1214 A.B.

  Goodbyes are always hard for me. I can’t help but get attached to the people in my life and leaving a place with the knowledge that I may never see them again is very difficult. Life is very uncertain except for one thing. It will be a struggle. Dortham made sure we knew of the tribulation we’d face, and that life could be good, but it took hard work to achieve it. He showed me the value of honesty and integrity. These things were part of every Terran’s life also. Bran and I were not Terrans, but we were kindred spirits with them in many ways, and this made leaving difficult.

  We’d made lasting friendships with the Terrans in our company of recruits, and especially with Denet. He drilled us mercilessly, but he never kicked us when we were down. He always offered a hand to pick us back up. Once we had proven ourselves with Telruk, Tinor and Nalic, the ice broke and they became good friends. They taught us a lot about alloys, casting and metal working, but they never said a word to me about Geomancy, no matter how many times I asked. I was also sad to say goodbye to Cuddles, believe it or not. He was alien to me in many ways, but the fire magic at his core was something I sometimes shared with him, and I’d learned some important things because of him. Saying goodbye to Nalimea was unexpectedly hard, too. She was like a mother to us in our time there. In all, the two years of our apprenticeship in the foundry passed by in a blink.

  Hamot led our caravan of ten wagons and a hundred warriors on the north road from Kurgh Rhamot to Warsong Keep, the clang of armor comforting even as it was jarring. It made me wish I still had my armor on, even though it wasn’t sized for me and I had a hugely heavy pack on my back. I felt very vulnerable with only a gambeson for protection as we marched through the dark forest. At least Hamot and his crew trusted us to march this time, and they didn’t ignore us like they did on the way to Kurgh Rhamot two years ago. Unfortunately, not only did we not have proper armor or shields, the only weapons Bran and I had were the daggers Elric had made for us. They were fine weapons, but they didn’t have the weight of a good hammer or axe like we’d been training with, so we didn’t feel prepared to ward off the renders, pit spiders, and worse monsters that were certainly lurking in these woods, but we marched anyway. The Terrans seemed to respect that.

  After the second day of travel, I noticed there were more pastures here than in other places. Whenever the road crossed a meadow, I could see the Flamecrest Mountains receding in the distance, and it was a beautiful sight. As we entered one pasture, it was as though the woods ended at a wall of trees and we knew we’d arrived at the lands of the Warsong clan. I blinked a few times and tried to shade my eyes in the suddenly bright sunlight. Gently rolling grassland with isolated herds of grazing cattle extended as far as my eyes could see. It was generally downhill from where we were, so I could easily see a large castle in the middle of the pastures even though it was still a few hours of walking away. The gray granite castle was massive compared to the soldiers that manned it. It was a very angular edifice with flat turrets at the highest points of the rectangular towers. Warsong Keep didn’t have any sloped roofs at all. It had an absolutely huge bailey between the inner castle and exterior walls that was filled with rich, green grass. It looked like they could bring all their animals into that bailey with room to spare, too. I could see the herds of cattle and horses spread out in the pastures were all under the watchful eyes of plate-armored horsemen. Even their mounts were armored, which spoke a great deal about the affluence of the masters of this place. Though there was an obviously militaristic look to this land, the place looked very peaceful from our vantage point.

  A few hours later, we marched up to the open gates in the outer walls without being challenged. The guards at the gates were cordial in their greeting and just waved us in, though they did give a longer look at the sight of two obviously bruised and beaten human boys with the Terrans. The main road went slightly uphill from the outer walls to the keep, and even though the grass was green, it was still trampled everywhere. I could see and smell the signs of inhabitation by the animals they kept. It was definitely odd me that the grass wasn’t trampled to dirt like all the other caravansaries I’d seen. Many buildings were built against the inside of the walls in various shapes and sizes. There was an building to the right side of the gate that looked like a stable and marshaling yard for caravans with an inn built next to it, and Hamot angled for that. As always, the Terrans went about their tasks of stabling the ponies and unloading their wares with mechanical precision. It still amazed me that they could throw things to each other and catch them without even looking. There was still plenty of daylight left, so Hamot planned to sell his metals to the smiths here before retiring to the inn for the evening.

