“Know your castle’s secrets and it will stand secure.” —Proverb of House Mornen

  Tower Castle, Cryptonia, Ground Plane

  After passing a large well, Titus and Jasper went through the rear gate leading into the outer courtyard in front of the salle and attached barracks. There was a slight decline in elevation, and they walked down the slope. Both buildings were pressed up against the very back wall of the castle. On either side were two bastion towers that led up onto the outer walls, much like the Keep’s walls. Jasper’s eyes continued to roam around the wall until he encountered an overpass leading from the outer castle wall back into the Keep wall. He had to turn to take the view in. The bridge spanned the right rear corner of the Keep and the outer wall. Farther along the front of the castle, he could see another bridge connected to the Keep from the walls.

  “How many walkways are there?” Jasper asked, impressed.

  “Four, Lord. One at each corner of the Keep, leading out to the castle walls proper.” Titus pointed. “This gives us access from both the outer battlements and the Keep wall. We can move back and forth from either position if the outer wall were to be penetrated.”

  “That’s a brilliant design. They connect to the Keep bastions?”

  “Yes, Lord. They had to be defendable from the Keep as well if that section of the walls fell,” Titus explained. “Each outer bastion can be sealed against assault, but if one was captured, we needed a way to secure the other side. If the worst came to it, there are levers in the Keep bastions that would drop the bridges into the courtyard, cutting off any access from the outer wall.”

  “That sounds very messy.” Jasper looked skeptically up at the heavy stone overpass. “And dangerous.”

  “As I said, it is meant as a last resort. No enemy has ever entered the Tower by force. Ever.”

  “Well, that is reassuring.” Jasper turned and entered the salle ahead of Titus when the knight opened the door for him. Inside, the majority of the floor was actually just the courtyard ground. Evidently the salle had been built on top of the stone surface. Above, the ceiling was made of wood with several sliding sections that could be opened to allow the sunlight in. A few were currently wide open and bright beams shone through to illuminate the large open space before them.

  Further in, the floor turned into smooth flat planking, firmly pegged into the hard ground. On the far end of the salle were a dozen thick poles for pell work. Racks hung on the wall with practice swords resting in their crooks. Some were in decent shape, but Jasper could see splinters beginning to break up on several. He made a face and pointed it out to Titus, who shook his head in frustration.

  “Militia, Lord. They beat on the pells hard as they can, but technique is not their bread and butter.”” he shrugged.

  “Much as I try to beat it into them,” grumbled an older man’s voice to their left. Jasper turned and nearly squealed in terror at what he saw. It was an orc. He stood about six inches taller than Jasper, and maybe fifty pounds heavier. His skin was lighter than Delgan’s but had a distinctive green hue. Short, curved tusks jutted up from his lower jaw and his brow was very heavy. Thick black hair was braided back over his scalp. Small bones were woven into the locks that gave him a very intimidating look. His inquisitive squint did not make it any better. He stepped forward and his staff rang on the stone floor, causing Jasper to realize the orc walked with a limp in his left leg. “Lord Jasper.” He inclined his head. “Titus has told me about you—and your duel with Lerontis.”

  “Uh.” Jasper struggled to come up with a response. “Nothing bad, I hope?” He said lamely. Benn—for that must have been him—cracked a smile at this.

  “He said your guard needs work. But how many men train to fight drunks?” His deep chuckle made Jasper think of a green Santa Claus with a wicked sense of humor. His accent was interesting—more cultured than the obnoxious Cockney he had somewhat expected.

  “It definitely was not in my regimen,” the young man laughed.

  “Hmm, we will see about that,” Benn rumbled. “What does his Lordship’s schedule allow? I know you are just becoming well enough to be up and about properly—not well enough for sparring—but I would have you in soon to assess your skill.”

  “I would be honored. As you say, I need practice. To be honest, the duel…” His voice trailed off. He had been trying not to think about it. In the fight against Lerontis, he had acted largely on instinct and the muscle memory of drills he had been taught over the years. Jasper had never killed anyone before. It was another one of the reasons he had not been sleeping well. He momentarily thought of the other reason but quashed it before clear images of the memory could form.

  “It is usually not an easy thing your first time,” Benn nodded slowly, studying him. “It wasn’t for me, and I was born when the tribes had only been settled a few decades. There is something about death, I think, that permeates nearly all sentient races. Certainly, we are all capable of killing, but wanting to, being truly bloodthirsty? That rarely comes naturally.” Jasper stared in amazement at the old warrior, and Benn cocked his head. “What is it, ser?”

  “You are not at all what I expected.” Jasper offered his hand—hopeful that at least one of his own culture’s practices had carried over from Earth—and the orc paused before taking it in his own rough hand. It swallowed the human’s, and he shook it firmly.

