I swept up the last of the ash around Cuddles’ pit, sweating profusely in the heavy leather apron and the metal helm, then stepped back from the pit. I could almost feel the fire moving below as Cuddles shifted position. It was an eerie feeling that I had gotten used to.

  “Good night, Cuddles,” I called out.

  He didn’t really understand our speech, I was told, but the pit glowed brighter briefly as I turned to go. I could somehow feel that surge of energy. It had been a few months that Bran and I had been working here now, and I was starting to feel more at home. The work was constant and almost backbreaking, but it had gotten easier. The “honeymoon” drills were a lot easier to take, too. Sure, I was a patchwork of bruises, as was Bran, but the bruising didn’t hurt as badly as it did before. We both had some good calluses built up on our hands now, too. It was nice to not have blisters anymore.

  Bran was already washing up in the bathroom by the staging area as I walked in. We quickly cleaned up, armed ourselves, and trotted back to Hamot’s house just before he got there from the other direction. Bran opened the door and walked right in, but I lingered at the door. When Hamot approached, I made a big show of opening the door for him and giving an elaborate bow as he passed.

  “[Gettin’ ta be a right cheeky little bugger, ain’t ye?]” Hamot said with a grin.

  “[Well, we finally beat ye here today,]” I said. My accent when speaking Terran was getting more like theirs, too. “[I had ta mark th’ occasion somehow.]”

  “[Aye, lad. There’s a first time fer everythin’.]”

  Bran was already sitting at the table with a fork in his hand as Nalimea came out of the kitchen with the bread and milk. Hamot and I took our seats, and we shared the loaf while Nalimea brought in four plates of food all resting on one arm. With a deft series of movements, she slid the plates down the length of the table to rest one directly before each person. Bran’s fork was already descending towards the plate before it got there. He was becoming more Terran-like than he realized, I thought.

  “[I see yer bruises ’re getting’ fewer an’ healin’ up better,]” Hamot said.

  “[Aye. ‘Bout time, too,]” Bran said around a mouthful of stew.

  “[Denet’s noticed too, methinks. I’d expect him ta start yer unarmed combat trainin’, I would.]”

  I thought of Kromwell’s gang. “[That’s something I could put ta use,]” I said.

  Bran nodded at me. We were thinking the same thing. I unconsciously started eating faster as I thought about getting to the marshalling yard. Still, I got the feeling that Bran and I were holding the rest of the Terrans back somehow. Maybe they were progressing only as fast as the poor, little human kids could handle things. Yesterday Denet had been poking Bran and I with his index finger here and there as we drilled, as if probing for weakness. I would bet that Hamot had spoken with Denet, and this was his way of warning us that things were about to get worse. It was a sobering thought.

  Once we had finished dinner and had thanked Nalimea for the meal, Bran and I hurried to the marshalling yard as always, and arrived just after Nagran, Bothen, Drust and Treth. They waved when they saw us enter the cavern.

  “[Well met,]” Bran said as he punched Nagran’s pauldron.

  As good Terrans usually did, we all punched each other on the shoulder in greeting. A mischievous thought struck me, and I thought I would test the waters.

  “[Ow!]” I hollered as the last of the four punched my shoulder. “[Mama! Mama!]”

  “[Ha!]” Treth burst out. “[Pay up, Drust!]”

  “[What? He ain’t hurt! He’s fakin’ it, he is!]” Drust hollered.

  “[Jus’ like I said he would, remember?]” Treth said reasonably, holding his hand out to Drust.

  I laughed merrily at the trouble I caused as Drust glowered at me, his lips drawn in a thin line. His lips curled a bit in a smile, though, as he appreciated the humor in being outwitted.

  “[Bah! Ye better hope I’m not yer sparrin’ partner today, longshanks!]” Drust said as he paid Treth.

  “[Twas worth it. Serves ye right, ye know,]” I said.

  I decided to let the racial slur pass. Longshanks was a term used against anyone taller than a Terran, but it was usually aimed at humans. The six of us were getting along well, and I didn’t want to ruin it by fighting over a few words. Inside, I knew I couldn’t beat one of them up anyways. Why upset the apple cart? Knowing Terrans like I did, I’d bet that they held back against Bran and me out of a sense of honor, thinking it would make them look bad to the other Terrans if they beat up on the helpless human lads. It was an advantage I was using unconsciously, I was thinking, so there was only so far I could push back when it came to friendly banter.

  Drust stewed on it for a long moment. “[Aye, I suppose yer right. Won’t be makin’ that bet again, I won’t.]” Drust crossed his arms and continued glowering in my general direction.

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  The others in our troop had arrived while we six were talking. Only a moment or two passed after our exchange before Denet Trueshield marched into the yard. Upon seeing him, we all sprang into our usual positions in our formation and stood at attention. After passing the length of the line, Denet poked Bran in the chest a couple of times. Then he nodded to himself.

  “[We’re startin’ yer unarmed combat trainin’ today, lads. Stow yer weapons and shields, an’ we’ll get to it,]” Denet said.

  I was thankful that he had us keep our armor on, to be honest. Gambesons were thick, and would protect us from the worst of the blows even if chainmail was flexible. Or so I thought. I was also thankful that Drust wasn’t my sparring partner. That would have gone badly for me, I was sure. Denet started us out slowly, teaching us how to make a proper fist, throw a straight jab, and then blocking with a forearm all in the same drill. The Terrans literally reveled in this sort of thing. They loved to scrap in taverns and any other time the mood struck them, and the young Terrans looked like they already knew the things they were being taught. Bran and I were quick studies, and our troop progressed at a rapid rate. After a couple of hours Denet finally called a halt.