  “Ye can put those down now, lads,” Hamot said to us.

  That was a relief to hear. Bran and I carried heavy leather backpacks, each with fifty pounds of steel ingots along with an anvil that each of us had cast in the foundry, and they were extraordinarily tiring to carry. It must have all weighed about eighty pounds, and neither of us could have carried another pound. They were the key to a new life for us, and even though we had to walk all the way back to Stonekeep with those packs on, we knew it would be worth the effort. Plus, we were proud that the Terrans had given us the chance to participate in their customs. It meant they thought we’d proven ourselves and they had accepted us into their community.

  We set the packs down under a wagon so they wouldn’t be in the way. Though we left the Terran chainmail armor behind when we left Kurgh Rhamot, we still had our gambesons and thick, quilted leggings on. They were soaked with sweat and smelled worse than the pasture we were standing in. We followed Hamot and his six load bearers up the gentle slope to the keep’s uncommonly large gate. It was about thirty feet wide and forty or fifty feet tall and was made of heavy timbers banded with iron. It had to have been extremely difficult to build a gate this big from a technical standpoint. As gates go, the smaller the gate to your keep was, the easier it would be to defend. Everyone knows that. Either the soldiers here were very confident in their heavy cavalry, or there had to be some other defense keeping them safe. I kept my eyes peeled for some sort of magic.

  One of the double doors to the gate was open, so Hamot and his entourage marched right in with only a bored nod from the guards. Clearly, Hamot was well known here. Inside the gate was a thirty-foot-wide corridor leading straight into the huge keep with two ten-foot-wide corridors leading to the left and right a short distance inside. Standing at the intersection, speaking with a cavalry captain, judging by his armor, was Grath Warsong. He was still arrayed in his gold, gilded scale armor with that hugely menacing mace hanging at his side. Seeing Hamot and the rest of us, Grath raised his hand in greeting. The captain saluted Grath, excused himself, and left.

  “Well met, Master Thickbeard! How was your journey?” Grath asked. Grath and Hamot shook hands. When we got close, I felt that pull towards Grath that I thought was strange.

  “Well met yerself, Master Warsong,” Hamot replied cordially. “Th’ journey was a good ‘un. Only ran inta one render, though. Barely even a diversion, it was.”

  The Terrans all bowed to Grath, even in their heavy armor with full packs, and Bran and I barely paused a second before we imitated the Terrans. We really weren’t knowledgeable about how to deal with the ruling families of other lands, so I found myself doing what the Terrans did.

  “Mighty tall warriors you have with you this time, Hamot,” Grath joked.

  That produced a grin from Hamot. “Aye, yer lordship. Th’ tall one’s Bran Smithson of Stonekeep and th’ other’s ‘is brudder Jeron. Good lads, they are. Lads, this is Grath Warsong, son o’ Aurelian Warsong, who’s lord of Warsong Keep.”

  We saluted with a fist over our hearts, as we were trained to in Kurgh Rhamot.

  “Ah, yes. We’ve met before… In your father’s smithy in Stonekeep, if memory serves,” Grath said. He had a deep, commanding voice. “You’ve both grown quite a bit, I see.” He wasn’t wrong. We had both grown at least two feet in height since we’d seen him last, more than a foot of that in the last two years. “You’ll both make fine soldiers if you care to walk that path.”