  “I brought him to see Dool for a uniform and some armor,” Titus said. “He has been confined since the duel, and we haven’t had the opportunity to size him.”

  “Very good.” Benn nodded politely again. “Hope to see you soon, ser. I’ll have you practice with Titus. I know his tricks and am keen to learn yours—as soon as I have these damn sticks trimmed smooth again.”

  “I look forward to it.” Jasper smiled and followed Titus through the second door to the left into the armory.

  Dozens of swords, axes, and spears were stored away in their racks. Helmets sat in cubbies while leather and chainmail armor hung on stands or were stacked on thick shelves. But for being a relatively simple assortment, the gear and weapons looked to be well-kept and oiled. Dool, the dwarven quartermaster, looked up from his place behind a heavy desk. His plain clothes were covered in a leather apron, and his sleeves were held up by thin cords of multicolored woven string around his biceps. His beard was dark black and if it had not been tightly braided over his chest, it would probably have fallen to his belt. He had been oiling a dagger, but carefully set it down when he saw who had come in.

  “Ser Titus, and Lord Jasper, I see,” he slipped off his chair and hurried around the desk to bow respectfully. There was a polished mirror on the wall next to him, and it gave a strange double image that threw Jasper for a moment. “Good to meet you, Milord. Cook Harla has dubbed you gib?r hayil—a man of great worth.”

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  “Really? What does that mean?”

  “In our tongue, it is ‘a man of great worth.’”

  “Oh, goodness,” Jasper chuckled. “I merely did the right and honorable thing.” He protested, smiling at the short man’s excitement.

  “Sad it is to say, but this is rarer than you would think, ser,” Dool said, shaking his head. “Right and good it is to have one such as you back in the Tower.” He clapped his hands and turned to Titus. “A uniform for the new Lord, yes? I see you have a blade already.”

  “A dagger and armor as well,” Titus nodded. “Oh, and a pair of boots. Have you worn chainmail before, Lord?”

  “I have, but not for real fighting,” Jasper admitted with a sheepish shrug. “I’ve never been in a true battle before.”

  “I expect Milord will have plenty of time to adjust to it,” Dool said, pulling out a string with many knots tied in it. He gestured Jasper forward to stand in the middle of the room so the dwarf could take his measurements. He handed Titus one end of the string, and the knight held it to Jasper’s shoulder while Dool stretched it to his mid-thigh. “Hmm. For a man of your build, ah, yes, I believe a seven will suit.”

  Dool shuffled over to a row of shelves on the back wall and selected a set of mail. The dwarf grunted as he lifted the human-sized set of armor onto the desk. He also picked up a quilted gambeson and a surcoat bearing the new Tower crest from a hanger rod and laid it on top of the mail. He shuffled over to a smaller shelf clearly meant for shoes and began rifling through the pairs of boots. He came up with several pairs for Jasper to try and set them with the rest.

  “I’m sure this will be quite sufficient,” Jasper said, stepping over to finger the rings and look over the gear. “I’ve made some of my own mail, but nothing as impressive as this.”

  “Really?” Dool’s bushy black eyebrows rose with interest. He picked up three different sizes of arming caps and set them out as well.

  “Yes, but they were largely just butted mail to be used more in a…” He searched for the right word—he was certain these people would have no concept of Comic Con. “A ceremonial capacity.”

  “Ah, I see,” the dwarf nodded. “Still, it is no small feat to make a shirt. You have an understanding of working the metal that many do not.”

  “That I do,” Jasper laughed, recalling the long, long hours it had taken him to turn, cut, and align yards and yards of wire into the rings he used to create his own mail. “And I believe I probably still had an easier time of it. I used large wire coils instead of cutting the rings directly out of a sheet of steel.”

  “Hmm, wire,” Dool nodded, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “It would be simpler and take less effort to curl wire. Though producing it in large enough quantities to be useful could be difficult.”

  “Luckily, I don’t anticipate the Tower becoming an armor export,” Jasper chuckled, sitting down to try on the boots. “Should I put on the armor now? I do want to know how it feels and get used to it.”

  “I don’t see how it would hurt, as long as you feel strong enough,” said Titus. “It would also be a good image to set in the people’s mind to see you capable and ready.”

  “I had a similar thought,” Jasper agreed, setting aside his walking shoes now that he had comfortable boots. He also unbuckled his sword to don the canvas gambeson. He had worn similar padding under armor when fighting in the SCA, and he knew how vital it was. He slipped on one of the caps he determined was a good fit to prevent the mail snagging on his shoulder-length hair. That had only happened once before and never, never again.

  Titus helped him slide the mail shirt over his head. The sleeves fell to his elbow and did not restrict his movement much. Titus adjusted various laces at key arming points on the shirt and soon Jasper felt quite comfortable, if significantly heavier. Unlike most chainmail he had seen, there was a thick leather belt attached to the waist section, and he tightened it down, following Titus’ instructions on how to fasten the strange buckle. Once it was locked and tucked away correctly, Jasper could hardly feel the weight around his lower torso.

