth, Credine''s Hammer.


    I am its master, Credine, its maker, and William of Drake, Master Smith.


    "The crown! Find my crown, pull me out from the land, rule my people, and pour my will down upon the world!"


    Revised version From The Lay of the Smith, by Thavis Wayland


    The light faded. Shaking, I pulled Corm Da from the earth. It seemed weightless in my hand. I moved it with a practiced experience and grace I do not possess, to its sheath.


    A knee and palm, mine, I think, touched the floor, then the world faded, and was gone.


    I awoke staring up into the faces of Dimanda and Chord. Chord made complicated gestures; Dimanda cradled my head, a worried expression painting her features. I pawed the air weakly, and tried to sit up. A swimming sensation poured through me, and gathered momentum, so I lay back down.


    Dimanda moved her hand along the side of my face, a pleasant feeling.


    "Lay still! Are you alright? What happened!"


    Chord''s hands withdrew as if scalded, and he frowned at me. "Best not be at play with things you know not! What has occurred here?"


    I rose again to one elbow, and focused on the curious faces surrounding me. "I''m fine, I...how long..."


    "Hush, Father! Oh, thank god he recovers...I just discovered you a few minutes ago. I saw him enter the cave after leaving the keep, but when he didn''t come out, I..."


    Chord nailed me with his gaze, saying "Just an hour ago since we talked. Dimanda brought me. What were you doing in here?"


    My head slowly cleared. I felt stronger, but shaken and foolish for what I had attempted. There was something in Dimanda''s eyes I had not seen before, a concern on a level I would not have guessed, or hoped for. "Just an experiment," I gasped, "something I have noticed when moving through here."


    A memory of Gort''s words tore through me...A conductor. Not a conductor of electricity, but of the living force of Credine, the living essence of their ancient, ancestral forerunner. A God, or what would walk among men as one. I had learned ... something. The pieces that flew into place did not form a pretty picture, and more questions formed behind the answers unveiled. Dimanda fussed as I stood, but she calmed after a few assurances and a weak smile from me. Chord was another matter. He motioned imperiously up to the tower. Sheepishly, I nodded, and followed him out of the cave. We returned to his study. He alternated between staring at me, and the sword. We sat hunched at his small table, our arms resting on it, the Corm Da between us. We looked grim, like a pair of Russian roulette players in mid-game.


    "Our vanished acolyte, this MaCaan, found a way to travel to your world, which is certainly the God-Holm of our legends, and brought there, or found there, the knowledge to re-forge the Corm Da. From what you remember, if the Crown is also reunited, you would become the Avatar of the god Credine! This is not, I think, what MaCaan intended. Heed this! Your world has many smiths, yes?"


    I swallowed and nodded. Even in modern times, hand forging is not a lost art.


    "Then we may see MaCaan again. Do not draw that sword. Do not thrust it into Ley line intersections, as you did in the cave. Do not spit Burlies with it. Keep it with you every minute. Get another blade to use for protection. Above all, do not say anything to anyone about this. Wait until we can talk to Mage Orton. Spend your mornings patrolling as we planned."


    Chord stopped to massage his temples. "The Corm Da. You remade Credine''s Hammer!" He glanced sharply at me. "This changes nothing, for now. Credine had his own thoughts for our future. This MaCaan has perhaps others. That second band of runes, the bonds upon the hilt; their meaning becomes clear. You are merged with the spirit of Credine, and with this world. I do not know what this portends, or to how deep our dependence on these primal contracts might be. More important to you is your future in this, I think. Step carefully."


    Chord reached out to grip my shoulder roughly and peered deep into my surprised stare. "It is as if you pulled me into this." Chord''s hand dropped to the table. "I know that is not the case. Primal forces are at work, and we are caught up in the game. Go tend to the forge." I thought Chord correct in all particulars. My actions had been rash, the motives poor. Was I being compelled by something within me?


    The Forge front milled with farmers and townies placing or picking up orders. Some of the promised cycle frames had been delivered, since Seth, having already completed one order, had become quicker for the practice. I set Gort to assembling the bikes as the frames arrived. The cycles sold out almost as fast as we could make them, so I sent an encouraging message to Seth, then turned to other matters.


    Checking on Bree, I found she had completed over two dozen copper molds. She had not only laid them properly out on the straw to harden, but had covered them with dry sand to speed the process. She squatted over one, carefully dusting it off and turning it over, again something I had not mentioned she do. Together we checked one of her sets. The halves matched perfectly, leaving a clear hole to invest the pour when matched up. I took some time to show her how to make the wedge molds, and put her to that. Then I returned to the forge.I mused over what sort of defense I could create in a day, even with the whole forge at my disposal.


    I decided on a heavy Roundel, a sort of dirk, or dagger made to pierce chain-mail. A good sixteen inches of tapered, solid iron with a hardened point, it would fulfill my requirements nicely. Although chain mail was an evident rarity I had seen only on Sir Connor, it would be thick enough in cross-section to use as a nasty sap. Besides, sixteen inches of any kind of steel is enough to make an attacker think twice. I decided to form the shaft in an X-Shaped cross-section, instead of as a tapered rod, as would be normal, so that it could be edged on four sides, save for the very end which would terminate in a needle point. The kind of thing, unlike a true roundel, that a combatant would not try to grab in a fight.


    Donning my apron and gloves, I prepared two short canes of metal and thrust them into the blaze of the furnace. The scorching heat, a familiar collaborator, warmed my arms, calming me. I shuttled the canes with tongs inside the flames'' coils, working the bellows with my free hand, bringing the iron to the proper temperature for shaping and welding into the roundel. My practiced eye watched for the glow of the work, the proper color needed for striking. Deep within me something stirred. Too bad, I thought, I couldn''t achieve the heats needed to process a higher quality steel.


    Although my hands continued to work the metal, I seemed to become more distant from my work. My sight lingered on the furnace''s dancing fires, and I thought how easy it would be to quicken the dance. I moved among the flames, encouraging their hunger.


    I started to sing, and the dancers danced, faster and faster, leaping to the beat of my song. It seemed so simple. I reached into the flames directly, still singing, and worked the metal bare handed, moving and shaping. The dancers were mine now, moving to my beat, faster, then slower, going here and there at my call, eager to please.


    The colors and heats blossomed and faded, doing my will. The blade, clay in my hand, formed to my wishes, metal crystals and carbon restructuring to my conception. I closed my fist upon the dirk''s end, and squeezed, drawing out the point. Fingers ran across the sides drawing out fine edges. Finally, I lifted it out from the furnace and blew upon it. I blew hot, then warm, then cold. Frost formed upon it, and I knew it was done. Turning, I laid the silvery, already polished Roundel on my anvil and looked up from it, into the frozen stares of my apprentices. Across my chest, the hard leather apron had all but burnt away, the gloves, totally gone.


    I grabbed at my forearms unthinking, looking for burns. Flexing my hands, I found them cool, and unmarked from the incinerating heats of the open furnace. Controlling my shock at what I had done, I manufactured a lopsided smile for the benefit of my apprentices.


    "Very advanced work. Don''t even think of trying that, either of you. Back to business!" The words sounded hollow, even in my ears. A shivering ran through me. I felt short of breath, and afraid. What had I just done? I wondered briefly what the boys had seen, thankful that my back had obscured any view of the furnace work. The lights and blooms of the forge, certainly, my singing, smoke. What else? Damned if I would ask them.


    The two turned slowly back to their current duties without comment, eyes downcast and unsure. The Knife on the anvil seemed to smirk at me. I snatched it up, inspecting it. It was a glory of smooth lines and execution. I could see a change of color at the tip, which I somehow knew to be as hard and keen as the 440 stainless of my world, maybe even harder. It balanced like a surgeon''s tool, completely free from any work markings or defects I could see. In my shop at home, well equipped and with the right alloys, I would be hard-pressed to duplicate it. Here, it was impossible.


    The sword at my back felt chill against my spine, like a streak of ice. I reached to pull it off, but hesitated as Chord''s words repeated themselves in my mind. The cold slowly dissipated in any case, returning to the neutral warmth my skin imparted. I pulled the remains of the apron off, riveted a metal loop to my belt, and shoved the roundel into it. Having no cutting edges nearest the guard, at least it wouldn''t damage the leather.


    By evening, I was again exhausted, with no spare energy left for contemplation of the days horrors. My pallet called, and I responded. I awoke to hands shaking my shoulders. Einte stood over my pallet, biting his lip. "It is time, Master Drake, for the gleaning. We are all assembled behind the keep, sir."


    I could just make out the boy and his blackened eye in the dim glows of the forge. It was more the end of night than dawn. I rolled out with a groan, and threw myself together.


    Behind the keep waited the pack of younger boys and girls, Bree among them. Nearby, my three assigned men stood, recruits from the nearby farms it seemed, save for one, I had not seen them around the keep.


    The tower''s youngsters spent two or three early hours each day picking through the forest nearby for herbs, berries, barks and vines to supplement the supplies of the keep. This was done all before breakfast, their own chores, or other employment. Harold arrived, the two promised bladders of the keep''s practically flat ale in hand. He thrust the bladders at me, and then cuffed the back of Dwayne''s head. "No dawdling - and stay in sight of the men at all times! Off you go now!"


    The areas to be visited were known by heart to the gleaners, so even in the near dark we made good time, basically just following along behind the chattering waifs. Familiar copses of oak and birch shivered in the shadows around us, aching for the dawn. These were interspersed with vegetation I could not identify - but then again, I am no botanist.


    By the time we arrived at the first site, the sky had lightened enough to see clearly, and the boys busied themselves digging up roots of some sort. My stomach rumbled, and the men with me eyed the bladders meaningfully. The ale, I realized, probably constituted breakfast for some of them. I had tried the local ale, and couldn''t stand the flat, warm brew myself.


    I directed the men to station themselves around the workers and keep their eyes open - advice I also followed. The morning wore on without incident, and we escorted the cadre back to the keep. The men assigned me eagerly polished off the now completely flat ale. Clearly, this perk would assure me of some consistency of staff on these ventures.


    The next morning found me again at the tower''s rear. The youngsters were already assembled, and I counted heads while awaiting the appearance of fresh ale sacks. We seemed short one child--Bree was absent. No one seemed to know why. The seneschal finally appeared with the ale sacks, but still no Bree.


    I asked Harold after the girl. His brow furrowed. "No, and her mother hasn''t shown up to tend the brewing vats this morning yet, though it''s a bit early for that. Best go on without her."


    "She lives in one of the cottages behind the carpenter''s stall, true?"Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    "Yes, the one with the field stone front. Why?"


    "Wait up here for a bit. I''ll run over and check on her."


    "But... Oh very well, one short day won''t hurt us, I suppose. I''ll put these," he waved to the kids gathered there, "to work dressing up the tower grounds, for now."


    I dodged around the loose piled debris behind Seth''s workshop and splashed across the cold creek waters behind. A well trampled break on the far side led to a lane paralleling the water, so that the intervening vegetation partially obscured the cottages from the riverbank. A sop to privacy, I guessed. There were only six structures, it was easy to pick out the one mentioned. A few rusty barrel hoops, not any of mine by the look, canted against one side of the modest shanty. The cabin stood out, made of good timber, and fronted in natural field stone, perhaps salvaged from the construction of the tower or picked from the riverfront. I knocked on the thin split-wood door, and heard sobbing within.


    "It''s me, William. Are you all right? Bree, are you there?"


    A rustling answered. Then the door slowly opened, just a crack. Bree''s brown and teary eyes looked out through it.


    "I be busy tending my mum today. I be sorry, sir, to miss gleaning, I mean."


    "May I come in? Is your mother all right?"


    Bree looked doubtful, but reluctantly swung the door open further. I entered, and let my eyes adjust to the dark interior. A broken chair lay on the packed earth floor. A canted table was backed way too close to an open hearth on one side, two narrow pallets conformed to the corner of the opposite walls. A crumpled woman in a dun and coarse woven smock lay on one. A bloody rag against the side of her face, a shallow bowl of water on the floor nearby. I had seen her before around the keep, though I had not placed her as Bree''s mother. I tried to remember Dimanda''s introduction of Bree. Her mother''s name, Treste, came to mind. Bree returned to her mother''s side, kneeling on the dirt floor, sponging Treste''s face with the rag, and rinsing it in the bowl beside her. I noted a dark, ugly bruise on Bree''s arm as she did this.


    "What happened here?"


    The woman moaned, turning her face toward me. An ugly bruise and torn skin decorated the right of Treste''s face from mouth to ear. "Fell, fell down. All right...be all right."


    I could barely make out the words, so swollen were her face and lips. I came close to look carefully at the severe, bloody mark and at Bree''s arm.


    "Nothing...it''s nothing."


    I went to pull the table back from its current posture, jammed against the lit hearth. The weight of it took me by surprise; it required real effort to pull it a safe distance from the fire, back to its original position. I remembered that much of the furniture here was made solid, from green cut forest timber. There was undoubtedly the main part of a tree trunk in this table. It had not been made to be moved about, small as it seemed. The broken chair, similarly rough and massive, I set aside. The broken leg three inches in diameter, had been pulled from its hole, chiseled through the equally thick seat. I looked at the thin woman on the pallet.


    "Who did this? You didn''t fall. You were beaten, and Bree as well. Who? "


    Bree''s lips tightened. Her mother turned her head away and moaned.


    The child wrung the rag, and again dabbed at her mother, saying, "We don''t want no trouble, sir. Be back to work soon sir, promise."


    This might pass for a simple domestic problem here, but it would not stand in my eyes.


    "Bree, I can''t have you being battered and bruised showing up to try to work at the forge. You must tell me what occurred here. I pledge to you it will end, if you tell. Your mother will not have to endure this ever again, my word on it. Where is your father?"


    Bree turned those soft tearing eye on me. "Dead, me Dad be, hurt awful on a Burlie hunt two year agone. Leg broke and tore bad by a Burlie, it was. Died a'' fever. This be the work of Hess Bullard, the woodcutter."


    Treste shook her head, moaned and grabbed at Bree''s arm. Bree looked tearfully at her mother. "Naw, Ma, it be alright. If Master Drake says it so, it will be. I trust him, Dimanda trusts him. We needs th'' work. He be right, this can''t do. Somethin'' must be done, and we can''t do it ourselves. What if Chord find out the ale''s gone down more than accounted for? We''d be in a pickle then sure."


    A dark anger welled in me. "This Bullock, he works for the keep? What about the ale? You must tell everything, if I am to end it. All of it."


    "Bullard, sir. He courted my mom after dad died. A drinker, sir. Ma wouldn''t have him, but he brought firewood, an'' Ma would give him ale of our shares, as we do with tea and water mostly anyway, the river being nearby. Were not good enough for Hess, though. He started to demand his own kegs of my Ma. Beat her when she refused. Came by late last evening, thrashed her fierce for refusing. Said there had better be a keg here next he called, or it would go the worse. I tried to pull him off, but..." Bree rubbed the bruised welt that ran the length of one arm. "He does for himself, has a cabin in the north wood, where we glean. Most knows of it."


    My hands tightened as she spoke. "Bree, you should have gone to the authorities about this right away. "I''ll tell Chord about this immediately!"


    Bree shook her head. "We all knows you be foreign and that, beggin'' yer pardon, Sir. So you might not know how it goes. Were he a keep man, Chord would do for him, but long as there be no permanent harm, he be safe enough from the town council. No town law hereabouts against brawling with a woman sir, it be just considered bad business, is all. ''Tis his word how much the wood be worth, and wither we wanted it or not."


    I checked them both again before I left, and stormed back to the tower, in a black rage.


    Harold looked up disconcerted as I came on. "Held us up an hour, William. Everything straightened out?"


    "Will be before the day''s out. Bree won''t be coming. She tends to her mother today."


    "I''ll gather the youngsters then. Here, take the ale."


    Soon we were back to tromping into the gleaning areas, and I pulled one of the guards aside, and asked after Bullard''s cabin. It wasn''t far. As soon as the troupe settled to gathering in a close area, barks and roots mostly this trip, I faded back and made my way to it. It looked like a simple hunter''s shed. No one had spent the time on it Treste''s former husband had invested in her cabin. A thin plume of smoke rose, wheedling its way out of a small clay stack set to the slant roof''s rear. It was still rather early, and Bullard was evidently not one to meet the dawn. The area around the shed showed a lack of upkeep.


    I didn''t bother to knock. Bullard was a dirty brute of a man, unshaven, with a furred neck and red rimmed eyes. He was upending the last of a bladder of ale when I entered, and cast it on the floor to join several others there when he saw me.


    "What you want? This is my place. Get out, or I''ll throw you out."


    "I''m here to deliver a message from Treste. You are Bullard?"


    "Isme, m''Bullard. She send me m''Keg? Owes me m''Keg--fer wood."


    "Actually, I deliver her wood now. She owes you nothing that you have not already taken from her. If you come around again, I''ll beat you to within an inch of your life. She''s mine, you''re not to go anywhere near her, or the keep. Do you understand me? Never."


    He stood unsteadily, a wild hatred plastering his face. "Mine! My ale, my wood. Get out or I''ll throw y'' out." With that the brute rushed me. I caught one arm as he grabbed for me and snapped it back, levering his elbow with a fast jerk against my turning shoulder. There came a sharp crack, and a howl. He was a big man, and hard, but already well into his cups. I felt not the slightest pity for him. I had delivered a message. He attacked me. Now he had one less arm. All I saw was a beaten woman and a battered girl cowering in a small cabin. It sometimes comes in handy to be almost three hundred pounds and built like a train. This was one of those times. I grabbed his throat and jerked his head down to the level of my own. "Now you can chop wood one handed. If I see or hear from you again, your next profession will be begging. I don''t think your plight will spawn much charity, so I don''t recommend you cross me or mine again. We are agreed, yes?"


    A dawning understanding seemed to seize the drunkard. He nodded vigorously, eyes tearing in pain. I released him to tend to his self however he saw fit, and left to rejoin my troupe of gleaners.


    The morning passed otherwise uneventfully, and loaded with booty, we returned to the keep. I didn''t mention the encounter to the men, but from what questions I had asked, and the common knowledge that seems endemic to small groups like Chord''s retinue, I felt that most had come to a good guess as to what had happened in the wood.


    Much later, Dimanda stopped by the forge, an almost tearful glisten in her eyes. She said nothing, but pulled me close and gave me the most amazing kiss. She pulled me to her, hands warm across my back, lips soft against mine. I felt an urgency in it, that echoed within my heart. I returned the kiss with an equal fervor, which to my surprise, she accepted willingly. Dimanda pulled back, and passed a hand across my cheek, looking deeply at me, but left wordlessly after.


    By the third day, I had grown used to the early hours and had learned to lay by some cheese and bread to wolf down before starting out. I happily found Bree back among the gleaners, and received a big hug from the child. The bladders today had longer straps affixed to them than usual, and they swung and slapped at my side irritatingly.


    The encounter occurred at the furthest site from the tower we had yet scouted. Martz, a shaggy-headed bull of a man, waved me forward from his position at the front of a scrub-festered dell. The boys scrounged for flat brownish mushrooms here. These, Martz had said, grew no nearer the keep; but it wasn''t an area they visited often, being distant. Suddenly, he pulled his hood down and crouched, flattening his hand towards the forest floor. Taking the cue, I bent low and hurried forward, curious as to what he saw.


    Martz pointed through the bracken, and following his direction, I saw a movement of low shadows in the woodlands just behind the bank of a small creek not far from our site. A shivering passed through two close-set bushes fronting the far bank, and a short bearded form appeared between them. I guessed the figure to be no more than four foot tall if standing straight. Clad in a rough scraped leather kilt, it proceeded towards the bank on two black-booted legs. A wood stave bucket with a rope handle swung from one gnarled hand. The creature wore leather shoulder pads that left its chest bare. It leaned over the stream and dragged the bucket through the fast current, straightened, and retreated back through the brush.


    Martz leaned close and whispered, "Nublin they be, four of em'', I think. Saw one a time ago when huntin'' nort'' a here. Maybe more back further. What''s to do?"


    Chord''s instructions, which had seemed so clear to me before, left me frozen with indecision in the face of this real encounter. I was a smith, not a diplomat. What had I gotten myself into? What if they attacked? I bit my lip, turned and motioned the remaining men forward. All three now watched me in frozen expectation, waiting to be told my plans.


    "Wait here," I said. "If they look like they are going to attack me, come running. Otherwise, stay out of sight unless I call. Watch closely. Keep the boys back. If the worst happens, see the gleaners safely to the keep."


    I checked the bladders slung over my shoulders, moved the Roundel to a spot in my belt behind my back, and blew a breath. I rose up and strode past the cover onto the open bank of the creek. The shadowed motion in the woods before me ceased as I advanced. Stopping before the stream, I squatted down, and unslung the bladders, laying them on the bank beside me. I made a show of unstopping one, and took a hearty pull. It tasted yeasty and flat, but I attempted to seem as if I enjoyed it, and waited there.


    The brush shivered again, and a small fellow, possibly the same one I had spied before, stepped into view. It came forth bare handed, and stood on the opposite bank, looking at me. I waved, and lifted one of the bladders towards it, smiling.


    "Well met, friend," I said. "Share some ale with me?"


    The Nublin''s small black eyes focused on the bag for a second, and then it nodded. "Well met, then," it said. "And I will, as you''ve offered. Where come you?"


    I motioned behind me. "Name''s William. I am with some gleaners from the keep of Mage Chord, back a ways from here," I said. "Yourself?"


    The small man nodded. "Aye, I know of the place. William is it? I be called Brock. Wouldst share your ale with my friends as well?"


    I nodded and sat, keeping my hands in plain sight. Brock turned around and spoke into the bushes, then crossed the stream to my bank. Out of the brush three more Nublin appeared, hesitating briefly, and then splashing through the creek to join us. I passed the first opened bladder to Brock, who smelled of it, smiled, and upended it with relish. The second bladder I tossed to one of the others. They were dressed the same as Brock, as much alike as chess pawns, perhaps varying in height as little as an inch or so, all fully and scruffily bearded. The second flagon was presently uncorked, and we sat passing the things one to another. Brock belched and wiped his hairy countenance, spreading unconsumed residue down his beard.


    "Have never tasted the ale of your folk before. Heard it praised though. Tis'' as good as its repute. You come unusually outfitted this far into the wood, William, but well met you are indeed."


    "Hunting?" I asked.


    Brock shook his head. "Relocating. We are down from the northern ridge, scouting for new lodgings. Our digs are playing out, and Burlies becoming a pain in the arse of late. We hope to set up in these parts; less infested and un-mined. Prefer the tall rock, but we can make do in the hills hereabouts. Your clans have some claim here? We are not looking for trouble. Didnae see any worked land on the way down."


    Brock passed the bladder to me, but I shook my head.


    "Keep it. I''ve had enough. Take both. To answer your question, no, the woods are not settled. Further south and east, some farming; a village to the south and west, and that''s all. We heard that your people had been seen about. Mage Chord seems to think this a good thing. I can''t speak for anyone in particular, of course." Brock looked pleased at that, took the returned ale sack and upended it, eyes focused on me. The ale bladder looked quite deflated by now, which was amazing, considering that I was barely wetting my lips with it. A glance at its twin verified a similar status. I estimated the pair to have held close to three-plus gallons of the stuff.


    Brock glowered, lowering the sack, and spat into the stream. "So. What is it you do when not scampering through the woods sloshing with ale sacks, William?"


    "I work iron. A smith, in Chord''s employ."


    The Nublin''s eyebrows, or eyebrow, as it ran seamlessly across the ridge of his head, rose at this. "Truly? A noble occupation, respected, and unusual among your kind, as I hear. Dabble in the art myself, when duty permits. As far as you know then, there is no objection to our presence in these parts?"


    I shook my head. "The tower mage told me to say you were welcome, for his part, should I run into one of your parties. He has some interest in trade, too, if you are of a mind. If you are to settle here, I would plan a visit with him soon. He is worried your presence might be...less understood, if he stays out of it. It would probably smooth the way for you here, if you did. What do you think?"


    Brock nodded. "I can see it. Tell your mage I will come to visit tomorrow--close as we are, why not? Thanks for this." He winked at the ale sack. "Here, for your kindness," he said, pulling something from a purse hanging from his kilt.


    I held out my hand and Brock dropped something into it. A steel clasp, with a finely worked emboss of a waterfall worked into the metal. I admired the workmanship, and asked some technical questions about it. This further pleased the Nublin, who answered readily, and although some of our terms differed, we worked through them easily.


    It was obvious that Brock was more than a dabbler in metals, and we talked longer than I thought we might have. In the end, I left in good spirits to rejoin my men, and we returned immediately to the keep.

 Chapter Fourteen: Mugged!

    Chord listened carefully to my report. He sat in thought, drumming his fingers on the small table that had become our conference site for the last week or so.


    "I will nail down some sort of trade agreement with them tomorrow," he said, "even if it''s for dirt. Something, so I can spread word that the Nublin are a valuable addition, a welcome aid. We have only a week before we are off to Corbell. I do not want to return and face some damn confrontation here. Any thoughts?" I mentioned my need to increase stocks of malachite ore to replenish our dwindling copper supplies. Chord smiled


    "Yes, that''s a good thought. We don''t know what they may have with them for trade, but they certainly mine. I could propose trading some of their labor for ready-made supplies--give their colony a quicker start. Also, the sight of a few industrious souls working away here above the keep would help to assure the residents as to their intentions. We will be short-handed here anyway, while we fulfill our obligations in Corbell." Chord''s smile increased. "Wayland can''t tithe or draft the Nublin."


    The forge was busy. A few bike frames stacked against one wall indicated that Seth was still finding time to make more. The cycles continued to sell, and the forge was recouping its iron markers rapidly - too rapidly. A couple of buckets-full of the markers sat behind the service counter. I was not the only person to notice this. Several of the townies'' eyes strayed to the buckets as they completed their trades. I motioned to one of the boys and set him off with one of the pails to the tower to see Harold


    Deciding to make a trip to the village, I filled my pouch from the other bucket. Some more oil was needed, and I thought to stop by the tailor''s and outfit myself better for the trip to Corbell. The walk to town was a minor revelation. The earthen path was becoming scored with the tracks of metal bike wheels. Two examples passed me, rushing in the opposite direction, off towards the farms, goods strapped high into the cycle''s overfilled baskets.


    The village seemed a bit busier than I remembered it, and several colorful new stalls now crowded the central lane. There were more women on the street than before, although this could have been because of the time of day.


    Two young men, both astride cycles, were drawn up by the lane''s side in animated conversation. I noticed that red painted designs decorated the wheel hubs of one of the bikes, and that the other had its hubs rouged to a brilliant shine. The wooden frame of the first had also been re-carved to include some fanciful inlays. This startled me for some reason. Then I chuckled and continued up the store-lined street.


    I stopped by Tenaman''s shop to see after the extra oil. The vendor looked up as I entered, coming out from behind his wooden counter to greet me. The husky fellow beamed and shook my hand. "Well met, well met, good Smith! I''d been thinking to stop by the forge this week! William, yes?"


    I took the man''s hand and nodded. "Mr. Tenaman, as I remember. I meant to ask after the hinges I sent before. Were they all right?"


    Tenaman ran one hand through his thinning hair. "Yes, the hinges. Worked fine, fine. How are your supplies holding up?"


    "As a matter of fact, I stopped by to order more oil," I said. "I brought some markers with me. Will you accept them on the forge''s behalf?"


    "Of course, of course. No problem at all. In fact, I wanted to talk to you about them, as happens. Have you a moment?"


    I shrugged. "Sure, what can I tell you about them?"


    "Oh, it''s no problem with the tokens. Not at all. I was hoping I might convince you to make more. Been a real boon to business hereabouts. Was thinking maybe you could make me a few with my oil-barrel mark on them. I''d make you a fair trade in oil and salt for the work. What do you think?"


    "I think you should talk with Mage Chord first, Master Tenamen. It''s his forge and in this case, I think that would be wise. As for quantity, the forge is already issuing more." I explained my new arrangement with the carpenter and briefly, the importance of keeping a stable token value.


    He blanched when I explained the concept of a bank-run and mentioned Seth''s problem with customer''s recent attempts to re-evaluate their worth. "The forge''s tokens are traded well within our means to cover their value in goods," I concluded, "therefore the issues remain small. I don''t think the forge and carpenter''s shop could cover the needs of the whole town, without problems erupting."


    Tenamen blew out his cheeks and agreed. "More to this stuff than I had considered, William. Perhaps I should bring it up at the trade council meeting this week. Could be we might need to establish a consortium to back these tokens equitably an'' safely before we all go making our own. You are quite right, I will consult with Chord first and get his thoughts on it. Thank you, William. How much oil did you need again?"


    I completed the purchase, then left to seek the tailor''s stall.


    The shop was located off the main lane of the village, down a side path, and constituted the bottom half of his residence. Formerly, by the looks, an old storehouse, re-imagined with some eclectic home carpentry to serve as both shop and quarters.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    The way was narrow, fronted on both sides by utilitarian structures. Brown, unpainted buildings mostly concerned with storage. There was also some crowded housing for itinerant workers, periodically needed to aid the nearby farms during harvest, and the bones of some inactive public office. Certain times of the year this area would be bustling, but not now.


    A rat flicked through a spreading crack in the boarded front of one building as I passed. A slight wind stuttered along the narrow way. Above, clouds flew, interrupting the light, hiding, and then revealing the contents of deeper corners and crevasses. There was no foot traffic here, just a couple of roughly dressed townies, possibly carters, though I saw no goods being shuttled into any of the nearby buildings.


    I shouldered past the pair on my way to the shop. One looked up briefly, and then lowered his gaze to my belt line. Glancing down, I realized that the heavy sack of coins I carried there had attracted his gaze. The two returned to their whispered conversations, however, so I gave them no further attention and made for the tailor''s, where a small wooden plaque swung heavily over the entrance.


    A stick-thin, older fellow bounced up from his chair as I entered. The man''s name was Cresk. I remembered that much from my former, and unsuccessful, visit here. Smiling and ducking his head, he approached - a barrel-full of nervous energy that belied his years.


    "Sir Drake! So happy to see you again! I am so sorry about your last visit. Mage Chord has sent word that your needs can be attended to. All is settled. What may I do for you?"


    "Just what we were discussing before, Mr. Cresk. You can call me William. I will be traveling soon, and thought to get outfitted. Say, a half-dozen shirts, matching pants, and the rest. Two sets appropriate for travel, two of working clothes, a couple of belts, and the rest presentable for city wear. A good pair of boots if you can manage it. I''d need them within the week though, delivered to the keep. The boots to go with me now if you have some ready to hand that are not too stiff. I can trade for forge markers, if that''s all right, so you won''t need to bother Chord directly."


    "Certainly, sir. Leave all to Cresk. City clothes, Master Drake? Court dress, perhaps?"


    Cresk continued to chatter and ask questions as he looped me about with a knotted line, taking my measure. He questioned me about color and styles. Quickly feeling out my unconcern for most such matters, he smoothly segued into questions about comfort, and had me raising my arms and twisting around while his line flashed back and forth.


    Finally he brought out a few partially completed things for me to settle on, made some suggestions, and produced three pairs of very nice boots in my size. I picked a particularly supple pair of brown deerskin, and, at his suggestion, one additional pair of black polished ones he insisted were more appropriate for court, which he would deliver with the rest when ready. I asked about T-shirts, having to explain myself, picking at the sad example I wore. Cresk mumbled and fingered the stretchy material.


    "I have nothing of the like, sir, but perhaps something similar in linen, I could make, T''would be costly though." We settled on price for three linen tees, to be added to the order. I pulled on the soft boots, left my old ragged footwear with him, and took my leave.


    The two men I had seen were still loitering up the pathway, as before. I picked up my pace, as it was getting late. They turned away from me as I came on, not talking now, but seeming to suddenly find the grain of the buildings wood walls to be of compelling interest. I found the pose a bit strained, and my eyes narrowed, right hand lifting to my belt, and the Roundel I still carried. As I brushed past, I turned my head slightly, in time to see a club and a nasty looking dagger come into view.


    Stepping sideways and pulling back quickly, I dodged a head clubbing, only to confront a thrust at my chest from the knife wielder. I pulled the Roundel from my belt , and knocked the thrust away with it, happy the wielder was no longer in a position to plunge the knife into my back, as he had intended. The two were on me instantly, hands and weapons seemingly everywhere as I danced back from the attack, fending them off and looking for an opening.


    A chill anger overtook me. I easily outweighed the both of them together, and their clumsy attempt to back me against one of the flat-walled buildings was futile. I jabbed at the knife wielder, and when he jumped away, quickly swung the roundel backhanded against the skull of the second attacker.


    I had put the full force of my rage into the swing, and the club wielder''s attempt to block it was wasted effort. The thick blade of the Roundel smashed against his head just above an ear with a grisly thump. Bleeding profusely from the cuts it made, he continued to move in the direction of my swing, fetching up against the building''s wall; then sagged to the ground.


    The backstabber had meanwhile attacked, and I felt his cold steel enter me, angling deep into my side, ending up against a floating rib. I twisted away, blood flowing thickly from the wound. Searing jolts of pain lanced up my chest. I jabbed again with the Roundel, this time at his arm, causing him to jerk it away from the sharp tip. As he did, I grabbed his blade hand, and buried my point in his belly, pushing him away.


    The robber collapsed, his buttocks hitting the lane with a jolt. A startled look crossed his features, then his eyes squeezed shut, and he rolled to his side. I glanced at the Roundel. It was covered from tip to guard in red. Strangely, my first thought was that I could not shove it back in my belt in its present condition.


    I knelt and scraped it in the packed earth of the passage. The white lancing pain again redirected my attention. I dropped the blade, now both bloody and muddied, and tore off my shirt, packing it against the welling wound in my side. I picked the Roundel up and staggered back to the tailor''s shop.


    The details are unimportant at this point. I will just note that the tailor''s basic skills were put to good, if painful, use, and that I eventually left wearing a few more purchases than I had intended to make. The New Deerskin boots turned out to be amazingly difficult to clean of large bloodstains. The substitute shirt was a bad match for my well-worn Levis. Lastly, the proper authorities were fetched, and the alley received a welcome, if unscheduled, cleanup. I thanked the tailor and left, slowly but determinedly making my way back towards the forge. I am quite certain I blacked out no more than twice during that trip.

 Chapter Fifteen: The Evils of Recovery

    The speed with which the news of my attempted mugging reached the keep, demonstrated of the usefulness of my cycles. I was met by the familiar bobbing form of an unreasonably angry Chord before I could negotiate ascension to the tower grounds. He insisted on my waiting until Harold''s sons arrived to help me limp my way up the hill, then floated behind me on his damned magical boots, haranguing my steps the whole way.


    "What part of ''be careful'' did you not understand? How many times do you intend to appear collapsed, stabbed or beaten at my keep? In a few days we leave for Corbell. Do you intend to make the trip on a litter? With so little time to prepare, I suddenly find myself needing to negotiate with Nublin, called to confer at a town trade council meeting, dealing with a God-struck Blacksmith, and now this! If you were not so valuable to me, I''d kill you myself!"


    The tirade went on the whole way up hill. At the top, wringing her hands, Dimanda stood before the tower. At our arrival, she rushed forward, reaching out to touch the seeping stain on my new shirt.


    "Oh gods! You have the worst luck!"


    Her eyes searched my face and then hardened. "You walked back? With this?" She bit her lip, scowled, and turned away. "Men and their stupidity! No concern for themselves or anyone else, apparently. Idiots, all of you!"


    With that she stormed back into the keep. I prayed silently for the grace to survive the concern of my friends. I felt faint from the climb, even supported as I had been, possibly from blood loss. The two boys half-carried me into the keep, and laid me on the table of the lower hall.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Chord retreated to his tower workroom, reappearing later carrying a large sack. He moved quickly to tower over the table and shook the bag angrily over my recumbent body. "Do you know what this is? Burlie dust! It is the only way any but the tiniest of magics can be done, outside of a full demonic summoning and all that entails. Can you guess the cost of this? The effort and time required to harvest and prepare it? You may think you can now look forward to a few pleasant days of lying on your backside while you knit and heal, eh?"


    My eyes strayed to the two boys, who now stood eyes downcast, uncomfortably shifting from foot to foot. No help from that quarter, apparently.


    Chord tersely addressed the two. "Hold him down, or try, at least.."


    Einte moved to my shoulders, Dwayne to my feet. The mage produced a small knife, and unconcerned by the pain it caused me, carefully undid some of the tailor''s grisly stitching. Chord flashed me an evil smile, and opened the bag.


    "We begin," he said.


    Chord started a whispered chant, and carefully upended the bag over my wound.


    I could not quite make out the words he spoke. The powder descended in a smoky rivulet, an occasional wisp curling back on itself as the stream fell softly towards the open gash in my side. My hands gripped tightly to the table''s edge, and I held my breath, not knowing quite what to expect. I have a few insights into magic to share. First, in the hands of a master, it is highly specific. When used to speed healing, it speeds that, but affects nothing else.


    Pain.


    If I tried, I could, I suppose, imagine all the pain and discomfort of healing, suffered by a person over the full time of his recuperation, compressed into the space of a few minutes of unrelenting, unbelievable agony. Unfortunately, I do not have to imagine it. About this incident also, I wish to say no more.

 Chapter Sixteen: Affairs of State and Forge

    In due course, I returned to my quarters at the forge, where I fell into an exhausted and dreamless sleep. Dawn, thankfully, brought with it only the stolid routine of another keep day. Since setting the sword aside, my dreams had not returned.


    I sent a sample of the newly struck coinage to Seth for the carpenter''s inspection. The oil I purchased arrived, as did some of the clothing I had ordered, which surprised me. These were mostly the new working clothes, which were very welcome. The T-shirts looked rather fancy for casual wear, and were cut more like short sleeveless ponchos with a slight taper, but at least they were new, and covered my chest.


    Nudity, while not completely uncommon to this culture, was not the norm. I had often seen field-hands labor virtually naked at some tasks, but clothed public appearances were expected. Besides providing protection, given the rough if temperate environment, clothing provided markers of occupation and title.


    The jeans and tee I had lived in since my arrival, even augmented by the handouts from the keep, were by now acceptable only as rags most places off Chord''s properties. Gort had somehow managed to assemble a stock of cycles in excess of sales, and I had sent him near the clay pits behind the forge, primed with extensive instructions, to see to the construction of a pottery kiln. A project I had long been hoping to start work on.