  Just then, what could only be the Lord of Warsong Keep came striding down the corridor toward us followed by two retainers. If Grath was imposing, and he certainly was, the man striding towards us now was downright intimidating. He was tall with a full head of black hair, a short black beard, piercing green eyes, and he was wearing full plate armor gilded with gold with the golden dragon emblem of Warsong Keep embossed on the cuirass. His armor was obviously a masterwork, as was the mace he carried at his side. His weapon was ornate and was probably a very functional symbol of his office. It also had the feel of a magical weapon to me, and the closer he came the more certain I was. He carried a golden helm in the crook of his left arm that had a horizontal slit for the eyes, a vertical slit to breathe through and had golden dragon wings on the sides. The way he moved projected strength. His retainers, though wearing fine clothes, faded into the background in this man’s presence.

  “Ah, Hamot! Well met, Master Thickbeard!” Lord Warsong exclaimed.

  With a bow from everyone in the Terrans’ party, Hamot replied, “Well met, Lord Warsong.”

  “We greatly value our Terran allies to the south,” Lord Warsong said diplomatically. “Good journey, I trust?”

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  “Aye, me lord,” Hamot said. Lord Warsong offered his hand in friendship to Hamot, and they shook hands as equals would. I thought that was very gracious of Lord Warsong. Maybe Hamot held a higher rank among the Terrans than I thought. “Chief Stonefist sends his regards.”

  “Very kind of him. Please send him our best wishes,” Lord Warsong said. He rather abruptly made direct eye contact with me. When he did, I felt that odd pull towards him, like what I just noticed with Grath, but stronger. It was a magical bond of some sort, I sensed. It seemed impossible, though. I didn’t do anything to bring it into existence. It was just there.

  “And who do we have here?” Lord Warsong asked. I gulped involuntarily.

  Seeing the source of Lord Warsong’s attention, Hamot said, “That’s Jeron Smithson o’ Stonekeep. He an’ ‘is brudder, Bran, were ‘prenticin’ in Kurgh Rhamot fer th’ last two years. They’re returnin’ home now. Good lads.”

  “You remind me very much of an old acquaintance of mine, Jeron,” Lord Warsong said. His smile looked a little forced. Or maybe predatory. “Very interesting.” He almost seemed to sniff the air a little bit, but that was probably my imagination. Grath was regarding me closely, also. Lord Warsong turned to his retainers. “These are the brothers Fajen and Kimor, gifted druids and my wisest councilors here at Warsong Keep.”

  They didn’t look like any druids I had heard of in the nice clothes they wore. They had white surcoats with a golden dragon emblazoned on the front, and they wore bright green pants. They were carrying belt knives and a nicely tooled leather pouch on a wide belt. I didn’t even see any dirt under their fingernails. They gave a shallow bow, and Bran and I returned one a little deeper than theirs.

  “We were about to inspect my lands,” Lord Warsong said. “Will you be staying with us for a while this time, Master Thickbeard?”

  “Beggin’ yer forgiveness, me lord, but we got schedules ta keep, we do. We’ll be marchin’ on in th’ mornin’,” Hamot said.

  “Very well then. Safe journeys to you, good sir,” Lord Warsong said.

  With that, Lord Warsong, Grath, and the druids strode out of the castle and mounted up on brilliant white horses that were held in waiting for them by the cavalry captain we saw speaking with Grath earlier. When their party rode off, Hamot led the Terrans down the rightmost corridor a little way and knocked on a door. It opened to reveal a brown bearded Terran in a smithing apron and white shirt.

  “[Well met, Hamot,]” the Terran said. “[May yer journeys be interestin’.]”

  “[Well met, Voracht,]” Hamot said. “[May yer forge always burn bright.]”

  They punched each other on the shoulder, then Voracht stood aside and let Hamot and our party into the smithy. His smithy was in the interior of the keep, yet it wasn’t as stuffy as I thought it might be. It was a well-ordered place that reminded me a lot of home.

  “[How’s th’ arm?]” Hamot asked, glancing down at Voracht’s right shoulder.

  “[Bah. Still gives me a bit o’ trouble some days, it does,]” Voracht said, rolling his shoulder in a circular motion once. “[I’m fine, though. Still got a few more decades o’ smithin’ left in me, ta be sure.]”

