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.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

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.