    My apprentices were well able by now to see after all but the most advanced aspects, so my personal time need only be spent on finicky welds, decorative work, and of course, the close direction of the boys. In the last few weeks, two younger lads had been added on, who fetched, carried, swept, and stacked for my apprentices.Both were only ten or eleven years old. Their eyes watched everything, under the severe direction of my very busy novices. I thought about asking Seth how he handled apprenticeship in his workshop, but as the system seemed to be working itself out here; I decided to leave it be.


    Before noon, three short forms emerged from the forest trail-head and began ascending the keep''s lane. Even at a distance, I could tell it was Brock, with two of his kin, coming to see Chord. I plunged my hands into the slightly oily waters of my quenching barrel and wiped them dry. With a word to the boys, I left and walked down the wending path, toward the three visitors. They were much as I had seen them last, except that Brock now wore a full red cloak that almost brushed the dusty road as he strode up the hill. The clement weather didn''t call for cloaks or wraps of any kind, so I took the cape to be some item of ceremonial dress. By the time I had reached the tower front, Brock''s party was already a third of the way up the lane, and attracting a small group of gawkers. I pounded on the keep door, which brought Harold out. I pointed to the visitors.


    Harold squinted down the path. "Ah. The Nublin, I see." The Seneschal''s sharp eyes stabbed at the on-lookers. "Well?" he roared, "Seen enough, lads?"


    The onlookers did an almost choreographed jump, and dispersed like roaches in a flashlight beam. "Bid them welcome, and usher them in. I will advise Chord they are come." I waved at Brock, who likely recognizing me, returned the wave. I strode down from the hilltop to meet the Nublin. The trio had combed and oiled their beards, and had no weapons about them. The oil took some of the fluff out of the huge affairs, and robed as they were, gave the trio a sort of eastern wise-man look, to my eyes.


    Brock stopped at my approach. "Good place for a keep. High. Easy to defend. Good drainage."


    I smiled. "My forge is around behind it. When you are through with Chord, I will show it to you."


    "Aye, I''d like that, William."


    We continued up the hill. Chord had come out from the tower and stood awaiting their approach, so I fare-welled the three visitors and went off toward the Forge.


    The bargaining went quickly, and later in the day I found myself providing the promised walking tour of the Forge. Brock and I got on well together, save for his annoying habit of kicking anything below knee level, before handling it. I put this to working a lot below ground.


    "So, as it is," Brock informed me, "I''ll bring six of my best diggers here, and they will fill yer bins with the highest grade copper ore we find on your hill, and open up the vein face for a space, so''s to make it easier for you later. In return, Chord will bag up some feed, two barrels of ale, and see us otherwise provisioned while we establish our new camp. Yer to show us the digs you are working, and we''ll take it from there.


    "Hah! You know, William, this be the first time in memory I''ve considered trade with your people. Your Chord, he seems an honest and focused fellow."


    "He is that," I admitted.


    We strolled behind the forge as we talked, stopping at the stream head beside the hill. Brock looked downstream towards the clay pit and froze, a deep frown hiding the slash of his mouth behind his beard. Following his gaze, I noted Gort packing up clay bricks in wooden forms to be used in making a pottery kiln. Bree stood close by, hands on hips, watching and talking to the thing, which, of course studiously ignored her.


    "Your people," Brock gritted, "seem determined on their own ending. Likely, ours as well. How many Burlies did it cost Chord to wezen that abomination from the Demons?"Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    "Uh, five, I think."


    "Bah! Well, to the good, that''s five less of the bastards running loose, anyway."


    I remembered that Burlies had come up in conversation with Brock before, as a nuisance. "We have to travel to the mountain roots for them, they don''t congregate in this area," I assured him. Brock glanced sharply at me. I got the feeling I had missed something important in what he had said.


    "Mine and yours had a war over them once. They came with your kind, you know. Then we figured out that your folk were blameless, or just tools, anyway, and hadn''t inflicted them on us a'' purpose. So we let off."


    "I was under the impression they were a local animal. No one has ever discussed their origin with me particularly, but Chord thought they were native."


    Brock blew out his cheeks, and squatted next to the creek. "Sit."


    I sat and watched him quietly.


    "That be part O'' the problem. Since they arrived when yours did, your kind had no way to know they weren''t always about. Took it for fact they was natural here. We wanted to make yours take them away, and yours claimed they had naught to do wi'' it. Caused bad blood, fights. But we figured it out in the end, just decided to live wi'' it, and left men to go to hell by their own hand. Your people really don''t know what the Burlies are, save for the bits your mages have conjured, and they are still blind to most of it."


    Brock dug an angular fragment of clear quartz out from the pebbles beside the brook, and held it to the light, so that it broke a small rainbow along the ground.


    "You know of this, eh? ''Tis a child''s pastime, making light bust into rainbows. We are not at all as you are. Look you deeply into my eye, and tell me what you see."


    I bent forward and looked at the eye he pointed to. Inside the iris, I caught a glint. Looking closer, the gleam showed fractions, crystalline patterns within the orb, as if I were looking into a hole bored in a fine geode, or well-made refractor. Light seemed to split and split again within his eye, as if it were filled with many small prisms.


    The Nublin pulled back, and met my gaze. "We see things...differently. Things you don''t see. Ruby lines that grid this world as were not here afore your kind came. The Burlies, they are connected to them. They are the, you would say, Spirit? Animus? Of those lines. The Will from the Meat divided, me Mam would say. When you feed them Burlies to the demons, you feed some ''O that Will, along with the Flesh, to them. It''s the Will they are after. Not the meat. That''s what we figure. Some say that when the demons have fed enough, they will have common essence with this world, and will cross over ta'' stay. But," the dwarf shrugged, "some day the sun will go out too, they say. No one worries about the bad as lies over the far horizon, not even among the Nublin. Enough of this. Let''s get on to it, show me your digs now."


    We scrabbled up the steep cliff-side without further conversation. I lost myself in thought over what Brock had told me. I knew that physical systems worked by bartering energy, that what you gained somewhere in any system, you paid for somewhere else. Conservation of energy, that stuff. But I had always taken it for granted that magic, if it existed, would as a matter of course be the exception. It was, I realized, part of my very definition of it, a sort of amazing cosmic freebee. Poof! Shazaam! The idea that magic might just be another example of robbing Peter to pay Paul shook the fairy-dust off it. It felt as if a piece of my childhood had been stolen.


    We finally reached the general area of the malachite mines. I pointed to the shafts, holes really, that had been sunk to procure the deposits. The dwarf unspooled a line into one to gauge its depth, then drew it up and peered back down the cliff side.


    "Wait here," said Brock, then he jumped into the hole, and out of sight. This was as frightening as seeing someone drop suddenly into an open manhole, and it startled me.


    I bent down, peering into the pitch shaft, and cried out, "Are you all right?"


    "Fine, fine. I told you we aren''t like you. Just give me a moment...," the words drifted back up to me out of the darkness. "Aye, there she is. Good, runs off to the front cliff side. Alright then, throw me the rope."


    I picked up the coil the dwarf had discarded and tossed it into the hole. There came a thud, then, and an angry shout from the hole.


    "Hey! What in six feathers is wrong with you! Why did you throw the rope at me?"


    "You said to toss you the rope..."


    "Lower the rope, dolt, not throw it into the hole. How am I supposed to get out now, ya great fool!" My face reddened. Evidently, whatever trick allowed Nublin to jump down shafts, didn''t apply to climbing back out of them.


    "Sorry, I... I''ll get a rope from the keep. Wait here." I winced again realizing what I had just said, and a howl climbed back up the hole.


    "Just, hurry it up, William. Wait here, Paugh!"


    After retrieving Brock from the shaft, we inspected a second site. This time I watched closely as Brock jumped into the bore. His legs hit and rebounded like steel springs from small protrusions in the shaft face as he descended, causing him to bounce from one face to the other in a rapid sort of rappelle. These jarring impacts did not seem to bother Brock at all, who also managed to keep upright , and like a cat, inevitably hit each wall feet first.


    Eventually we both descended from the cliff, and after sponging another ale sack off Harold, Brock and his companions left, disappearing down the woodland trail from whence they had come. On my pallet sat a large lumpy sack, and in it several loaves of fresh baked, delicious bread, still oven warm and sweet as honey. Bree poked her head into the cubby and grinned at me


    "Me mother came by. Thought you might like some fresh baked fer your trip tomorrow,"


    "Mumph," I replied, swallowing in ecstasy. "How goes the Kiln?"


    Bree tucked one foot behind the other, and said in a sober tone, "The pottery man finished all the bricks up. Fat ones, curved ones, all sorts of ones. Mom said that Harold said that the baker''s wife would put it together while you''re gone."


    I nodded. A good choice. I had already shown Harold how it needed to be built, and the baker would be well acquainted with ovens and their construction.


    "And what are you to do meantime?"


    She huffed. "Go back to makin'' more copper meld molds. Stay out of the apprentice''s way during the pours. Learn all I can from the baker ''bout the ovens. Practice using th'' clay wheel Seth made me."


    "And?"


    "Pick up me Iron markers from Harold every three day."


    "Thank your mother for the bread, Bree. This is wonderful stuff."


    Bree curtsied and left, leaving me alone with the heady smell of the baked bread, and my packing for Corbell.

 Chapter Seventeen: Departure!

    I awoke to shouts and the creak of rope rasping over wood, eager to start my first real journey since being transposed to this place. There wafted a scent of hot wax being ladled over taut pulled hides, sealing up barrels of brined food stores. Pull-carts rustled, lining up outside the forge and along the lane, all the way to the tower''s front. The crisp clarity of morning air stung my skin, blowing across the hillside, and I felt renewed. The day of departure had finally arrived.


    Chord, resplendent in loose, deep red pants and white woven shirt, hovered and bobbed in his high shined, black Boots of Leagues, checking on supplies, directing the lined-up caravan''s affairs with sweeping gestures and loud, sharp orders.


    I hurried to complete all my preparations, giving last minute advice to my apprentices, and threw a final upward glance at the cliff-side, where a small cadre of Nublin now chipped away, mining ore for the Smithy. I motioned Gort forward, and we took our place in the assembled train.


    Surprisingly, two of the farmers had brought a brace of my cycles with them, but then I thought, why not? There was adequate room on the bikes for their cartage needs, and the trip would be at a walking pace, so the units should be more than serviceable for the journey.


    Dimanda, near the end of the queue, checked on the food supplies, and finding everything to her evident satisfaction, moved on to the front, where her father and Harold conferred. Finally, with a wave of his hand, Chord set our group in motion.


    Gripping the poles of my handcart, I started forward with the rest, Gort to my left pulling a considerably larger load. I had brought a few forming tools, my two best hammers, a set of long tongs, and a few other things besides my kit. The little two wheeled pull-behind made more sense than a backpack.


    We did not stop in the village but continued through it, and onto the western road to Corbell, a two day excursion if we made good time, I was told.


    The trek left me with time to think. All the discoveries I had pushed to the rear of my mind rushed back again. The customer I had known as Steve Markham had turned out to be MaCaan, an apprentice mage who had disappeared from the fief of Wayland.


    He had conned me into forging an exact copy of a mythic sword, the Corm Da. This somehow bound me to the latent manifestation of the God, Credine, Master Artificer of the Tuatha De, and founder of this place, the myth Chord had told of. Not what MaCaan would have planned, I reasoned, which left open the question of what he did plan, still planned, on doing.


    Credine''s manifestation in the tower''s cave had exhorted me to seek out the crown, to raise his essence from the land, and rule it. Which went far to lend credence, in my mind, to Chord''s story. The brief merger I had sustained left traces of his intent behind. Credine wanted to unite his will and essence with my physical person, so that I would become his living Avatar, never again to have a will entirely my own. The concept, like much I had been exposed to here, was incredible, but experience left me a believer.


    Through me, Credine wanted to dominate these people completely, even if benevolently, forever. With every flow of energy into the Corm Da, I had gained more access to the God Artificer''s power, and he gained more access to me. The mind bending merger I had suffered when forging the roundel had been unpleasant, not to say frightening. I had been careful, as Chord had warned, not to do anything that might recharge the Corm Da. I was beginning to suspect the blade might be causing my little encounters with Credine''s influence. Perhaps that was Chord''s concern with the blade. Why does everything mystical have to be so, so obtuse?


    I thought of demons, bargaining for bits of arcane power culled from Burlies, enough of which would give them uninvited entrance to this land. Brock had thought this a vicious long term goal of the Demons, and blamed men for their foolish traffic with these powerful and evil beings. Moreover, I wondered just what kind of bargain MaCaan had struck.


    He didn''t arrive in Illinois on some wing of chance. He had known exactly where to go and what he wanted when he arrived. Namely, the Corm Da. But how could any local achieve the firm visualization Chord deemed necessary for demon driven transport?


    If the materials needed to make the artifact were available on Earth, then Markham could repeat the process. Likely, I would be dealing with him again. I frowned, the thoughts made my head swim. So I shook myself from this depressing reverie, and took in the changing scenery.


    The way stayed wide enough to break the forest canopy above, letting sunlight stream down to nurture a proliferation of plant life. A roadside riot of yellow, orange, and red wildflowers leaned out into the trail between thick mounds of lush greenery. The picturesque view lightened the trudge somewhat, but the dense roadside foliage made me wonder how we would handle rest stops. That question was answered about eight miles farther on.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Chord stopped and signaled for the farm workers to come forward. The men, scythes and sickles in hand, began hacking down the verdure to the side of the trail, cutting a path through the thickened growth. We made camp on a slightly mounded area of the wood, which required only a little hand-ax work to clear.


    The ax work wasn''t wasted. Seth bawled orders at the axmen, and had them pile the wood in two shallow pits his apprentices had dug. The old carpenter carefully re-stacked the piles with the concern of an architect. before squatting to set them alight.


    Soon two moderate cook fires were started, and the air bloomed with the dark smell of camp smoke, helping to dry the air a bit. The warmth laved across my skin, making the stop, at least for me, more comfortable. Chord directed the unpacking and set up of his pavilion, while the rest of my fellow travelers set out bedrolls and cookware clattered, by which I understood that we would be traveling no further today. A relief, since several hours of cart pulling had taken a toll, and I was both hungry and footsore.


    I gathered some dry kindling and old branches, and set about making a small fire pit for myself, more in the hope the smoke would help chase off insects than to prepare food, and laid out my bedroll and kit. Dimanda noticed the effort, and brought over a burning brand from one of the cook fires. She thrust the brand into the kindling, and together, we slowly fed the larger branches on top, until cheery flames flickered and played upon it. She squatted next to me, gazing at our handiwork.


    "Happy to be traveling again?" Dimanda asked, wiping her hands off on the rough brown leggings she wore.


    I nodded. "It is something I have been looking forward to, given what I have learned recently. Most of the answers I need may lie in Corbell."


    "It must have been painful for you, to be ripped from your home and friends as you were. Did you leave behind a wife or girlfriend?"


    I shook my head. "No. My shop is abandoned, of course. My house, clothes, possessions, all left behind. I was never very social. Never had what I would consider a deep relationship, as an adult. I haven''t really ever had the time. My family ..." I stopped and threw another stick on the fire, ordering my thoughts. "My parents had waited to adopt until they were about as old as the law allowed. I came to them very young. They were good people. They didn''t have much in terms of extended family, and being a Service family, we moved around a good bit. I followed my father''s example and joined up at eighteen. They died while I was still in the service, within a couple years of each other."


    Dimanda drew her brows together. "Service?"


    "Hundred twenty first..." I stopped realizing none of this would mean anything to the girl... "Military service. It would be like joining the king''s guard here. The service moved me around a lot too. The upshot is that I never made many lasting relationships."


    She put her hand on my arm, massaging it. "I can''t imagine life without family. My mother''s death, the loss, was overwhelming. You have people here who care about you, who would be saddened to see you leave. If you have left so little behind," she caught at her lower lip with her teeth, and then querulously blurted, "Oh, why can''t you just stay here, and make a new life?"


    The unexpected comment somehow both bothered and uplifted me. I won''t pretend I was not interested; but until this moment, I had not fully understood the depth of her feelings. Then again, my life had not been rife with close female encounters, and the signs another would have understood simply left me confused. I became flooded with a mix of both fear and hope. Yearning and desire fought with disbelief that a woman like Dimanda could harbor such emotion for me.


    Her eyes beckoned, and I pulled her close. There were no words I could in conscience say, until the fears and consequences of being pulled to this place were settled. This wasn''t chivalry on my part. To let someone deep into my heart, then be pulled away by fate, should that happen, would be unbearable. Especially with my history of travel and parting, a horror. There is nothing like a lifelong lack of roots to grow an appreciation of their worth, of how precious they are. Somewhere pressed far down, where it could not hurt, fear of such a relationship squatted, I knew. It would consume me if I fed it, and it fed on loss.


    The scent of her, warm and caring and close, almost more than could be borne. Instead of words, I wrapped her in my arms, and we kissed deeply, holding away the night.


    Dimanda put her hands on each side of my head and gazed into my eyes, sensing somehow, the struggle within me. "You are like a man imprisoned," she said. "I look at you, and it is if you are held back from me by some invisible jailer. It is the strangest thing."


    "Dimanda, I don''t even know that I have a future here, or even if my mind will remain my own. What could I possibly say to you now? What tomorrow have I to offer?"


    She looked upon me with glistening eyes. "I know of no one with more vision, or who lays claim to the future more vigorously than you, and there will always be a future for you here, I can promise you that."


    We watched the fire without further conversation. Dusk was upon us, and the smell of roasting meats drifted across the campsite. Dimanda rose, and retrieved some of the camp''s bounty. We ate together, kissed, and she returned to her father''s pavilion. It was dark now, and I fed the last of my gathered wood onto the fire for a little more light. I checked Gort and the wagon one last time, then laid down, my mind roiling, troubled by what Dimanda had said. Multiple questions about my future, my prospects, and goals haunted me.


    I awoke to the echoing peal of a rifle shot, already on the roll by long trained instinct, fetching up against the bole of a near-by oak. There was another sharp report as my head cleared, and wood chips sprayed from the tree. It was still dark, but by the cindering glows from the surrounding fires I could make out heads lifting in muzzy confusion all across the camp.

 Chapter Eighteen: Guns, Nobles, and Girlfriends

    "Gort! Where?"


    To my right, the stocky Golem jostled, raising one ceramic arm, pointing west, a bit north of the nearby roadway. The flap of Chord''s pavilion flew open, and in the firelight, the mage, appearing bemused, stepped into the open. He strode out into the clear center of the camp, fully upright, seeking after the disturbance. I shouted a warning, waving him down, but he just eyed me quizzically, and continued to stand, surveying the site.


    Cursing, I rolled back further into the wood and scrambled to a crouch. Working my way in the direction Gort had indicated, I fumbled at my belt, realizing as I pulled the Roundel free, how useless it would be against an armed rifleman. I reached a spot where I smelled a faint odor of cordite, then stopped dead still, straining my eyes and ears for some further indication of the attacker''s presence.


    A rustle sounded, and I saw some movement to my left. It was almost pitch at this distance from the feeble glows of the camp. In the gloom moved a dark patch, slinking off and away from my position. The camp was barely visible here. If I tried to follow now, I would become lost in the blackness. I considered that the rifleman might have withdrawn, retreating from any useful firing position.


    The sniper was an amateur, obviously. No professional or practiced hunter would set up this close to his target with a rifle, and completely miss the shot. The thick wood occluded view of the camp; it was an incredibly poor choice for a set-up. I sat straining for a revealing sound for several minutes, but all I heard were the faint noises from the perturbed campsite behind me. Frustrated, I gave up and returned to the clearing.


    Chord motioned me to join him as I left the bracken. So I went on, re-seating the Roundel back into my belt. "What was all that noise about? Why did you run off like that?" He seemed more annoyed than worried, and it struck me that he had never heard the sound of live fire before. Then, double struck, I realized that no one here should ever have had reason to hear rifle fire, ever. There were no rifles.


    I would certainly have heard if gunpowder had ever been compounded here, for any purpose. Charcoal, saltpeter, sulfur were available, certainly. I had noted this, as a passing thought, but had put it aside. Damned if I would be the one to introduce it. It was, I realized, a kind of unconscious philosophical decision on my part. This startled me a third time, to realize how many decisions about this place I had made, without conscious evaluation.


    "That was the sound of a rifle, a thing that kills from a distance, like a bow, but much more powerful. It can put a hole in you from very far away. It''s a device I know well from my own world. I went to track down the weapon''s handler."


    Chord blinked, and his face reddened with anger. "It was an attack? Who? Why? Did you catch sight of the culprit? What kind of weapon can do that?" Chord whirled away from me ordering the fires to be built up, and sending men toward the road to keep watch. This was almost the exact opposite of what should have been done, but I could only explain this later.


    "Gort!" Chord shouted. "Track our attacker in the wood, but for no more than an hour. If you catch up to him, disarm him and bring him to me. If not, return and tell me his direction and distance."


    Gort shifted his glowing eyes toward the wood and wordlessly started out. I closed my eyes and berated myself for not thinking of it. Like an armored bulldozer, I could have safely sent Gort after the guy earlier, instead of chasing off, comparatively unarmed, hounding through the dark. Not like me, to abandon the use of available tools. Fully alert now, I realized that the crack of rifle fire had not been from a black power arm either, but a standard high velocity load. A modern arm. This land now had at least one other visitor besides me. I glanced back at the oak I had sheltered beneath.


    "A moment, Chord. I need to look for something." Heart still pounding, I went to the tree, and in the blooming light from the rising fires, found a hole in its base where the second round had penetrated. There was a bullet score in the dirt near my bedding from the first shot as well. I decided to dig for the round in the tree with the point of my knife.


    It took a little time, but about two inches into the wood, I found the bullet. Although the shot had mushroomed, I figured it to be at least 30 caliber, heavy, a hunting or military slug. Not a musket ball or target round, either. I had been the hidden assailant''s only evident target, for no shots were fired at any other member of our party. With Gort hounding the trail of the shooter and men watching the road, I fell to packing up my bedroll, and securing things for travel. Done with that, I returned to Chord''s side, and tossed him the slug. He looked at it curiously, and then shook his head.


    "It would seem someone needs you in Corbell somewhat less than I do. We should leave here as soon as we can. Everyone is burdened with cargo, so we can''t spare the people to reconnoiter and test the trail ahead. Still, I wouldn''t want to give your admirer another chance at you. In a few miles we will be back to cultivated land, and Corbell is just beyond that. We will leave as soon as Gort returns. Have everyone with arms keep watch as we travel."


    Finally, Gort returned to camp. The mage looked sharply at the Golem. "Well? Report!"


    Gort stood still as stone, then his voice rang hollowly out into the still pre-dawn air. "No human presence within two miles in the direction of retreat. No encounters. No signs of further threat detected."


    Chord blew out his cheeks, and then nodded. "Very well. Return to your former duties." Then, to me, "So, something new, from your homeland, you say. Watch yourself carefully. Have Gort keep on the alert as we travel. With luck, we will leave much of the opportunity for this mischief behind us as we approach Corbell."


    Chord raised his voice and shouted out for the march to begin again. I returned to my cart with Gort, and we took our place in the queue.


    By mid-morning the forest thinned out to be replaced by wood-fenced croplands; where a few farmers labored in the distance across the flat expanse of the fields. One stopped to rest on his hoe, and wave. He seemed intent on Gort, a sight I would have gawped at myself, only a few weeks prior. It made me feel a bit self-conscious, as though I were part of a circus parade. The forest damp was replaced by the drier, sweet smells of cultivation, and it lifted my depression somewhat.


    The road became flatter, broader and better tended also, and travel was now easier, especially dragging my trundle. Gort, of course was impervious to the change. Drainage ditches bracketed the route on both sides, so we were forced to keep to the center, abandoning any effort to reduce our exposure to sniper fire, but there was no longer good cover for such a threat either.


    By noon we approached a break in the fences, where an odd building squatted at roadside. Built of equal parts weathered wood and field stone, it rambled back from the road in a series of connected, if ill planned, single story sections that had the look of having been built at different times, and by different hands. Our troop gravitated towards an open hard packed lot, that fronted it. Chord, well to the front, waved and pointed to it, making exaggerated eating motions. Apparently, it was the equivalent of a Holiday Inn and animal shelter, for to the rear of the jumble, a round gated corral abutted a smoke puffing shanty, whose smell promised the advent of sweet, cured meats.


    Chord signaled for a stop once we were all on the front grounds, and with many audible groans and sighs, our weary, sleep deprived group dropped their burdens and began setting out containers of salted foodstuffs, and distributing the breads and other fixings for a midday meal, as if it were a roadside park. I felt a little disappointed at this, for the smokehouse aroma had set my stomach rumbling, and I was a little curious about how such places stacked up to a typical Howard Johnson''s.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Chord and Dimanda stood near the building''s entrance watching the activity, so after quietly instructing Gort, I advanced to join them.


    "It''s called Drover''s Inn," said Chord. "The farmers started it, to keep herders from damaging the croplands as they pass through to Corbell. At first, it was just a flat space and a corral. Later, some bright fellow felt there might be a few cattle to snag from the drovers, in exchange for a dry roof and fresh ale, and set up a small cottage here as well. It has grown over the years to what you see here now. The farmsteads themselves are well back from the road - Ah, the proprietor!"


    A stout, apron-clad figure appeared beneath the timbered doorway to the lodge, beaming at Chord''s still bobbing presence. Chord made a small gesture with one hand, and his glistening boots descended to the hard-pack. We then walked to the front to greet our host.


    "Welcome! Welcome! Chord it is, yes? A year and more, as I remember, yes? Shall I set table for Ye? Rooms all round? We have a Troubadour with us tonight, of good voice and skilled with the flute." He rolled his hands eagerly and winked. "May-Anne still serves in the commons...She will be pleased to see you again."


    Chord cleared his throat and demurred, "No, no, we will be pressing on after a lunch and a small rest, I''m afraid. Good to see you also, Alec. My crew has brought their own provender. We will take a table inside, just the three of us, mind."


    The Innkeeper''s cheeks fell a bit at that, but he recovered quickly. "That is a shame, a shame. Well, perhaps on your return then, yes? I have a well whose water-level needs raising; perhaps we can strike a bargain for your round trip? I never seem to get to Corbell these days to arrange it...So much to do, so much to do these days. Have you heard? Wayland is adding a new tower to his hold, and..."


    We followed the verbose host, who talked us ceaselessly into the Inn and ushered us to a table. The rough split-wood floor had been worn almost flat by the scuff of many feet, and the table was a heavy trestle with benches in lieu of chairs. It was clean, though damp, and larger than we needed. The smells of old cookery mixed with the smoky aroma of a spitted haunch, that sizzled in a fireplace set into one of the rectangular room''s short end-walls. Luckily, the wall farthest from our table, since it was not a chilly afternoon, and the fire cracking below the meat was furnace hot.


    Only one other traveler graced the room, and he stood, rather than sat, at a shelf-like counter that ran along the length of the opposite long wall. I noted he wore a long hard scabbard at his waist, and the pommel of a blade protruded from the top of that.


    My own blade and the Roundel not withstanding, I was still not used to seeing cutlery being publicly worn, and indeed, outside of Sir Connor''s escort at the keep, had seen very little steel paraded, save that used for the utilitarian items I made routinely at the Forge.


    He dressed far less roughly than the farmers and townies I was familiar with. Trousered in fine, closely tailored brown leather, and topped in a white woven blouse, he cut an unlikely figure for a local farmer. Thin, but sturdy, I estimated the man to be in his late twenties or early thirties, with close-cut red hair and fine features. I assumed the traveler to be a courtier of some sort.


    Our host Alec, made leave of our table and swung off at a rolling gait to see to our food. Chord laid a hand on my arm, regaining my attention, and murmured.


    "One of Duke Wayland''s brood. Grandson, I believe. I have been introduced to most of them, one time or another. Not in line for succession. Thavis, or Thomas, I think his name is. Does some minor political duties, court courier, I think."


    The Bravo turned his head slightly, as if he had caught some corner of the discussion, and sent a smile toward Dimanda. He then rolled around, resting his back on the counter, and took all three of us in."Good sirs, Miss," he said. "Heading to Corbell?


    Chord nodded. "A Wayland, are you not? One of the Duke''s family?"


    "True. Don''t hold it against me though. I''m Thavis Wayland. You sir, seem familiar. Have we run across each other at court?"


    "Once at least, I think, at court for your brother Rieth''s birthday last year, and we shook hands briefly in the reception line. I manage the eastern farming community for your grand-sire. Chord, you may recall, and this is my daughter Dimanda, and Master Drake, my Smith and Artificer. "


    "Of course! My pardon. I stand embarrassed, Mage Chord. My duties take me west and south most times. I am sent largely between the older estates; so rarely do I find time to dwell on affairs to the east. You must not have taken your daughter to the celebration, else I should have recognized her instantly." His smile broadened, and he bowed deeply to Dimanda. "Truly, your beauty be unforgettable, Lady." Then, to me, "Master Drake, your fame precedes you. Your traveling machines are the chatter of the courts! An honor to meet you."


    Although unaccountably annoyed at his attentions toward Dimanda, it was impossible not to like the fellow''s bright quick manner and open personality.


    "I can''t take credit for the invention," I demurred, "but the design is mine. Glad to meet you."


    Dimanda brushed the air between us with one hand, and rallied to my defense. "Tush! William''s firm hand at the Forge and about our keep''s affairs has been miraculous. Everything you have heard, an understatement, my word on it."


    Thavis'' eyes flickered for a second between the two of us, then he laughed. "Your honor stands well defended, William. I assume you were called to Corbell for the tower raising, Mage Chord?"


    Chord sighed. "Yes, mainly. I am fulfilling my Levy, and other business. Are you traveling west also?"


    The young scion''s face fell a little. "Regretfully, no. I am on duty for the court, sent to request additional supplies from the farms hereabouts, to help accommodate the extra laborers as will be at Corbell for the construction. It will keep me at the inn for the day. However, I shall be back soon, and we shall have to become better acquainted then. If you will allow it, good mage?"


    "Certes, why not?"


    A trim woman of middle years appeared bearing a tray from what I assume was the kitchen, and made her way towards our table. The striking woman moved with a sure and well postured gait. Her eyes sparked with humor and recognition that grew as she approached. Virtually ignoring Thavis, she stopped just behind Chord, reaching around him to set the table, a small smile twisting at her lips.


    Chord turned with a start as her arm pushed into view. "Why, May-Anne! How ... wonderful to see you, here, ah, again. Alec mentioned you had stayed on at the inn."


    May-Anne bent lower yet, brushing her torso on the seated Chord''s shoulder, black eyes still glittering. "Still here, my mage, or do you prefer Baron these days? And you are finally returned, I see. Staying long?"


    "In Corbell, for a time. I am providing my services to fulfill the Duke''s Levy." Chord''s eyes alternated between focusing on the woman, and the food she set out. "You decided not to apprentice with Orton, after all, I take it?"


    "No, not with Orton; as it happens, I will be visiting in town tomorrow, and all next week. I will be staying with friends, at this residence," she said, slipping a note next to Chord''s platter. "Perhaps we can talk more about it later, if you''ve the time, seeing as you will be about for a while."


    Chord surreptitiously palmed the note, and coughed out that he would. Dimanda looked on incredulously, breaking out in a smile.


    "Father! Are you not going to introduce the lady?"


    Chord reddened at this, quickly performing the rite, and included me as well.


    May-Anne accepted the introductions with grace; finished service, and before departing, extended her invitation to the now grinning Dimanda. Chord''s daughter did not quite leap up from the table to follow May-Anne into the kitchen, but guessed that more words would pass between the two before we set out again.


    Thavis had politely withdrawn during the service, deeper into the inn, where he likely quartered for his short stay. This bothered me slightly, as I had intended to ask the man about out-bound travelers. I had not set aside the shooting incident of last night, and intended to uncover the culprit by any means possible. For now, I held my peace and tore into the steaming meat and tubers set before me.


    We were finishing up when Master Seth''s scarecrow figure appeared at the Inn''s door. Scratching and mumbling, he craned his long neck into the room, and signaled to us. Chord rose and made his way to the carpenter, where they talked for a time. Then the carpenter turned and left. On his return, Chord finished the last scraps on his plate, announcing we should make ready to leave. Excusing himself, he went off to settle with the innkeeper.


    Dimanda used this as an excuse to absent herself in the direction of the kitchen, and I rose from the vacant table and returned to ready Gort for travel, eager to continue on to Corbell.

 Chapter Nineteen: Corbell!

    We made good time, and the cityscape of Corbell soon engulfed us.


    A winding ribbon of blue, about sixty feet wide, rippled quickly pass it , save where waving white peaked salutes told of a submerged bulwark; slowing the flow inside a sort of shoreline harbor along its banks. Likely fed by the mountains to the north, the river''s current coursed out of view around a westerly bend before bidding the town farewell. Built on the southern shoreline of the flow, Corbell sprawled along it, a creature of wood and water-polished stone.


    I watched with interest as white sailed craft tacked into and out from quays of boulder and plank that bit into the quelled flow, where they were either being put into the water, or taken out with tackle rigged there. Probably for maintenance or repair. Nearby, slips were filled with a bobbing, tied off fleet of these, furled spars looking like a denuded forest.


    A fishing pier jutted from the river bend, clotted with old men and young boys, and long wooden poles. They all faced away from me, downstream, where their lines would carry out into the current. Flat river barges and heavy-keeled fishing boats otherwise paralleled the busy frontage. Burly Porters hustled tarred bundles and barrels to and from the riverfront, to alternately feed or empty blocky warehouses that crouched along a fronting lane. Our road followed the river as we approached, but quickly turned away to wend through the town center.


    To our left, a row of hostels, taverns and eateries held court, while on the right, brightly painted shops vied for the attentions of well dressed patrons, jostling along crowded streets. Open fronted stalls, wedged between the shops and laden tables, spilled out almost into the roadway. Hawking cries of merchants and a pervasive susurration of barter engulfed us.


    We threaded our way through the press, moving on to the west where private residences appeared. Behind these, and dominating the city, a stand of towers rose, guarded by high block walls. This, Seth advised me, was the Duke of Wayland''s compound.


    Our approach went unnoticed right up to the gates of the fort, where Chord talked briefly with a brace of soldiers fronting the entrance. Both wore the same open cut garment I had seen on Sir Connor''s guards, the emblem of five circled stars, and the same bright wide sashes. One of the guards turned, and at a quick trot, disappeared into the arched opening. Shortly, the man returned accompanied by none other than the good Sir Conner, who strode forward beaming.


    "Ah-ha! Chord! Right on time and before dinner to boot! Well-and I see William has come, too, and the lovely Dimanda." Addressing himself to her, Sir Connor bowed saying, "Were I but two decades younger, your father would be showered in gifts, in the prosecution of my suit for your hand, as you are the brightest star in the firmament of Wayland."


    "Were you much younger," laughed Dimanda, "I should be suckling at my mother''s breast, and your wife would be even more wroth with you, than if she heard you now."The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Sir Connor winked at me, saying, "Cruel girl, right though. So, a little travel, and sooner than you''d have thought so, as I foretold, eh, good Smith?"


    "I think you had the advantage of inside intelligence, at the time, Sir." I said. "I am glad at the opportunity. Good to see you again also."


    Sir Conner laughed broadly, and waved us forward, falling in step with Mage


    Chord. "So, how was the trip?"


    "Eventful," said Chord. "More on that later. First, I need to speak with Mage Orton, pay my respects to the Duke, and settle in."


    "Be quick about it with Orton then. The Duke will want to see you as soon as he is free, I''m certain. He is quite interested in your William of Drake. Your levy is to be quartered in the North yard. I will lead your people there, and you can go pay respects to the good mage."


    Chord agreed to this, and left the queue. The rest of us followed after the waving Sir Connor, rounding the left of the entrance, and crossing to the North yard. As it happened, the "North Yard" was just an open section along the inside of the north facing wall of the compound. Sir Connor announced our arrival at the site, and shouted out for the group to ''get on with it, then left us there


    Everyone began to set up camp, same as they had when on the road. I followed suit, ordering Gort to unpack and stack the tools. Having brought no pavilion, as I did not own one, I left my pack, clothes-bag and bedding on the smaller cart, and sat to await Chord.


    The mage had not mentioned anything about accommodations, and I, with my usual forethought, had not asked. I had some of my iron tokens with me, but I doubted they could be bartered this far from the forge. With nothing further assigned me to do, I used the time to take in the scenery, as best I might.


    The Ducal estate itself consisted of three towers and a long two-story hall. The same water-stone construction I had seen in town completed the hall''s first level, the second story all of wood. Two towers were attached to the front, and one more rose in the middle behind it. Each tower was easily as large as, or even larger than, Mage Chord''s. It was big, but like parts of the Inn, each looked to have been built at different times. I wondered whether the hall or the towers had come first.


    The towers, I decided, and each tower built at different times. Nothing looked recent, save some wood scaffolding which jutted up from behind the building, just visible from my side-on view point. It rose next to the middle tower, partially obscured by it, from where I sat.


    Likely, I thought, the new tower site. The addition was obviously a major event; something that had not happened for a long time.


    With half of Chord''s group already settled; erected lean-to shelters dotted the north yard. There were a couple of small Pavilions, none property of our group, further away. The carts had mostly been pulled to the yard wall.


    A moderate gaggle of locals milled about near the two farmers who had brought their cycles. Dimanda, approached by some servitor of the Duke, had been lead away towards the estate hall, I assumed to settle into rooms in the estate proper, where she and the mage would likely be guested.


    Shortly, the still floating figure of Chord bobbed into view, accompanied by a tall, intense fellow in a blue robe. The man, gangling along with ground-eating strides, easily paced the floating Chord , so it was only moments before four hawk-sharp eyes stared down at me


    As I rose, the tall thin man pointed, knitting his black brows into a knot across his forehead. "Is this the man? That blade across his back, I presume, the Corm Da?"


    Chord pointed to his companion flat-handed saying, "William, this is the mage Orton. We need you to come with us."