  The Terrans unloaded their ingots in record time, then lined up by the door.

  “[Yer payment ‘ll be delivered in th’ mornin’, it will. Till next time,]” Voracht said with a wave.

  “[Till next time.]” Hamot waved, and out the door we all went.

  We spent the night in the inn by the outer wall. When we awoke, ate, and assembled in the marshalling yard, there were twenty head of cattle already being tied to the rear ends of five of the ten wagons. Grain was being loaded on those same wagons in large sacks. It wasn’t long before Bran and I had our backpacks on and we were marching to Stonekeep with five of the wagons and the same fifty warriors we arrived with those two years ago. The other five wagons and fifty warriors were destined to go back to Kurgh Rhamot with the cattle and the grain.

  It was four days of marching and three nights spent in enclaves before the gloom of the forest ended at the farmers’ fields and we came within sight of Stonekeep. Suddenly I realized how much I missed this place. Stonekeep Castle sat on the highest part of the hill in the upper city, still reminding me of a two-tiered, octagonal birthday cake with the strange looking twenty-sided shapes on the eight turrets on top. Those twenty-sided shapes, icosahedrons, I think they were called, were also evenly spaced on the turrets of the upper city wall. The outer walls of the lower city were built by later generations and didn’t have the icosahedrons on top of the towers there.

  In no time at all, we were at the city gates and the Terrans were marching into the caravansary located just inside. Bran and I waited as patiently as we could for the goods to be offloaded, burdened as we were after a full day of marching. Finally, Hamot, his six load bearers, Bran and I marched through the city to our home. I think Hamot knew he needed to stop at my father’s smithy first rather than last, as he usually did. He was probably just as eager to see his son Hituren again as we were to finally get home and set down these unbearably heavy packs. At last, we were through the city and walking into the smithy. No one was working it at the moment, which I thought was odd. It was incredibly strange to us to not hear the ringing of hammer on steel here. Bran and I looked at Hamot for permission.

  “Good enough, lads. Ye can set yer loads down. Th’ steel’s yers,” Hamot said. We were very grateful to set those packs down, let me tell you. “Ye were very good ‘prentices, an’ ye’re a credit ta th’ men o’ Stonekeep, ye are.” He clapped each of us on the shoulder after saying that in the tone a father would to his sons, and both Bran and I were very moved by that, I have to admit.

  Hamot didn’t have to say anything to the other Terrans. They all unloaded their ingots against the far wall of the smithy in about one minute, and Hamot dismissed them back to the caravansary. There was still no sign of my family. Unable to wait any longer, Bran threw open the door to the stairs and dashed up, even as tired as he was. I paused long enough to beckon to Hamot to come up behind us and then I went up the stairs right behind Bran.

  “Surprise!” everyone shouted.

  Everyone was there, Dortham, Nora, Elric, Darek, Juleen, Elle, Hituren, Mira and Bandit. I was suddenly overwhelmed to see everyone, and there were many tearful hugs of welcome. Hamot gave his son Hituren a solid punch to the shoulder, then a bone cracking hug and clap on the back. There was hot food waiting and even a big cake in the center of the table. Bran and I discarded our nasty, smelly, sweat-stained gambesons and the matching pants and washed up a bit while they rained questions down on us. We all sat and had a really good meal, and we all talked excitedly about all the happenings of the last two years in Kurgh Rhamot.

  I noticed the girls had definitely seen how big and tall Bran and I had gotten, but especially Bran. He was very focused on Elle, of course, though he tried to be casual about it. For her part, Elle seemed to glance pretty often at his arms and chest, though she, too, tried to hide it. We weren’t fooled. Elle was shaping up to be an extremely attractive young woman with her long, blonde hair, blue eyes, and perfect smile. She was like I would expect an incarnate goddess to look. I had to smile. I caught Mira checking me out once, and she looked away, blushing a little. Though Mira looked very average and much like every other girl, she had an impish smile and lively quality to her that I found very attractive. I tried to play it cool and flex a little bit. It didn’t work. She must have guessed what I was doing, and she studiously ignored me. After a while, I had to start something.