  “We do not typically wear full armor for guard duties,” Titus was saying, handing him the uniform and another belt. On it was one of the daggers Dool had been cleaning. Jasper oriented it to hang on his right hip. “Perhaps we should, but the majority of us who have experience find leg armor to be cumbersome for the duty we perform. If there is battle to be had, we have some half plate, greaves, and the like as well. And helmets, of course.” He rapped his knuckles on a simple helm sitting on a nearby table. “That has not happened in quite some time, but we prepare as best we can.” He stood to straighten the back of Jasper’s uniform before at last handing the young man back his sword belt.

  “Milord, if I may ask,” Dool inquired, pointing to the sheath. “What hide is that?” Jasper chuckled.

  “The leather is tanned cowhide, but the scales—I believe that is what you were interested in—is a skin from a long snake where I am from. We call them ‘boa constrictors’ because they coil around their prey and crush it until they cannot breathe, then swallow it whole.” He made a fist around his finger and squeezed to emphasize his point.

  “A grim world you come from Milord,” the dwarf said, shaking his head in discomfort. “And you slew this creature?”

  “Oh no!” Jasper laughed. “I purchased the skin from a merchant. And it was not all that long.” He put out his hand in front of him, almost chin high. “Maybe? But I liked the look of it and had been intending to finish the sheath.”

  “It is a fine thing, Lord,” Dool nodded. “Certain to catch the eyes of the curious.”

  “I’m sure I will have to tell the tale again,” Jasper laughed, fastening the last buckle. He pulled off his arming cap and stuck it in his belt beside the riding gloves Dool had handed him, then sighed with satisfaction. He was grinning like a fool, and he knew it. He faced the mirror in the corner and appraised himself. The fit was just right, and he looked as if he had just stepped from a film set. Better, even. ‘I’m a full-blown medieval Lord,’ he thought. ‘If only my friends back home could see me now.’ The thought made him sad for a moment, considering the fact he would likely never see them again. Eventually, Jasper turned back to his companions.

  “What now, Titus? The grounds? I do want to learn more about the place.”

  “That would be a good next step, Lord,” the knight nodded.

  “Just a moment.” Jasper turned to the dwarf one last time. “Thank you for your diligence, Dool. I can see that your hard work here has kept many blades sharp and much blood from being spilt due to shoddy maintenance.” The dwarf stood a little taller, head held high. “As you know, I have had talks with Mistress Harla and understand to an extent your people’s value of equal exchange. I hope you will be encouraged that I intend to resolve the Tower’s debt to the Banking Guild.”

  “Indeed we all are, Milord,” Dool nodded enthusiastically.

  “In doing this, I hope we will eventually have some semblance of a budget to set things in order—one of them being this dismal business of cut wages.”

  “Please Lord, do not rush to repay on account of the dwarves,” Dool said, his brow creasing. He made to continue but Jasper held up a hand and he stopped.

  “I had a thought earlier this morning and wanted to ask one of your good people their opinion, since I have yet to fully learn the Law,” said Jasper. “I believe it would be equal exchange in this matter for there to be some kind of return on an investment by those who forfeited wages, yes?” Dool mulled this over, stroking his braided beard.

  “Hmm. This would be acceptable. But with the treasury so barren…return how, Milord?” Jasper looked to Titus.

  “There are taxes on the property and land governed by the Tower?”

  “Aye, Lord.”

  “And there are many forest folk in our employ who have the rights to that land?”

  “Indeed so,” Dool confirmed.

  “Then I will have Calian draw up a temporary ordinance that all those who sacrificed their wages shall be exempt from additional taxes until the issue has been resolved. I won’t further bankrupt my people when they are already so thinly stretched.”

  “That could be done,” Titus said, thinking hard. “I have not the head for numbers like Calian, but such things have been done before, according to the history books.”

  “This would be an acceptable solution,” said Dool. “If I may suggest, Lord; call an assembly and inform the forest folk in person. Debt like this is best resolved face to face.”

  “On that we agree. I’ll get to work with the steward when we have the opportunity.” Jasper turned to Titus with a chuckle. “I’m afraid poor Calian is going to be run mad with the work I keep piling on top of him.”

  “The steward thrives on controlling chaos, ser,” the knight smirked. “If that is all, we should begin with a tour of the battlements, or we will be short of time.”

  “Lead the way, my friend.”

  “Peace and prosperity with you, Fire-Touched,” Dool raised a hand in farewell as they left the armory. Jasper cocked his head contemplatively.

  ‘Again with that title. What on earth could the dwarves mean by it?’ He would have to ask Calian or Harla the next time he saw them.