 Chapter Twenty: Hustled Out

    I followed the pair, keeping my eyes moving as we trod. Everywhere, people were at work. Our walk took us past the new tower construction, where men were grading the land around it to provide the slight pitch that would drain rainfall away from the already laid foundation. Flat bladed shovels chinked and sang as workers heaved their loads of gravel and earth. Stout men, bare to the waist, and sweating, trundled barrows laden with fill for the shovelers, while a few supervisors shouted orders. Twisting our way across the broken ground, we headed toward the entrance of the middle tower beyond the work site.


    As we approached, Chord turned as if to speak to me, but Mage Orton made a quick gesture with one hand, and silenced him."Wait until we are in my keep."


    This tower, like Chord''s, wound its staircase in a widdershins spiral hard against the outer wall, so that room doorways opened to the left as we climbed. The edifice stood free, set away from the main building by fourteen feet or so, at least, longer than a man would care to jump. We climbed to the topmost room. Since the stairs ended here, the floor expanded right to the outer tower walls, making it, doubtless, one of the largest in the structure.


    Tall windows punctured the whitened walls to the east and west, providing more abundant light than any of the lower rooms would have access to. I noticed that despite their size, these were not glassed in, but had sturdy shutters cunningly rigged to close out drafts and inclement weather according to the owner''s preference. Where Chord''s rooms were comfortable, if sparse, this space was elegant and well appointed. Expensive rugs of finely carded white, orange and brown wool plushed the floor. It felt strange under foot, after all the time I had spent treading on dirt and rock. High quality carved tables and chairs were scattered everywhere. Bookcases curved along the northern and southern sides from floor to ceiling, filled with thin hide scrolls, carefully separated bundles of vellum and even some tablets of stone. The wealth of strange shaped albumics and retorts, balance scales, mortars and such as cluttered Chord''s workroom were absent, though a large brass telescope did front one of the windows.


    "My study," noted Orton, indicating an oval table near at hand. "Please sit. You have little time, and I have much to tell you."


    I did as bidden. Mage Orton sat, and said, "I have discussed your situation with Mage Chord, and we will talk of this further at another time, but there are a few things you must know immediately. About this coincidence concerning Mage Veddek''s assistant, MaCaan. Be aware that MaCaan has returned to us. Veddek brought him here, as part of his retinue, for a time."


    I almost rose from the chair in anger. "That smarmy little rodent is here? We need to grab him and ask a few hard questions!"


    Orton negated that with a shake of his head. "He amused the court with stories of unicorns and other such inconsequential frippery concerning his travels, then left to return to Veddek''s tower on estate business, I hear. So no, he is not available for questioning. Besides, Veddek is with us at the request of Wayland, on loan as it were, from Duke Felway for the tower raising, so that would not be a politically sane thing to do."


    "Politics be damned, the man is what we call a gun runner, at the very least. Whatever he means to me, getting his attention is far more important to you."


    Orton sighed. "Nothing of far-killing weapons or other people were mentioned. So if he was involved in your problems, be wary. Keep your eyes open for trouble. For your own sake, do not detail your problems on the road to this court. Especially do not describe your involvement with this ''Markham'', as MaCaan called himself, or even mention Veddek''s apprentice."


    "Why?"


    "Because we must see to what extent MaCaan is involved in this business of Gods and Demons. Not warn him off. I want to know more of your part in this, William. There is a place I would like you to visit later, where we may learn more. But for now, you and Chord are called to audience with Wayland. Continue to follow Chord''s advice, and do not use or even, if possible, handle the sword. I will set aside a room for you in this tower. The blade will be safe there. There is no need to call attention, by prancing about with it. I will show you the room on the way down. Your knife too, if you wish. The Duke does not usually allow arms to be borne into his court, in any case."


    I felt an inner irritation at this. Thinking on it, I realized it stemmed from a sense of dissatisfaction with leaving my fate in the hands of others. While a neophyte in the ways of this culture, I was also a grown man used to running my own business and affairs. Displeased, I noted to Orton, "If Chord told you of our journey here, then you know it is almost certainly Markham, or MaCaan, as you call him, that fired upon me. Targeting which makes his master, this Mage Veddek of yours, suspect, and he is still here, I take it. The question is, whether MaCaan knows the sword is sealed to me and can''t be stolen without killing me first, or simply feels acquiring it would be easier were I out of the picture."


    I pulled the blade from my back, and laid it on the table.


    "He obviously wants this," I continued, "perhaps requires it to obtain more weapons from my world, or is afraid of it--needs to be sure no others gain access to the blade, or such armament as its use, when kmown, might procure. I would recommend against subtlety. The rifle used against me can kill at a distance, and is only an example of the type. A few larger items of that sort could level this tower, this whole complex, for that matter, in a few seconds. The Duke should be made to understand this immediately, and both Veddek and his assistant should be detained."


    I looked down, and considered the sword''s properties, to the extent they were known. "While I live, the sword cannot be taken in any case, so hiding it will net very little, if they go free. I will remain armed. You must gain the Duke''s ear and take action at once. We can sort out the extent of the involvement of MaCaan''s master afterward. Better to be apologetic later, than dead sooner." I placed both of my hands flat to the table and looked deeply into Mage Orton''s hazel gaze.


    "I may be a stranger to your ways, but I am the expert here in what you face regarding the arms of my...land. You cannot even chance further imports of this type. Make an excuse for my absence if you must, but get those two under irons first, and quickly. I should not appear in court at all until this much, at least, is done."


    Both Chord and Orton looked angry at this, but before they could voice objections, I took a small stick of drawing charcoal from my pocket, and heedless of Orton''s furniture began to sketch on the table top and explain, in essence, the fundamentals of explosive firearms, their sizes and variety. The men''s expressions melted, fading into the rabid concentration of scholars as I drew. I found myself fending off questions as to the compounding of propellant, saying that there were several types.


    Reluctant to be responsible for the introduction of explosives, yet needing to show what they might face, I danced around the non-mechanical aspects as best I could. The two mage''s features changed further, from interest to astonished fear as I talked and drew.


    Mage Orton rubbed his chin and said, "This does put another wrinkle on things, William. However, you do not understand the protocols of our court. Duke Wayland, even could I convince him of this, would have to obtain the king''s consent to incarcerate another Duke''s entitled man. While our patents are not titled like landed nobility, mages are accorded the same recognition before the law. We are few, but our services are essential to the kingdom. Also, many function, like Chord, as Barons and Sheriffs to the farming communities they serve. The inferences here may involve treason to the Crown. Worse, the Mage Veddek is Duke Felway''s man. I, for one, will not stand before Reginald Wayland, a Duke of the realm, and nephew of His Majesty Fredrick Esterford the Second, and cry treason, in such circumstances. Atleast, not on the sole report of a Smith. You are correct, though. You should not make appearance in court, given what we suspect. We still need more information, and quicker than we thought."If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Orton sank back in his chair, mulling, eyes half-closed. Suddenly he sat erect, and said, "Here it is, then. We need to place someone close to Veddek. I must find someone dependable to apprentice to him, and quickly."


    Chord became animated, and raised a finger. "I know someone. A girl I know, who will be visiting in town by tomorrow. We have...an understanding. Also, she has passed the Mage guild''s inquiry for apprenticeship, and has not yet been placed."


    An odd smile crossed Orton''s face. "May-Anne, perhaps?"


    Chord managed to blush and glower at the same time. "Is my personal life a matter of guild interest? If agreeable, she would be the best choice, and one Veddick would accept without question. Plus, she is available, smart and loyal."


    Orton lifted a hand to Chord''s shoulder while grinning ear to ear. "That she is. You recommended her for membership, did you not? It will expose her to some danger though, are you sure she is up to it? Are you personally comfortable with the idea, Chord? I am not prying, but it is apparent you have some concern for her welfare."


    Mollified, Chord breathed in through his nose, and nodded. "Time is short, and she is both discrete and competent. Veddick can''t possibly suspect we know anything as yet, else he would not be here. It may be she can uncover something before he departs. I will breach the issue with her myself, first thing tomorrow."


    Orton nodded. "That leaves us with the second problem; what to do about our young friend here."


    Orton knit his brows together and rapped knuckles on the tabletop. "We must make an appearance before Reginald straight away. I propose we tell him I sent the smith to survey some mineral deposits needed to complete the astrolabe for his Astrology project." The mage''s face brightened with satisfaction at the idea. "I think that might please the Duke enough to keep him from chiding us about your smith''s absence. Thus, two purposes may be served here. I had in mind sending him up to Mount Esh anyway; the place of the God Credine''s demise, according to legend. I had hoped to take William there myself, to be present if anything is revealed concerning the Corm Da, and its influence. But now, another must guide him, as we must be here to explain to Reginald, and William far from sight."


    Again, Chord''s features came alive. "Thavis, Thavis Wayland! We met him at Alec''s Inn, on the road to Corbell. He did say he would be headed this way after some conference with the farmers. He mentioned that he often runs errands for the court, and could provide testimony of the trip on his return, testimony I am sure the Duke would accept...would Thavis be available to you?"


    "Possibly." Orton thinned his lips in thought, then nodded uncertainly. "If we can put William on the road immediately with a note detailing our story of metal hunting from me, getting Thavis to help should be no problem. After Thavis completes the duke''s business with the farms, of course. William should find him on the highway inbound, or still at the inn, then they can take the northwest road east of Corbell, bypassing the town. Given our limited time, that will have to do."


    This thought sparked another in Orton. "Send that pottery abomination with him! Gods! How did you manage to get the Golem accepted by your workers? If I tried to introduce one here, every Guild master and dockworker would be lined up with torches before the keep!"


    Chord smiled. "One of the few advantages of frontier farming. I can indulge myself on occasion." He then turned to me as Orton rose from the table. "I am sorry, William, but your fate here seems bound up with other issues of import. To gather the information you require will take more than a perusal of arcane libraries. You will need to dig for it. Are you willing to expend the effort? This might be no mean undertaking, I fear."


    I wrestled, trying to put into words the feelings that drove me. I had hoped for something more concrete from my visit to Corbell. This land was changing me, and I liked some of that, but stay or go, and regardless of the mage''s concerns, my purpose to exhume the mechanics of returning to Illinois had never wavered. Also, other practical concerns tided in my mind.


    "I would need to know the roads traveled as got me here, and how to return on my own, should Thavis refuse me. Also this...Credine thing, haunts me like a disease. I confess, I see a future here, and it is worth the effort to uncover the playing field I have been tossed on. An old hunter''s adage says that a foxes'' den without an exit is just a trap. I wouldn''t want to feel trapped, or my trappers forever in mastery over me. Go or stay, that''s something I have to resolve. Otherwise, how could I pursue a full life, here or elsewhere?"


    Thoughts of Dimanda swam in that river, a plunge barred to me until I could see my future, some clearer picture of the cataracts ahead. "I''ll do it."


    Chord nodded. "I thought you would see it that way. You can take Gort, some trail food, your bedroll, and go back toward the Inn. Find Thavis. Give him Orton''s note. Determine what you can at Mount Esh, but be more careful about your investigations than you have been heretofore. Don''t become chatty with Thavis about the core of these things. I don''t think he will be over curious, but if he becomes so, just play the workman, sent to do a job."


    "And if he does become curious?"


    "Refer him to Orton for such details as we may feel safe to share with him. Meantime, you can ply Thavis for details of the country about Corbell, roadways and such." Orton dug in a pouch at his waist, extracting three small rubies of about the size that one would find adorning a modest ring. He thrust them at me and said, "Take these and barter for anything you need on the way out of town. Forget your bedding, we will take care of your belongings. I want you off the estate grounds as quickly as you can manage. Watch yourself." Then to Chord, "We have to present ourselves to Wayland now, before he sends someone to fetch us. Let''s not dawdle about."


    I was supplied with letters, one to Thavis, and one for the gate guards. Then all three of us left the tower together. The two barraged me with warnings and advice the entire walk down to the tower''s entrance. However, I stayed adamant about remaining armed despite their advice, while agreeing to the mission, as it would further research into my condition. We parted company at the tower door, and I trotted quickly to the North Yard to fetch Gort


    . ***


    The gate guards only glanced at the pass, long enough to discern Mage Orton''s initials, then passed me through into the city proper. My pottery companion drew more stares in leaving the city than he did entering it, but I put this down to the fact we were not traveling in a large group. No one stopped us or made direct comment. I bartered for a bed roll from a vendor operating beneath a green pergola set between two expensive looking shops.


    The vendor, a slight, nervous man, threw in a wineskin and a back-rack to tie everything to, in order to suck up some of the difference in the inexact trade for one of the gems. I knew I had been shorted by the trade, but a speedy exit from town was paramount, so I parted with the gem more quickly than I would have otherwise. Soon we were passed the outlying quays and onto the dusty eastern roadway.


    It was already getting late, and I did not make good time, having been on my feet constantly since leaving the inn earlier in the day. Long shadows rippled ahead of us, turning the dark brown of the road to black where they fell. There was, at this late hour, no other traffic in sight, and I found myself marching along the lane in a mechanical haze, paying little attention to the surrounding countryside. Gort silently paced me without complaint, but of course, providing no company either, that being the device''s nature.


    Evening had waned and night had bloomed. A wavering yellow luminescence, winking from the windows of the distant tavern, broke me from the hypnotic slog. A rare burst of still sparking ash spilled out the inn''s cooking chimney. It floated, barely visible, in a pawl of smoke that caused the stars behind to waver in its heat. It was a rousing sight by moonlight, and one I welcomed gratefully.


    Alec the innkeeper did not meet me at the door, so instructing Gort to stand outside, I let myself in. A few patrons occupied the tables closest to the bar, notably at one well populated table, where a mix of farmers and travelers gambled in the nearby lantern light before the flaming backdrop of the hearth. I was not in the least surprised to find Thavis among them. Tired almost beyond speaking, I approached the courtier and handed him the letter.


    He squinted up at me and recognition dawned. "Master William! What is this then?" He excused himself from the game, scooping a small pile of valuables up and pocketing them. Retreating from the table closer to the service bar''s lanterns, he unfolded and read its content.


    "Well, it seems we are to travel together. Mount Esh, is it? We can leave in the morning, if you like. My tasks here are done. Have you a room yet?"


    I said no, and Thavis turned to flourish his hand across the bar, attracting the busy Alec. A quick conversation ensued, and I shortly found myself ensconced in a small room in one of the many interconnected buildings of the inn. I all but passed out onto the room''s pallet as soon as the door was shut.

 Chapter Twenty-One: Finding Trouble

    At daylight, I found Thavis seated at a table near the door of the common room. A serving platter heaped with eggs, fresh bread, and the inn''s well smoked ham, decorated the table. I placed my back-rack on the floor next to his. There were two service settings, and Thavis was filling one of them with admirable gusto. I took the second chair and attacked the breakfast with equal avidity. Neither of us spared a moment for conversation until every scrap had vanished from the platters.


    Thavis, finishing first, though only barely, broke a sunny smile in my direction. "I assume you had but little time in town, what did you make of the Duke''s palace?"


    I shrugged saying, "You''re right. We had barely unpacked in the North Yard before I was sent back out. Something cooked up by Mage Orton that couldn''t wait. It seems a well ordered place, I think. You live there normally? I mean when not assigned?"


    "It is that," he agreed. "Yes, I have quarters in the family rooms on the second floor- just a small room though. I spend most of my time traveling, so the accommodation suits. If I may ask, what sort of special metals are you seeking atop Mount Esh?"


    "Orton said something about magnetic rocks," I invented. "I am to look for any other things as seem unusual while we are there."


    This was a likely scenario, as lightning strikes on mountain iron ore often yield mildly magnetic hematite deposits. I didn''t want to seem too well informed about the matter. The prevarication still irritated me, but Orton''s instructions seemed clear and under the circumstances, reasonable. I would be fishing about and experimenting when we arrived, and didn''t want to be closely questioned about my examinations.


    Thavis looked steadily at me for a few seconds then sighed. "If you are ready, we can start right away. I have already seen to the bill for our rooms and the meal."


    "That was very kind of you."


    Thavis grinned. "Orton will pay for it all, in the end. I thought to speed our departure."


    We picked up our packs and collected Gort, who still stood outside the Inn''s entrance, inert as a cigar store Indian. Then it was off towards Corbell. Thavis proved to be a voluble font of information on our surroundings, and the miles rolled by easily as he pointed out the various peculiarities of the countryside, its history, and the Duke''s plans for the future of the fiefdom. His long legged stride set a ground eating pace that pressed me to match, and I had the feeling he was holding back for my comfort, even so.


    There was a cocky sense of self-sufficiency about the man, and the ease with which he carried himself across the land gave me to understand why he had been chosen as a court courier. No matter how difficult the way, the trail seemed to lever every step he took, as though it were accommodating him. I found myself happy with his company.


    We reached a fork in the lane and took the north-western branch, finally veering away from Corbell. By early evening, the progressively thinning farmland started to run to rocky rills, and the lane took a definite upward grade that caused a slow burn to build in my legs.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    "It is not far now to the Mount," noted Thavis, "but better we stop soon; it gets colder as we go up from here, and windy. Wiser to take a little comfort now, to start fresh for the climb ahead."


    We found a dry depression between two hills just off the path where the ground was clear and dropped our back-racks. Though the surroundings were sparse, there were some conifers here, enough so that foraging for firewood and burnable cones was not difficult.


    I was surprised, once a fire had been struck, to see Thavis produce a small copper device, similar to a Turkish coffee pot. After setting it down on a rock next to the small fire, a familiar aroma soon bloomed as steam poured forth from it. Thavis reached for the contraption and flipped it upside down, then removed it to a cold rock, after which the odor intensified.


    Amazed, I asked, "Where did that come from?"


    Misunderstanding my question, Thavis gestured to the west. "There is a small stream the other side of the path, over the hill. It''s a tributary of the Nolgate River that runs northerly for a few miles further west of here. I got some water there fresh, while you gathered the firewood."


    "I mean that smell! What are you cooking?"


    "Ah! You probably wouldn''t like it. A dry legume as grows wild in the west-most reaches. Roasted and ground, it makes a hot beverage called Traveler''s Friend. An acquired taste. You can try some if you like. I take it with a bit of honey."


    I almost jumped at the offer. It tasted a bit like a chicory blend, and yes, in the background, an unmistakable essence of caffeine. I could have hugged the man.


    "I can brew some fresh in the morning if you would care to traipse over hill and fetch some more water."


    While my legs were still sore from the last three days of continuous marches, I was quick to volunteer. I snatched up the flat water skin, and took a bearing from the now moonlit campsite. I headed off towards the lane, across it, and up the hill on the other side. The sound of running water came clear as I breasted the rise, but once there, I threw myself flat, for I was not alone. Below, Burlies silently shuffled about on the sloping stream bank. I counted six of them. I came to my elbows, intending to retreat back down the way I came, when I spied a bright spot on the bank, noting an unusual interest in it by the creatures. Not entirely unusual. I had witnessed this behavior with Chord on the Burlie hunt I had attended for the tower.


    Here though, there was no cage, no group of beaters that I could see. There was only the eye-watering hole in the sanded shore, and six crowding Burlies jostling to be first to approach it.


    One jet-black specimen, eyes as yellow as candle flames, shrilled and dug its claws into the back of a crowding companion. It tore the shrieking victim up from the ground, and hurled it into the stream. Falling on its knees, it reached out over the circle, and I was chilled to see an enormous red finger, barely able to squeeze through the five inch opening, rise up out of it and touch the out-flung paw. An awful miasma, a day-bright bloom of ichor-green glow engulfed the beast, until it could not be seen for the glare. Suddenly I felt a hand upon my leg, and startled, jumped up with a shout, adrenaline pumping, turning around, but unable to see yet, night-blinded from the sickly display I had been intent on.


    A voice came out of the dark.


    "I heard noises and when I came, I saw you flat on the hill-top. What..."


    My vision started to return, and I saw it was Thavis, crouched just under me below the ridge, not high enough yet to witness the spectacle. Knowing I had exposed myself, I whirled, drawing the Roundel to my left hand and the blade from across my back into my right. Behind, I heard an intake of breath as Thavis rasped his sword from his sheath and joined me on the ridge top.

 Chapter Twenty Two: A Gods Battle Puppet

    Below, four Burlies raced up to meet us, perhaps in defense of their precious hole. The fifth, that I had seen prostrated over the opening, now towered, changed into a twelve foot monstrosity, still glowing a pulsing phosphorescent green. Its lambent eyes fastened to mine with an intelligence I had not seen in a Burlie before, but had faced in stone-cold terror in a Demon''s gaze when high above Chord''s Dais. The sixth, cast into the stream, was gone. Drowned? Killed in its encounter? I had no time to speculate, for they were on us.


    The fastest breached the rise, still slightly below me, and swung a raking claw at my knees. I brought the Corm Da down upon it, splitting it from head to chest, a fountain of its fluids jetting into the night air.


    As it dropped, it pulled at my steel, forcing me to crouch while I jerked it free of the carcass. I slipped forward on the downside during this, almost overbalancing. A firm hand pulled me back, and a thin steel blade shot forward skewering the swinging arm of a second screaming black beast.


    The other two now made the top, and I swung my freed sword to the right, burying it in the one trying to flank me. It swung a powerful roundhouse at my face. I thrust it through the claw with my Roundel and twisted clockwise pulling back the Corm Da and swinging it down, severed the arm.


    The sword was hot in my grasp now, and I felt a familiar energy rush up my arm. The maimed beast on my right swatted at me with its remaining right arm, connecting with my back, but I felt nothing. Slashing again, I severed the head of the dying Burlie, sending it bouncing down the hill.


    A cry came to me, and I saw Thavis lunge to pierce an attacker. He pulled back, retreating down-slope, fending off two remaining Burlies. A monstrous, glowing thing pounded uphill towards me with a window rattling roar. I quickly crossed to where Thavis fought, and took both his foes from behind, not caring to be gallant.Thavis looked over my shoulder, white faced. I pivoted to see the glowing countenance of an incarnate nightmare bridge the crest. Having taken four Burlies, my sword fairly glowed with heat, and my gut swam with currents of energy.


    Both sword and dagger went weightless in my grasp, and I now looked through rather than from my eyes at the approaching horror.


    A cry wrung out from me, and it seemed the ground echoed it. I was drenched in the slick heated blood of my foes, and I ran to kill, a wolf leaping to kill a rabbit.


    Thief! My mind thundered. Give back that which is mine!


    I jumped high onto the obscenities'' torso. An impossible feat, that breached ten feet of air. I punched the Roundel deep into the thing''s chest, and pulled myself up with it to slash the whirling Corm Da across its stinking throat. It bellowed then gurgled trying to grasp at me with hands that sprouted foot long claws. But I angled the steel, thrusting deep in its scaled chest and resisted, slashing clawed fingers free from their palms with the Corm Da.


    Sky breaker! All Slayer! Taste your prey and take back what is mine!


    The Corm Da whirled once more and buried it too, in the now slicked breast of the towering hell-spawn. A stuttering shriek, like the steam whistle of an overheated boiler shattered the air. The creature''s phosphorescence abated as it died, while strength upon strength flowed up the buried blade and into me. I dropped to the ground and stood back as the beast tumbled down the hill, rolling finally into the stream where it steamed, and dissolved.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    I stood and my gaze passed through the night, up the lane, to a rising mountain. I took steps in that direction then stopped. Something in me did not want to go forward. It beat at my conscience, warning me back. Puzzled, I sought that voice within. My breathing slowed, and a sense of duty grew in me. There was something still to do. The small breaches? Perhaps it was that.


    Little doors. Little thieving doors that needed to be pinched closed. My eyes passed down the hillside to a glowing hole. Behind me, a breathing man, slowly mounting the hill. I walked down the rough slope towards the hole. I crouched over it, spread my hand over it, grabbed it and crushed it. Heat flowed from me, down to my hand, cauterizing this wound in the beautiful, beautiful fabric of my world. The Corm Da cooled in my hand. I realized I had not yet sheathed it, so reaching over my shoulder, I slipped it into its scabbard, and stood.


    I felt the adrenaline of the encounter start to abate, and my vision became more immediate. The rage, and the feeling of being taken over, drained away. I looked back and up, and saw Thavis scrabbling over the hill''s peak towards me.


    "Damn, you''re good, William. Damn good. I never saw anyone move like that. I mean to say, true, you are physically one of the most impressive men I have ever met, but that was something else. You saved my neck. Gods! You''re a mess! What in seven feathers was that thing? I almost shat my britches when I saw it! What were you doing by that spot? You bent over it , then it flared and went dark. Did you see anything in it? That thing you slew, it rolled into the stream and just melted away!"


    Thavis rattled on, hyperventilating, eyes wheeling around, trying to take in every corner of creation. I gently turned him, and we started to re-climb the hill towards the roadway. By the time we reached the hilltop Thavis had calmed somewhat and went quiet. I squinted, and tried in the dark to pick out some things I had seen after the battle.


    "Thavis, look there, and there. Can you see?"


    Thavis squinted to where I pointed.


    "Spots! More like the one here. What are they?"


    Even in the dark, glowing as they were, my hat was off to the man, for the spots were far away, and scattered widely along what must be the near side of Mount Esh. I would not have been able to pick them out, save for the god Credine having envisioned them earlier. I did not like it, but as an epileptic becomes resigned to seizure, I had come to terms with these episodes. At least, I now knew, they could be stopped simply by staying clear of the blade, but I needed it with me as yet.


    To Thavis, I replied, "I am not sure, but I have seen something similar when mages set out to trap Burlies. Something they make to attract them. It is done with Burlie dust, I think. Some minor magic as can be made without the direct intervention of Demons. However, these don''t seem to be traps, and I have no idea what it was that came for us, though I have a guess or two. I think though, that we should not try the mountain just now. Let''s gather our things and get back to Corbell instead, as fast as we can. I think we both want to talk to Mage Orton. I could use a clean-up, a rest, and a meal right about now. Then we can consider this further. What do you think?"


    "I think you''re right," Thavis huffed.


    Once more, my quest to discover anything about my predicament needed to be put off. I again felt pushed to take part in events not my own, by people and forces I barely knew anything about. I gazed with frustration at Mt. Esh and whatever clues to my fate awaited there. On the other hand, perhaps I was becoming too comfortable with my life here. In the service we had called this "going native." Was this happening to me? Did I still hold tightly to my wish to return?


    I could send Thavis back alone with this intelligence, and soldier on. No, it would not be my way to leave a man alone in these conditions. Mt. Esh could wait.


    We descended the hill and broke camp. Having splashed off in the stream earlier, I dried myself with the bedroll, which I then discarded as a lost cause. Thavis did the same. We gave our packs to Gort, something I had not thought to do on our way here, and headed south-east as fast as we could without running, dark or no dark.


    I instructed Gort to follow. Thavis set an uncomfortably fast pace, and I was left to increase my gait to a trot, to keep up. It surprised me that Gort had no difficulty staying abreast, and privately wondered just how fast the thing was, if ordered to speed. Looking forward to a very disturbing conversation with the two mages, I tried to order the report in my mind.

 Chapter Twenty Three: Duke Wayland

    Orton shook his head in disbelief. Thavis looked at me, then we both looked at Chord, whose eyes held an anger I had never seen in the man.


    "So," I continued, "we both raced back here, instead of continuing up the mountain."


    There was a fifth conspirator tonight, as Chord''s friend May-Anne had joined us, sitting bewildered at Orton''s right, between the mage and Thavis, across from Chord at our small library table.


    May-Anne agreed to accept an apprenticeship with Mage Veddek as Orton''s agent and to travel to Felway''s holdings, joining his staff there tomorrow. Consequently, she had been briefed on our suspicions, as a matter of course. The information we had brought clearly distressed her as much as it did the two Magicians.


    Chord compressed his lips, then remarked, "This has the smell of Veddek''s involvement. I doubt not that the ports were opened around Mount Esh to attract the Burlies there, to guard it, or perhaps just to obstruct the road to Dervin from Corbell. Likely, this means the demons have worked a deal with Veddek."


    He struck the table, and narrowed his eyes, appraising me. "I would doubt this report, were it not substantiated by the both of you. Mind, Mount Esh is not in Duke Felway''s demesne, but ours. That abomination you witnessed was a demon working directly through the illegal portal. We are only blessed by the fact Veddek had the sense not to open it big enough to admit the demons directly. It is worse than I could have guessed."


    I queried, "Why couldn''t it just be MaCaan, or someone else, working alone?"


    Chord shook his head. "The likes of MaCaan would not have the supplies to open so many oversize baiting-portals. Only a full mage would. Also, MaCaan''s absence from his normal duties would not go without remark long enough to accomplish something like this. Veddek, his master, must be involved."


    Orton rapped the table and snapped out, "No apprentice, not even a chief apprentice like MaCaan, is allowed to work the portals unsupervised. This is violation of guild law. The opening of any portal for any reason that does not work for the advancement of his Duke''s programs is a violation of guild law, and the laws of the Crown.


    Orton made a grim frown. "For that matter, any Duke authorizing an action not in the King''s interest is in violation of Crown law. Duke Felway is either complicit in this, or a dupe of Veddek. At the least, this sequestering of Mount Esh amounts to an invasion of this Dukedom. The road past Mt. Esh leads only towards the border town of Dervin, and the pass to Felway''s fiefs. This action isolates Dervin, threatens Corbell, and blocks movement to the border. The stratagem is an obvious attempt to blockade free passage."


    Orton shook his finger at Thavis. "Your grandfather must be told of this immediately. I will need some men at arms, you and William as guides, and the services of Chord. We must close these portals before too much mischief is done, before an army of such beasts can be raised up. The security of the Crown is also involved now. The Duke must send word to Brist."


    Brist, I knew, was the seat of the kingdom, though seldom mentioned here at the extreme eastern edge of things, and would be over a week away by foot. Whatever was going to happen here would occur before word even reached the seat of government.


    Chord looked worriedly at May-Anne. "Perhaps best you not plan on a fast journey to Felway''s fief as yet."


    May-Anne rolled her eyes. "I got that, my mage. Veddek wouldn''t be my first choice as Master anyway. You know very well what it is I want."


    Chord reddened.


    "We may be up against more than beasts and abominations," I reminded. "There is still no knowing how many rifles and what-not MaCaan may have brought through."


    Orton shot me a patronizing stare. "I listened closely to your descriptions of these death sticks, William. They are complex and require some training to use efficiently, do they not?"


    I had to reluctantly admit that some training was necessary.


    "Then," said Orton, "we shall see how such amateurs fare against expert long-bowmen, should that happen. These creatures are vicious, but not organized. Felway could not have moved regular troops through the long pass unnoticed, and if he did somehow accomplish it, the battle would be at Dervin, not here, near Corbell. The problem is currently a sore that will only become more dangerous if we allow it to fester. We just have to hope Veddek didn''t have enough Burlie dust or time to open many."


    Orton sat back in his chair thoughtful for a moment, then pointed a finger at me. "You must understand the full consequences of what you have seen. First, demons cannot exercise their will in this land without human permission to take Burlies. Second, Chord and I have discussed this - the information of your adventures confirms it. The Demon need for Burlies is that they provide the power they shape and wield in this world. They have bargained, I fear, at a great advantage over our returns, and are using this stockpile now, or are being fed massively by Veddek, to be able to perform transformations such as you both witnessed. A plot, whether of the demons alone or in collusion with Veddek, and possibly Felway, that is what is at work here."


    Orton stood, and said, "No more time to waste. We must go to see Wayland."


    ****


    The house seneschal was uncompromisingly hostile to the idea of disturbing the Duke, but no match for the short tempered mages. The argument was brief. In a huff, the seneschal eventually turned, and casting a last glare over his shoulder, retreated to the Duke''s private quarters.


    While we waited, I took in the hall. It was as I would imagine the hall of a Viking Prince would be. The room was rectangular and fairly narrow, with one trencher that ran the length of it, down the center. Dark wood was everywhere evident, counterpointed with gilded carvings gouged into massive beams, hung everywhere with banners of royal red.


    Looking to the front, I saw a platform, almost a stage, about waist high. A table, perhaps only fifteen feet long, stretched lengthwise across it. Chairs were set behind it, to face the hall''s occupants. The tablet left little room between its ends and the walls. Only one man at a time would be able to easily round the heavily constructed banquet.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    Behind the platform was a stairwell, to access the private rooms of the second floor. It was up this flight the seneschal had gone. Another door looked to lead to the kitchen and servant quarters. A fireplace rose in each corner of the opposite end of the hall, though these were not in use. Between these, the room ported to a foyer, and then outside.


    UnGlazed skylights, like transoms, pierced the water-stone walls in foot high breaks beneath the ceiling. These were fitted with heavy shutters that could be swung up to open, as now, or be allowed to close. Under these openings, bowls of brass filled with sputtering fat, fed smoky wicks to light the hall.


    The room had a definite defensible feel about it. Those seated on the platform would be hard to attack from the floor. Using the table as a barricade would put yet another obstacle between them and others, and a speedy retreat was offered by the stairwell and door. Things here, I mused, had not always been peaceable.


    A heavy fellow appeared at the top of the stairs, and trudged down before the trailing seneschal. Thinning brown hair topped his head over craggy brows and a scowling expression. "Orton! What is all this? The hour is late, so be brief!"


    Mage Orton bent at the waist, straightened quickly, and told our story. He deferred to his grandson, Thavis for details, rather than to me, and quickly gave his interpretation of events. The Duke''s scowl quickly turned to anger. He swept the pair of mages with dark eyes that spoke of a man used to doing violent things when needed, without remorse.


    "See to your plan, but I will send Sir Connor to settle this. You two do as he says, he has the military experience for it. I will have Beck send runners to King Frederick soon as documents are prepared."


    His eyes swept across me, as if seeing me for the first time, but addressed his words to Chord. "So this is your Master Smith, who is quickening commerce in our eastern farms, and making the new devices for traveling about. Much of what I am hearing from my grandson seems to center around this rogue. There is a story that I must be told soon, no doubt. As you trust him, take him too. He looks big enough."


    Finally directing conversation to me, he said, "I hear you negotiated some trade with the Nublin."


    Chord seemed startled that the Duke already knew this; I assumed he had not talked about it during his prior audience. The reaction did not go unnoticed by Wayland; I saw an upward twitch turn the corners of the Duke''s mouth.


    "Yes, a barter, on the behalf of Mage Chord," I replied.


    "Astonishing. Trade with them has not been tried in a long while, at least openly. A matter of trust and history. You are a man of many talents, it seems. I may have some other chores for you besides helping erect my new tower, perhaps instead of working on it at all."


    The remorseless eyes turned back to Chord. "You won''t forget to mark any taxable profit from this new trade with the Nublin, Chord. Nor fail to note any arrangements you make with them directly to me. You are not in the diplomatic service of this kingdom. We understand each other?"


    The mage bowed. "Without a doubt, my Duke."


    "Fine. We will talk again, if you survive the night."


    In spite of the press of circumstance, this seemed to further irritate Chord. Even Orton seemed subtly put out, but neither mage spoke. Wayland motioned to the seneschal, who flew off like a shot, not needing to be instructed as to what had to be done. I guessed Beck was the seneschal''s name, though we were not introduced.


    "Well, get about it, see Connor. Report back when you have accomplished something except destroying my evening! The audience is over, for now."


    Duke Wayland turned back to mount the stairs, but not without raking both mages with a sly narrowed glance. This was not a man to cross, I realized. We waited until the Duke had turned away completely and then left the hall quickly for the yard.


    ***


    Chord and Orton returned to the keep for some supplies. I waited with Thavis in the receiving room until they reappeared, Dimanda and May-Anne with them.


    Dimanda rushed forward, inspecting me closely.


    "At least you weren''t hurt this time. May-Ann told me what happened. Father said you were both being sent out again. Damn the Duke! Hasn''t he enough men of his own?"


    I had only heard her so agitated on one other occasion. Before I could say anything, Dimanda threw her arms about me tightly.


    "Be careful, and come back whole," she whispered. She turned to her father and did the same. May-Anne put her hand on Chord''s arm and squeezed. "Is there anything I should be doing?"


    Chord nodded. "This is going to become a border dispute with Felway, no doubt of it. Get ready to travel, and see that Dimanda is likewise prepared. See if you can find out what Felway''s retinue is up to, if any remain in the city. Try to send word to the local mage in Dervin-town, on the border of Felway''s Dukedom. Belmus is his name. Use one of Orton''s birds. We must find out what goes there. That is satisfactory by you, Orton? You still have a bird for Belmus'' Tower?"


    Orton waved the query off. "Of course. Good idea."


    Something occurred to me. I interrupted, asking, "Won''t Wayland use that method to contact your King Fredrick?"


    Orton flicked me an irritated glance. "No. This is a matter of state. It will not be trusted to a bird. There are hunters, birds of prey and such. No important business is ever conducted so. He may well send some sort of message that way as a herald, but nothing will be done until an official representative of Wayland makes an appearance."


    May-Anne touched Chords cheek briefly, tuned and left.


    Chord faced Dimanda. "You must recheck our accounts quickly. Wayland knows all about the Nublin and is concerned he may be missing out on some tax revenue. He will probably call the books in for audit, so see they are in good order while I am gone. Do not worry for me, I will be well escorted. Go on now." I yearned to speak privately with Dimanda, but kept silence in the face of Chord.


    His eyes shuttled between me and his daughter, a small smile appeared. "Both of us will be fine." Reluctantly, Dimanda went to tend to this, and we left for the yard


    Sir Conner was already reviewing his command as we approached the front gate guard-post. While short on temper, the Duke''s servant had proved quick to obey . A cohort of men was sorting itself out into rows four abreast. Twenty archers fronted the forming column, followed by several halberd-carrying footmen, and a few more with short sword and shield, about fifty men, in all. At the end, five more bowmen and a very few with javelin and ax were lining up, besides ourselves and Sir Conner. There was a general bustle throughout the yard, as replacements hustled from their barracks to substitute for the men pulled from current duty stations about the estate for the sortie.


    Thavis having gone ahead, was talking to the nobleman when we arrived.


    "Some pitch arrows might not be a bad idea, keep the beasts confused, and then have at them with the halberds, I''d say. The big ones we saw are killable; William proved that. But gads! First pepper them with arrows from a distance, if possible--thrown spears and such. The one we contended with would butcher footmen in a brawl, given a chance."


    Sir Connor pulled at his belt, nodding, and replied, "Hah! We might build a trap and lure them into a killing ground, or force them to attack up slope and fire down upon them. Most of the positions are hard against the mountain, should be no feat to get the higher ground against these animals. It''s the possibility of finding regular soldiers up there as bothers me. Mostly I''ll be taking archers, as ''twill be more a hunt than a bicker, I''ll wager."