  “So are you going to ignore me all night?” I asked Mira.

  “I was planning on it,” she said. “Why? Do you think you’re worthy of note?”

  I thought I was. That night, I felt like a conquering hero. “No, of course not,” I said instead. Everyone there saw right through me. “It’d be nice to talk about something new between us. I mean… New… With you, that is.” Wow. I really made a mess of that.

  “Well, your nose has gotten flatter. That’s between us,” Mira said.

  My feelings were hurt, and I blinked. Without thinking, I said, “Yeah? Well, you’re pretty flat yourself.” Mira hadn’t blossomed the way Elle had, not yet at least, and to my shame, that personal attack just popped out of my mouth before I could stop myself. I knew I was wrong to say it the second I blurted it out, but now it was out there.

  Mira’s eyes narrowed. “I think too many fists to the face have broken not only your nose, but your wits. If you were a better warrior, maybe your brains wouldn’t be so scrambled.”

  Now, instead of being embarrassed or hurt, I was angry. Those words cut through me in a way that said every bit of pain and effort I’d experienced over two awful years was for nothing. Heat seemed to well up inside me, making the air above my head shimmer. People noticed. I was still stumbling for something appropriate to say when Nora intervened.

  “How about some cake, everyone? Juleen and Elle worked very hard on this. Doesn’t it look delicious?” Nora asked as she began cutting and serving pieces.

  Dortham deftly changed the subject, praising Hituren for how much he’d learned and how well he crafted armor now. I pretended to be aloof and involved in the conversation after that, but inwardly I was seething. Bran looked nervous, and his eyes were constantly flicking from my face to above my head. I realized that heat was actually, physically rising from me, so I tried to calm down, suddenly feeling panic. Fortunately, Hamot and Hituren were on the other side of the table talking together in low tones and pretending not to notice. After a minute I gained control over myself, and I didn’t need to see Dortham’s expression of stern disapproval to know that I’d messed up.

  “Look, Mira, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said it.”

  Mira looked at me and relaxed a bit. “Don’t worry about it.”

  She didn’t apologize. I definitely felt like I was owed an apology, but I wasn’t going to get one. She let it pass, so I let it pass.

  Unforced conversation began to flow around the table again. Too soon, with our bellies full and eyes feeling gritty, it was time to retire for the evening. Hamot and Hituren loaded up and said their goodbyes first. It looked like Hituren had really become good friends with everyone, which I was glad for. Nora was genuinely sorry to see him go and cried a little when she gave him a goodbye hug. Dortham walked them out, presumably to give a personal goodbye and lock up the smithy. Bran and I said good night to everyone and went upstairs to bed.

  My bed seemed a lot smaller than I remembered. I focused on that and tried to forget what Mira said. Even as exhausted as I was from the journey and even though my stomach was full of our welcome home meal, I couldn’t sleep. Memories of the nights conversations went through my mind over and over again. Bran snored blissfully in his bed across the room, but my mind was still churning.

  Why didn’t women apologize? I couldn’t remember hearing even a single woman giving even one heartfelt apology for doing anything wrong. I heard them say it a couple of times, but they didn’t mean it. They were just trying to get a better response from the man. Maybe that was it. Maybe they didn’t care whether they did something wrong to someone as much as they cared about getting the appropriate response. Maybe this was about how women got along in the world as opposed to the way men did it.

  Well, I probably wasn’t going to get an apology for any indignity I’d ever suffer from a woman, so I may as well not worry about it. Worrying would only give me a weak stomach, or so I’d heard, so I decided to put it out of my mind.

  Only then did sleep come.