  “[That’s enough fer today, lads!]” Denet shouted. “[We’ll pick up tomorrow where we left off, we will.]”

  As we went to the cavern wall to retrieve our weapons, our four Terran friends were barely even out of breath and were grinning like fools. Bran pinched his bloody nose.

  “[I was beginnin’ ta think that Terran fighting styles revolve around blocking attacks with our faces,]” Bran said.

  Nagran laughed. “[Aye! An’ what’s wrong wi’ that? Me head feels fine!]”

  “[Aye, beanpole. Ye need ta get better at deflectin’ fists, ye do,]” Treth said.

  “[Seems more likely that Terran skulls are solid all th’ way through,]” Bran said.

  “[Aye! There may be some truth ta that!]” Treth said, laughing. “[Especially if ye ask Drust’s dear mum about th’ matter.]”

  “[She’s been known ta mention it, she has,]” Drust admitted.

  We all had a good laugh and said our farewells. Bran and I made our way back to Hamot’s dwelling.

  “You know, we’ll be needing these skills when we get back to Stonekeep,” I said.

  “Kromwell,” Bran said.

  “Right. Maybe we need to handle him and his gang the Terran way.”

  “I look forward to it. That guy’s a plague on all of us long enough,” Bran said. “I don’t even think I’ll wait for his customary insults to land before I feed him his teeth.”

  “That’s settled, then. When we see him next, we’ll be ready for a reckoning,” I said.

  -----

  Kromwell and Raynold sat at a small table in Kromwell’s bedroom with the Codex of Death open before them. Raynold read intently while Kromwell stared at the pictures and tried to make sense of the squirming words. He still couldn’t read a single word written there. Raynold paused in his reading, looking thoughtful. He looked to the window and saw a dead fly sitting on the windowsill upside down with its legs curled inward.

  Raynold concentrated and said some words in a language that made Kromwell’s skin crawl. This was new, and Kromwell didn’t like it. Raynold pointed at the dead fly, then stopped speaking. The fly glowed with a dim green light briefly, then, ever so slowly, its legs began to move. The fly flipped itself over onto its now functioning legs and flexed its wings a little bit.

  As Kromwell gaped at the fly, Raynold looked back to the Codex as if checking something. He spoke a few more vile words, and the fly buzzed unsteadily into the air and landed on Raynold’s outstretched palm. It sat there perfectly still. Raynold seemed fascinated at what he‘d done. Meanwhile, Kromwell considered Raynold’s new skill with jealousy, and his eyes narrowed.

  “I think that’s enough for you for today, Raynold.”

  “But I was just...” Raynold began.

  Kromwell held up a hand. “Enough. Go home.”

  “See you tomorrow, then,” Raynold said as he got up. He kept the fly cupped in his hand.

  “There’s one more thing,” Kromwell said as he stood. He stepped closer to Raynold, then grabbed Raynold’s wrist. “The fly stays here with me.”

  Kromwell carefully pinched the fly’s wing while maintaining his hold on Raynold’s wrist, then stared Raynold down. Raynold lowered his eyes and left, suffering the indignity in silence. Kromwell returned to the table and put the dead fly down on the open Codex. The fly did nothing beyond wobble a little bit from time to time, no matter how Kromwell tried to command it to move. He tried for half an hour without success until he was interrupted by a knock at the door. His father’s servant stuck his head inside the room.

  “Your father desires your presence in the study, Master Surekeel.”

  Kromwell dismissed the servant with a negligent wave, then picked up the fly and went to give his father the report. He had to be convincing, he knew. Sivash sat at his expansive, polished desk making notes in a logbook of some kind. He did not look up as Kromwell stood in front of the desk for several minutes. Kromwell’s hand started to sweat where he held the fly.

  “What progress have you made with the Codex, son?” Sivash still had not looked up from his work.

  Kromwell proudly held out the dead fly to his father. “I learned to bring life back to this insect, father. See?”

  That got his attention immediately. Sivash looked up at the fly for a long moment, looked his son in the eye, and got up out of his chair. Kromwell shifted nervously and kept the fly between him and his father as Sivash circled the desk.

  “You did this?” Sivash asked.

  “Of course, it was me, father.”

  “Can you command it?”

  “Well, no, not yet. I’ve been working on it, but that mastery escapes me for now.”

  With sudden viciousness, Sivash slapped the fly out of Kromwell’s hand to land on the floor between them. Kromwell retreated a step, his eyes round with fear. Sivash slowly and deliberately stepped on the fly. Still holding Kromwell’s gaze with his own, Sivash slapped his son hard across the face.

  “Do you take me for a fool, Kromwell?”

  “N-no, sir.”

  “You’ve treated the Codex like you would treat one of your children’s books, just staring at the pretty pictures! Is that whimsy the attitude that will grow your fortune? Can you build an empire with such casual disregard? Fool! I know that Raynold had been upstairs with you on the days that you reported progress. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

  Sivash grabbed Kromwell and forced him face first onto the desk. He held Kromwell down by the back of his neck with his left hand and removed his belt with his right hand, then whipped Kromwell’s backside savagely as Kromwell struggled in vain. Finally, Sivash relented.

  “That was for lying to me. Don’t ever do it again if you intend to live.”

  Even through his tears, Kromwell could see in his father’s eyes that he meant every syllable of what he just said. Kromwell lowered his eyes, defeated.

  “I think I’ll be speaking to my new friend Raynold about his future here,” Sivash said with certainty. He smoothed back his oiled hair where it had fallen out of place during the beating. Sivash looked sharply at his son. “Bring the Codex to me at once.”

  Kromwell rushed to comply.