    Orton caught the Noble''s attention and said, "If you are ready, Sir. Let Thavis and William bring us forth, for they have scouted the situation. You can decide your approach when we can see what is what."


    "Agreed, Sirrah," Conner replied, "but mark this, I am given command here, so you will keep to your proper place in this, and do as I say, when the time comes. Hi-Up!"


    With this, we went out from the estate.

 Chapter Twenty Four: I Skirmish with Demons and Gods

    We marched for several hours, to a higher place on the road, much closer to the mountain''s roots than Thavis and I had gone. Two of the bowmen, reputed the best trackers in our group, had gone on ahead. Returning, they reported a hunt-hole in the open area no more than two hundred meters beyond.


    "We saw eight Burlies up there, and two things, monsters what were glowing green like. Vicious looking and big, the both of em."


    Sir Conner took ten of his men aside, then sent them into the woods. Soon two good sized fallen trees were dragged out and positioned across the road, about fifteen feet apart. More chunky pieces of limb and bracken followed, to be piled on until two thick barricades were built, both higher than a man stood. Sir Connor contemplated the results then assigned two others with axes to cut a small cunning passage through each pile, so that a man, if he knew where to start, could work his way through each one, but not so clear from the outside of each barricade as to be obvious. A man would have to shove aside several well foliated branches to enter the small cleared ways provided.


    That done, he set archers in the trees to both sides of the barricades, and the rest of his men to wait behind the last, those with halberds to the fore, to defend it. The Mage Orton, at Connor''s instruction, worked his way through the final barrier and pulling some fine dust from a bag he carried, quickly worked the spell to open a small glowing hunting hole between the two barricades as a lure. Footmen were held further back to the rear in reserve, should any pass the gauntlet. All were warned to target the larger beasts first. Chord pulled a smaller sack from his bag, passing it to Sir Connor.


    "A poison for your archers. It works on Burlies, at least. I don''t use it myself, on our hunts. But it may help with the transformed beasts. Be sparse with it, that small sack''s the lot."


    "Give the treated arrows to your best and have them deliver those shafts first," Orton recommended. "I think the toxins might take some time to show an effect on the creatures."


    I walked up to the rude barricade and made a few attempts at it. It was more solid than I would have guessed save for the small, obscured passage that had been cut through it. "It doesn''t really matter if they find the break and have sense enough to use it." noted Conner. "Only the smallest could struggle through and only then one at a time, right into the killing zone between. If things go badly later we can retreat to this redoubt, and use it again.


    "Havaine! Deermoot! Campion!" Sir Connor bawled out the names of three archers, who came at the run. They divided six treated shafts between them, and then hurried back into the trees to take their positions. Then he called three Javelin equipped runners forward. "You three! Go forward and play at Foxes and Drakes with the beasts. Lead them back here and into the killing field. Mind the passage, and the thorns." The three runners turned and ran on toward the infested site.


    "You and Thavis," he barked at me, "stay back with the halberdiers for now." Faint shouts and furious keening marked the runners'' return, heralding success in baiting the animals, and in less than three minutes, the men broke back onto the road before us. One runner stopped, to turn and release a spear while the other two raced on for fifteen meters or so. Then these turned and waited, while the first took to his heels.


    The lone runner, now close to the first barricade, dove into the cut hole. The remaining pair pulled up javelins and stepped forward into their casts, then turned and ran for it, just as the Burlies loped into sight. One beast, pawing at a shattered javelin protruding from its side, pounded forward snarling only to confront the crude barrier. The lure of Orton''s opened portal began working its magic on them, for they immediately attacked the first barrier, striving to pass it. Six others, howling and keening, also made for the barricade as the archers posted in the trees drew back upon their bows. A dark withering of shafts flew with a whispering sound, cutting down three of the creatures immediately, including the speared one who, shafted through the head, flipped backward, killed while struggling to climb over the improvised wall.


    I was surprised the runners had managed to tear so many creatures away from the seeded portals. My experience with them suggested that you had to be close. Once under the influence of an open portal, most would remain near the holes, unless directly assaulted. This behavior did not seem to pertain to the changed monstrosities confronting us though, which was the worst problem. The bravery of the runners in baiting them into our trap held my respect. Mage Orton had opened a tiny portal between the barricades so by the time the Burlies had obtained some distance from the call of Veddick''s malicious ones they were in range to become mesmerized by Orton''s, and so continued on.


    The incredible forms of two transmogrified monstrosities hove into view, red eyes scanning the barricades with intelligence not apparent in the onslaught of smaller Burlies. The giants seemed to direct the horde, roaring and working the bulk of them into a fury.


    The Burlies scrambled ahead, throwing themselves onto the bracken wall interest fixed on the glowing spot between the two obstacles. Flights from the sides were continuous but the three selected archers immediately targeted the two giants, hitting their eyes and necks with all six treated shafts. A dark wall of fletched death continued to pour down and shafts fell in a swarm upon them. The larger beasts roared and reeled, heading off road toward the flanking archers and cover.


    "This is not good at all," noted Sir Connor, who shouted for the archers most forward to withdraw.


    I saw at least one of the men as he jumped, or fell from his perch hitting the ground tumbling, bow broken, but he rose again to limp back toward the second group of tree sitting archers, those situated to fire into the killing zone between the barricades. Most of these redirected their fire at the two towering things. These slowed, but still continued through the wood on each side, avoiding the barricades. Finally Sir Conner shouted again, and the remaining flankers scrambled back speedily.


    I reached across my back to draw the Corm Da, but Chord placed his hand on my shoulder saying, "Wait. It will not be necessary."


    The huge figures in the wood were reeling and one fell, the light in its eyes gone out. The second stumbled about in the hurricane of arrows a few moments more and then it also fell, bringing down several small trees with it. Only three of the Burlies had made it through the first barricade and those now lie dead, looking like porcupines, with arrows for quills.


    "I didn''t realize thirty archers could release that many arrows in such a short time."


    Chord glanced at me, saying, "A good archer can nock and release up to five shafts every long ten count or so, with some accuracy. Thirty professional bowmen will flight on average somewhat less; say only 250 arrows per minute between them unless pressed. Still, more than enough for this lot."


    As I contemplated this, Connor shouted "Forward the field!" and our footmen advanced into the killing zone. They rolled each corpse over with kicks administering final justice where required. After, the Archers walked among them retrieving spent shafts, inspecting these, selecting the best for return to their quivers. We lost only one archer to a bad fall. Regrettable, and time was taken to see his remains were prepared to transport back to Corbell. I did not know him, but it was sobering. Doubtless there would be more than one family in mourning before the night ended.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    Soon the action was sorted out. The two mages closed up all the portals and we advanced again, taking to the road that now wound its way around the base of the mount Esh. Both Thavis and I had instructed Sir Connor as to where in general we had seen the open glows of the Portals, and most of the lighter armed scouts had been sent ahead to nail down the exact positions. These appeared, reported and vanished into the wild as the bulk of us trudged onward. We passed a trail, which threaded and snaked its way upwards.


    Orton saw me glance at it, and commented, "we will return here when the road is freed of the black vermin. I still want to know what you see and feel up there."


    I responded with a grimace, then said, "Almost, I''m not sure I care to find out anymore. Some things are better left be."


    "That would have been my advice to you also if asked far earlier than things have gone by now. As it is, I think this attack doubles as an effort to keep us off Mt. Esh and I don''t think we can refuse the gambit."


    Internally I disagreed. It might be curious and interesting to walk into a lion''s den too. That didn''t make it a good idea, whether other people encouraged it or not.


    A second hole was discovered in a canyon that swept up towards the mountain.


    Connor put Thavis in charge of two scouts, and with a grin at me, he led them silently into the surrounding woods. In a few minutes he reappeared, moving towards me with a fluid ease that left me envious. He passed a hand through his dark hair and confirmed, "This place is also infested. We counted thirteen, plus two more of those giant glowing things. It''s a small dell, so there is plenty of high ground to both sides of the portal." He cut the air to the left and right with his hands in illustration. "It''s a natural box, with high rills to the north and south, the mountain backing it."


    Conner sent his bowmen clambering up along the ridge crests, and a score of footmen scoured dry bracken to build a huge pile running the hundred-fifty foot width of the divide. Luckily the canyon was deep and we were downwind, out of sight. True to form the sound of our preparations did not raise their interest. The beasts continued to mill about their precious portals as we felled trees and stacked bracken.


    I was stacking cut branches when the runners reappeared, stumbling through the strewn debris of our work. Connor spoke with them then called out to me. "William! The Bowmen are positioned. Set the fire."


    I shoved flame dripping pitch brands deep into the pile. It crackled and billowed swiftly into a wall of snapping hot flame. The result was blistering. I turned my face away from the sting of it and retreated, coughing from the smoke and fumes. The blaze acted as a signal for the canyon bowmen, who began peppering the creatures with shafts. The driven Burlies raced towards our end to escape the withering downpour of arrows, only to be confronted by the wall of raging flame.


    While there was not enough growth on the slopes to propagate the fire, the canyon floor was another story, and all of Connor''s remaining footmen were deployed to create a firebreak at the open end to contain its spread. The burning bracken, dry or not, was mostly from spruce or pine like trees heavy with tars and burnable oils, so the mounded fire raged high into the night.


    The lashing flames drove us back and on the ridge tops even our archers were soon forced to retreat farther up slope, by the sheer heat and oily smoke. The burlies downwind reeled and fell by the dozens, asphyxiated or roasted alive. The two demon-spawned monstrosities, glowing hides singed black and reeling in pain still managed to push through the burn. With the footmen behind us occupied controlling the fire, only Connor, Thavis and myself were left to confront them.


    All three of us instinctively drew steel. This time, the Corm Da warmed instantly to my hand, and my mind sank behind my eyes as a stone dropped into a well. The sight of the two demonic forms became emotionally distant from me. The blade whirled to life in a blur, till it seemed like a round shield of metal with my hand at its center. I felt control over my body slip away, and the mind of Credine came upon me, carrying me helplessly within it.


    I strode forward with a cry. Behind me followed those as could. I did not look to see, and cared not.


    Beyond the two abominations, several Burlies, those creatures spawned by the animus of my power, followed. The citrine pits of their eyes saw only that someone stood between them and the need to ground their spirits in the nearby portal . They knew me not, but my blade would soon shrive them, and join them unto me.


    A Giant''s polluted claws, like obsidian knives reached down to rake me, but I came on joyfully, eager to sink the Corm Da into this corrupted pool of my power and drink of it. I struck, my soul rejoicing, again and again taking back that which was mine.


    Left and right I wielded the Corm Da, and separated the leg flesh from those two festered and spoiled bits of my will. They tumbled forward, crashing down, so that the world shook, and I buried my blade in them, singing as I fed and fought, dreaming the while of my land, my people, and my wondrous forge.


    Credine began an ode to the working of the iron, to the purifying heat of the furnace, and the cascade of dreams he wove there. A black one came against us, and I/he pushed the blade into it, pulling it close lovingly by the shoulder, crooning to it as it gave itself back to us; then there was only the welcome heat, rising in two towers at either side. We, like flames, dancing between them.


    Credine turned and saw men, and was saddened for his abandonment of them, but he was here now; soon all would be well. The god walked towards them and held the Corm Da outstretched to one side, so that it dipped into the wall of fire and was burned clean. He wiped the ash from it with my fingers and slid the blade over my back, sheathing it.


    The god receeded, and the world rushed back to confront me. There was fire burning on both sides and even underfoot as I emerged from the glamor. Air, there was no air. I gasped, choking and stumbling away from a heat as intense as my forge''s. The soles of my new boots were charred almost through to my feet, and I tried to stop the effort of gulping non-existent air that only poured into my mouth like acid, swelling my tongue and closing up my throat. My skin was in shock, I could almost feel it crisping away, bubbling away in the flames. The world was whirling, and I staggered forward, in a haze of pain, fell, feeling hands grasping at me, wet blankets thrown over me, pulling me away. Then nothing.


    ***


    I awoke to see Chord putting away a skin sack, somehow knowing what that meant and grateful to have been passed out for the procedure; though equally grateful to be still alive. There was a bad taste of ash in my mouth. I rolled over retching and spitting


    The ball of the sun hovered above the tips of the western treetops, and a sick, piney and smoky odor saturated everything. The bile rose again. Slowly the last events came creeping back into memory followed by a deep, chilling fear.


    Chord''s look changed quickly from concern to anger as I tried to pry up from the ground on one reddened forearm.


    "Lie still! It''s over now. Sir Connor cleaned out the last nest. You have lain here all night and all day. We lost twenty men total and almost the forest as well. Mage Orton and I have closed up the portals. Save your strength for the walk back. We leave in an hour. Be glad that Orton brought a good supply of dust."


    I shook my head adamantly, both to clear away the fog of my recovery and in answer. "An hour? Where are we now? Back at the barricades?"


    Chord sat back to viewed me carefully for a moment. Then he sighed and shook his head. "No. You couldn''t be moved. Sir Connor felt we should stay here anyway, to be sure the fire was truly out. That, tending to the other wounded, and collecting our dead, are the only reasons we are still here. Duke Wayland sent a larger force that caught up to us early this morning. Some went off to secure the Mountain top, or at least, to discover what Felway''s mage was so protective of, and more troops went north to reinforce the border. He still waits the King''s will as to Mage Veddek and Duke Felway. I understand they have found MaCaan atop this rock pile, and Orton and the Duke''s men await your presence there. That much should please you. Breathe--how do you feel?"


    Markham, I thought blackly. "Well enough. Let me up."


    Chord stood back and I staggered to my feet, sore everywhere. I took a breath, choked, and tore the charred harness and sword from my back. Across the firebreak I could see the still smoldering remains of the firewall we had built, now a long black mound of desolation. I crossed to it and threw the sword into it, far to one side of center, where it disappeared in a brief cloud of erupting ash. Had there been an ocean nearby, I would have thrown it there, but for now, it would be hidden. While I lived, no one else could move it. Something I conjured, that would not change soon.


    Chord directed me toward two men at arms, who guided me back to the upward mounting path, and a confrontation with Markham.

 Chapter Twenty Five: Win Some, Lose More

    Mount Esh took longer than I would have guessed to trudge from trail-head to summit. It was a shepherd''s path. A maze of switchbacks and declining detours to circumvent obstructions. Esh was more a great rocky hill than a true mountain. While substantial in diameter, it would never have attracted the interest of climbers or alpine enthusiasts. However, it was infested with large granite protrusions, undercut areas, and brief, inconveniently steep inclines.


    I found myself exhausted by the irritation of going up, then down again to make progress. My two guides paced me in quiet boredom, one behind the other while I lead. Someone had said the far side was a sheer, something, I guess, like the rock of Gibraltar. So perhaps of interest to climbers after all, at least on the sheer side. Anyway the presence of the sheer left the trail a mass of tiring switchbacks.


    At the summit, it flattened into a rocky plateau of white and brown where several men squatted off near the leftmost margin huddled about a small fire, which my escorts went on to join.. It was a chilly place. One of the group was bound hand and foot, head bent forward and away from me, but the back of him sprouted a familiar long blonde mane. My temper rose and my skin heated as I came on, quickening my pace, passing the other two climbers who were taxed to keep up.


    Steve Markham, here known as MaCaan, swiveled his head at my approach, favoring me with a hate-filled glare. At his feet, was a bolt action carbine. The casing of one cartridge was jammed in the action. Of the Mage Orton, whom, I was told awaited me here, there was no sign, though to be honest, my vision had tunneled onto Markham.


    Before the curious stares of the others squatting around the small fire, Markham addressed me in English. "Where is my sword, you thief!"


    I managed to realize he had done this purposely, for the translating effect of the sword''s traveling spell, though still active, did not extend to others, operating on me alone. My skin heated yet another notch. If the man had not been bound, helpless before me, I would have decked him. Here was the cause of my being transported away, forced to abandon my former life, property, and future. Here was a burglar, deadbeat, and assassin, accusing me of thieving my own property. If the mages were right, he was little more than a henchman, but one that had been my personal dead albatross since the beginning.


    I grinned at him in mockery, and said, "You have to pay for something before you own it. Sneaking through windows and stealing things in the dead of night doesn''t qualify you as owner of anything. You are the thief here, not me. I hope the Duke has interesting plans for you, but if not, I promise you, I do."


    The Acolyte blanched at this but recovered quickly. I wanted to interrogate Markham in the worst way, but this was the wrong place and time. Others would get their shot first. My own questions would have to wait. "You are fiddling with things beyond your comprehension, Drake. This business isn''t over yet. I will have that sword from you."


    I couldn''t help myself at this point. "Oh, that...I threw it away. Wayland will take care of the rest. Your Duke''s bid for these lands is doomed."You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    A satisfying, if fleeting resurgence of fear crossed Markham''s features.


    "Felway is the least of your problems. You''ll never get back to your own world without my help, I can promise you that! Guess what my price is, Drake. Think about it."


    "You can forget about the blade," I snarled. "It was sealed to me, making it useless to you. I''ll find my own way back. Whatever you had planned on doing, you failed at it. I''m thinking, whether at the hands of Wayland or your master, either way, you''re through."


    McCaan lapsed into truculent silence.


    Working to regain control, I ignored MaCaan, and refocused my attention on the rest. I did not recognize anyone else, though they should all be the Duke''s people. They dressed similarly to his retainers. Most of them were gazing curiously back at me, and I remembered that Markham had addressed me in English, and it seemed my reply had been in English as well, so no one here understood what was said prior.


    One of the men at arms bent over and whispered into the ear of one of the squatters. He nodded and stood, addressing me. "You are the forigen master smith, William of Drake?"


    "I was asked to report here, and the Mage Orton had asked me to look for some ores at the top of Mount Esh."


    The man waved his hands to encompass the peak. "Please, complete the mage''s request."


    There was not much apparent to see, and though put out by the off-handed invitation, I had awaited this chance for some time, besides my promise to Orton. So I set about inspecting the grounds. There was a small eruption of rock to the other side of the peak, and I went over to that. The rock was iron bearing, as it turned out, evidently a lightning rod for strikes in bad weather, for scarring and melt furnished it heavily.


    Still having my Roundel, I pulled it and scratched about in the grounds around it, pulling up a root-like tube of fused glass, further evidence of lightning strikes. A small glint of yellow caught my attention as I probed further. Digging around it, I uncovered a spatter of melted metal, fused to a good deal of the surrounding earth. I pulled it free and brushed some of the crumble off it. It was thin though heavy in my hands, and I was able to bend it in on itself. By its weight, it wasn''t impossible that the melt contained some major percentage of gold. If so, it might confirm some of the stories the mages spun, or at least aid in justifying their origin.


    If it did contain gold, such a small, fist sized melt might have been missed by exploring locals, did any actually come here. There was no way to test the sample further near to hand. Once back at the forge, I could experiment more, or find someone more familiar with mining. I don''t know what I had expected, a temple perhaps, or revealing texts, carved into to the stone. Over all, a disappointment. I put the small mass in my pouch, and fitted the thick carrot of fused glass through my belt.


    My short exchange with Markham still rankled, and he was the highlight of the excursion. The carbine left little doubt as to who my roadway assassin was. I intended to get the information I needed out of the weasel, even if I had to beat it out of him, guards or no guards. There was nothing else of remote interest about the peak anyway, save for the view, so I returned to the fire, intent on finishing up with Markham, but the arms-man again interrupted.


    "Have you finished the mage''s work?"


    It was the same shifty-eyed man who had spoken before. The little weasel Markham still sat glaring at me, trussed up like the pig he was. The guard was just a distraction at this point. I shrugged, saying, "Not much to see. I suppose I''m good, for now."


    "Did you check the area by the trail?" he asked.


    I turned to look behind me to the edge where the trail erupted on the plateau. "No, but..."


    My thoughts were interrupted by a great sharp pain at the back of my head, and I felt myself falling as the world spun away.

 Chapter Twenty Six: Imprisoned!

    My head pounded profoundly.


    I floundered my way back into the world thinking that if there was some record for being knocked unconscious, or passing out, the torch must have passed to me. A cold, packed dirt floor pressed against my cheek. Ancient brown straw with a vague hint of yellow dotted the floor in clumps. Beyond this, rock walls. There was a constant slow patter of water from somewhere. The thick air stunk of mold and old urine. There was a crusted mat of dried blood on the rear of my head. It stung when touched.


    I staggered to my feet in confusion and inspected the nearest wall. A small drain, less than a two inch port, bored through it at a downward pitch, just above the floor. Except that it pierced stone, I would have thought it a mouse hole. It may have connected with a cesspit somewhere, an effort to prevent flooding, or just been due to the work of some previous tenant. My bladder needed relieving, and there was not as much as a piece of crockery in my digs. Light filtered through a small grid inset in the solid door of one wall. There were no other openings.


    I tended to my immediate urges, still woozy, then sat to consider the situation. It struck me that I had not seen Mage Orton on the mountain top. In fact, none of the men, as I thought on it, had been familiar to me, so two possibilities existed. One, I had somehow offended Duke Wayland, and all had been as represented, or two, I had been trapped in some fashion by MaCaan, or someone attached to him. There wasn''t any way to be completely certain whose prisoner I really was. Whatever the case, my captor needed me or I would not be alive and considering the issue now.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    These ruminations were just to occupy my mind, I realized. While my Roundel had been taken, the samples pouch hadn''t, so I spilled out the chunk I''d found and reexamined it.. There was nothing new to be learned, so I put it away.


    Time passed.


    I slept again, dreaming an odd delirium of images. Dimanda wringing her hands, Chord''s angry features, and strangely, Gort''s ceramic form, working its way through a shoulder high thorn patch. The ominous and unaccountable nightly fantasies had returned to haunt me. Visions of walking through ancient forests of immense oaks and pines, hammering on odd constructs, most unidentifiable to me, before a towering rocky vent in which golden flames rushed from deep in the earth. I woke and walked the periphery of the cell, exercised to try and work out the various kinks and pains I seemed to have accumulated, was still accumulating.


    My belly was constantly rumbling now. I found the source of the dripping sound, a small seep from the ceiling near one of the walls. I stood beneath it and tried to capture some. It was ghastly stuff, and barely able to quench my parch. I no longer smelled the stench of the place, and must have looked like a bum after a three day binge.


    A fever took hold, and I spent a fair amount of time sitting propped up against the gray stone walls, chilled and sick. I removed my shirt and bound it in a bundle behind my head in an attempt to protect its wounds from contact with the sewer-like floor. This left me bare from the waist up, shivering constantly, and regretting taking it off.


    I slept and woke, then slept again. How long this went on was unknowable, perhaps days. At some point, the echoing sounds of feet treaded the passage outside my cell.


    There was a rattle and clink of iron. The heavy door of the cell bumped, and then swung inward.

 Chapter Twenty Seven: Shotgun Politics

    Two guards entered, both heavy set men, in boiled leather armor. They spotted me the instant the door opened, and quickly flanked it. Both held short, knobby maces and wore efficient looking daggers at their belts. As I pulled myself up from against a side wall of my confines, they motioned to someone standing outside, and a shadowed form moved forward.


    I wondered what features, known or unknown, would present themselves. A figure stepped over the threshold and the face resolved. Mage Orton! Of those expected, MaCaan, the Mage Veddek, Duke Felway or Wayland, certainly Orton had not been high on the list. I was in the hands of Wayland, after all. I tried to imagine why that might be.


    Orton crossed to me, a small bundle swinging from his left hand.


    "Peace," he hissed. "This is none of my doing. Wayland had his men bring you here. I have some food, clean water, and clean rags to refresh you. Drink up."


    I accepted the bundle with scant decorum, quickly unwrapping it, thrusting the first thing found into my mouth. The first morsel of food in recent memory went down half chewed. Discovering the water container, I swallowed, gagged, and then finished it off, following with another item, a biscuit, I think. It was several mouthfuls later before I spoke.


    "Why?" It was a simple question, but voiced with anger, both a plea and a demand.


    Orton looked quickly over his shoulder at the two guards, and then turned his attention back to me. "A number of things. First, reports of your...unusual prowess during the affair at Mount Esh. Thavis has been wildly enthusiastic about your abilities. He is somewhat naive as to how such things can be taken. Most put it down to exaggeration, but the Duke gets reports from dependable men, as well."


    I looked about wrathfully. "I am here because I fought well?"


    Orton raised his hands to silence me.


    "You took down six Burlies without help and dismembered two giants. You walked through a fiery furnace unscathed. You..." Orton sighed, then tried again. "Wayland has squeezed from MaCaan, under light, considering the circumstances, questioning, information connecting your appearance with MaCaan''s wanderings. He has a device of your world, the--rifle, is that right? MaCaan had the stupidity of firing it once before he was taken."


    "But certainly Wayland had the sense to pry the facts of the affair from Duke Felway?" I blurted, "and I have explained the arms of my ..."


    "Duke Felway abandoned the court before we left for Mount Esh. May-Anne and I  are sure he knew he would be suspect, even before we reported to Wayland. Some of our Duke''s household servants are in his pay, likely." Orton dismissed this, with a wave. "Your arrival in Corbell did not go unmarked. The Duke knows Felway and Veddek are attempting an invasion. Wayland is more worried than he shows about these Demon troubles. No one has connected these issues with the Corm Da or the God Credine yet. Veddek''s lackey, MaCaan, has maintained wit enough not to tell all. Good and bad, in that. I would dearly love to know the details myself. Wayland still doesn''t know what Veddek''s servant wanted on Mount Esh. Likely thinks MaCaan was just trying to fort up, after seeding the road, and was awaiting aid. I think he was looking for something, and wanted you kept away, or killed. You must understand that the Duke thinks the fief is under attack. Which it is, William."


    "So he put me here to make sure I don''t run off?


    "Chord and I have spoken for you, but Wayland would not release you until he is satisfied he knows your part in this. Too many answerable parties have slipped away from him. We have sued to get you accorded privilege of rank, which means house arrest with better quarters. He will want to make amends soon enough. He is greedy for what you might know. Chord has been expansive in detailing what you have done, and may do, for the kingdom and vouched that you haven''t set foot out of his district since your arrival, until you were called here. There is no word yet from the King. So all is shaded still. I don''t think he is directly responsible for your rough handling, but what men were at the mount, you did frighten them. Not everyone responds as does Thavis to such things. Just be happy they don''t suspect even so little as we have uncovered."The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    I was not mollified, and my stomach knotted on itself as if the meal had been a foreign object.


    "They sapped me. While my back was turned."


    "Yes, yes, I was told. Unfortunate."


    "Unfortunate!"


    Orton''s eyes grew steely, and he looked at me intently. "You have been...inconvenienced. That is unfortunate. You are in one piece and still breathe, and that is remarkable. You are scheduled to be out of this hole in an hour, with some recognition of rank, which is astonishing. Get hold of your wits. You have no idea how many have labored to make this happen. By the way, you are now engaged, and a Squire to Baron Chord. You were, at least, familiar with Mage Chord''s rank?


    "His rank, yes, Barron, I...What do you mean engaged?" The words sank in slowly, my mind still adjusting to what I had heard.


    "Engaged," Orton repeated, favoring me with both a frown and a twinkle in his eye at the same time. "As in to be wed. Your pending marriage to Chord''s daughter was announced at court. How do you think we arranged to get you privilege of rank? "


    I sputtered, at the same time wondering what Dimanda thought of this. I reminded myself that this was not a modern democracy, barely even a medieval Monarchy. Too many of the ramifications of this fact had passed me by.


    "Dimanda agreed to this?"


    "Dimanda doesn''t want to see your life bubble out your lungs with stockade sickness. We can annul the marriage later," Orton''s eyes slitted slyly, "if  you like, though it is obvious to everyone that you two are fated for each other. Strange world you must come from, where men mince about and dither over such matters. Though," he reflected, "Chord is almost as bad, comes to May-Anne. Odd fellow. It is not done so here. In any case, Chord and I need you out and about, especially now. We don''t want to see you harshly questioned, in a political, possibly ecumenical affair, if that meets with your approval. Of course, if you don''t need fingernails, and hot lead holds some fascination for you..."


    "No, no - I don''t mean to sound ungrateful for your efforts." My mind wandered again to Dimanda, and I knew it was true. She was the answer to my life, and I had not faced it, had buried it, telling myself all kinds of reasons why I should not admit it.


    Such a simple fact, she had seen it in me, had made plain her feelings in return. Everyone around us had understood it, but shoving my true feelings down into that pit of fear inside, I had left her unanswered. To put herself forward on faith alone, to salvage me, was beyond my understanding, and the power of it shamed me.


    "Sir Connor put in a good word for you as well, you know. There could be a Knighthood in your future, if you care to try for such things. Put all this behind you. We have more important things to tend to."


    Mage Orton patted me on the back, and then wiped his hands off on one of the cloths he had brought. "We need the hour to finalize the patents ¨C minor, of course, your station is of the lesser rank, but Wayland will see it guaranteed by Chord formally before your release is affirmed. Wayland does not want to risk anything where the king''s business is directly concerned. It is a matter of fealty as practiced here. Wipe yourself down, and bind up your head meantime. I need to go now, so save your questions. Chord is supposed to lead you out later, but..."


    The mage threw another glance toward the guards. "It would be... premature, possibly dangerous, were Wayland to question you right now, so all I have said is a ruse now anyway. You''re going to be kidnapped just before Chord''s arrival."


    I must have looked thoroughly confused. "What? Your arrangements..."


    Orton shushed me and whispered, "are for your protection and ours. None of us must appear to have a part in this, obviously.  A run-amok Gort will break in, and carry you off to a place of safety. We will put it to some machination of the demons if you are seen. A good trick, that was. Reports have already been paid for, establishing glimpses of you being taken off toward Felway''s holdings kicking and screaming."


    Orton wrinkled his nose. "They will drift in from time to time over the next few days." There will be a search, but you will not be found. In time, you can return a hero, with luck. Stifle yourself. I have to leave now."


    Orton left and the guards followed, sealing me in. Orton had left me caught in a whirl of plans, subterfuge, and knotted intrigues completely foreign to my thinking. I was not sure I liked the plan as presented but the thought of standing to, trying to answer the sly faced and moody countenance of Wayland, held no appeal, especially when I had no answers to give.


    It was more than an hour, I think.

 Chapter Twenty Eight: Escape from Corbell

    Suddenly, a cracking boom startled me, and several of the stones in one wall fell out to rattle across the dungeon floor. Dust, and another shudder followed. Then there stood the Golem, a sizable rent in the wall behind it. I balked, not knowing quite what I was expected to do. Gort stumped across to me and grabbed me in a bear hug. I thought my ribs would crack when it hove me up, Flinging me over a hard clay shoulder like a sack of grain, it pivoted and retreated back through the hole at a quick trot. The golem wasn''t exactly a smooth ride. The floor and weeping ceiling swam alternately into view. Behind me there were shouts and the rattling of door locks.


    It was a crude tunnel of sorts. Gort''s feet sloshed calf deep in water and mud. My back stung, scraped on hanging roots and from being shouldered through the tight soggy passage past spots where boulders protruded. Gort stopped at one point not far inside and put me down in the goo. From a widened area of the passage, it lifted some impressive rocks and blocked the hole behind us. It lifted me back up with a little more care despite my protests and continued on. Did I mention I weigh almost three hundred pounds? To say that I was discomforted by the shoulder ride is only to understate how little that, or my heft, meant to Gort. The passage took an upwards slope, and the tunnel floor became dry. Soon we emerged in a thorn thicket, where Gort again decanted me, returning to the hole quickly. There followed some rumbling, and Gort reemerged covered with muck.


    "The cloths," it rumbled. "Wipe me down."


    I pulled out the wad of cloth Orton had provided, and swiped at the smooth surface of the Golem. The goo shed the thing''s surface like water squeegeed from a windowpane. I applied the few remaining rags to myself for good measure.


    "Follow."


    His tone was a reminder that I was not the only one who could set Gort to an immutable task. It had not occured to me that the golem could be given a series of commands or tasks all at once, as Chord had obviously done. Gort turned and forged ahead, so I followed closely, using it as a shield to ward off the nasty looking nettles and barbs. The bramble merged with a small wood. I was surprised to see we were outside the town proper. The lights of Corbell flickered to the east, though only faintly.


    Gort proceeded into the wood stopping near a stump, which he pulled from the ground with little effort. A well-tarred bundle lay at the bottom of the hole. I knelt and dragged it free. The bundle contained a few necessities, fresh pants, a shirt, my Roundel, and my other boots. I occupied myself with a refit, glad to be free of the burned and stinking corpses of what were my former habiliments, turning to face Gort once that was done. I transferred the glass rod, which had remarkably stayed intact, to the new clothes, along with my sample pouch. The heat of my fever was receding, or at least, was not as debilitating, now out of the cold and damp of Wayland''s dungeon.


    "What now?"


    Gort shifted, and the unmistakable voice of Chord echoed from its mouth.


    "You must be thoroughly disgusted with us by now, my boy, but this is all in your best interest. Gort will take you to a small hunter''s shanty nearby, where May-Anne waits for you. You cannot return to town yet, and we still need to know more of what Duke Felway and MaCaan''s master, Veddek, are about. Depending on what MaCaan knows or tells, such a return would be...unwise. I can''t imagine a better person, or one with more need to ferret these things out than you. At least you would recognize anything else these creatures have imported.


    "May-Anne will stay at the shack and carry any messages from you to us. I can''t think of anything that would disguise your unique self, let alone Gort, so you will find Brock waiting for you at the shack as well. His tribe can closet you for a while, if needed. May-Anne will tell you the rest when you see her."


    I couldn''t guess what enticement Chord could have offered Brock to get him involved in my problems, or imagine the effort all this amounted to on my behalf. It was stunning, and brought me to realize how important the events I had precipitated must be, and how concerned my companions were for me. It was a humbling moment.


    It was a short walk to the hunting shanty, and properly named, for the four walls and roof barely qualified it as a habitat for any other purpose. It''s windows were unglazed holes, and several of it''s side wall boards unchinked with the mud as served as mortar, more for privacy, evidently, than protection from the elements. As told, May-Anne met us when we approached the cabin, where Brock waited as well.


    Brock''s bearded countenance was calm, though his manner was brisk as ever.


    "Got yerself into a fix, aye? Chord says I''m ta'' help as I can. Yer copper''s dug, the shaft runs true for an additional twenty feet along the vein, so''s you''ll be good fer a while an'' ya gets back. The supplies were welcome, and t''was a good thing all round. So then, what''s to do?" His feet were propped casually on a minuscule table centered in the cramped shack, but he managed an air of leisure which bordered on comfort, and spoke as if we were conducting a casual visit.


    Then again, his interest in the political wrangles of humans was virtually nonexistent so I should have expected nothing else.


    May-Anne was another matter. Her eyes betrayed a hesitant excitement bordering on fear. "Chord called for Brock as soon as you were jailed. Says you two should travel over the border between Wayland''s hold and Felway''s. See what you can find out. You shouldn''t be recognized there, so long as you don''t try to set up a smithy. The only person as might know you on sight is MaCaan, and he is sequesterd by Duke Felway. Brock knows the area well, and can keep you oriented."


    Brock''s booted feet hit the ground, and he sat up. "Tis true enough. We have communities in the northern range, and the bottom land''s well known to me and mine. We travel through it from time to time, lad. The way through to Felway''s holdings will be watched now, so''s it''s me as can get you past, comes to it."


    May-Anne nodded, adding, "I''ll stay here, and await word. Chord will send Dimanda to Derbin in the care of Thavis. As far as the court knows, she will have been sent home for safety. We both have birds set to travel between the tower of Mage Belmus there, and this cabin. If none arrive in two weeks though, it''s back to the city for me, so even if you''ve nothing to report, get word back to me within that time." She gestured to a small stack of supplies, likely food, piled in one corner of the shack. The messages will come here rather than through any traffic to the city for privacy''s sake. Chord would have had Dimanda at his keep for true, but Dimanda would not have any of that, though we both argued strongly against it. The borderlands are only three days from here. I wouldn''t do this for anyone but Chord, but I understand something of the importance of all this, so you can count on me."Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    "There''s food and such in those packs," Brock pointed to another small pile near the table. "We must be off soon. Be not good, were you to be found spooning about this close to the city and all. I was told some of yer adventures by Chord. Seems mine and yours would both benefit from getting rid of these demons and their brood. Burlie''s be enough trouble, without addin'' giant glowin'' ones to the mix; so we''ve common concern so far as that goes. As for the rest," Brock shrugged, "you have been fair with us. We''ve no reason ta see you in a pickle. We''ll keep you out of Wayland''s sight for a bit, as you need it."


    I nodded. "Thanks Brock. I''m not sure what the mages wish me to find, exactly, save for what kinds of arms they have managed to get hold of, and such, but on my part, I need to know if a way exists to get me home, and be free of...some other troubles. I have no wish to be left a puppet of either Wayland, the Demons or..." I caught myself before mentioning Credine, not knowing how much Chord had confided to Brock, "or others. Your help is appreciated. I can only wish I were a man of words and better able to express my thanks and astonishment for the aid you have given me, but whatever else you are getting out of this, I am in your debt."


    "Naw, I be well paid fer this, not that I don''t like you well enough, William. As to the mages needs, I''m thinking the wizards expect things they needs to know will become apparent to you, lad. They simply trust in you to survive and bring back word. Bah!" snorted Brock. "Enough of this, We can blubber over an ale sack or three later; grab yer packs and let''s be gone."


    I did as asked, and with a warm hug from May-Anne to see me off, we left. Gort trundled along behind us, to the annoyance of Brock."That thing will need to be kept away from most folks. You may not be known, but there are not many as travel about with walking pottery, you see."


    "I can order him to stay out of sight as we need. Meanwhile..." I handed my pack to Gort and motioned to Brock to do the same. The Nublin eyed the construct as he passed his to the Golem, as if sizing it up for demolition.


    "Handy enough at certain times, I suppose. Like having too many daughters, both a blessing and a curse."


    We circled further west before striking north again towards the border, passing the western sheer face this time, of Mount Esh. Brock was a brisk walker by nature, so our natural gaits matched well, and we made good time. We went by game trail and wash, rarely near anything I could discern as a roadway, so I was entirely dependent on Brock''s lead. My life here had been a confused whirl of events, the forge at Chord''s keep, the only solid rock in the storm my life had become. Even my mind, it seemed, was not entirely my own. I had never felt so dependent on the kindness and direction of others. A fugitive, there was nothing else to do but to follow, and try to keep what sanity was left me.


    It was a dark night, under a waning moon. We crossed a frigidly cold creek, and wound up broken ravines, scrambling for footing. Eventually we entered, not a clearing exactly, but a stand of leafy brush, who''s thin trunks did not branch much at their bases but were fuller six feet or so above the ground, where they divided heavily, providing both cover and some protection from the wind. We pushed through to a central space where ground beneath was bare.


    Brock kicked at the scrub and said, "This is as good as any place. Throw yer self down for a bit. No fire though. We''ll be safe enough here for a spell."


    I retrieved my pack from Gort, unrolled a thick woolen mat tied beneath it, and fell on it, lost to sleep instantly, to awake only in the heat of the following day.


    Brock seemed unconcerned with my sleeping past dawn''s resurrection and looked to have done similarly. My concern must have been obvious though, for he winked and gruffed at me. "Better we travel by evening for a while, William. Settle yerself. See what yer can rummage out of that pack fer food. I''ll fetch us some fresh water, meantime."


    There were biscuits, some cheese, a sheaf of dried meat, flour, salt, nuts, and even some clay packed eggs nestled in a small wooden box. I pulled out the biscuits and cheese, mindful of Brock''s warning against starting a fire. Brock returned with some water and we sat and ate. I recounted the "rescue" Gort had staged, and showed the Nublin the splash of metal I had retrieved atop Mount Esh.


    Brock held out his hand. "Here then, let me look at yer sample "


    I did this, and Brock opened a small pouch on his belt, extracting a set of tiny picks, some small vials, and a miniature balance scale. He produced an odd shaped beaker with a spout set just below its lip, and another even smaller, that fitted beneath the spout. I looked on with interest as Brock scratched his picks one at a time across the surface of the melt. Then he treated the sample with the contents of the vials, and scrutinized the result.


    Finally he put a small weight on one side of his scale, and added shavings from my find to the other pan, until it balanced. He filled the larger beaker with water to overflowing and placed the smaller container below the spout. He dropped the measured shavings into the beaker, collecting the run-off displaced by the shavings, and checked the water level of the smaller container. The Nublin rocked back, pulling at his substantial beard, and pursed his lips.


    "A good bit of gold in this. An alloy though, and not one yer could just dig up natural. Hardened up to be worked inta'' jewelry or some such, but not with silver or copper, which is odd. Could bubble the true metal out with some carbon at a forge, likely. Something strange in the look of it."


    Brock squinted at it with those unsettling kaleidoscopic eyes of his, then shrugged and tossed the melt back to me, carefully restoring the supplies to his pack and belt.


    "Could it be worked again?"


    Brock pulled his beard again and nodded. "Aye, you could cast it as it is. The alloy is too brittle to work it up by hammering, but it could be cast. We have some time afore we want ta travel yet. I could sand cast it into a hoop for ya, if you like, once out of these shrubs, a'' course."


    "Thought we needed to avoid making a fire," I said.


    "Ye misunderstood me, lad. No fire in here, in this patch. These shrubs release a terrible stench if heated. A fire''d release such vapors as would drive ya ta gag, boy! Tis the same stuff yer mages boil down and use on the Burlies! Naw, out there, beyond the bushes."


    My natural interest in metal working of any kind took over, and I agreed to the experiment. Brock led me to the bank of the creek where he had retrieved the water. We gathered some hardwoods for a fire, then banked it in a steep bowl of dirt and rock.


    While the fire caught and came to a full burn, Brock etched a circle in a flat spot of the bank''s damp sand. Another rummage in his pack produced a small covered crucible. He put the melt into it, placed it in the now hot fire, and we both worked to fan the blaze.


    "That''s an awful lot of geological gear you''ve brought along there, Brock. Were you intending on a bit of prospecting along the way?"


    Brock gave a barking laugh. "Hah! You forget my vocation, lad. Those things are always part of me pack!"


    The sample turned to golden fluid in the blaze and Brock had me order Gort to retrieve it from the fire and pour it into the sandy ring, where it sputtered and spat, finally setting up and cooling. After a little more time we doused it with cold water and pulled the thin circlet out. The ring was crude, pocked and coated with sand, but Brock hunted the stream bed for a fine-textured piece of stone and carefully worked the band with it until it achieved a mild burnish. The quality of the metal became apparent and it took on a dull sheen, though the workmanship was still extremely crude. The burnishing stone was now covered with gold from working the ring, and Brock carefully stored it in his pack, "for later."


    I admired the result, and for want of any other method of carrying it, formed it a bit more on my head, and wore it like a hatband.


    The sun had lowered significantly during all this, and Brock declared it late enough to start out again, so we broke camp and headed north once more.

 Chapter Twenty Nine: Chance Meeting

    I lay within thee close and bright,


    Awaiting our breathless wedding night,


    All the world before us waits;


    To yield to us our sovereign right.


    The fielded foes before us fly


    For all in opposition, die.


    - Credine''s Promise, Unknown Author


    The heavy foliage and great stands of pine thinned as we traveled, giving way to eruptions of rock-scattered grasslands. The world sloped upwards, and mounds and hills were everywhere, so that views of the horizon were rare. Darkness and a billowing vastness of stars canopied us, but on the ground, our world seemed small and close. Brock stopped at the top of every hill, sighting on stars unfamiliar to me, leaving me to follow in faith.


    Brock led on, his heels briskly lifting and falling. The sibilance of boots breaking through matted grass and the swish of our leggings were the only sounds save for a constant background of wind and insects. It was the kind of night that left you wishing for the hard feel of a torch in your hand, or a bright moon. Its not a good feeling, being dependent on others, forced to follow or be lost. I tried to make note of landmarks and such, but in the dark, only managed to heighten my personal sense of helplessness, and frustration. At the top of one rise, Brock threw back one open hand, squinted, then motioned me forward to his side.


    "Do ya see that brightening over the next hill?"


    I looked, and there was a slight halo nimbusing the next and, as always of late, a higher set of mounds. I appreciated it more as a slight dimming of the ever present pincushion of lights in the eternal span of the heavens that caved us over, but there was...a difference.


    The Nublin went on, and sketched the scene with an extended finger "... and those blacked out areas beyond that?"


    True, the starry bowl terminated higher above the hill''s outline than formerly, leaving unpopulated rifts spiking upwards from the limned rim of the next rise.


    "What exactly am I looking at?"


    Brock grabbed my shoulder saying, "The mountains behind Dervin. The town of Dervin. That be the border twixt Wayland''s Lands and all as is Felway''s. That break to the skies be the northern range. Dervin sits the pass to it. Wayland''s men will be thick there, things being what they are. The garrison sits furthest north, though. We might as well stop here. The pass ''tween Dervin and Tark be a narrow canyon as divides the range, maybe a mile and more long, and the only clear way through from Wayland to Fellway. The pottery contraption will have to stay behind, unless you wants ta give the town a miss. There''s ways around strollin'' through it, if ye want. Some of my cousins mine in the north range."


    "I would like to see Dimanda. There are things unsaid between us, but I know that it might not be safe for us or her, as it is. Would there be anything save satisfying my desires to be gained from going to town?"


    Brock shrugged. "Supplies, more food, information. Thavis may have delivered Chord''s daughter there by now, as ye say," his eyes twinkled, "though best you forgo that as ye also said, under the circumstances. There would be few other safe contacts in town. Would mean askin'' questions and nosing about, is my point, but unless you want to go slow, and hunt yer supper down regular, yer choices be few. I don''t remember seein'' any snares or traps in the packs. We are neither of us fixed with bows. There''s an Inn a bit west of Dervin, serves mostly eastbound traffic, if you''ve common trade-goods about ye. Likely get hard supplies there as well, if you prefer. Thavis would likely seek us out there, if he stuck around. Lot of gambli''n there. Heard he likes to game."


    I ran a quick mental inventory. I still had two of the stones Orton had pressed on me, and a few Iron tokens, surely of no use this far from Chord''s district. I again cursed the lack of a common tender.


    I fished out the two rubies from the bottom of my scorched pouch, and showed them to Brock, who dug into his vest, retrieving six glittering stones, that looked to be a collection of tourmaline and at least one opal.


    "I''ve a decent size bag O'' salt, too, and there''s that ring of gold you''ve taken to wearing." Brock noted. "We''ve more than enough fer trades. ''Tis your call, though."


    I started, having forgotten entirely about the gold recovered from Mount Esh. I hadn''t removed the circlet since I had shoved it on my head, which was odd, as I am not one for jewelry, hats or headbands. I didn''t categorize the thing with trade goods though, as I had promised Orton to show him anything I had found there, so really there was no reason that I should have considered it disposable. For that matter there was no reason for my having made it into a headband, which made me to wonder how much of my will was still my own. Mostly, I yearned for the distant lights, at the thought of Dimanda''s presence there, and worried for her safety.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    We talked it through, and decided to make for the inn, get supplied, ask after the local mage from there, and get the town gossip. We could afford lodging, and a night off the ground would be welcome. The extra troops doubtless pouring into Dervin wouldn''t be looking closely at eastbound internal roadways, but at the northern border.


    "If Orton''s done his job a-right, you''ve nothing to fear, lad. You are by accounts a court hero, carried off by an enemy of the state, sort O'' thing. If we get discovered, I simply don''t know you, and you''ve a story to manufacture ''bout a brave escape from villainous captors."


    "Yes," I agreed, "and then a fast trip back to Corbell under guard, and an end to our little fact finding mission."


    "There''s that."


    "Better we expose ourselves as little as possible, I think."


    "Suits me, lad."


    We bedded down for the night. My odd dreams returned with a vengeance, and I awoke sweating, unsure who or where I was.


    This passed quickly as sleep''s fog lifted however, and I kept it to myself. In the morning, I had my clay companion bury himself in the ground. We covered him as well we could, and took careful note of the place. Brock snickered. "If''in we can''t find this swale again, he''ll stay buried fer good, you know."


    I threw Brock a sour glance. "I''ll find it, time comes. Let''s get on with it."


    I was happy to be traveling under blue skies by daylight again. It irritated me to be sneaking about in the dark. I was no criminal. I had done nothing wrong since I had come to this primitive place; had helped everyone I''d come across, one way or another, and even earned a bit of respect along the way. Yet here I was, still stumping my way into dangerous situations, as much for the benefit of others as for my own purposes. Jailed and knocked around by a suspicious and politically wary ruler, shot at by thieves, mugged by people after the very coinage I''d invented for this place, pushed mercilessly into wilderness treks by friends, beset by demons, my very body and mind made a toy in some mythic god''s bid for power and incarnation. I was brooding, I knew. There was nothing to be gained by poring over the unanswered issues, save depression.


    A burning determination filled me. I would not be used further. I had my own ideas, my own life to fulfill, and I damn well would start following my own nose as to what shape my future here would serve. If I had something others needed, they could bargain straight with me for it. Outside of the military, I had been a businessman most of my adult career, and giving for getting was almost a philosophy with me. I would carve out a life here, for myself and Dimanda, or return to my own world, would she come. Either way, there would be no more walking away from what I built, or the friendships I made, or the yearnings of my heart. I increased my pace, ignoring the odd gaze of my diminutive companion.


    We managed to intersect the west-east trade route a little west of where the Inn should be, and I was treated to the sight of a few fellow travelers. Five men, one older traveler dressed in yellow breeks, white shirt and sash, leading four younger ones dressed in dun, pulling travois--basically lashed poles tied with bundles and dragged behind, leaving scores in the dirt of the trail; kind of backwards wheelbarrows without the wheels. Brock and I caught up with these fairly quickly at our pace, to be slowed by a hello in passing from the older gentleman.


    "Good day Sir! Off to Dervin, is it?" Then to Brock, "Live and breathe! A Nublin are you not? Rare to see on the roads. Rare."


    He pivoted, and walking backwards, continued on at the same pace, crying to the younger men. "Careful there! Watch where you drag those - mind the pits, you''ll overturn and spill my goods!" He turned again without missing a beat or a step, and favored us with a broad smile. "Got to keep on top of em'', right on the top, all the time, you know."


    I returned a rather more moderate smile. "A trader then, I take it."


    "Brann Cour''s the name, loomer''s merchant, sir! Fine rugs, tapestries, curtains! I convey special orders too, not just ready weaves. I''ve lead trains of as many as twelve porters at a time out here, when demand is up. This load''s almost an afterthought. Dervin bound as well, of course. Need to make it before the caravan leaves over the pass to Tark, in the Dukedom of Felway.


    Some of these," he theatrically confided, "are destined for the Duke hisself. I''ve a few extra though, I could part with, still unspoken for. I could make you a good price if you are stopping at the Inn, seeing as how I''d not need to cart them all the way into town. Be faster for me, and a good buy for you, or," he hesitated, "for your...companion there, if he''d like."


    "We''re traveling light, Brann. I assume you are going to travel with the convoy to Tark then?"


    The gleam of my substantial Roundel caught his eye, though he nodded while he ogled it."Eh? Oh yes. Yes, to Tark. Through Dervin and then to Tark. That''s beautiful workmanship, that blade of yours. Unusual. Costly, I''ll bet."


    "Couldn''t say. Made it myself, it''s not for sale." I kicked myself for letting this chattering merchant pull that out of me, but it was hard not to let slip in the barrage of good cheer and salesmanship that poured forth from the man.


    Brock, who had stoically marched beside me, quiescent till now, cleared his throat warningly. "We should pick up our pace a bit. I''m hungry and built of thirst for all the dust. The merchant can catch up with us there at his leisure."


    The merchant bobbled his head, making agreeing noises. "Yes, yes. No good reason to crawl along at our pace sir. Your friend is quite right. We will make the inn soon enough, consider my offer on the way!"


    He waved brightly as we passed on. Brock raised his hairy brow when we had gained enough distance not to be overheard. "If you fall to jawing with his like again, you might tell him you''re a Tinker. Not mentioning you''re a blacksmith might be wise, in case he flaps off with someone else." I reddened, and nodded. Ahead the roadway made a bend, and beyond it, what could only be the Inn.

 Chapter thirty: Dervin Inn

    The Inn was quite different from the rustic establishment on the road from Chord''s keep. On the left side of the road two large and windowless buildings greeted us: warehouses, by the look. Each had a small occupied kiosk fronting it.


    At the first, burdened porters lined up before a large opened door while at the kiosk an attendant and a merchant went over paperwork. At the second, goods were already being carried out of the building by lightly clad bearers, while the kiosk operator ran about, checking tags and counting bales. Behind each storage facility sprawled two low single story dormitories.


    We passed several porters loaded and lined up on the left side of the road awaiting some merchant''s signal to move on towards Dervin. More than I would have expected to see, a sort of pedestrian traffic jam.


    Finally the Inn itself, on the right side of the roadway, came into view. It was a white-stone two story manor with a veranda wrapped around three sides of it. The masonry was better fitted than anything I had seen so far, although each district did seem to use such materials as were close to hand.


    Chord''s region tended to build with sturdy log and hard stone, Corbell''s more to river stone and mortar construction. I assumed the soft looking white block was something quarried locally.


    The shaded veranda looked out over manicured grounds and a colonnade of groomed trees followed the wide pathway that lead through them to the entrance. I thought this elegance surprising, as the road headed away, not toward the kingdom''s center. Evidently, Dervin served a lucrative trade route. Guests idled about the lawns while liveried servers bearing trays bustled here and there, seeing to their needs.


    There were no smokehouses or cattle yards here nor were we met at the entrance by a smiling Innkeeper. I suspected our supply of gems and such would be depleted by the time we put this upscale stop behind us.


    Trudging through the entrance we made our way to a heavily lacquered desk, behind which a thin haired clerk attended to our presence in such a next-item-on-the-list manner that I felt almost back at home, on a trip to Boston perhaps. I produced my two gems, which the clerk scaled. Then he offered a short list of possible accommodations and services.


    We decided to share a room, signed up for dinner, and agreed with the clerk to take advantage of the inn''s freshing, or laundry service.


    "Is there any way to arrange for goods purchases here at the inn?" I asked.


    The desk-man raised a brow as if I had inquired if the inn supplied beds. But answered with a practiced professional courtesy.


    "This is the main trade route stopover between here and all of Tark, sir. The normal practice is, that trader agents use the main dining room for commerce between meal service. Some also have permanent conference facilities here, but," again eying me as if measuring my worth, "Most manage to meet their needs within the main room. Your room key, sirs."


    The inn maintained a bathhouse at its rear, and that service we also subscribed for. The bathhouse was welcome. While the hard soap stung, the damp, hot steam-room of the facility offered a relief almost beyond luxury. It is amazing how much simple things like a plenitude of heated water, can affect you after long absence. I dallied there far longer than necessary breathing in the cedar smell of the steaming air while the inn''s service cleaned my travel-stained clothes.


    Brock suffered all this grooming with a slightly different attitude but with patience. Afterward, I was surprised to find that his beard was a brindle brown, and not the black I had assumed. He fussed and pulled at it bemoaning the loss of its "fine oiled coating" and grumbled until an attendant procured a flagon of bath oil from the ladies'' side of the facility. His mane soon took on its black sheen, leaving him complaining of the "stench" the lightly scented oil imparted.


    We lingered in our room just long enough to become familiar with it, then went on to the commons. As soon as we had taken a table a server appeared who began to recite a list of available provender. Brock cut the boy off sharply.


    "Just bring me beer and meat lad, and in quantity. The beer now."


    I ordered a somewhat more balance plate, and the house wine. The beer did arrive first, and at Brock''s prompting I had a cup of it. It wasn''t bad and to my surprise, not flat, with a woody overtone. Brock was in pig heaven.


    "All this, this fussiness," Brock snorted, waving his cup to encompass the Inn generally, "ridiculous. But by god, yer folk can brew! Almost worth puttin'' up with it."


    I caught a glimpse of close cut red hair and familiar sharp features of Thavis Wayland round the common-room entrance. Thavis swept the room with slitted eyes, and started for our table. The fluid gait of the young Wayland threaded the room as deftly as a snake threads a cornfield.


    "Thought you would come here, it''s as I would have done. I have word for you from Chord, and some intelligence."


    "What of Dimanda?" I asked, "Is she safe?"


    "Safe and well. She sends you her love. Asks you to hurry, all that." Noticing my expression he added, "She is safe at the tower of Mage Belmus, a local pratitioner. Breathe."


    Thavis took a seat unasked and helped himself to the pitcher of ale. "And this must be Brock, as he is the only Nublin in the room if not the whole inn."


    "Aye." Brock eyed the dwindling pitcher sourly. "As you be all such good friends, you won''t mind restocking the table with ale, eh?"


    "Done," said Thavis, his usual smile twisting up out of nowhere. He motioned a server to do this, then returned his attention to me. "You can remove that rod from your spine, William. There is no traffic here from the south nor will there be til this bicker ends. We are among strangers here."


    I relaxed at this glad for another friendly face and comforted that the mages continued to take an active hand in my venture.


    "Dervin itself is flooded with grandfather''s men, of course. Stay out of the city. There is no commercial or any other traffic allowed through the pass coming or going to Tark. Scouting reports say that the passes far side is similarly barricaded by Duke Felway. Dozens of sightings of little bright circles all through the pass and the crags surrounding it. Most of these Merchants, at least those intending to caravan from Dervin, are in for a surprise or are learning the bad news here tonight. We will have to find another route into Felway''s Fief."


    Brock shrugged. "It''s not a problem lad, as I said before, I''ve kin in the mountains. The pass ain''t the only way through."


    "That''s good to hear," said Thavis, "but it means less cover. Traveling over with the merchants would have supplied some extra safety from discovery."


    "I''ve no need O'' that. Yer kind ignore us evenhandedly on both sides of the hills. True, it''s hard to see either of you two passin'' fer Nublin, though."


    I absorbed all this slowly, coming to realize what Thavis was saying.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    "You intend on going with us?"


    Thavis broadened his smile to a grin. "Can''t let the kingdom''s newest squire down, what would your betrothed say?"


    "This is all getting me into a really serious fix isn''t it? Perhaps better once I reach Tark, that I stay there."


    "You lead a blessed life."


    I caught another familiar sight, in yellow breeks, enter the commons. Brann Cours'' features wore the most depressed and hang-dog expression I have ever seen on a merchant. Brock noted the direction of my gaze and swiveled about.


    "Ah grief, ''tis that blabbing bumpkin ya met on the road. Don''t stare at him William, or he''ll be back in our laps tryin ta sell us his wares again!"


    The advice was late in coming. Brann had already spied us at table and was muddling through the room with a chain-gang step.


    "Young sir, have you room at table for a desolated old merchant?"


    Brann did not wait for a reply and slumped into an empty chair like a sackful of potatoes, in a self absorbed funk.


    "Bad news?" I tendered this up to break the silence that had damped conversation at his approach, not knowing what else to say.


    Brann stared bleakly at me for a second, then moaned. "Ruined. I am a ruined man. The pass has been closed. I invested all in my current shipment! All custom loomed goods, for the palace, and to the Seneschal''s taste, in Tark. I''ve enough to pay off the porters, see to my travel expenses and such, but my business is indentured to this shipment!"


    Brock sat stonily still clearly annoyed at the intrusion and totally unmoved, while Thavis appeared to be socially embarrassed by the public denouement, yet equally unconcerned. I felt some sympathy, being a businessman myself, though I hardly knew the fellow. "Perhaps you can sell them in town, and recoup the investment," I suggested.


    The merchant shook his head. "Oh, I could get something for them, something, I suppose, but only for the price of standard weaves, and deeply discounted at that, the town being flooded with vendors in similar straits as it is. Would be too much of a loss. I''d do as well to burn them, as sell them at market." He reached for the new ale pitcher, which set Brock''s features to darkening, and poured himself a cup. "This must have ruined your plans too; you were off to Tark as well, I recall. A black day, it is."


    Thavis looked thoughtfully at Brann, then startled me by saying, "Perhaps not all is lost. Attend me, William." We excused ourselves from table leaving the merchant and the sour faced Brock seated.


    "If Brock knows a way to circumvent the pass it might be we could make use of this person, William. A small business venture wending its way to Tark would be a cover of a sort - make our journey less suspect, if you will, as we discussed."


    "But, I don''t know the guy, he''s just a caravaner we met on the road here."


    Thavis grinned. "Better and better. He knows nothing, is driven by his own concerns, and is headed for Felway''s hold in Tark. Likely he could be easily cajoled into fronting the expenses for the trek, too. What do you think?"


    I shook my head uncertainly. "I don''t know. A bit of a coincidence don''t you think?"


    Thavis waved this off. "Not at all, this inn must be full of merchants in similar straits, but he''ll do. Should we give it an effort?"


    "Well, we could ask I suppose. It''ll give Brock fits though. Best take him aside and tell him what is intended first. He''s our guide in this."


    "Leave all to me. Just keep the Merchant at table for a bit."


    I agreed, and we returned and reseated ourselves. Thavis got Brock''s ear, and the two retreated in the direction of the service bar for more ale, leaving me to face our visitor. Keeping Brann amused was as simple as keeping his ale cup full and occasionally nodding my head. The voluble Brann''s life-story sieved like water through his mouth and it was with some gratitude that I welcomed the return of my companions.


    Brock''s attitude seemed lighter than when he had left. He carried two large ale jacks with him, which might have accounted for some of that. Thavis winked at me and filled Brann''s cup from one of the new jacks, which surprisingly did not seem to bother Brock at all.


    "I am thinking," said Thavis, engaging our guest, "that there may be a way for us all to be about our business."


    "Eh? What''s that? A way to Tark, you say?"


    Thavis nodded. " Brock here, knows the mountains well--was a local guide here for years. Hunting parties, and such, you know. Could be, we might talk him into leading our own caravan, through to Tark, and avoid the pass. William and I would make for good guards, and we are all intent on the trip, only..." Thavis left his words hanging and assumed a mournful expression.


    Brann waited quizzically expecting Thavis to continue. When this was not forthcoming, he prompted him excitedly. "Well, fellow? Well? What!"


    Thavis broke, as if from reverie. "Oh. Yes, well, we were not prepared to fund such an expedition, obviously...this pass business is news to us too you see. We would need supplies, you would need to convince your bearers to undertake it, a million things. Also, it would have to be done, eh, quietly, or surely Wayland''s officials would hear of it and stop us. All in all, an impossible thought, now I consider it."


    Brann looked abashed. "Why not? Why not I say. Is this true, my stout Nublin? Can you ferret out a way to Tark? I can see to my bearers, relatives all, in any case. Supplies I can afford from that I laid by for caravan fees, and even get such wholesale from poor souls stranded here at the Inn! Why, the Inn''s warehouses are packed with the goods we need, piling up fees for the fretting merchants! I could even add some new lines, at a cheap price too, perhaps, hire more bearers..."


    Brann rubbed his hands together, and drifted off into a profit filled reverie of his own.


    Thavis waved the man to attention. "Oh, good sir, no. A large convoy would be suspect and conspicuous. Also, others here would get wind of it, and surely we would be stopped. But if we were circumspect, and it were quietly done - what say you, Brock, would you assay it?"


    Brock sat back theatrically, and pulled at his beard. "I don''t know lads. T''were some danger to it, and I would have to impose on some of my own folk to see it through. Seems to me some bicker is brewing between your folks as well, could be more of an adventure than ye have the stomach for, all in all. Also, the ways be not as tidy as the pass, ye realize. I''d not do it for free, either."


    Brock leaned over the table and refilled Brann''s cup himself, much to my astonishment. Then he leaned back, coolly eying the merchant. "Still, it might be done. Three stout men for safety, a few bearers, us well supplied, and me to guide ya through...yes, it be possible. What say you?"


    Brann checked over his shoulder conspiratorially, then said, "This could be the salvation of me. You''re right, of course. Can''t be too greedy about this. I can ask for a premium for the tapestries once through to Tark, and not lose anything at all. He hesitated. "I assume the two of you would be willing to guard without further compensation, as you have business of your own? Just to see the trip through well supplied?"


    I raised my eyebrows to Thavis, who interjected, "I feel it safe to say we could even defray the expense of hiring Brock - somewhat, at least. I would leave it to you to bargain with him, though. I have no head for such things."


    Brann actually looked pleased at this. "Well, well. Not a problem, not an issue, then. If you gentlemen would leave the good Brock and me to our affairs for a moment?"


    We excused ourselves, and made for the service bar.


    "Brock seemed pleased, how did you manage that?"


    Thavis chuckled. "Brock is already being compensated by Chord and Orton for his time, aside from the fact he has taken a liking to you. He is doing all this to help in the reestablishment of his clan in the eastern lowlands, you know. Any profit he wrangles from your merchant just pays him double, and costs us all less. T''were an easy thing. Where is that walking teapot of yours?"


    I took my wine order at the bar, and reviewed for Thavis our trip so far including where we had stashed Gort. The young noble''s eyes wandered back to Brann who was hunched over our table deep in conversation with Brock.


    "The thing would be useful on the trails. I''ve no particular love of lugging my own pack through the mountains. We might consider retrieving it for part of the trip, at least. We can always have it bury itself somewhere convenient along the way. Have to explain that to our new companion somehow though."


    We talked of this, and decided on a story for the merchant, a private sale to be concluded in Tark no questions asked. Certainly something the rug vendor would be familiar with and an aide to our cover story should the man become curious. We were soon after called back to the table.


    Brann was again rubbing his hands together, a gleam in his eyes. "Most satisfactory, I think. Brock will lead the venture for twelve rubies, including hostel in the mountains with his kin during the crossing. You two need bear only one each, being ten from me. What say you? A cheap price on your part, and fair, considering I am to stand for the supplies for all of us."


    I kept a poker face and turned to Brock, who stood to gain a sackful of gemstones for something he had already been paid to do. Brock wore a self-satisfied smile and arched his brow at me.


    "More than fair on my part," I said.


    I explained our story about the Golem. The fact we had something rather suspicious to sell with us did not seem at all odd to Brann, who only nodded knowingly.


    We made arrangements to meet up in the morning, and Brann hurried off to complete his transactions. Our food had shown up, so we fell to with a will. After, Brock and I left table to retire; as I would have to retrace my steps early tomorrow were I to retrieve Gort.


    Thavis stayed, to wander the commons, looking for a game, and engaging some of the female patrons.

 Chapter thirty-one: A Slight Detour

    A red blush was just fringing the coaled outlines of the treetops and hills in the east when I returned with Gort who had been secreted off the road to the inn just west, near where we had first entered it the day before. I picked a new spot, safe enough for the short time we expected to be delayed at the Inn and went on alone looking forward to what would still be an early breakfast there. I saw Brann in passing the second warehouse, lining up his bearers, laden with a few more goods than he had arrived with.


    Brann spotted me, gave a cheery wave and laid his finger to his lips. I returned the wave and pointing to the inn, went on. As usual I was last to table. Thavis and Brock were finishing up, based on the number of plates, an astonishing breakfast. I picked at the remains.


    Thavis seemed in good spirits. "We are to join Brann before the warehouse soon as we finish. He has put aside two bows and a stocked quiver each, for us to carry, otherwise we should go unencumbered, save for our own things, of course. Speaking of which your - venture this morning went well?"


    "Well enough," I replied. "Our other companion waits just west for us."


    We signed out of the Inn and joined Brann. Reintroducing Gort caused a small argument between Brann and his peers, settled with much reassurance on the part of Brann that the device was a good for a wealthy client that we were selling, not a attempt to replace workers. Otherwise, the bearers seemed to consider the artifact no more than a clockwork curiosity and ignored it. Sort of like having a car at the turn of the century, I guessed.


    With Brock leading, we soon circled the town avoiding the roads then on toward the climbing slopes of the north.


    I now understood the true worth of the travois, for they were narrow and unlike wheeled wagons or trundles could be pulled over anything or lifted like stretchers over creek beds and small rifts. Also far easier to replace a broken pole than to fashion a new wheel. The bearers seemed adept at handling them and managed without complaint. Gort proved his worth helping to haul the loads up slopes where hands and feet both touched ground in the climb and as an anchor along goat trails so narrow only a fool would try them not safely roped one to the other. It quickly became clear why the Dervin pass was the only commercial route north.


    I was no expert bowman, but with my width of chest and musculature offsetting a shorter reach managed a fair natural draw. Also, I had come to realize that my height was not much different from those about me here despite being generally shorter than the citizenry of Illinois. I had bow-hunted a little before, so managed to skewer a few wild rabbit and a goat-like creature I was assured was good eating. Something at least to supplement such dried or salted trail supplies as our merchant provided. As Brock and Thavis seemed skilled with setting game traps, at least our diet would be varied.


    It was the third day since I had left the cabin near Corbell and there seemed as yet no indication we would clear the range soon. We eventually stopped for dinner and since we were losing the light, contemplated whether to travel any further. Brock squatted down in front of me.


    "We could make my nephew''s barrows tonight, were we to travel on but there is no need. Better we come on it by daylight, I say."


    "Certainly no need to kill ourselves stumbling around this mountain in the dark, I agree. We are not blessed with those eyes of yours, Brock."


    "Aye then. Camp here for the night." The Nublin squinted at the surrounding rock. "There''s outcrops there, there and there" he said, jabbing at protrusions across the narrow ravine we currently occupied. I''ll help ye hang yer hammock."


    Brann had supplied, as well as the bows and a few camp items, tight woven woolen hammocks threaded with long sticky ropes which I conceived as a trail luxury.


    "The ground''s flat just here," I said. "I would be just as happy rolling out my mat."


    Brock sighed, and explained as if I were a bit slow. "I wouldn''t unless forced to it, William. Things crawl about these mountains as sting badly once the rock cools off of an evening. Best to hang the hammocks from the tarred ropes when possible or wrap up tight in them cocoon like if not. T''were more comfortable hanging in ''em anyway."


    "Oh. Thanks for the tip, then."


    I looped one hammock rope around a crag while Brock pounded a cleat into the mountain face opposite, and attached the other end to it. I leered at the result which bowed down to within two feet of the ground when tested with my weight. I have no experience with hammocks save the garden variety. I watched carefully when the others bedded, and was the last to do so.


    My first attempt landed me squarely on the ground beneath it. I tried again, spreading the thing open, taking a seated position in its center. I lifted one leg slowly off the ground and into it, laid back, then drew the second up and gingerly nestled it in. The woolen sheet drew up in a pocket around me and suddenly it seemed quite stable, and very comfortable. The slow rocking motion was hypnotic and I slid into the deepest sleep I can remember.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    I woke with the light, more rested than I would have thought possible, my slumber dreamless and undisturbed. I remembered that I was ensconced in a hammock and frighteningly, realized I had no idea how to get free of it without dumping myself out onto the rock. I waited quietly for the others to arise. They seemed to have no trouble and bustled about untying the contraptions and storing them away. Brock noticed I was still swinging away in mine and approached, looking down at my recumbent form. "Will you not be joining us then? Mean to sleep the day away is it, William?"


    "I don''t know how to get out of this thing. Can you hold it on the one side while I..."


    Brock broke out in a rasping laugh. "Naw, I''ll leave ye here till we be done then come fetch you out!"


    There was some sniggering from the bearers and even Thavis and Brann traded mobile expressions.


    "Here now," chided Thavis, "everyone has a first day in these things, no need to make sport. One leg down first, William, then get your balance on that, and up with you. Brock, help the man so he doesn''t end on his arse!"


    It proved not the trial I feared and I too, soon had everything ready for travel.


    My first sight of a Nublin barrow-town came into view before noon. The dwellings were above ground for the most part. They looked like large half buried eggs with rock shard walls roofed over with a thatch of the reedy mountain grass that seemed to infest every crack in the slopes here. Timber shored openings lead back into the near face of the mountain, and above these openings several other smaller bores made their way inward. I saw no signs of workshops or such. I mentioned this to Brock.


    "All that''s inside where it''s cooler work''in summers, and warmer work''in winters."


    He pointed up. "See the smokes?" I looked, and although the mountain currents dispersed it quickly, smoke did rise from several of the bores scattered high above the mine-like entrances.


    "Others facing the current bring in air and some, surfaced with mica, reflect light down in where needed. Not into the workin'' shafts themselves a''course. A waste a'' labor that would be, but the top veins, as played out, well, we expand on ''em and make use of ''em, eh?"


    Thavis seemed to take the Barrow in stride, but Brann and his bearers ogled everything and seemed skittish. However, Gort seemed more an annoyance to these people. Like a neighbor parking a buldozer in your driveway. Relations between humans and Nublin, I recalled, had not always been friendly.


    Brann cleared his throat, and piped a question at Brock. "Are you sure we will be welcome? I always thought your people lived below ground and hated strangers."


    "We don''t live in holes, lad but we do work the ores, and like to get the most out of our labor. It''s hard work and once trued out there''s no reason to let all that work go ta waste. It''s all simple enough when you get the hang of it. We bunk above ground like everyone else, not as you may have heard tell. As for strangers, well, did ye enjoy yer trip here Brann? Like ''ta be visitin'' right regular all social, now you know where we be?"


    "Eh, if I were a mountain goat maybe. I didn''t notice any roads about."


    "It be because there are none. We don''t lay em." We walked on and Brock waved at a few bearded faces as we went, continuing his commentary. "We don''t live in caves either. Well, perhaps some dry, dead ones as we discover in our work if well trued out and cleanable. But that''s just chance and circumstance. There''s clans as pan for the metals in some areas, and others as grow crop, mostly. Some hunt and husband animals. Each clan tends to specialize, and we trade back and forth regular for our needs. But the mountains, aye, that''s the prime land as we see it. Dell or cliff, it is safer, and that we know it well."


    "Surprised then that you are moving your clan to the lowlands."


    Brock winced. "Well, the hills can only support so many. As the numbers strain the land''s ability to support us we form new clans and find fresh land, though we are not prolific breeders as you folk seem to be. Some seasons a few of us must look to the bottom lands for a time. Generally we can return in a few generations, as our numbers wax and wane."


    "So you''re caught in a population increase right now?"


    "That''s the straight of it. But I''m bound to make the best of it and Chord and yours could make things easier and better for my clan in this so''s I am decided to be good neighbors, as we must be neighbors in any case."


    "That''s a good plan. I know Chord is eager to have you around. He has an open mind, and an eye for profit. You couldn''t have chosen a better course."


    "Aye that is how I see it, too. Do you have that fancy bit I traded you for the beer back when we met?" As I still had it in my pouch, I said yes.


    "You might put the broach on then. It''s my clan symbol on it. That''ll confuse this bunch some, stir up questions for me but earn you a bit of respect meantime as well."


    I smiled, thinking on this. "So you are a bit of a rebel among your own eh?"


    Brock puckered his lips inward,causing his facial hair to blouse like feathers fluffed on a strutting bird. "Never hurts to tweak a beard, now and again."


    Brann''s eyes glittered with a sudden thought and again drew Brock''s attention. "Your people here, do they weave? Do you use rugs, tapestries, the like?"


    Brock nodded. "Some. Mostly we cure furred Skins and such, but some will weave, and O'' course, such fancy clothes as we wear must come from somewhere, you know." Brock fingered the roughly carded wool of his shirt, and pulled down on the stinking cured leather of his jerkin.


    Brann pursed his lips. "While export might be, unnecessary, perhaps some metals trade for larger woven things, like rugs might bring me back quite ah, often, even given the terrain. Is there someone in particular I should talk with?"


    "The clan chief, Stenn Orehammer-- a cousin of mine. You will meet him directly, as that is where we are going now. Mind ye, he is not the open-eyed liberal I be." While I managed not to choke on this statement, I did notice that Brann started to take an even keener, more measured interest in the village as we walked.

 Chapter Thirty-two: A Mountain Village

    The Clan chief appeared an older man, no taller than Brock and even more fulsomely bearded though tinged with white. Brock made introductions and explained somewhat of our purpose, or at least Brann''s, in breaching the mountains. Orehammer listened patiently to the brief.


    "We heard th'' pass was blocked, a'' course. Hope something is afoot as may clear th'' Burlies out. This business of giant burlies be bad news. We will have to double up our patrols, I suppose, betimes."


    "So," Brock asked, "we are welcome then?"


    Orehammer took Brock by the shoulder, a serious look on his face. "O'' course, lad. Naw cousin a'' mine will go without shelter. Yer friends be welcome too, O'' course. The seven of ye, and yer manikin will have ta stay in the upper mine though, near the forge. We are pressed for room as ye know, but there''s fresh straw fer bedding and water there, tis warm, o''course."


    My interest peaked at this. I looked forward to the opportunity to see what passed as smithing among the Nublin.


    Brann Cour, mercantile visions doubtless dancing behind his eyes, quickly stepped forth now that our welcome was confirmed. He swept the Clansman''s home with appraisal, all the while smiling and offered his hand.


    "I can''t thank you enough, on behalf of my company, for your fine offer. Perhaps I can be of some small service in return. My, what fine furnishings you have, sir! Wonderful wood workers you must have here, excellent taste! A few of my tapestries would set off your furbishments well, you know. Nothing like a good, thick rug or two to warm the feet, come an evening! Perhaps I could part with some examples - for your own use of course, in thanks. I could see us in trade for more of the like, yes, I could see that a caravan, a discrete one of course, might wend here regularly--save you from shortages of this and that, over time, that would. Let me get you a few things from my packs -- just a gift or two, and we can discuss it. What do you think?"


    Stenn Orehammer looked at the outstretched hand and took it slowly. "Well, lad, shortages, yes, I can see some advantage, worth the discussing, if you like. Move on with the times, I always say. Might be worth some jawing over, as you''re here."


    Brann''s eyes lit.


    "Yes, yes! Unquestionably, I assure you." He pumped the Nublin''s hand vigorously. Let me get you those ... gifts, then we can sit and discuss it!"


    Brann excused himself and hurried out to his waiting porters. Thavis and I exchanged bored glances, and then I turned to Brock."As you are familiar with things here, maybe we should get settled then."


    The Nublin rolled his eyes and agreed.


    "Aye. There''s no purpose served stand''in about while this business is being talked on." Turning to his elder Clansmen he said, "If that be alright by you, of course. William would be eager to see the forge in any case, if I read him a-right."


    Orehammer nodded, eying Brock''s broach, now pinned prominently to my shirt, adding "Later, if you''ve the time, perhaps we could talk about yer giant sized official Nublin here. Got to be a story in that."


    Dismissed, we left to collect our things and made our way to the mine. The timbers I had noticed shoring up the mine''s entrance were formed more in the nature of a solid door-frame than supporting members, though they likely served both functions. They were carefully fitted and finished, holding up two heavy doors currently swung in flat against the inside. The floor was rock, but surfaced evenly, and this part, at least, was well lit. The center sloped down deeper into the mountain, eventually turning a corner, leading, I assumed, to the warren of mining tunnels that certainly honeycombed it. The floor underfoot remained level, and led off to the left, through an adjoining trussed archway, where wavering light blossomed and faded, and the fall of many hammers could be heard.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    "The forge," Brock announced. "The other side, to the right, goes to the smelts and foundry."


    The forge was huge. At least two dozen anvils and bending benches were neatly ordered here, racks and bins of sorted stocks reaching up to a high ceiling perhaps forty feet above us. A row of flaming ovens, set into the mountain rock, backed the far end. A welter of other benches and jigging tables were set before the stock wall. Bearded and aproned forms went purposely about their business everywhere between.


    We stood well to the rear where, as told, a neat line of compartments floored with thick bedding straw and cured furs were ranked, a shelf and picnic table affair in each one. Several pegs could be seen hammered into the separating partitions. There were six or seven of these, and they reminded me of refitted horse stalls.


    Following my gaze Brock noted, "Come in handy when they needs ta fort up, or a man has to stay close overnight ta watch over a project or two. The clatter will cease come dinner time. We''ll get a quiet night''s rest, a bit warm, as ye were told of."


    I took in the small factory again saying, "This is very extensive, Brock. What all do you make here?"


    Brock blew out his furred cheeks. "Everything needed fer th'' mine: tools, spikes, bars, drills, all as is used in the village. Goods fer trade with the other clans, weapons, arrow points, some jewelry and other fine craft. Chain. Everything worked of metal, generally. While ''tis iron mostly mined here, this shop works copper, gold, silver, tin, and other stocks as the mountain provides, or as gets traded for, as well. ''Tis a big community here, about as big as can be," Brock growled, "as it turns out."


    I noted a certain tone to this, and asked, " I take it your people were told you couldn''t settle here, then?"


    "Aye, and others. ''Tis why we turned to the lowlands."


    "All the ore mined here eventually goes through this one forge?"


    "Oh no, Lad. The ore gets traded, too. A good deal of smelt even finds its way to human vendors, one roundabout way or another, truth to tell. There are a few that deal straight wi'' us, though not many realize the source of the stocks. Or care. There is more of this nowadays, with so many new mouths ta feed. The hills give us a bounty of metals, but less provender, over all, than we could use. So we do most what we are best fixed to do. Yer farmers raise more food that than we possibly can, so attitudes are changing about things a bit, as ye could tell from Orehammer''s warm and open attitude towards Brann."


    Warm and open wouldn''t have been my description of the wariness he had shown with Brann, but he had been willing to listen to the man, and I suppose all things are relative. Like the prying open of the doors to China, it looked like I had come at what could be the beginning of an era, and I appreciated that fact, as any businessman would have. I was reminded of Duke Wayland''s interest in my dealings with Nublin, and Chord''s dark reaction to that knowledge. It occurred to me that Brann''s fortunes might just have turned a life changing corner.


    Brock introduced me to the forge''s master for a more intensive tour, and we talked of the craft. I mentioned my recent projects, the limitations I had encountered, and my wish for a way to make gear chains. The Nubilin smith became quite excited as I explained and sketched some of these things.


    He showed me a rolling die-press affair, crude and hand driven, but beyond anything I had seen in my sojourns. Also, an infusing furnace that was fed by a stream of blasting air through tunnels bored in the rock. These tunnels, I was told, led to a natural venturi fed by the prevailing winds that swept one face of the mountain. Augmented by a cunning bellows and other things, I could see where if fed with the hardest coals, it might even be able to reach temperatures higher than 1600 degrees, opening up whole new product avenues, given the general level of the art here. The working area was small, though.


    The Head Smith comprehended instantly the advantages and concept of sprockets and drive chains. We fell to discussing how that might be done here, working with the available stocks and nearby foundry. We found that by thin rolling the best steels and hot forming it about rod, short sections of hard tubing could be fashioned. By making links of softer metal with the rolling press, and riveting them through spacers of the steel tubing, very usable gearing chain might indeed be made. We were at this, as was Brock, until Thavis, quite bored, walked up and pointed out that the rest of the forge workers had long left for dinner, and should I do the same, so the troop could think about bedding down.


    "Ah rot me, he''s right! Me woman''s going ta have parts O'' me hang''in from the hearth, come morning," exclaimed the Smith. He grinned. "worth it though, was excellent talk''in wi'' ya, William."


    He cleaned up and tore off in a hurry, after that. I fingered the crude dozen link example we had managed, lost in thought, and drew a picture of a couple gears with compatibly spaced teeth; one about 14 inches in diameter, and one about a quarter of that, a reduction gear. I left all the work at the scribe table, followed Thavis back to the stalls and retired.

 Chapter Thirty-three: Trouble in Tark

    The weird dreams returned.


    I saw myself upon a tower''s battlement, the blade raised high, brow encircled with the golden band. A witch light flowed up from the tower''s roots, and strength and energy poured into me. In shifting dreamscapes, demons melted away into the earth. Lightning came at call, and all worshiped me. An eclipsed moon rose over head. Powerful urges surged through me to turn aside, to retrace my path and recover the Corm-Da.


    "You will be invested with my eternal presence. You will rule in my name. We will bring peace to this land forever. Worry not about the petty affairs of my people. We can solve all with a wave of our hand, and all will be as I had ordained!"


    I woke to the sounds of incoming workers and forced the bizarre dreams from my mind. It worried me that dreams, vanished since I abandoned the sword, had returned.  We made a light meal from the supplies in our packs and went out to say goodbye to Stenn Orehammer. The Nublin chief saw us off magnanimously, if not warmly, although I noted a firm handshake exchanged between him and our trader, Brann.


    Brock lead us north over the surrounding steeps and rills, and the community was soon lost to my sight. Brann seemed to walk with a lighter tread than before, leading his porters with all the attention of a mother quail.


    Thavis took point at Brock''s direction, preceding us with his usual effortless grace. This left me central to the troop, with only the stony countenance of Gort for companionship. I said nothing about the visions, and kept my attention on the mission at hand, scanning the rock and scrub for ambush sites and evidences of the passage of others. By evening, our trek had taken a mostly downward cant, and below us spread the lowland flats and the city of Tark.


    Brock pulled me aside. "It''s time to consider what''s to do with Yer teapot again," he said, nodding toward Gort. The self burial and resurrection had worked fine before, so I had Gort repeat the process. There was little sense in staying the night in the hills, so we continued on towards town, even though we knew our arrival would be well after nightfall.


    The place did not seem the bustling center of commerce Corbell had proved. Here, clay brick seemed the material of choice, and though some wood supplemented this, the net effect was military and un-decorated in aspect. I asked Brann about this.


    "Oh, there is a great deal of commerce here. Freight ships through it and onto the eastern shores. Just, most of the profit is absorbed by the Duke, who taxes the fife heavily. Traders do well though. Things are different here."


    By mutual agreement we had approached the town from the north, avoiding the roads that led from town directly toward the southern mountain pass. We saw fewer stranded caravans and disgruntled business ventures on our approach. More time had passed since the mountain route had closed, so less hopeful traffic of that kind was expected.


    Still, Tark seemed a poorer community, and the lack of civic energy and bustle depressed me. The streets were narrow and empty; only a sparse handful of taverns and buildings showed lit lanterns. While Thavis felt sure he would not be known here, as his business usually took him well west of Tark, I had him keep his hood up and head down anyway.


    Brann seemed sure of his direction, and we wound quickly through the black and bewildering lanes, stopping at last before the door of an inn. A single weak lantern swung above the door with a parsimoniously shortened wick. Barely glowing with a blue florescence, it emitted just enough light to spot from twenty feet away or so.


    The establishment''s commons had a low ceiling and was lit by a banked open hearth fire and little else. The place was uncomfortably warm and close. A short counter opposed the street entrance and stairs lead up from the left of it, presumably to the lodgings we sought. Brann approached the innkeeper and negotiated for rooms. One for us and two for the porters with their bundles of merchandise. There was no warehousing facility here.


    Our host, a dark haired man of middle age who seemed to have trouble looking anyone in the eye. His glance constantly drifted off to the darker corners of the commons as Brann negotiated. I was about to approach Brann to suggest we look at the proposed lodgings first when a hollow creaking of treads announced arrivals down from the second floor rooms above.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    Four stocky men appeared in the shadowed stairwell. All wore tabards, similar to those I had seen on Wayland''s arms men, although a different device was patched to the breast, an escutcheon featuring a mace above two Burlies set I believe, in what is called addosse, regardante, or back to back, heads turned away. The tallest motioned the other three to a table, then went on alone towards the innkeeper.


    Brann, having concluded his arrangements, returned to us. I kept one eye on the arms man, as Brann gave us the room assignments and ordered his bearers to the stairs. The arms man passed only a few words with our host before turning to rake us with suspicious eyes. I suppose being the most muscular member of our group, I acquired his attention first. "You are not known to me, where are you from?"


    I shrugged, acting a bit denser than usual. "Name''s Fisk. Caravan guard. You need to talk to the boss." I jerked my head in the direction of Brann. The Guard''s features darkened a little, and his hand fell to the handle of a slung mace at his belt, but his eyes twitched in the direction of Brann anyway. I continued to stare blank faced at nothing in particular.


    He addressed Brann shortly. "You''re in charge of these morons?  Where are you from, and what is your business in town?"


    Brann gave the man a wide smile, and stepped forward ingratiatingly, saying "Rugs, my good commander! Carpets of the finest value, for Duke Felway''s estate! A delivery to Seneschal Caster Morgus, who knows me well! We are fresh from the north road, from Chyrium." Though not familiar with military status as it pertained here, I didn''t doubt that Brann had overstated the man''s rank by several unlikely promotions.


    "And all of these," he waved his hand as if brushing away flies, "are yours?"


    "Cousins all, save for my guards, hired at Chyrium, to keep me safe on the roads."


    The brute slitted his stare, and returned to me. "So you are from Chyrium?"


    I allowed my eyes to partially refocus, and nodded blandly. "Just now. I follow the caravans, that''s all."


    The returning expression resigned me to the status of a hobo in his eyes, and he spent no further time questioning me.


    "You finish your business in town early come morning and be on your way. I won''t expect to see you on the register here tomorrow evening."


    Brann bobbed his head. "We are at the Seneschal''s beck, of course commander but our, ah, his business should not delay our departure long. Thank you for your forbearance and interest, commander."


    The slight prod that he might be interfering in the Duke''s affairs seemed to slow the bully a bit. He turned away with a gruff "Be about it then," and otherwise ignored us. We trooped up the stairs without further comment though I saw a frown crease the innkeeper''s face as Thavis passed him. The room was as dingy as the commons had been, with a smallish porthole of a window, fit only to allow some breath of air entry. Even a child would not have been able to squeeze through it.


    I caught at Brann''s arm before he left us for his own room. "What was all that about?"


    "Likely, just a garrison dog turned out into the town to look for strangers, and not happy about it either. I have stayed here before, as he was doubtless told by Charles, the innkeeper, but decided to make us uncomfortable anyway. Chyrium has a small port in the north, and I have occasionally picked up imports there."  Brann chuckled and patted me on the shoulder. " I commend your actions downstairs, sir. It would not have done to imply we might have run the Duke''s blockade. No, not at all. Wisely done William, wisely done."


    I traded grim looks with Thavis. Maybe Brann''s outlook could be taken for a barometer of our peril, but he was a poor parakeet in a cage for us, not knowing our true mission. The encounter had left my hair standing up. The three of us matched each other to see who would get the smallish bed. Thavis won, of course, so Brock and I set out bedrolls on the wood floor.


    "You will have to be quick about yer business, is my thought," said Brock. "Were the lad downstairs not thick as a turnip, he''d a been askin'' where Brann had picked up a Nublin fer a guard. Ain''t none O'' my kin up Chyrium ways, and I''d bet an opal big as a hen''s egg he never heard of one O'' mine hired out to a human."


    Thavis snorted. "Commander indeed. I mis-doubt his normal duties take him far from guarding the garrison hen-house."


    "Brock''s point is well taken," I responded. "Brock should stay here tomorrow, and the two of us accompany Brann to the Duke''s keep, eyes open, mouths closed, then make a fast exit with whatever information we can find. We need to see if there is any sign of more artillery there, get some appreciation of troop strength, watch for signs of preparations as might interest Orton and Chord."


    To myself I added, I''d like to ransack Veddek''s and MaCaan''s quarters too, if I can find some way...I bedded down, my mind roiling. Anger vied with fear over Dimanda''s insistence on involving herself in Dervin. All the more painful for me, to know her so close, and not to be able to see her. Whether known here or not, I had to question my judgment, if not my rationale in deciding to walk into this armed camp; troubling thoughts that occupied me until sleep took me.

 Chapter thirty-four: The Strong-hold

    Morning came all too soon, for the mountain excursion had been draining, and a deep, if troubled sleep had enfolded me quickly. The dreams had come strongly, repeating the promise of the crown and blade. Brock ordered his bearers along the lane outside and with Thavis and myself flanking them, we set off for the town center, and the grim brick fortification of Duke Felway.


    The streets by day looked no less austere than they had the night before, nor were they much better populated. There were more loose cats and dogs in the lanes than commoners. Clots of armed men, wearing the same device that decorated the brute at the inn, were apparent every few intersections. We were stopped and questioned at least three times on our approach.


    The compound''s gates were flanked by two high turrets, in which the moving shadows of archers flitted behind thick arrow slits. Ten armed men waited before the closed gate, and I did not envy Brann his conversations with them. Apparently satisfied, and after stripping us of our weapons, the guards pushed open the gates, and our caravan filed in. The packed earth of the yard was busy, troopers were marshaled everywhere, and against the long high fortifications, fire from field forges blew acrid smoke that curled everywhere like a dry fog.


    I kept my eyes moving, trying to take in everything I could, though we were hustled quickly into a three walled area near the gate, and made to wait the seneschal''s convenience. My eyes had caught at a tall black tower rising above the two-story main building at the yard''s center, and I was filled to shaking with a sense of yearning and excitement. I noted that the tower was backed against the far yard wall. Two wooden doors split its arched entrance, one ajar. As there were no other towers, I felt that this must be the Mage Veddek''s retreat, following the pattern set by Chord and Orton.


    I wondered if there might be a private exit from the tower through the yard wall, but the distance seemed too wide for that. Looking at it, I realized any attempt to breach it would likely invite a fast bath in boiling oil mixed with liberal arrow fire, but I marked the place anyway. The men I saw in the yard were conventionally armed, which was a relief. There were no cannons or rifles to be seen, for which I was thankful, though that was no guarantee there were none.


    Thavis nudged me, and in a low voice noted, "The hold is at full strength, I warrant. The walls are manned every six feet, and at least three full companies, by the various emblems I see, are barracked here. Puts the hold''s complement at well over two hundred men -- siege strength. That they let us inside at all means they are still stocking supplies here."


    "How is that? Couldn''t they as easily off load supplies before the gates?"


    Thavis shook his head. "Too much hauling. It would leave the gates largely open, to unload the deliveries they are taking in. We may expect, given the preparations here, that levies are being garrisoned near the pass. This place prepares for war."


    "I sort of thought this conclusion foregone. The incursion into Wayland''s fief, the devilry in the pass, all that," I said.


    "No," Thavis replied. "you misunderstand. A bicker between dukes, a little piracy, raiding, perhaps an attempt to extort extra tolls, that is one thing. This," he said, sweeping a hand at the compound, "indicates a larger design. You saw all the armsmen about town, It requires time for such preparations to become so advanced. This is no gambit to be resolved in parlay. There can be no waving away of the burlies Veddick set to the roads on our side of the pass as some unknown oddity or rogue event, but here, by so arming, Felway has marked his complicity with mage Veddek''s plans, set himself directly against King Fredrick. He is fully a part of it. Duke Wayland must be told. I am not known here, as most of my work strayed not from Wayland''s fief, save for rarely, to the capitol. But we may still find ourselves sequestered, imprisoned, or worse, press-ganged into his service, as we are posing as guards."


    I must have seemed bemused "You can tell this from one sweep of the yard of Fellways townhold? What of the pass itself and what of the garrisons there?"


    "Those still need to be ascessed of course, but it is obvious to me a muster has been called. Dukes do not call for musters on whim. Such are expensive war preparations."


    Being press ganged was not something I wanted to endure. I had supposed we would be left alone while Brann completed his trades. "We will have to get out of here... Tell Brann to send us away. Have him tell the guards we go to check for some goods he left behind."


    Thavis nodded, and went to the front of the holding area, to whisper with Brann. The merchant nodded and turned to the two guards that braced the open side of the holding area. There ensued a brief argument, and a small pouch changed hands between the larger of the two guards and Brann. The guard motioned to us, and we were escorted back to the gate. Luckily, it was easier getting out than entering had been, and we were ejected quickly. Having seen us before, the troops stationed along the lanes did not stop us again, and we were careful to follow the same route back to the inn. We collected Brock, and made for the hills, where we had sequestered Gort.


    Brock raised an eyebrow, or rather, his eyebrow, as I can''t say he had more than one. "So what''s next, then?"


    Since leaving the compound and viewing the tower, I had not been able to shake a sense of urgent yearning to climb to its top. Considering my dreams of late, I was suspicious of the feeling''s source, and set my mind against it. It was a constant strain now, and made it difficult to consider other things. The continual assault on my free will was the one thing that drove me to Tark, I needed to seek some solution, some way out of Credine''s clutches. Practical matters of personal safety were driving me back without the answers I really sought, and frustration filled me. I rallied my thoughts, and considered our future course.


    "I don''t think Brann is in any danger from our actions, hired mercs taking off in such situations cannot be rare. I think we should make for the Nublin village, our closest haven, then split up. Thavis must return and inform Duke Wayland, Orton, and Chord of what little we have found out. I will stay on at the village. I have a few ideas to work out there, and besides, I wouldn''t return without word from the mages in any case. First though, it would be useful to see just what is garrisoned at the pass. Would there be any vantage where this might be done?"


    Brock choked, and gave me an evil eye. "Aye son, there are many such oversights, doubtless all of ''em crawling with sentries set to welcome such curious behavior with flowers ''n honey cakes! Are you mad, boy?"


    I thought of Gort, and his very advanced tunneling skills. Several plans started to form, one of which I mentioned to Brock. "What if we were to make a new tunnel, somewhere unexpected? Is there a place where Gort might bore through to create a viewing spot, that wouldn''t likely be patrolled?"


    Brock pulled his beard and frowned, thinking. "Aye, I forgot about the pottery man. He did a fair job, snatching you from Wayland, eh? There is a steep just west ''a the pass, almost a sheer face...was a time we assayed it fer ore, days long gone. Were nothing there to mine, but if he could tunnel a hundred foot or so through solid granite, say hundred-fifty yards up the sheer cliff face, a man might oversee the pass through it. I''d guarantee it''d not be guarded, as the sheers there be not something a a force of men would try. From either side either, mark ye. Think''in yer Golem could do such a thing?"Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    "Let''s find out."


    We dug Gort out and made for the spot Brock mentioned, which took a good two hours of hard scrabbling to reach. The clif went up like a wall, as Brock said. It was apparent that any tunnel less than a hundred fifty feet up would need to bore through too much rock. The jagged range was peppered with these steep formations, some feature of the local geology.


    Gort stood impassively as I explained what we needed, and that we could not spend any great amount of time here tunneling. It turned and faced the sheer, put one hand out and "scooped" at the surface. A four inch deep score trailed behind his hand.


    The Golem''s reply was short. "One hour, one hundred yards."


    We sat back to watch. Gort made horizontal sweeps with his hands about every two feet, clambered up on them, and repeated the process, as rubble rained down, forcing us to retreat further from the sheer. The rock ladder continued to build until Gort achieved about a hundred-thirty feet, then he started inwards with a will, and a constant fall of boulders clattered and bounced downwards, some with alarming trajectories, sending us scurrying well to the side and even farther back.


    There were no explosions of course, but a deal of noise, all the same. I mentioned this to Brock, who shrugged. "Took us two and a half hours ta get here, shortest route, and I knew the way. Even if they do hear somthin odd driftin'' over the peaks, I donna think it will matter much, unless you are set on camping here for the night."


    Within the allotted hour, Gort reappeared in the new hole in the sheer''s surface, and not bothering with his rock ladder, simply fell off. He hit bottom, bounced, rolled, and then to my amazement, simply stood back up. Brock blinked and said, "Now, I''ve changed my mind about that thing. When we get back, I have a proposition or two ''ta discuss wi'' ye."


    There was still the problem of climbing up the rock ladder, and Brock would have none of it.


    "You two go right ahead, I''ve no interest in the view, so unless a thousand Burlies come poring into on this place, I''ll be right here watchin'' yer progress."


    Thavis borrowed several yards of rope from Brock''s pack, and we tied ourselves together about twelve feet apart with it, then looking again at the climb, tied another twelve between me and Gort, whom I commanded to lead.


    The ascent was actually not that bad. All of the scores had a downward internal angle offering very secure hand-holds, and were clean cuts. Still, I wouldn''t want to have tried it if I were out of shape. The hole itself was tight, a hands and knees crawl, as if Gort had swum through the rock to make it. There was light at the other end though, so it wasn''t as scary as I thought it might be. Gort had quietly managed an opening only a little larger than a basketball on the pass facing end.


    The view was all Brock promised, and I estimated about four thousand men were bivouacked before the pass. There were row upon row of tent-like structures set in a semi circle behind two forts that flanked the gap itself. From here, I could see into the one on the near side, and it seemed fully manned. My attention gravitated to one particular structure of the fort directly below. Backed against the sheer was a square building mounded on all four sides with dirt, like an ammunition or explosives dump. Further away, something suspiciously like a brace of vintage cannons sat against the pass-facing side of the fort. These looked to be civil war replicas or some such, but were sturdy, and obviously the kind that could actually be fired. I briefly wondered how MaCaan had gotten them through the tower, to get them here.


    More magic, likely, I assumed, or block and tackle. Replicas of this kind are easily available without any kind of license. While frightening, I knew a good deal of training was required to make use of such artillery, and I doubted the likes of MaCaan, or any other locals, would have the savvy to make good use of them, as yet. I knew several custom smiths who specialized in these quite popular lawn accessories for the well heeled. As for the odd building, had the cliff opening been larger, I could have jumped onto the loose board roof of it. I would have died in the fall, but it would have been possible. Freeing a small rock from the hole, I dropped it and counted out the seconds till it bounced from the roof of the structure below. A good five second drop.


    It looked like they were prepared to march troops through the pass or, if necessary, support the defense of it from the fortifications. I flattened down and let Thavis slither over the top of me for a peek, then we blocked up the spy hole with rock and backed out to where Gort waited. Having made the trip up, I thought the better of climbing down without any real equipment. We used the rope sections to lash ourselves to Gort, then instructed it to carry us down the rock ladder, remembering his former method of making the trip.


    Once down, we set off quickly for the Nublin village. We made good time back to it, not having the porters to slow us. Thavis set the pace, and both Brock and I struggled to keep up, but we found it unnecessary to stop in the hills as we had before. As a first matter of business, I called on Orehammer and explained something of what we had seen, and something of my ideas. I needed access to the forge, and the information about the pass was just about all I had to trade for it. Since the reconnaissance bore on ridding the vale and pass of the Burlies, he agreed to give me use of the forge, and a good price (on the credit of Chord, for whom Brock vouched) for metals and such supplies as they mined here. We retired then, but before I bedded down, I took Gort aside. I stared at the immobile clay figure, and brought to mind all of my history in these lands. I had delved into the essential mystery of this Golem only lightly since its inception, and I wanted to resolve some things that had occurred to me.


    "Gort, how many days of activation have you left?"


    A slight movement of one arm was the only reaction to my query at first, but then the hollow voice responded. "Nineteen years, ten months and eight days."


    "You know my sword, the one we spoke of before. Could you pick it up, were I to leave it somewhere? Or like living men, would you not be able to move it?"


    "I could move it, though every day it would absorb some of me."


    "What do you mean?"


    "My energy would decline. My active time would be lessened."


    "If I sent you to retrieve it, and you brought it here to me how much would that decrease your lifespan?"


    Gort paused, then spoke again."It would remove six months of activation."


    An inspiration struck me. I removed the golden circlet from my brow, and placed it upon Gort. The clay figure seemed to flinch. As I held it there, it grew warm. After a ten count, I pulled it off, and asked the Golem, "How long can you remain active?"


    "Eighteen years five months and six days."


    My timing was not exact, but it seemed that the crown absorbed out, about one year''s energy for every ten seconds worn. The sword, according to Gort, much less. Perhaps because it was intended to be most effective when thrust into something. There was too much I could never know enough about to make a good guess, but my test did show that the same energy the sword took from Burlies, it also drained from the creations of the demons, such as Gort. Chord had implied as much, when he explained that Burlie energy powered all the magic in this place. Evidently, the gold band shared this characteristic with the blade.


    "Is it possible to reverse this drain? To take it back?"


    Gort began again to recite, and it turned out there was. The clay could be re-infused, just as it had been originally, by a demon''s incantation. This was not surprising, as I had already seen something of the sort done for Chord''s marvelous boots when I first encountered him. Ritual was somewhat like pushing rocks uphill, unnatural, but possible .


    Was there a faster way to drain away the energy, perhaps from the sword and band itself?


    There was. If the blade were grounded in neutral earth while Gort held it, the golem''s charge would flow out, as the golem was a non-living vessel. Like a battery discharging, I thought. As I recalled the legend, the "force" of Credine was driven into the earth by a lightning strike when wearing the crown and sword. It sounded to me that Credine''s Manna, or Ka, acted the way electrical charges did, moving from one state of potential to another, or as magnetism acted, in a way. Of course, this was the interpretation of my modern mind. How a mage would explain it, or what the mechanism in truth did, remained opaque to me. In practical terms though, I felt I had a found a functional handle.


    I whispered some commands into Gort''s shell-like ears, and sent him to retrieve the bushes Brock and I had slept beneath, near where the golden circlet had been forged. I also asked that he retrieve the Corm Da from its ashy resting place beneath the slopes of Esh. I cautioned him to remain out of sight, and to hurry. Gort turned without a word, and left at a remarkable pace.


    I went to my pallet in the mine, and this night, slept well.

 Chapter Thirty-five: Preparations

    The following day saw Thavis on the trail to Dervin. The man seemed to remember the way to practically anywhere he had once been, no matter how complex the journey.


    "I will return as soon as I may, William. Wait here till you see me again. If you suspect something has happened to me, hire a Nublin to get a message to May-Anne."


    "Or to Dimanda?" My eyes lit.


    "Send a Nublin to Dimanda? Through the streets of Durbin,?" Thavis pursed his lips. "Only if you suspect I am found out. Only if you must. There will be agents in the streets of Durbin, William."


    I promised to wait, and asked he advise Chord of what I was going to do while here, and to give Dimanda my love.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Visions of her liquid eyes and soft touch washed over me. I felt lousy for holding back my true feelings for her before, however much she seemed to see through to them. Standing mute did nothing to shield either of us from hurt or harm. Whatever hard decisions lay before us, they would be joys or pains she needed to share in, that we both would face together. "Tell her, my jailer has released me at last." This netted me a raised eyebrow.


    "She will understand." It felt strange, but liberating, to finally express aloud these feelings , however opaquely.


    Thavis produced a slip of a smile, and put his hand on my shoulder. "I will tell her, and about time, if I may say so. You are as bad as Chord, in some ways. I would not hesitate to profess yourself plainly next you see her, were I you. She is a very pretty lass, and I have seen more of her lately than you have."


    "Hit the road, Thavis."


    Thavis turned, laughed and waved over his shoulder apparently pleased to have made me uncomfortable and started off.

 Chapter 36 Unexpected guests

    I outlined some of my ideas with the forge workers. The first was to make several hundred caltrops, spiked jack-like constructions that no matter how they landed, always thrust a point into the air. With several Nublin busy at this, I surveyed the available mineral stocks. Sulfur, saltpeter and charcoal were abundant here, so I had several barrels of each ground fine, and delivered to me. The original barrels, and one extra of special construction, were soon filled with a black powder mixture, which I set aside. I did not share the manufacture of this mixture with my companions. Even here at the Nublin forge, the casting of any sort of field cannon was very unlikely, and there were still things I was yet unwilling to introduce.


    I thought on the crude ring of gold alloy, and working with Brock at the forge, removed some of the metal, and made a thinner, more finished looking job of the band. I wanted to make some kind of flexible wire, but the technology for what I had in mind was just beyond what I could achieve here. Considering my need, something about sixty feet or so would be about right. Thin rod was possible, and I settled on a sort of thin surveyor''s chain. Loop ended lengths fitted one into another. We worked a melt of copper infused with the saved-out alloy from the band, and cast the links, crimping the vaguely yellowish sections together on an anvil. Even carefully folded, the result made a bulky package, but one I intended Gort to carry.


    The more complicated sprocket chain design we had doped out on my earlier visit was used to make a couple of upgrade field ballista, basically just giant crossbows.


    The Nublin smith had not been idle since my departure, and had already been experimenting with my link and cog designs, which made this easier. The gearing system made them quicker to draw than their antique precedents. These gave my conscience pause, but as bows were already available here, I felt they were an inevitable development anyway.


    The ballista could be broken down and portaged through the mountains easily. By the time these projects were well along, Gort had returned, looking like a walking shrub, carrying several bushes, and the Corm Da, none the worse for its rest in the forest ash.


    I quizzed the Golem, "Gort, how long will you remain active?"


    "Seventeen years eleven months and two days."


    I felt that I was on to something here, but for what I had in mind, timing would be tight, and eventually, access to Veddek''s mage tower, crucial.


    I set the villagers to boiling the bushes down to a thick goo version of the Burlie poison. The making of it was not new to the Nublin, who considered Burlies dangerous vermin. The caltrops were coated in this, as fast as they were completed. Four days had passed, and I could only wait for some word to reach me from Corbell, as the Nublin continued to build, and prepare their own supplies. More Nublin began to appear in the village, grim faced and armed, from other of the scattered communities.


    I was considering sending Gort back to the cabin, to see if May-Anne could be found yet, when the striding form of Thavis finally reappeared over the mountainous crests. Next to him bobbed the familiar red cloaked form of Chord, and yes, Dimanda as well. She ran ahead on flashing legs as she spotted me, and jumped into my arms.


    "You didn''t think to get away with a simple note did you?" she said, and gave me a melting kiss, to which I responded passionately.


    The feel of her back moving against my hands, the press of her against me, was the heaven my life had denied me. "I love you with all of my heart. I was wrong to let the uncertainty of my future hold me back from telling you before. Forgive me. As things stand, I still do not know what future I can promise you, but that is how I feel, Dimanda."


    "Took you long enough, oaf that you are."


    "You shouldn''t have come to Durbin. I don''t like knowing you are in harm''s way. This Mage Belmus..."


    Dimanda waved my protests off. "We are all in harms way, should Felway succeed. Think you Chord would stay a baron under that man? I will not see you walk into danger without doing all I may to aid you. Belmus? He is of the guild, and treats me well enough."


    "You feel safe there?"


    Dimanda shrugged. "I stay in his tower. Durbin is a crossroad for commerce between fifes, so there will be some mixed allegiance between Felway and Wayland among merchants and such, but the town swarms with Wayland''s troops at the moment."


    Chord floated to within a few feet before setting his shiny boots back on the rocky ground. He smiled at us, eyes wandering about the village scene, taking in the activity of the stout and bearded residents. "I tried to forbid her this trip. Exposing her presence about town was unnecessary. You can see how well that worked out."


    Thavis waved and smiled also, but went on to talk with Brock first, who walked off with him toward the mountainside forge. I pulled regretfully back from Dimanda as her father approached. Chord inspected me as if checking for missing parts, then grabbed my arm.


    "So, William! You have survived, and none the worse for your travels, it seems. What goes?"


    "I imagine Thavis has told you most of it, by now. The Nublin and I are preparing a little excursion against the Burlies. More on that in a bit. First, what is happening with Wayland?"


    "The duke has set aside his construction project and musters his army at Dervin, before the pass. The King Frederick sent word that Felway and his mage should be brought before him. The news Thavis brought put Wayland in a rage. The Duke has sent runners to update the King, who raises his war levy even now. He presses every able bodied man he can quickly lay hands on into service. It is from Dervin though, that I have come."


    I was not surprised by any of this, save for the welcome appearance of Dimanda. "What," I asked, "does the pass itself look like?"


    Chord gestured in the direction of the pass. "It is crawling with Burlies, and more of those giant...things show up every day. It is as the road from Corbell would have been, had we not discovered the infestation so quickly. If Wayland must fight through them all to reach Tark, his army will not be ready to meet the forces Felway musters there."


    "What about the king''s troops?"


    "The Crown sends men, but other bad things are happening in the fief. Magii report that summonings have become unsuccessful, and that when they do occur, the demons summoned refuse to trade service, or ask for absurd amounts of Burlies to provide them. Elsewhere, the beasts have become scarce. In such times of discontent, other borders also need to be sustained. This slows things. Most armsmen that would be in reach are likely gathered in the pass now. More worrying, the larger Burlies there seem to be organized; are forming up into groups behind the Burlies, driving them forward against Wayland. He contains them, driving them back with fire and smoke, but they return. He does not want to waste supplies on them, knowing what will confront him in Tark, so he waits for more of the crown''s men."


    It felt to me that Felway must have been rushed into this. If seeding a pass with Burlies and such was to be the extent of his edge, it could now only be a defensive one. Veddek, his mage should not have set Macaan to harassing Corbell so early. Certainly he had expected to hold the way from Corbell to Dervin first, his troops securing Dervin, and so both ends of the pass. Without such a beachhead, It was hard to see how the duke could deploy his army.


    I thought of the two lonely cannons I had seen, and wondered what other dealings Veddick may have entered into with the demons, if he was still hoping to acquire some mass of modern arms from my world. It would take time to make the kinds of contacts to complete such an order and more time to familiarize his Dukes military with modern arms. Certainly he wouldn''t be buying and registering firearms through Mcaan one at a time. My coming here in place of Macaan had disrupted plans, possibly leaving Felway to feed, house, and keep secret too many men, for too long. Looking back, the foray at Mt. Esh seemed a desperate, ill-timed move. Veddek must have needed something from the summit desperately, and had sent Macaan there to achieve it, and delay an aware Wayland as best he could.


    I related to Chord my dreams and suspicions since Mt. Esh and told him of the gold circlet Brock had forged me. Chord''s attitude changed, becoming angry as he listened.


    "Why did you not tell me of this before? At the least, you could have mentioned what you found at the Mount when you spoke to Orton at Corbell!"This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    I reminded Chord of the circumstances of that meeting, never mind the condition I had been in.


    Chord''s anger faded into a depression. "Our fault in the most part, then. Orton should have taken more time to learn what you might have found. I think your guesses are right, also I would assume that Veddek intends to take the crown and sword for his own, double-cross Felway, and rule here as Credine''s avatar. He must think he knows enough to keep from being subsumed by the God. That would explain much. Raising up powerful weapons, summoning Demonic troops; all a sham to feed Felway''s lust for Wayland''s Dukedom. None of it would mean anything before the power of a deity. Veddek could pluck it all away in a heartbeat. Of the two, Felway is not the premier intellect. I doubt Veddek informed Felway of all the nuances of the Corm-Da and The Crown of the Green Isle."


    "But," I noted, "we have both the sword and the crown."


    "You have them, not we. Besides, who is it as sits within your flesh, when they are awake?"


    "Credine." I mumbled.


    "Yes, Credine, who wishes only to reinstate his rule here. Also, as we talked of before, another Sword was likely forged by Macaan to get back here. The missing crown must be driving Veddek mad. Likely he hopes to seek you out, and wrest it from you. Meantime, all he can do is to encourage Felway in this military adventure. From what you have said, the rite to permanently invest the avatar of Credine must be performed at a full moon, atop his tower, as your dreams depicted. Premonitions, I take them to be. Be wary. The full moon is almost upon us, and that is an unhandy coincidence, I think. Quite likely a good thing you bonded to the blade though, else Veddek would have done so with a copy, by now, and he would not have quailed to use the connection to his advantage."


    "Couldn''t he bond with the second copy anyway?"


    Chord shook his head. "No. In your bonding, it became imbued, the living attribute of its predecessor, and by this, a link to its last owner, Credine. A copy may enable the demons to home on it, allow safe passage through the planes, but it cannot activate a link to Credine. If the original blade still existed, your copy would not have either, even had you bled your lifeblood on it. This is a meld of the old magic principles of contagion and similarity. Principles still at work here, even though the only manna source is that which Credine brought with him, and lost to the land, to imbue the Burlies. Perhaps the Burlies are its manifestation. It is a life force, you know."


    "If the Burlies are some part of Credine, why do they seem to work at odds to his purpose?"


    Chord snorted. " You confuse the Ka of the God, with his mind, or will. There is power, then there is the mind that directs it. While usually bound together, they are not the same things."


    "Had I known some of this before, it would have been easier for me to have pieced things together, Chord."


    "Piece what together, exactly?" said Chord. "At what exact point did you suddenly know all you know now? Did you ever approach me with the intent to become an acolyte, that I should begin instruction in the principles and precepts of magic? Why do you suppose I have asked you to feel out your connection with the blade, asked, as you have been reluctant to do, that you keep me informed of these things?"


    To this I had no reply. Best, I thought, to share what I could now.


    "I have an idea, and can likely help get rid of the creatures in the pass," I said. "The Nublin hate the Burlies. It was their appearance here that started the bad blood up between Man and Nublin in the first place." I showed Chord the poisoned Caltrops, Ballista, and few barrels of black powder I had managed.


    "Orehammer, the chief here, has rallied the Nublin to kill those in the pass. They know these mountains well. We will rain caltrops down on them, fire poisoned shafts on them, until they are no more. The Nublin don''t care, and won''t involve themselves in human wars, but all those Burlies in one place, is almost too good a chance for them to pass up. If I am to get to Veddek, find how passage between my...land and back is achieved, Wayland must be able to secure Tark. We will move out in a day or so. Go back and tell Wayland he won''t need to wait for the Crown''s full muster. If the pass gains too many demon-enhanced burlies, he may never breach it. If his men can break through the legions at Tark, and if I can get access to Veddek''s keep, I may be able to end this, and be in a position to force answers from him."


    I went on to explain what I had discovered of the Golem, and what I planned to do with it.


    Chord pondered. "Risky, and it brings the power Veddek seeks right to his doorstep. If what you propose doesn''t work, if Wayland can''t win through..."


    "If it doesn''t work, you have a God, Felway, or whatever option Veddek and the demons plan, to contend with."


    Chord frowned, "and if it does..."


    "Change, but for the better, overall, I think."


    "None of these futures are ideal, William."


    "One of them is going to happen, though. At least we can guide the choice, with some luck. If Felway marches, or even manages to repel Wayland, and what I suggest is not tried--"


    "Veddek''s agents will find you, or someone else will start all this again. Perhaps even Wayland himself. At best, it would never end."


    "As you say."


    Chord brightened. "But if we destroyed the crown..."


    "The band? Do we know we have all of the materials composing it? Do we know that it cannot be resurrected? The blade was. As long as Credine''s force exists in this land, that threat remains, and I have no wish to lose myself to Credine. Do you want to live under the eye of a capricious all powerful agency? Truly?"


    Chord went silent. "Very well. I must be cautious what Wayland is told. Your part in this, carefully explained. None of the others, even Orton, can know enough to piece together what we propose. There is great disruption in the offering and not everyone would see this as I do, as you do."


    "Agreed," I said. "When did you say the next full moon was?"


    "Four days from now...Oh, I see. Why not come with the army, once you clear the pass?"


    I shook my head. There was no way I intended to bring the explosives into reach of Wayland for that long. Felway may have gotten his hands on some, but hopefully, that might be remedied. To Chord, I said, "If at least one of the forts cannot be disrupted before Wayland closes on them, that will also be the end of things. That must be done from above, through the narrow passage we made. Not risked from the flats before them in the pass."


    "Who will go with you? Besides the Golem?"


    "Brock will go, if paid, I think, as will Thavis if you can spare him. We would make for a certain sheer behind the Tark-side pass end, and do what we can about the fort there, then if Wayland can break through, we can join you in the siege of Felway''s hold. You understand what must be done. I hope to use the Golem as a sapper, dig under the keep wall and plant my blowing-up powder there. Then, we''ll see."


    Chord thought further. "I am not happy with this private campaign of yours, William. This should be left to Wayland. Couldn''t you guide the army along these paths? Come at the town from the other end, evading the forts?"


    "I don''t think thousands of men could scrabble through those goat trails undetected, single file, and hope to assemble undiscovered on the road somewhere, armed, fed, and ready to fight. More probably, they would be slaughtered somewhere along the way. Rejoining the army before Tark''s keep, and otherwise keeping secret, is best, I think. Wayland will understand this. As you are Barron of the eastern districts, and I am your squire, I am under your direction in this, yes? Time is the real enemy here, so you need to make the final call. Either way, the Nublin will march on the pass. They are not Wayland''s subjects to command. What will you have me do?"


    Chord weighed my report, looked back in the direction of Dervin, then again at the activity of the rushing Nublin around him.


    He wiped his hand over his face, and nodded.


    "Wayland will try the pass, one way or another. That much I do know. I will tell him you stay here to observe the Nublin assault, and suggest you will rejoin the army after. I can suggest your offer to sap the walls before Felway''s estate; he will probably agree to it. It is something that would likely be tried anyway." A sly smile quirked up the corners of Chord''s mouth. "Dimanda will wait for you in Dervin; the local mage put her up there for me, and she will not return home until you are safe, no matter what I would wish."


    "And why should I?" Dimanda insisted. "The two of you are my life, and you are both here."


    I reddened, remembering the arranged betrothal. "Dimanda, I wouldn''t hold you to the betrothal you two cooked up to save me from Wayland, but I want to ask Chord for your hand in earnest, if you would have me. Would you marry me? Or consider me?"


    Her reply was direct, and it was a few minutes before she pulled away to speak again.


    "Just you try to get out of it and see what happens to you, William Drake."


    "And May-Anne? Did she also follow the army here?"


    Now it was Chord''s turn to blush. "No, she stays in Corbell, where she can do the most good, keeping her ears open. I had to promise her an apprentice position with me...and other things."


    "Umph, also about time, if I may say so," spouted Dimanda. I''ve talked further with May-Anne, and know all about your little history with her. Father, really!"


    Thavis had returned with Brock by this time, and stood staring at us.


    "The two of you look like radishes. Have you been telling bawdy stories while I was away? Brock showed me some of the work you have done. Impressive. I take it the Nublin are to free the pass of the beasties?"


    "Yes and if you will come, I will try to disable the forts, and sap the walls of Felway''s hold, too." I said.


    "An excellent itinerary, when do we start?"


    I walked with Dimanda hand in hand all that evening. We talked of our feelings about family and children, likes and dislikes, many things. Beneath it all an undercurrent of both happiness and uncertainty scrabbled.


    "I don''t know why you can''t just leave the rest of this to the dukes. It is a matter for the army, not you," she groused.


    "The army is not going to find out how I can be rid of Credine. It is not going to be concerned with how permanent my stay here might be, or even whether I, we, can return to Illinois. The army must breach the pass and take Tark, if I am to have a chance to seek my future, our future, or even have one. We could lose each other to Credine, or to broken magic, or to Fellway''s wrath. You may lose me yet, anyway."


    "Do not say such things!"


    "I have tried not to, but my heart wouldn''t let me keep you out of it. We need to face this risk, Dimanda. You need to know all of it, not just the dream. Let me work, and maybe, keep you with me." We pulled together and kissed.


    "I, I don''t want to lose you. I don''t want to risk you."


    "Me neither, but we both need these answers."


    "Promise you will come back, that we marry, that this will pass, and all be well."


    So we passed lies of hope and future between us, smiled and held back goodbyes, and all the things the hope-filled do.

 Chapter Thirty-seven: Above the Pass

    We started out for sites along the high rim the next day, after seeing Chord and Dimanda off with another Nublin guide, to return to Dervin. Chord would go forward from there to rejoin Wayland, and despite all argument, Dimanda would return to the tower of Mage Belmus, to receive any information May-Anne might forward.


    Orehammer knew of four good locations accessible from the village, so the Nublin were divided into four cadres. There were dozens of travois, all piled with lashed sacks full of caltrops and other supplies. We mounted an enormous rack on the Golem, and lashed the three barrels of black powder and the chain I had made to the clay figure. The oddly distributed weight did not seem to bother it in the slightest. We traveled together for part of the way, and I found Orehammer more sociable on the move than he had been on our former visits.


    "These be mostly mining trails, hewed back inta th'' rock so''s ta make carryin'' back samples easier. None a ''em lead to anything worth developing inta'' a community. There''s a couple shafts as lead on to promisin'' veins O'' this an that, but till the main mine peters down some, they be on hold. Of the four sites along the rim, only two have much like the trail we be on here."


    I was a bit surprised to be told the barely passable goat trail we were following amounted to a cleared path. At the widest areas, only two could walk abreast. The ballista parts and travois frequently caused us to stop, while they were hauled up rocky inclines on rope. Over the day, we came to several partings of ways and the main group shrank, until only twenty-five of us continued on to our particular spot above the pass.


    To optimize the efficiency of the strike, it had been decided that a flaming arrow would be lofted to signal the start of our bombardment. Brock and Thavis had stayed with me. On arriving, we scrambled over the loose rock and treacherously balanced boulders of the brink, to look down upon a packed mass of Burlies. They had been herded well forward by the tall, contorted monsters the demons had created through oversize portals still strewn along the pass roadway.


    I frowned seeing this. Our other sites were further north along the pass, and from those, little damage would be done unless we could drive some of the mob back under them. We backed out to more stable ground, and discussed this as the Nublin finished assembling the ballista we had brought.


    Thavis shook his head. "We haven''t enough material with us to overly bother so many, William. Maybe we should call the other groups back to join us here." I squinted at the surrounding land. There was little enough space here for my twenty-five and all the supplies. It was an ungraded slope of loose stone, interrupted by jutting protrusions ending in a straight fall into the divide below. I bit my lower lip, and considered our supplies.


    Gort had come with me, so there was black powder intended for use on the forts and keep, but the quantity was limited and I wanted to retain it for that purpose. Then again, there was delivery to think of. Fusing and empty bags were available, and hard leather slings brought to launch the caltrops. Eying the ballista, I doubted it could deliver a sackful of the explosive into the pass, considering the violence of its throw, without ripping the bag, or putting out the fuse.


    Any explosion timed that way would be moot, anyway. It would be hard to gauge when a particular fuse would reach a bag, even if it stayed lit. The thought of all those Nublin handling fired and fused bags of explosive was more worrying than the creatures below.


    However, that gave me another idea. I opened one of the barrels. The mixture had been a little fine, I had thought, at the time I mixed it. I ran my fingers through it, and pulled my hand up to let the powder bleed back into the barrel. The wind was still, as it happened, yet the black dust bloomed and wisped.


    I assembled our archers and explained what I had in mind. They nodded among themselves."Aye, we can do that."I detailed several to the task of filling bags as large as could possibly be attached to arrows and still get a flight. This only required a portion of what I had brought, and accuracy wasn''t a problem as they would be fired down into the pass. A fire pot was set out, well back, and fire arrows, coated with tar and niter, were placed nearby. When we were ready, my bowmen punctured the powder-rigged shafts and fired volleys of them down into the pass. A drifting cloud of black powder spread over the jostling, packed Burlies. We moved back from the launch area, and the archers quickly retrieved and lit the fire arrows. They sent them streaming down into the cloud of black powder, which ignited with a whump that could be heard from our overlook.


    The burlies were instantly caught in a bloom of fire. Spooked, they began to run pell-mell back past the herding monsters and deep into the pass. Some small amount of the powdery blast assailed us as well, but prepared for the fire and acrid taint, it did us no damage.


    A signal arrow was launched straight up, and we began slinging hundreds of poisoned caltrops high in the air, to plummet into the pass. All the archers returned to sending storms of shafts, also poisoned, into the milling press. Further down, I could see similar fogs of shaft and caltrop, raining down. The caltrops that did not pierce a target on descent, rolled about the pass, to be stepped upon again and again, poisoning endless numbers of stampeding Burlies.


    We wheeled the ballista to a point where it had the best clear shot at the roadway, and the Nublin crew began targeting the larger monstrosities. Remarkable climbers, many started up the steep walls of the divide, but that was slow going into a downward hail of poisoned arrows. Thavis, Brock and I stood by to repel any that might make the rim, but only one did. A luminescent monstrosity, curved talons digging deep into the cracked and shattered crags of the steeps, managed to hoist itself up as far as the loose, shifting slope of our landing.


    With shouts of desperation, the Nublin crewing the ballista turned the weapon to face the horror, and quickly worked the cranks. The weapon''s arms pulled back in creaking torture, and released with a thrumming moan. A five foot rod of tearing death drove into the thing as it searched for purchase in the rim''s loose stone. The shaft lifted it clear into the air, and it fell.


    In two hours'' time, movement had ceased in the pass. I did not have any idea how Felway''s troops would respond, but the route was now clear for Wayland''s professionals, at least. Removing the caltrops would be a small task, and if Felway advanced into the pass to clash with Waylands men, they would not know to watch where they trod.


    Orehammer whooped and shouted, clapping his men on the back, even me, and began to issue orders to withdraw. "That should thin out the hills for a bit, no mistake. ''Twas a good idea of yours, William. Luck be with ye."


    Thavis and I closed up and remounted the opened barrel to Gort''s rig, setting off with Brock toward the sheer rocky face behind the fortification. To me, the mountain trek seemed an unending maze of blind turns, climbs and descents through places where there was no horizon or landmark. Yet Brock never faltered or lost his way. Even Thavis, who had the instincts of a homing pigeon, seemed unsure, at times, of his direction. Gort, if ordered, might have been able to thread his way, but I was happy to have Brock lead us.


    The site still seemed undiscovered, or at least unguarded, and we were a little better prepared for the ascent this time. Thavis helped me unwind a quantity of rope from Gort''s barrel rack. Cinching one end to the Golem, I directed he climb up and secure it in the bore he had made in the shear''s side. Using the rope, and handholds dug into the sheer, I climbed to peek through the tunnel''s end at the fort, and look for changes. The two cannons were still apparent, and the half buried bunker still in place.


    The troops were now mustered, rows of dull red uniforms marshaling in the area before the forts. I still saw no signs of rifles or other modern arms. Some sort of preparations were underway at the fort''s far end, possibly a target range though, and the field was full of movement. I did not have the altitude to see into the opposing fort, but there was no reason to believe it was structurally any different.


    As it was, any force breaching the pass would have to run a gauntlet between the two forts. If I could disrupt even one of them, Wayland would have his chance. I backed out to the cliff opening, and signaled Thavis.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    He had tied one of the specially prepared barrels to the rope, and Gort hauled it up to the opening. The construction of this barrel was very thick, and it was tightly packed with black powder and chunks of iron. A wick entered it through a hole bored into the top, previously shortened to burn a bit faster than the drop count made on my last visit.


    I moved the barrel to the opening and lit the short fuse, pushed the barrel out and down onto the roof of the dump, and backed away. Less than a quarter of the tunnel lay behind me when two roaring explosions, one following the other, beat against the sheer.


    I had been right in my assessment of the odd building, it was an explosive dump, by the sound, not filled with weak homemade black powder either. I fought back the urge to return to the peep hole and see for myself, but I wagered the small dirt piles ramped against its walls had done little to contain the blast.


    Steve Markham, AKA MaCaan, had gleaned a remarkable amount of technology during his foray in Illinois and elsewhere, but he was apparently no military engineer. At the very least, there would be no more gunpowder being transferred from Illinois to feed cannons and rifles. Very likely, the wooden stockade was now a burning shambles.


    We left immediately. There was no way to tell if someone had spied the smoking barrel drop from the cliff, but the chances were better than they would have been if I had been forced to go back and try again.


    We made our way back to one of the rim sites. I noted with satisfaction a greasy black pillar of dense smoke still rose thickly from the direction of the fort.Wayland''s Army moved slowly through the pass below us. We could see a scattering of advance troops moving about, retrieving caltrops, and generally clearing the way, while the main body came behind, ranked in dusty columns. Between breaks in the slowly marching men, wheeled catapults and long trains of large hand carts were visible.


    I guessed Mage Orton and Chord would be with the forerunners, closing the ports and hunt holes by which Veddek had infested the pass. Although it was against my better judgment, I hadn''t been able to figure a way to move Gort and the black powder safely through the city without being challenged, so while the army marched by, we used the rope and Gort''s unique talents to descend to roadway.


    Our progress was marked, of course, but we were recognized, and so not challenged as we struggled with the ropes and supplies. The army had all but moved on by the time we made the bottom. Gort again was last, and after lowering the other supplies, he employed his usual method of simply crashing down the steep ravine''s side like a dull red boulder rolled from the rim. The chasm''s drop was clean, so there was little loose material to accompany the Golem; still, we all took cover as the device plummeted and bounced its way to the ground.


    A small party was dispatched to meet us and Chord was among them. Thavis and Brock were at work lashing cargo back onto Gort when the mage, accompanied by several armed men, greeted us."So, changed your mind about joining the assault?" The mage hovered a good six inches above the roadway, a large tan bag depending from his red robe''s sash. Several of the soldiers carried thick, hard leather sacks, and wore at least one glove each. I assumed they had been removing the caltrops from the pass, and said as much.


    Chord snorted. "Very observant. Yes, Wayland is retrieving them for use with the catapults. I had to call for my acolytes to come. We are rendering the slaughtered Burlies for dust, then using the dust to close the portals. Haven''t had such a supply of dust ever, at my call. The corpses they pile to the sides, to be picked up by travois at the rear and taken to the Dervin end. The dust is brought back here by messenger. I trust your mission was successful?"


    "You can tell Wayland we crippled the fort to the left of the pass. If he is careful, he should be able to overcome what remains of it. The right hand Stockade remains intact, so he would be wise to bear to the left, and plan to stay out of range of it."


    Chord barked, "You can tell him yourself. I am to bring you to the Duke. Orton and I told him your kidnappers lost control of the Golem, and you were able to escape with it and wreak havoc, spy for him, and clear the pass. He has decided not to question this too closely, as it has all worked to his interest, so expect to be lauded, and have a good story covering your movements since leaving Wayland''s dungeon ready. Something," Chord flipped his hands in the air, "worthy of ballad. Everyone likes a good war story."


    "Sounds more like a job for Thavis. He can speak for us, and I will nod and make positive noises."


    Chord smiled. "An excellent idea, one of your better ones, I think. Sticking mostly to the facts, as you can, would be best. Straighten this out now, for we will have to be off directly."


    I conferred with Brock and Thavis briefly.


    "Ah, yes!" The eyes of Thavis lit in anticipation. "It would be my privilege to detail the heroic epic of our glory to Wayland. In fact," Thavis hesitated, a troubled look tainting his fine features. "I admit to this sin, that I have, good William...I have, humbly, thought much on an appropriate lay or two." Worried, he quickly added, "Tis your story to tell, I know, but it is in my nature to dwell on such things. I will do this honor, and gladly! ''Tis a tale for the ages! A banner of honor for the kingdom''s history! A lay bards will sing for the next century, I vow it!"


    His enthusiasm frightened me. "Just stick to the facts, and try to suggest we were able to recover control of the Golem after my abduction," I advised. Thavis was in rapture, however, and my words did not seem to make much of a dent in his thoughts.


    "Ah, the SPIRITING AWAY," he said. I could almost hear the capital letters hanging in the air. Doubtless Thavis had given this a great deal of thought.


    "Tis just an allegory of our quest, I think." He cleared his throat and sang out. Upon the clay a glamor set,


    To snatch our Bill away.


    To carry him beneath the earth,


    in a hero''s grave to Lay.


    But mighty Will did smite it, with a rod of thunder glass


    and the weird was shattered, the clay rebound at last.


    "Enough!" I winced. "Quietly please, Thavis." The boisterous tune had attracted the attention of the soldiers, who prior had all but ignored us in order to pick up the few remaining caltrops here.


    Such ballads as Thavis was expending his time on were a substitution for television, it seemed. I had the impression, reinforced by later questioning, that the creation, and presentation of such ballads was an honor and requisite of court protocol. It was history.


    "I don''t remember anything about a thunder rod," I groused.


    Thavis looked alarmed. "But certes, and you told me the glass rod, formed of thunder from Mount Esh were broken as you were carried out by Gort from under earth. You emptied the broken pieces of it out of your sack on the road to Dervin, remember? I saved one out, as evidence." Thavis rustled in his own pouch, pulling forth a piece of the fused glass.


    I gave up. Thavis seemed to have everything in hand, and was glad for the honor, so I left it at that. Chord smirked at me. "Well, you two seem to have settled on...something. Shall we be off?"


    Wayland had positioned himself about a quarter of the way back into the march, where he could still discern the front units of the moving column. Sir Conner, and a few other military notables, paced alongside. Behind walked a group of younger boys in bright blue tabards carrying standards bearing the ducal sigil. Occasionally one of the notables would beckon, and a boy would come forward at a dead run to receive a few words, then sprint away either up or down the column''s length.


    A corps of his personal guard, heavily armed men, surrounded this section of the parade. Acknowledging our approach, Wayland signaled his men to let us near. "Our kidnapped hero returns. If you had not just been told of your change in status, before your disappearance, I would have suspected an escape."


    The words were said softly, but hard eyes raked us as they were spoken.


    "However, your worth and actions seem proven. We will be stopping soon, to reorganize for the assault. Unless you have urgent intelligence to offer, we will wait until then to hear your full story. Join the march somewhere behind the pages. Chord, you must return to clearing the way."


    Chord stated the few items I had mentioned about the forts. Wayland seemed grimly pleased, and had him repeat it to his staff. I went over my proposal to sap the estates walls, and Wayland, looking a little surprised, agreed. We did not stop walking at any time during all of this.


    Dismissed, we dropped back to behind the group of banner-carrying runners where room was made for us. I asked the mage about the Duke''s reaction to my plan.


    Chord chuckled. "Sapping is not a popular sport. Tunnels collapse, worse, sappers want theirs to. If you are discovered, you die. If you are successful, you can easily die. If you aren''t successful, and nothing falls down, you look incompetent. It''s not considered a career advancing duty. Since you are using the Golem, I won''t make issue of it."


    "I understand there are not many like him. Why?"


    Chord chuckled. "My boy, there are only perhaps three mages who can visualize the entire essence of what a Golem is. Orton is one. They are not part of our heritage, but come from a few arcane scraps of knowledge passed down from before our advent here. Also, they are disruptive to our workers sensibilities and cost lives, lost to burlie hunts, to pay for. If there had been fewer creatures available at the time, you would not have Gort. The last one was raised by my father, dead now, some thirty years ago."


    Chord barked at his men, and set off again towards the column''s front. We trudged on for another hour or so, then the army ground to a halt. The group of runners suddenly depleted by half, scattering up and down the length of the march. Thavis, still in a cheery mood, called one of the pages to see if a "Teller''s Harp" could be found. I was not sure what this referred to. My immediate interest centered on one of the water bearers who was moving up the stopped column in our direction.

 Chapter Thirty-eight: Knighthood

    A page indicated a place for our provisions, and handing Thavis a hide covered bundle, announced that Wayland would expect us to show ourselves within an hour. Already men were erecting a large blue pavilion in the pass, and small cook fires were making themselves apparent here and there along the column. An army on the march survives mostly on hard bread, cheese and such, but hot water, for a variety of reasons, was always attempted.


    Thavis unwrapped his bundle with unconcealed delight, exposing a Lyre of curved horn. He immediately began to strum and adjust the instrument, a process that mainly seemed concerned with knocking in or loosening a series of slotted wedges that tensioned the gut strings of the thing. Chord floated over to us, dusting off his robe as he came.


    "Most all of the holes are closed, I believe. Orton and his crew are still at it further up, but Veddek seems to have been satisfied to pepper only the Dervin end of the pass. All of your nasty caltrops have been recovered. I was made to understand, that I am to be charged for their manufacture by the Nublin?"


    Evidently, Brock had not been shy about explaining the arrangement to Chord, but I noted that the mage did not seem to be out of temper over using his credit for my purchases. As I did not know the scope of his arrangements with Brock, this had worried me a little. I just nodded.


    "See he gets me the written bill quickly. I intend to submit it, at a modest profit, to Wayland. The ballista too. Send Brock to see to it they are delivered here. I''ll not pay to see them carted off to the Nublin armory. I expect a discount, as they were used, or a rebate for their rent."


    I didn''t know when time to accomplish that might come, but I allowed myself a moment of admiration, being a businessman myself. If ever there was a man whose talents in life were misapplied, it seemed to be Chord. I didn''t doubt his scholarship or professional skill, but in my world, he would have been an eminent entrepreneur and one who enjoyed the role.


    Thavis had finished tuning the harp, and was picking out notes and harmonies with it, humming to himself."Well," Chord continued, "if you are all ready, perhaps we might present ourselves to Wayland?"


    The Duke''s tent was surrounded by his personal guards, and the shelters of his staff. Even though we were expected, all eyes turned on us as soon as we approached within a hundred feet of the pavilion. The two soldiers posted at the tent entrance seemed more a matter of protocol, than protection. Inside, the duke sat behind a well constructed table, big enough to spread maps out on.


    Flanking the table were his military staff, now seated. Oddly, about a dozen civil, or at least, non-military types, sat about, mostly on cushions of some sort. Everyone seemed supplied with beverages, and the mood struck me as more festive than grim.


    Chord bowed as he entered, and turned to stand somewhat off the left. Thavis made the same obeisance, and took station to the right. Following suit, I bowed and went to stand next to the mage. No one said anything, and we stood waiting for a few seconds. Orton strode through the opening, bowed and moved to the table, where I noticed an empty stool waited. As soon as he sat, Wayland motioned to Chord, and spoke. "We are gathered here to know of honor. To hear of events of worth and accomplishment, that have brought glory to our house and name. Mage Chord, who stands to tell of these events?"


    Chord strode forward a step, bowed again and said, "A scion of your house, my Duke, Thavis of Wayland would beg to dare the tell. Will you hear him?"


    "We will," Wayland agreed.


    Thavis, harp in hand, strode to center, and began to play.


    He was quite good, and I admit to being interested in actually hearing a bard''s epic sung. There were even moments when I could faintly glimpse the traces of real events in it from time to time, though even these were exaggerated almost beyond my ability to appreciate. I likely would have blushed on several occasions, as my name, as well as those of my companions, were frequently mentioned, but it was hard to relate personally to the story as it was presented. Several Deities were mentioned. There were long passages about philosophical issues I had never participated in (poetic license--common, I was later told, to set mood and give direction to the story.)The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    The ballad was long, and I was beginning to become footsore by the time a few ending chords were struck, but it seemed to please the assembled audience. After, Thavis was generally congratulated and a court scribe took him aside to clarify a few verses. As this went on, further refreshments were circulated. After a while, the Duke called for quiet.


    "William of Drake, Squire of our Baron Chord Chesht of Easthold, Mage of the Realm. Bear you witness to these events?"


    Chord gave me a nudge, whispering in my ear, "Yes and ''tis a true accounting-then shut up."


    I stepped forward and nodded, repeating Chord''s words. A document was passed to the Duke, who signed it with a quill pen. Hot wax was dropped on it and after a few seconds, the Duke pressed his ring into it. The scribe recovered the parchment and brought it to me.


    "This is your patent, under the mark of Duke Wayland, in the household of Baron Chord. Before the witness of the court, do you profess it?"


    The scribes eyes speared directly into mine. I figured out I was not going to be given a chance to have some legal beagle look it over first, and just said, "I do."


    This seemed the proper response. Duke Wayland nodded slightly, and continued, "For service to the Dukedom, and on the recommendation of Sir Connor, who stands in witness to your deeds, I would deem you elevated to full knight and at large to the Fief, to be called upon in service to me and to the land. Will you swear fealty?"


    A murmur arose at this. I glanced at a deeply frowning, but mute, Chord. I tried to recall what little I knew about the earliest history of the title from my own world, drawing blanks. I knew what the vows of fealty were about, however. It tied me to Wayland''s authority. As a patent holder of Chord''s house, it seemed a formality, but I suddenly realized this likely meant my services could be called for directly by Wayland, trumping Chord''s squireship, regardless of Chord''s consent. Effectively, it placed me both under Chord''s authority, as member of his house, but under the Duke''s directly, should he call.


    Of course, this was all moot if I could get back to my own place and time. I remembered something about squires being a step down the ladder, knights-in-training, so to speak. The dual status must have something to do with the way rights and privileges were organized here.


    I felt I was not being given status, so much as being bound to Wayland''s will, and remembered the cold stone prison walls of Wayland''s prior interest in me. I swallowed, and agreed anyway. The ceremony that followed was brief, and pretty much confirmed my guesses. To my surprise, a small grant of land went with the commission, though it was just a few acres of woods adjoining Chord''s keep, formerly a part of Wayland''s hunt preserve there.


    Thavis seemed excited, and slapped me on the shoulder, admiration shining in his eyes.


    "A good day for you, William, and well earned!"


    "I hope so. I''m not sure I understand exactly what all this means yet."


    Thavis looked seriously at me. "I shall instruct you, then, Sir William. The light of your success illuminates me as well. Perhaps you would consider me, were I to offer my service, and be your Squire? A full knight may elevate a member of noble birth to squire, if he chooses, and my patents are good. I tire of being a messenger."


    I held up a hand and sighed. "Thavis, I don''t even know yet what you are proposing here. Your help is, as always, appreciated; but give me some time to absorb all this."


    Chord was next. "I don''t suppose you had any real choice. It is not as I would have had it. I suppose I will need to find another smith now."


    "Not," I replied, "if I have anything to say about it."


    "Well, that''s good to hear. We must go over all further military efforts with Wayland. As you are Knight-at-large, he will have far more to say about your doings than before, Sir William. My guess is you will be spending a fair amount of time in Corbell, when this bicker finishes. Your salary from me is now officially a stipend, as squire. Good to hear you intend to earn it. You can pay some of it back to me for taxes, as you are a landholder in my district now."


    Evidently rank hath more than just privileges, I thought.


    Orton excused himself from the table, and came to shake my hand, with a smile frozen in place, gritting out between his teeth, "Well, now you have done it. This will make our work all the more difficult, and the Duke involved at every turn. I thought you were going to avoid Wayland till Felway''s estate was breached."


    "Best laid plans," I said. "There was too much to carry, in the end, to avoid Felway''s men, and sneak into a beleaguered town. So this was the only way. Wayland agreed to let me try the estate, and hasn''t asked any questions, so far."


    Still smiling, Orton leaned forward and said, "that just means he already knows more than we think he does. Be careful. We will talk later."


    Things wound to a conclusion, and we left to take our places in the columns. The pass end was only four miles or so from our present position, so barricades were already set up to the front of the march. We ate, and as evening was closing in, set out our bedrolls to catch what sleep we could.

 Chapter Thirty Nine: A Hostage of War

    I turned out with the rising sun, massaging kinks and sores from the night on harsh ground. The blue coated runners were already circulating up and down the column, their standard''s colorful banners flapping as they ran. Units were stirring, some already trotting by two abreast, for new positions toward the front of the march.


    Thavis was already up, and had put together some bread and cheese for me. I found my water flagon topped off, and near at hand. He gave me a cheery wave as I stood.


    "Thavis, you needn''t wait on me this way. I can fetch my own fodder, you know, but thanks."


    "T''were nothing, Sir Drake. We shall be in the bicker by midday, I thought to save us time. Besides, as a full knight, it is your due. I would not disparage your rank, before those you might be called upon to command, especially. A frown creased his finely etched features. "We are not called to the front, as heroes of stature should be. We are told to remain close to the Duke, and must hope for a sally by Felway to repel. Unless," the young noble brightened, "you can conceive a way to approach the battle, Sir Drake?"


    Sir Drake, I mused. Evidently my days as just plain William were gone from everyone''s vocabulary. I bit back a correction; Thavis was a product of this culture, he supported it, and there was little I could do about that. I would be Sir-ed to death from everyone now that I had achieved rank, just as I would have been saluted if I had been ranked in the military.


    "We will be in the thick of it soon enough, Thavis. If all goes as I hope, we should be able to avoid, ah, the most vigorous parts of it." The man''s face fell. "However ours will be the best part of all, in that it could be our, eh, destiny to bring victory to Wayland."


    The thought seemed to cheer Thavis. "True, the battle may be ours in the end, as you say, Sir Drake. You will agree to my petition for a place as your squire?"


    The young man''s decision to attach himself to me stirred curiosity. Certainly as a son of the Duke, there were greater social stations to aspire to.


    "Is the Duke encouraging you to seek...attachments beyond the court? I know you mentioned that you use your quarters in Corbell infrequently."


    Thavis shrugged. "Not especially. I am not in direct line of succession, not a son of Duchess Bethany, just another court bastard. My mother, Enseame, died young of a lung ailment. This was all some time after the passing of the first Duchess, Margette. The Duke had taken up with my mother during the year between. They got along well, but in the end, he was required to remarry politically. I was only a few months old by then, and Enseame remained at court, as part of the Duchess''s retinue. Enseame and Bethany had become close, and on my mother''s death, I was raised by Bethany as one of her own.


    I have no wish to take up the life of a minor accountant or clerk, nor can I stay a messenger forever. I am a skilled ranger, and know much of both the court and country well, but men are not knighted and entitled for this. So my life is my own to make, and there is honor in that."


    Evidently then, my consent would be a promotion, which I had to admit, he likely deserved. With a rare burst of insight, I realized that Thavis as a squire would be an asset not only to his own state, but to mine, if I stayed, and Chord''s as well. "Consider it done. I will consult Chord about it as soon as I can."


    The end of the pass came into sight a bit earlier than Thavis had predicted. I felt the usual grim pre-battle resignation fall over me like a shroud. A rough barricade had been erected across the expanse of it, but not an intimidating one. Ten foot lengths of green sapling, cut and piled like an endless chain of tee-pees, formed a six foot high encumbrance blocking our path, backed by archers and ranked spear men.


    Wayland sent forth his runners, and soon a phalanx, shields forward, began to advance upon it. A storm of arrows arced out from behind the barrier, shadowing the ground before it. Several sharp shouts echoed in the pass, and shields rose and linked with precision, so the sharp swarm fell on an armadillo-like wall of armor. A bouncing black rattle of tumbling stick was the result, and slowly, the phalanx began again to advance. Few bodies appeared on the ground behind.


    Wayland motioned to two boys carrying a number of horizontal banners, and pointed out one. The two erected a twelve foot pole, displaying a green flag. The Phalanx''s shields canted up like the opening of a venetian blind, and an answering hail of missiles lofted up from them, falling behind the barricade. Then the tight formations ran, shields front, long spears forward. I sweated in sympathy for the effort such a charge, encumbered with the heavy spear poles, must have cost.


    Thavis looked on excitedly, right hand griping and releasing the pommel of his saber. "Do you see? ''Tis an invention of Wayland''s, that shield. Affixes at the bend of the elbow and at the hand, as is normal, but also with notched blocks to rest a bow against, so the legionaries can provide their own short bow fire at close range, shield to the left, drawing the bow with the right. Can give extra seconds of reprieve while your enemy ducks the fire and you advance. They be only fair archers though. The bows must be dropped before close engagement."


    Now before the barrier, the troops worked to tear it down while the long poles thrust through it at the men behind. Arrow fire decreased to nothing, the barrier itself obstructing the archery. It crumbled before the troop''s onslaught, and the defenders retreated in the center and formed up to the left.


    Thavis smiled. "There''s your hand in their strategy. They mean to press us to the right, beneath the remaining fort''s fire, and hammer us against the fort''s walls."


    Wayland chose another banner, and a second wave of men poured down into the front. We began to move up.


    The defenders'' original strategy would have been to block forward advance while the two forts pounded away from the sides. Now, the same number of men had to cover two flanks, and hope to drive Wayland to the right as well. Moreover, Wayland knew this. The strategy was not going well for Felway.


    The new wave of men smashed to the left, beat back Felway''s men and bore away from the right side fortifications. Behind this advancing line, catapults and ballista maneuvered to face the remaining fort. Infrequent booms, and gouts of dirt kicked up across the field as Felway''s inexperienced cannonaders tried to employ their lone artillery piece. The melee'' was in its full disarray, and we were finally signaled forward of command. Considered lighter troops, our job would be to engage any units not contained by the front, and to support the assault on the remaining fort. A runner approached and delivered himself to me.


    "Sir! Duke Wayland wishes to know if you would be interested in attempting to sap the fort walls. He says to tell you the practice might be of value."


    I looked to the mountain root backing the right hand fort. "Tell Duke Wayland it might be done. I will look into it."


    I fetched Gort, and motioned to Thavis. "We will try tunneling to about the same place where the flat building was in the other one, and set a charge there."


    Thavis thought for a moment, then asked, "Do you think the booming dust is kept in the same place?"


    I shrugged. "Don''t know, it''s a guess, but we can block the tunnel up behind the charge, and at least take down part of one stockade wall."


    I explained to Gort what we wanted, after carefully removing its burden of explosives. Wordlessly, it set itself against the mountain root, and began to tunnel. I shook my head, thinking of the money I could make with a dozen such Golems in say, Pennsylvania.


    Before the earth moving was finished, a gate swung down fronting the fort, and a tight sally of armored men ran out, heading for the right end of our front, hoping to collapse it, or draw men away from defending the siege machines. The loose troops following behind the front were not grouped to attack such a tight drill of men.


    Thavis and I drew weapons and joined the nearest band, shouting "To me! To me!" hoping to attract enough men to repel the sally before they reached the flank or the siege machines. There were only twenty five of us, variously armed at first, and the sight of the descending armored herd pulled my heart up into my throat.


    Thavis just grinned from ear to ear and ran slightly to the front of us crying, "Wayland! Wayylaand!" and threw himself upon the first encountered with fierceness and vigor. The rest of us clashed only seconds behind, and it was certain that only my strength, not my skill, saved me from early demise.


    I drew both my Roundel and reluctantly, the Corm Da. The sword heated to my hand, but without the presence of Burlies, ley-lines or empowering sources. It simply seemed light in my grasp, striking faster, perhaps, and it still sliced through armor like cardboard. The Roundel was no less efficient at being driven through chain and such. My first opponent stared wide eyed as The Corm Da split his shield cleanly in two. I followed up, punching the Roundel through the plaited armor he wore, and used my strength to lift him off the ground throwing him back into his fellows.


    The man had connected a saber blow to the back of my hip, and I knew without looking there was a rent there of flapping flesh open to the bone. I felt nothing, and was too engaged to check on it. The others with me seemed to grow fiercer, and we beat forward savagely. The world slowed in a natural adrenaline rush. My eyes were everywhere, and it seemed I had time to consider each move. In those before me a glazed panic grew, and eventually they turned and fled as more of Wayland''s men ran to join the melee. The group gave a roaring shout, some chasing after, most turning back towards the catapults. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Thavis returned, cut on every exposed surface, yet joyous. "Four!" He crowed. "Taken cleanly, too," he stared at me, then laughed. "You are short a cheek, it seems, my good sir. Come, we must find hot water, needle and thread, or you shall sit at an angle evermore!"


    I was quickly, if painfully, stitched and linen wrapped. The cut had indeed parted a flap of fat on my rear, with little bleeding. The point touched bone at some odd point, but missed any major nerves, arteries or much of deep muscle, looking strange, but doing little permanent injury. Later, Chord would put his powder to it, when he heard of it. Meantime the astringents and salves of the healers sufficed. We returned to the mountain root, where Gort stood passively beside a large hole. Thavis and I pushed a fair sized and well tarred barrel into the bore and manhandled it into place at the end of his damp, dark tunnel.


    Thavis wiped away the filth and sweat that had accumulated on his face. "Why do you not just send Gort to tear down the stockades and attack them?"


    I shook my head. "It wouldn''t do it. I cannot order him to an aggressive act. In my world, there is a technique called hypnosis. With it, a man can be lulled into doing things he would not normally consider, but it is almost impossible to use it to order a man to do something against his conscience. This enchantment of Gort''s seems to be something similar. Still, this is good enough. Help me to pile some rock against the barrel and unroll the fusing. I''ll have Gort block off the tunnel," I squinted at the site, trying to remember how far back the stockade wall was, "about twenty feet inside."


    The fusing I had made for this purpose was thick, and heavy with powder. It would burn very quickly, so we would need to be well away from the hole when it lit. To provide more time than the fuse would allow, I had prepared a very thick wicked candle. It would burn down more slowly, then ignite the fuse, which was affixed to a groove cut halfway up the thin candle, held in place by squeezing the soft wax around it. It was a kludge, but the best I had been able to come up with. We rolled out enough fuse to get beyond the twenty feet, and called Gort to re-block the passage there as tightly as possible. I set the wick, and we ran like frightened deer back out and well away from the hole.


    The explosion was very satisfactory. Intensified by the backing mountain as it blew, logs and dirt fountained up followed by an even more impressive blast that knocked combatants flat and stunned men for half an acre before the fort. Even prepared as we were, it was minutes before hearing and nerves returned to me.


    I staggered up, realizing that the falling debris and sailing rock had likely caused at least as much damage to our own men as to Felway''s. Guilt overtook me, and I questioned whether I wanted to proceed with my plan to breach Felway''s estate by this method. I had likely gotten rid of whatever stocks of explosives the mage and Duke had managed to acquire though, which provided me with some solace. I vowed never to make more. Thinking on Gort''s proscription to do no harm, I wished it were possible to generally place a similar abjuration on living men.


    The defenders lost their line and retreated from the field, back through town to the bastions of Felway''s compound. Our men began the process of clearing the field of dead, and pillaging the destroyed fortifications for whatever supplies were left behind. I ordered Gort to retrieve whatever was left of my ''special supplies''. Then, with Thavis, I trudged back toward the camp for more medical care, and hopefully, a meal of some sort.


    Duke Wayland seemed in no hurry to march on the town. From our camp we could plainly watch the process of evacuation as citizens hauled away whatever they could from the town''s buildings. Chord had returned with news that units of the king''s army marched the pass and would be here shortly.


    "Wayland has no quarrel with the townsfolk," noted Chord. "Anyway, better the king''s men be thrown at the effort than the duke''s own. It is not likely Wayland will be given over the lands about Tark. There is benefit to the Crown in keeping the two dukedom''s separate. The pass tolls charged by Wayland at one end, and Felway at the other, generate income, in which the king shares."


    This surprised me. "Both charge for use of the pass?"


    Chord nodded. "Neither Wayland nor Felway own the Pass. The Crown reserved it, but charges both dukedoms with its maintenance. So both can charge the caravans for its upkeep directly. Which is why the king''s soldiers hurry here. Had Felway not seeded the pass, and infringed on the Crown''s priori lands, help would have been slower, if ever, to arrive."


    True to Chord''s prediction, columns of armed men, marked with Esterford''s parted escutcheon of two lions addosse'', soon moved past. It seemed about a full legion of men had been sent, half of which broke into five centuries, or groups of one-hundred, on reaching the front, and marched into the nearest streets of Tark. The pace was leisurely. The other five hundred seemed interested mostly in securing the area of the pass itself. Wayland, as orders were not forthcoming, seemed content to await developments, so we moved back to our site behind the heralds and ate.


    Later, a troubled looking Thavis joined us, and quietly motioned us in the direction of Wayland''s Pavilion. Chord raised an eyebrow. "It appears we are to be consulted on some matter. What''s troubling Thavis?"


    The young Wayland seemed unwilling to meet our gazes of inquiry, and walked glumly forward saying only, "Bad tidings my friends. You are to hear this from my father first."


    Chord wasted no further effort on commentary, so we followed, lost in our own thoughts, to the Duke''s tent. Duke Wayland sat behind the large table we had seen before, fronted by a red jacketed legionary and the yellow panted thin form of a man I knew on sight, my former traveling companion, Brann Cour! Wayland acknowledged our entrance, and motioned us before him.


    "I am told you know this man?"


    "I do," I said. "We traveled with him from Dervin to Tark, where we parted company."


    "He was released from a city lock-up by King Esterford''s men. He was questioned as a matter of course, and sent here. He described you, and some others as well, so I am forced to give you both some possibly very bad news. It seems after you parted, Felway''s guards were reluctant to let him leave the merchant compound. An argument ensued, ending with master Cour''s being jailed in town. While being marched out, he described a pair of people being escorted to the mage tower of Tark, or rather one being dragged and one escorted. The man was Belmus, the Mage of Dervin."


    Chord exclaimed in a suck of breath, "He knows this to be Belmus, certain?"


    Brann, eager to please, nodded vigorously, "Oh yes lord, beyond doubt, a client of mine, from time to time. Unmistakably."


    My heart pounded within my chest. Dimanda!


    "His description of the girl," continued the Duke, "matches your daughter, who I happen to know you left with Belmus in Dervin. I have sent a runner back. The town tower will be seized and searched. This is not necessarily the final word, but..."


    There was silence for a few moments as Chord and I absorbed the account.


    Chord gripped my arm. We were two men drowning, holding on to each other as we descended into the deeps. "I can infer nothing good from this," said Wayland, narrowing his eyes. "It reeks of Belmus being involved in this bicker somehow, and of a particular interest in one or the other of you. I dislike having to ask after such an announcement, but can either of you shed any light on why this might be?"


    I knew it was the last thing Chord wished to speak of in full, and that Wayland purposely brought this forward now, while we were numbed, to elicit the story.


    Chord shook, eyes closed for a moment. "Belmus knows it is I and Orton as have been closing up the fell works of the mage, Veddek. Belmus must have been bought, or blackmailed, into the service of Felway. Perhaps this is vengeance, or a warning to me to meddle no further. MaCaan hates Sir William, who has been so active in your behalf in this affair. Likely, a way to get back at both of us, my lord. May I sit? I feel ill just now."


    Wayland allowed Chord a chair, and sat looking at the two of us a bit longer. "There is one more thing. I asked Master Cour not to mention it, that I might break the news more slowly. In fact, unless there is anything else, Master Cour, you may go now."


    Brann bowed and made his thanks, then rushed out of the tent as quickly as dignity allowed. Wayland waited until the merchant exited, then began again.


    "Brann said there was a freed demon at the keep, that he saw a clearly demonic form, taller than the keep doors, moving about inside when they were opened to admit Belmus, and a struggling girl that could be your daughter. I would discredit it, but we have heard similar things from a few others that have been questioned." I sank into a pit of anger, frustration and fear. Dimanda, taken! Dragged to Tark, and before the mercy of demons and Veddick!


    Chord''s face manipulated through a variety of expressions. Disbelief, anger, astonishment and fear pushed across it in a continuous mix. He pulled in breath after breath, finally gasping out, "Impossible! No one sane...even were it possible to contain...free! He must be in error! Perhaps he saw a creature like those we faced in the pass!


    Wayland, turning his hands palm up on his desk, shook his head. "Unlikely. I am not an initiate, but the descriptions were very carefully checked. I am told this is a very bad thing, never done, or even attempted. Perhaps dire. This is your understanding of the matter, Chord?"


    Chord continued to wrestle with inner passions, but nodded curtly, adding, "I cannot even imagine the incentive that would keep an unbound demon from simply leaving the tower and slaughtering everything in sight, once un-warded. Inconceivable, my lord."


    "Still, it seems one is wandering the foyer of Veddek''s keep, these days. What do you think we should do? Do you," Wayland now addressed himself to me, "still feel like sapping your way into the keep? If I could see you both ushered within it, would there be something as might be done? The council''s recommendation is to make a ward about the entire building, and abjure its entire contents to ...where ever these things come from, and all else within it. But, I am also told, something on that scale has never been tried before. Not to mention that attempting to encircle a live and present demon that way is probably not likely, unless there is something about the keep itself as prohibits the thing from leaving."


    A crease furrowed Chord''s face and in  worried tones added, "There is my daughter to consider, and all else as may be held there. It is a game of chance whatever avenue is perused."


    Wayland nodded thoughtfully. "Before you answer, let me give you my own, untutored thoughts. Something unbound there, stays against its nature. Someone very important to the brace of you, has been taken within. Demons are bargaining creatures. Perhaps you are supposed to try this bargain, or perhaps you are the bargain. Belmus did walk in, of his own accord, along with several guards with your unwilling daughter. I leave it to you. I would not have the girl banished to the nether hells without some kind of attempt, but it seems up to the two of you, though I will see you supplied with anything needed, in reason. Well?"


    "I''ll still go," I said. "This news only makes it more important it be done. If I can save Dimanda, I must!"


    "I will explain all this to the king''s generals. Chord, as it is your daughter we aid here, I give you free hand in this, so long as I am kept informed of everything."


    The Duke''s finger came up. "Everything, Chord. We are understood?"


    Chord bowed his head. "Milord."


    "The two of you are dismissed for now. Begin your preparations"

 Chapter Forty: Tunneling In

    The King''s army had done a workman-like job of securing the main street, and the flanking buildings of the cobbled lane featured boarded up doorways, with men posted at close intervals along the route. Most wore the half-grim, dead-eyed mien that seems to come in the aftermath of battle. Chord floated along beside me in his shiny black boots, lost in the same desolation as I. Thavis strolled grimly behind, pacing the clicking gait of Gort as it strode over the cobbles, burdened with the remaining black powder kegs, rope, and chain I had prepared at the Nublin village.


    The army had won through to the front of the Ducal Compound quickly, where it now held siege. I allowed myself to run over my careful, and now useless, plan to end this atrocity. Blasting the walls with a massive charge of powder to clear the way, was out of order now, since the close tower might contain Dimanda. The presence of a demon...I remembered the glowing stare and interest of the last one I had confronted with Chord at his keep...also left me at a loss.


    "Any ideas as to what can be done about the demon, Chord?"


    The mage shrugged, brows furled. "It is as the Duke said. Best, would be trying to re-contain it, then banish it. Otherwise, it might be drained of the energy that sustains it here somehow, or just see what it wants--try to bargain with it, as it seems content to stay put, for some reason. Likely, we go to our deaths if we must face it. Better to try staying clear of it, somehow. The things are not omniscient. If it can be avoided, and if we can figure out why it stays there, perhaps there may be some way to deal with it."


    "Then, is their some way to shield ourselves from it?"


    Chord stopped and considered. "It''s an idea. The barrier pentagram that contains them when we bargain would work just as well drawn around one of us; it would still be impassible to the creature. All that doesn''t deal with the thing, though, it would just keep those contained within it safe"A thought struck me. "How much weight can those boots of yours bear? Do you have to wear them to work them?"


    "Eh?" Chord glanced bemused at the footwear. "Why, as much weight as I wish, I suppose. The more weight they loft, the shorter the lifespan of them, of course. I have carried as much as forty pounds with them on occasion, though usually I would just call for help with any such load, obviously. The charm is on the soles of the boots, mostly. The mage ordering them must envision the material pushing away from anything beneath them, in an absolute manner and pulling forward to whatever extent required beyond the shanks. Both concepts must be held firmly in mind during the incantation..."


    I interrupted Chord, asking "Yes but, do you have to wear them to control them?" Chord looked curiously at me. "No. I sometimes call them to me of a morning from across my bedroom, as it happens."


    I nodded. "The diagram..."


    "Pentagram," corrected Chord.


    "Pentagram. Does it have to be inscribed on the earth, or can it be executed, say, on a platform?"


    "Oh, I see your thought on this! Yes, that is possible. If we stayed inside the pentagram--"


    "One scribed on a platform..."


    "And floated on a few pairs of boots of leagues..."


    "We would be proof against attack by the demon!"


    Chord chuckled,as a man might who sees light dawning through the dark, and shook his head as we began walking again. "Brilliant, William. As long as the platform is small enough to pass the keep doors, we can at least confront the demon in safety. Veddek''s keep has double doors, as I remember, so we could have an eight foot diameter platform. We could load it with eight men at arms with tower shields, yourself, me, another mage perhaps."


    "Could we float a ...pentagram over it? Trap it?"


    "No. Above or below, it matters not, but a Demon may not pass the plane of the Pentagram''s warding circle. If they could, why, they would just dig their way out underneath them, wouldn''t they? The things must be conjured within the wards or, unlikely as it may be, the wards drawn around them."


    Well, I thought, it was an idea, anyway.


    The street was emptying out into the block-wide plaza before the ducal seat. Men at arms bustled behind green wood barricades, and musters of men grouped everywhere. The banner of Esterford flapped in the wind well to our right, and we threaded our way through the troops towards it.


    The King''s general, Cadon Markay, was a craggy tank of a man. He was completely bald, perhaps ten years older than myself, sporting a wrestler''s long thick arms. Obviously not a political appointee, he looked every bit as competent as his rank required. The officers around him came and went with a snapping respect and maybe a hint of fear. He stood leaning over the ubiquitous field table that seemed so common to this campaign, arms pillared to either side of what was evidently a map of the town. His eyes flashed up as we entered."Wayland''s sappers. I have ten men detailed to you. Your plan?"


    A moment passed as I oriented myself to the man''s quick manner. "We will need use of your carpenters, and a few things from your mages, too. The plan is to weaken the east wall nearest the mage tower, and try to gain control of that immediately. Your troops would be able to enter right after, at that point."


    Markay considered his map. "The east wall is also fronted by open plaza. How will you protect the dig?"


    "We want to start further back, from the basement of one of the town buildings on that side. Ideally, they shouldn''t even suspect the tunneling until the walls fail," I said.


    Markay''s eyes never left the map, but he acknowledged me, saying, "Well enough. You know they have a demon running loose on the first floor of the tower?"


    "We have a way to protect ourselves from it, and a small number of men. We need the carpenters to construct something to that end."


    "How?"


    I outlined the platform idea, sketching out what we would need.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    "And once inside the tower?"


    "The mages will try to deal with the beast, and if possible, the soldiers and I will engage any others in the tower, while you move your men through the yard."


    "Here it is then," said Markay. "If you can establish yourselves in the tower and at least neutralize the Demon, I will send long bowmen in to hold it. We will use the keep as a fortification to cover our following assault through the yard. However, I won''t move the troops around to prepare for an eastern assault unless the walls go down there, because first, you may not make it; second because such a move would be obvious from the estate walls, and prematurely thicken defenses there, which would not benefit you either. I will put twenty bowmen behind the house you will use, though. This one," his finger mashed down on the map, indicating a building across from the tower area, "it has a basement that will do for you. How long?"


    "Depends on the carpentry. It won''t take long to get beneath the walls. We have a Golem to do the digging."


    "Good. Go see our engineer, Garvey. Give him my note." A note had already been writ out by an aide; the general initialed it, flipped it to me and said, "Go." We left the tent straight away, getting directions from an officer loitering outside.


    Thavis, who had been unusually quiet till now, noted, "Terse fellow wasn''t he?"


    I gave Thavis a half smile. "Considering he was likely told, rather than asked, to give us our heads in this matter, he was absolutely chatty. He must think our chances of weakening the walls good. You seem pretty confident yourself. I haven''t heard you ask many questions, at least."


    "Hah! I have seen you trounce these beasts before. This will only add to your fame, and to mine, We shall free your fiance in the end, Sir William. I pledge it!"


    I was coming to realize that this was the currency of nobility. Feudal systems were basically military structures, whose function was rooted in defense, war and blood. This troubled me, but it did breed men who faced challenges eagerly.


    Again the image of the leering demon, asking for me in trade for Gort, arose. The same chill fear ran through me once more. I still had no idea as to how the encounter could be handled, hoping only some thought or sight would spur an answer in me, or Chord. I certainly was not as excited about the prospect of confronting one as Thavis was. Freeing Dimanda was all I could focus on, and my other half-set plans seemed to melt away before this need.


    The carpentry posed no problems. The platform was made in quarters that could be easily joined by pegs to re-create the whole circle. Beneath, four short stubs protruded, large enough that a boot might be tightly fitted over each one. Chord prepared the wards upon it, though when reassembled, some extra effort would have to be made to establish the spells. Procuring a second set of boots was more of an issue. There were no volunteers among the three available mages present, and it took a good deal of persuasion to obtain them.


    In the end, we found ourselves in the basement of what seemed to be a small storage building, with ten bristling men at arms. Eight of them jostled large tower shields and the platform sections while Chord and a much younger practitioner tried their hardest to keep out of the way.


    "Gort, dig a tunnel for us under the estate walls. It should just pass under the fortress wall foundations, and not break ground on the inside of it."


    The Golem bent to the task, and a good portion of the west basement wall quickly fell to rubble. Then it vanished from view, digging tirelessly on towards the estate walls. I motioned forward, and two soldiers followed, dragging thick timbers. These would be set directly beneath the walls when Gort came to them, to temporarily shore them up until our party got beyond them. I would set small charges there to disrupt the bracing, when the time came to collapse the walls. Gort would excavate until a good sized area was clear beyond this, right in front of the keep, where we would quickly dig through and emerge, reassemble our platform and break into the tower. Or so we hoped. Gort would continue to weaken the foundation area until the charge was lit, and dig his own way out. Hopefully the walls would crumble, but either way we would be inside, left to survive or not. I hoped the walls fell, otherwise we were truly lost.


    I did see that the remaining black powder would come with us, so if all else failed, we might try setting charges against the walls from the inside, if we could remain alive long enough. With Dimanda possibly in the keep, I couldn''t set a huge charge under the walls as originally planned. I feared a repeat of the damage that we caused at the fort, without knowing she would remain safe.


    Eventually, the soldier sent with Gort returned. "She''s all set, Sir William. Damn fine job, that Golem did, too."


    I peered into the breached basement wall, but it was pitch black beyond. The floor seemed dry though, some small comfort graced us by the town''s elevation. The sapper passed me the lantern, and I thrust that before me. Somehow Gort had compressed the dirt he dug back into the walls, which gave them a mottled cement look. I scratched at one of the tunnel walls, and was amazed how hard they were. It struck me that the process may have left the dig so reinforced that the effect might not have loosened the foundation structures of the wall site.


    The tunnel was easily five feet wide. I edged myself down it. It ran for over a hundred yards before belling out under the foundation stones of the wall. Our black timbers supported this area. The tunnel continued beyond it for another thirty, to slope up, hopefully between the keep and the wall, where our emergence would be obscured.


    I looked up, where small plant roots dangled from the ceiling. Estimating the foundation to have been dug down almost twelve feet below ground level, I shook my head. Gort had done in a few hours what would have required a mining company a week. I returned to the basement and got things going.


    Chord was even more distressed than I, at this point. "I know that this is now more about saving my daughter than it is about anything else, William. I want to thank you for the effort, now, in case..." There was no point in increasing Chord''s agitation by heaping my own fears on top of his.


    Instead, I bluffly replied, "we will save her. There was no reason to bring her here except as hostage to advance some plan, likely to gain the sword and crown. She will be safe, till all this falls out, be sure of that, at least." I swallowed, fixing myself on that hope.


    Within an hour I had small sack charges laid at each timber''s bottom, covered in thick clay. The fuses ran back up the tunnel to one of my candle affairs. There was nothing else to be prepared. We were all well back under the thin-dug area behind the keep now. A feeling of dread overtook me. We had about three hours to wait for dark to fall. I had the men reassemble the platform, and hoped no one tried walking behind the keep, for they would surely fall through right into our laps. At the proper time, I sent the two unshielded men back to fire the candle, warning them to clear out of the basement entirely.


    Gort back-filled the tunnel between us and the wall area. Although the charges set to bring down the posts were small, the compression wave in the tunnel could still be lethal. We pushed and clawed open the area above us as quietly as we could, and gathered on top of the platform. Chord and his assistant worked their boots and raised us up to ground level. Clots of loam and verdure rained around us. The arms men''s black tower shields raised up, quickly cutting off what little view I had, from near the platform''s center. Chord quietly piloted the contrivance around to the tower''s front, as a hew and cry went up from alert guards along the wall. "Damn," spouted Thavis, "Felway''s men must have the eyes of eagles! I''d hoped we would have a little more time."


    As did I.


    Arrows began to rain down on us, and Thavis ordered three of our arms men to sidle from the tower side of the platform to the front, lifting shields overhead for further protection. This caused the platform to dip until the mages managed to correct for the action, and I almost lost my footing. The tower doors were before me, and barred shut. A small detail I hadn''t thought about.


    I cursed myself for a fool. We had no ram, and my experience with these doors left me little doubt that eight men pounding away wouldn''t open them, either. I had allowed myself to believe the doors would be open, as they were from the reports we had gathered, and my own earlier experience. Behind me, Felway''s men rushed across the yard. We were all dead.

 Chapter Forty-one : In the Tower of Tark

    The ground shook, and a muted whomp of heroic proportion announced charges going off under the walls. Cracks appeared in it, and it seemed to sag a little, but it didn''t fall. Worse and worse. Could Chord could lift us to the top of the tower? Only to face another sealed trapdoor, I realized. The racing footmen were upon us in any case, and I drew my Roundel, determined to go down fighting.


    Suddenly the tower doors swung inwards on their own, like the gates of heaven opening. At first I thought it was Chord''s doing, but a questioning glance gathered a head shake from the mage. Chord was quick to take advantage however, and the saucer piloted in, turning somewhat as it bumped the doors open further in passing through.


    Several angry defenders leaped after us, but in the the portal, a red barrier flashed, and our harassers bounced back from it. There was some further rumbling, and at the edge of my vision, I saw a section of wall gave way. It fell into a mountain of rubble, but a climbable one, for Wayland''s bowmen appeared over the top of the heap. As the platform continued to rotate, my view through the doorway slid away.


    The keep was torch lit and fire glow wavered along copper walls, skipping over deep black shadows. Adjusting, I took in the room. Deeper than the blackest of the shadows, two pits bored into me from a huge and hunched figure against the far curve of the tower. It shambled forward, raising one long simian arm, drawing a pointed claw to shriek and spark upon the platform''s wards. The arms men, shields forgotten, scrambled back to the platform''s furthest end. Chord cursed, working furiously to re-balance it.


    Thavis placed a hand on my shoulder, staring defiantly at the apparition, as if his purpose in life were to confront it.


    "So," the demon rumbled, "It has been awhile, O Visitor. You took your time in the coming, and I am bored with waiting."


    I fought down the cold clamping my chest, and spoke. "You opened the doors? Why are you here? Why do you wait here? Where is Dimanda, and what is it you want?"


    "Why, I stay for you, little visitor. Veddek wards me here." The thing lofted one arm, pointing up.I followed the motion, noting for the first time, that there was no partitioning ceiling. Instead, the tower went up into pitch darkness, a vertical tunnel crossed by an occasional beam. Beyond the truss works, a blue glow, like some distant moon, limed the underside of the flat roof. Of course, I thought. As Chord said, it didn''t matter whether the ward was above or below. It only seemed that the demon was unbound. Like Chord''s keep, treads wound up the keep walls, but there were no upper rooms, no other floors in it, save perhaps, at the very top. The distant blue ward encompassed the full diameter of the tower, glowing...waiting for fools like myself to pass within.


    "You do not need your...circle, little visitor. I am here to keep out the Duke''s minions."


    I glanced back at the eight arms-men. "Not too successfully, then."


    "Ho! Not Wayland''s men, specifically. The abjuration refers to Felway''s troops, and other court spies. Though, had Veddick thought on it, he might have included Wayland''s tools as well, but that was not the bargain he struck. I am to tell you your Dimanda is at the tower''s top. I am impelled to allow you to go there, if you choose... you were expected to come, sooner or later, one way or another."


    So the Duke was a pawn in this after all, I mused. Veddek''s concern was only to gain the artifacts. Undoubtedly this thing has already notified Veddick of my arrival, though it seems to be playing its own game here. So the mage knows, and waits for me to come to him. Unsurprising, that...


    "But, if you work for Veddick..."


    The brute roared. "The Aos Si'' are no man''s chattel! The Mage Veddick seeks to usurp the land, double-cross it''s petty rulers through use of us, but it is we who control this game. Our bargain was with Credine of old, bound by the artifice of Crown, and Sword, that only his household would command in these lands. As Veddick is not of his house, who summoned this circle matters not. I can deal with any I see fit," the horror grinned, "to bargain with. Even," and at this its lambent eyes glowed stonily at me, "with you. You were pulled here by our purpose, not by the will of Veddick, to render us our due. We can free you from this place, return you to your homeland. Give us the Crown and Steel of Credine, Avatar. You owe nothing to these avaricious, backbiting swine, who cross-bargain only in thirst for power over each other."


    The smoking red apparition pulled back , gesturing towards me in a righteous bow. "I put our aid at your command!" It left me a moment to wonder about my own lost ancestry, my true heritage, for a moment.


    Clearly, Nuada''s claideb, the sword Corm-Da, did more than transport me here, it in effect, bonded a right to exist here, the crown, somehow, maintained the Ka of Credine, as separate from the this places own power structure. The power Credine imported with him. Perhaps stole, would be the better term, from Earth. Together, they were the mortgage to this kingdom, and to power within it.


    "But," continued the beast, "perhaps there is other business to discuss? Other things you need, that I can supply?"


    "I need Dimanda out of here!"


    "Yes! Yes you do, for Veddek would bargain with you, against his hostage, but will you receive the fruits of negotiation? I offer you Dimanda''s, and your own, freedom. I will unchain you from this land. The price, likely the same, but bargaining from within the circle, I am bound to honor my trades, as Mage Chord can tell you. I doubt that can be said of any bargain struck with Mage Veddek. Believe me, for I cannot lie within the circle, when I say you will not receive satisfaction from him."


    Chord hissed at my shoulder. "Would you trade us all into slavery to demons? What he will ask for, will change the balance of things. We discussed this. This land will become part of his kind''s dominion."


    The demon laughed, a deep, chilling tone that echoed from the walls and spoke of hidden horror. "I will bargain generously, visitor. We are a patient breed. I can give your friends a hundred years of peace. None that you know will yet be living when we come. You may take any you choose home with you , honored visitor. I can tell you that once, long eons ago this place was ours, if you need justification. In your land, we are called the Aos Si'', or dark elves of the shadow world. This was once a part of that world. Our influence it was, that took away Credine''s energy and used his stolen crown to manifest the Burlies; and that," the apparition leered, "is something even your little mage did not guess. We were driven from this land by Credine before even the Nublin walked it, and wish rightfully, only it''s return. What we want none here would give us. But think, you can save yourself, and only be giving back that which is ours."This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    These were words I had heard before.


    I thought of the Nublin, the towns here, the beautiful countryside. Then I thought of the incarceration I had endured at Wayland''s hands, the fierce attacks of the Burlies, the robberies and beatings I had sustained. I thought of Dimanda. I could save her certain this way, but would it come at a cost she could endure? I had to choose.


    The Corm Da heated at my back, pulsing. There was movement at the doorway, and Gort strode in. I had not expected that, but hadn''t clearly stated where Gort was to tunnel out to, either. I wondered if that meant the battle outside had swept past us, but decided not, since the promised archers had not entered the tower, and remembered the unstoppable nature of Gort. Thavis had gone beet red at my side, grinding his teeth. "Bastard fiend of hell! Never would Sir William barter with the likes of you for any reason! Kill him, my lord, and be done with this foul thing!"


    Thavis was correct, of course. Seeing Gort, I realized that perhaps not all of my previous plan was entirely without merit. We still stood within our own portable circle of protection, something I doubted anyone had planned against.


    "Be quick, Little Smith," rumbled the Aos Si''. I tire of holding back the massing troops of Felway. Perhaps in faith, it is only Wayland''s men I should be abjuring entrance to. Your mobile circle will not stop them, and I fear, they are wroth to be at the duplicitous Veddick, and his hostage is after all, just another Waylander."


    "I think," I said, "it''s time to sort out what belongs to who. Gort, the chain."


    Gort pulled the coils off and tossed me the free end. While the demon looked on angrily, but impotent from outside our little circle, I locked the end of it around my waist, and set the band of Credine on my brow."Is this what you would bargain for?" I asked, pulling the now glittering Corm Da from my back. A countdown started in my head. I figured I had about three minutes, tops. The chain should act just as if Gort wore the artifacts directly, and begin sapping the energy from it. The power moved through the metal, from the burlies, or Gort, by means of the sword to Credine. From Credine, by the crown, thanks to the Aos Si, back to ground, like a battery discharging, if I could bring that about.


    A fire raced through me, and I dissolved into the background, making room for an emerging, and angry God powered by the Ka now draining from Gort.


    It stands before me, this stealer of my essence. This disruptor of my dreams, would be thief of my lands. I roar, and fly at the dark elf, as it drools and makes its feeble spells against me. Me! With my own essence! How foolish and weak it is! I bury the Corm Da in it, draining it away to nothing, and smite the head from it before it vanishes. A chain lies around my Avatar''s waist, linked to his toy. I move to tear it away, but feel it feeding me, and there is another thief near. On the tower above me, I know...The shadow of my avatar reminds me of this. Another would be thief of what was mine!


    In some cloister of my mind, I see, from the corner of Credine''s vision, men in Felway''s livery pour through the door of the building. Chord, aghast, pulls forth a long knife, and Thavis leaps down with a cry. My few shield bearing soldiers crowd down off the platform behind him, draw their long swords and rush to defend the entrance. Thavis takes one with his point, and his blade flashes back and forth, parrying first one, then another. An arrow shaft appears in the leg of Chord, who sags to the platforms rough boards. I should have guessed the demon''s wards would vanish with it''s demise. I struggle to regain some control of my body , but Credine''s grip is fast. Helplessly, my gaze is turned away from the melee.


    Others leap from the same platform as had I, to meet some attack, but this is not my concern. Above lay my enemy now. I reach out, and up, ascending to meet my nemesis. A wooden wall marked with Burlie blood, confronts me, but I burst through it, for wards impenetrable to an Aos Si'' cannot hold such as I. A man stands with a chained girl upon it. Dimanda, the name comes to me. The man, Veddek, some human mage, a wayward child of my own house, plotting against me!


    Three pylons rise around them, and I feel a drag upon me. The toy pulls itself up through the rent I had made and stands watching, still feeding me, making me stronger with every passing moment. I laugh as the mage makes feeble passes in the air before me, calling on the services of the Demon I had slain below."I rule here, small man! Betrayer!"


    The Corm Da whirls its dance of death, and I come forward against my enemy. The girl struggles, chained to one of the pylons, but I have no eyes for that. I turn to face this ...Veddek. The man raises a metal stick before me. There is a noise and smoke, and pain lances through my avatar''s shoulder. I feel bones breaking that I cannot bother healing. I rage again and step forward. Another noise, another pain, but still I advance. My sword flies, and the metal stick shears. Another stroke, and his head follows, bouncing to the tower roof. I look up at the sky above me. It is the perfect time. A few words, a virgin sacrifice, then I...


    My power gathers now at the surface of the land, beneath a full moon. I feel it, strong and pulsing, awaiting my call. I have only to stand central to the pylons in this high place for a few more moments, perform the rite, and all will come to me again!


    I am thinking furiously, unable to speak, locked in my own body. Dimanda is shreeking, cowering above the beheaded remains of Veddick. There is only one chance. I remember Gort waking me at Chord''s tower, saying I called to it. I concentrate everything of my mind to reach for the Golem.


    The toy, still until now, walks to the side of the tower and jumps off. I feel a tugging weight hanging from the chain, and remember it, around my waist, William''s waist. Curious, I walk towards the tower wall to see what had become of the toy. As I approach and look down, the pull lessens, the chain slackens as the clay man touches ground, spearing the chain end into the earth. A great bolt of light blooms below. The air is filled with it from horizon to horizon, and the world shakes. My power rushes away from me, gushes down into the earth of this place, and I diminish, and I fade...


    I feel hands pulling at me and fierce pain. Thavis, a worried look on his face, bends above. At his shoulder, nursing a bleeding leg, Chord echoes the expression, and next to him, the soft features of Dimanda, tears and admiration mixed in her eyes.


    I try lifting my arm to her sweet face, and awash in pain, almost pass out.


    "We thought you dead, at first," said Thavis, working at my waist. "The walls fell, and Wayland''s arms-men came down upon Felway''s from behind before they could end us. We made the tower top as soon as we could."


    They stopped trying to move me. Blood spattered my left, crushed shoulder, and right leg. Chord grimly pulled a soft bag from his belt, and began a chant. Red dust whisped down, and there was more pain than can be imagined in it, and I retired from the world.

 Chapter Forty-two: A New Start

    If you observe a really happy man, you will find him building a boat,writing a symphony, educating his son, growing double dahlias in his garden,or looking for dinosaur eggs in the Gobi desert.He will not be striving for happiness as a goal in itself. He will have become aware that he is happy in the course of living a life 24 hours a day.


    -W. Beran Wolfe


    I stood before my forge at Chord''s keep, feeling again the burning blast of it, a physical force against my arms and chest. It had been an uncomfortable few months, despite Chord''s healing. Time enough to tire of Chord''s moaning over the loss of his boots, and their function. He has made the transition from conjuror to full time administrator without an eye-blink, as I knew he would, but it''s always the little things in life we miss most. He seems otherwise content planning the new aqueducts to serve the farms instead of producing magic rains and dealing in dangerous dabbling.


    He has a competent partner in May-Anne, so it is a burden shared.


    The teeth on the giant saw''s blade tended to melt and bend too much. I cursed and spun the circular blade on its peg, hitting it quickly with a file to shape up the section, then dousing it with water, letting it harden. It would never be a substitute for the carbon tipped saw blades of my time, but with care, and a lot of resharpening, should still give respectable service, if I could ever finish it. I wished again that I still had use of Gort. Impossible of course, it had been utterly consumed when the last few links of chain lowered him to the tower bottom of Veddek''s keep. This was my third try, and Seth was getting impatient.


    The carpenter had already finished the water wheel, and the gearing and chains I had ordered from the Nublin worked well, though they had to be constantly slathered in pig grease to inhibit rusting, so close to the stream. Still, less trouble than replacing water swollen wood cogs all the time. There was talk of a black slippery substance bubbling from pits deep in the southern mires. I had some views on that, if I ever got time to look into it.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    Brock sat nearby, arms folded, watching me work.


    "Ye knows it be not necessary. My lads could be doping tha'' thing out for ya. You explained its works often enough. Dimanda''s angry. Says a knighted Squire oughtn''t be spend''in alla his time whacking metal."


    "It was my idea, and it''s mine to finish--the first one anyway."


    "As may be, but you''d better be quicker about it, lad. Y''er ta be in Corbell ta go over the new coinage next week. Chord says there''ll be no more Burlie dust, and ya whack yerself up again, it''s your ass."


    No, there would be no more Burlie dust, ever.


    When Credine had killed the demon, he had cut the connection between the planes that sustained their forms. When the power of Credine had grounded out this time, dissipating into the Ley lines around Veddek''s tower, it had sealed this place away from outside influences of any kind, far as could be told. Also, with the demise of that source, vanished any chance I had of returning home, but I had figured on that.


    I turned the sawblade again, quicker this time, and had to correct less before the quench. The crown and sword were buried deep, and far away, by the best miners of this time and place.


    Thavis made an entrance at that point, and frowned broadly at me. Gods, was I on everyone''s shit list today?


    "I''ve got the lane cut clear back to the new foundation for your estate, and Dimanda..."


    I gave up and pulled the saw blade off of the divot, and away from the furnace, calling loudly enough for my two apprentices to hear over the counter babble at the shop front. "Take over! I''m done for the balance...Dimanda what?"


    "No need to be intemperate, Sir William. She wants you to bring some water with you when you come in. The new well isn''t dug yet, she reminds you. Ah. Brock is invited to the keep for dinner, as he is still here, instead of on his way back to the mountains, as he should be."


    "Bah! I''ll go on the morrow. Tis'' only the trade order of plates fer the pots Stenn Orehammer showed her as she is worried over. Bree hasn''t got the new plates out of the kiln yet...Never mind, I''ll tell her...over supper."


    Brock brushed down his beard, anticipation glinting in his kaleidoscopic eyes.