Yolana made a large pot of porridge for them the next day, sweetened with honey and with milk in a jug with a crackled patina to pour over it.

“Oats are plentiful,” she urged, untying her apron, “eat up.”

Suvau had already eaten his breakfast and was sorting through his toolbox. “Ermo Kenet is going to be surprised when I arrive for work today. I shouldn’t be surprised if he’s already tried to give my station away.”

“What will the rest of you do?”

Judd looked around, actively avoiding Aalis and Verne’s gaze. “Well…I’m waiting for Sir Fereak to return to introduce myself…if he even wants to meet me.”

“I thought I would take my lute down to the city proper and see if I can’t earn a little coin.” Giordi beamed. “Verne, you’re coming with me.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you owe me a drink.”

Verne rolled his eyes. “Lucky shot…” He muttered.

“Aalis?” Yolana turned to the young woman.

“Well…I am a healer and would offer my services to anyone who needed it…but…”

“Mother,” Emeri stood, “where is your wedding veil?”

“My veil? Hanging from the hook in my room…why?” Emeri didn’t explain, only darted off to recover the band of dried flowers with organza stitched to it.

“Aalis, just let me try this on you…”

“Oh no, I could not possibly wear your wedding veil…” Aalis gasped.

“It’s the best way I know to cover your dreadlocks.”

“I will wear my hood.”

“That would only make the guards more suspicious.” Yolana warned. “Emeri is right, the veil would obscure your hair.”

Aalis sighed and allowed Emeri to plait her dreadlocks so that they were shorter then slipped the band’s ends behind her ears, the arc of it going across the hairline of her forehead. Emeri tied the ribbon underneath the plait so that it was secure and stood back.

“There, that looks quite pretty.”

“Almost spring festival worthy.” Yolana nodded.

“Are you sure?” Aalis wanted to fiddle with it but kept her hands down. She turned to the others. “Is it…alright?”

Judd’s throat was tight. He thought Aalis looked lovely…like a bride.

“It’s fine.” He said roughly, trying to cover his awkwardness.

“Emeri,” Suvau clicked his fingers, “Judd has a sword hilt that is quite old. I thought you could look at it.”

“I’d love to.” Emeri smiled as Judd retrieved it for her. “Oh…it’s beautiful! And in such good condition! Wherever did you find this?”

“Goblin cave.”

“That explains it,” Emeri shook her head, “goblins are like bower birds. They pick up anything shiny, even a broken blade.”

“That’s hardly gleaming.”

“It just needs a little care and attention, without losing the detail.” Emeri opened a drawer and took out a piece of paper so thin it could be seen through. “If I do a rubbing, you can keep the hilt with you.”

“Which means you can bring it to the forge with me.” Suvau clapped his hand on Judd’s shoulder. “I’ve had an idea for what to do with your ancient hilt.”

“Well, that’s everyone sorted.” Yolana brushed her hands off.

“Er, not really,” Verne looked at Caste pointedly, “what are you going to do today?”

“I shall visit Cleric Severo.” Caste said, acting like he’d been put on the spot in a clandestine situation.

Yolana and Emeri shared a glance then looked out the window.

“Cleric Severo isn’t an early riser…” Yolana warned.

Caste lifted his chin imperiously. “I shall wait in the foyer with a book until he is able to see me.”

“You’d better take two books,” Emeri shook her head, smiling, “I wager he won’t be able to see you until after midday.”

“Well…perhaps I could ask to wait in the library. I am a cleric, after all and the guards should allow me to enter even without Severo’s permission.”

“Oh, well, if you need directions to the library, Emeri…” Yolana began but Caste held up his hand.

“I am quite capable of finding my way and shall wait for Cleric Severo there,” he put his hand down, standing, declining the bread roll Emeri offered him, “after which, I am sure I will not be requiring accommodation.”

Judd sighed and shook his head.

Suvau winked at him and Judd wondered just what it was he was thinking.

“Come on then, the day is wasting away.”

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

Verne helped Aalis carry her pack down to the city, taking the slopes and steps carefully until they were on the relatively flat ground of the village.

“You sure this is safe?” Verne asked as Aalis heaved her pack onto her back.

“Yolana told me where Sheal and Ersha live. I think I can help with her aching feet and if word begins to spread, maybe others will come for help.” Aalis leaned close. “The people of Maul will not betray me to the Terras.” She looked at Giordi. “Try not to break any hearts, Giordi.”

He gave a jaunty salute and headed towards the markets. Verne followed Aalis through the winding streets, ducking beneath clothes lines and, after asking for directions once, found themselves at the end of an alley where there were three home.

“Yolana said it was the door in the middle.” Aalis said and knocked.

“Who is it?”

“We’re friends of Yolana.” Aalis called back and the door opened to show a pregnant woman with a single thick plait of black hair hanging over her shoulder.

“You are friends…with Yolana?” She looked at them suspiciously.

“Your husband, Ersha, was kind enough to look after our horses.”

“Oh,” Sheal gasped, “you are the Terras that he spoke of yesterday. You came with Suvau. Please, come in.” Their home was modest with a dirt floor, thatched roof and only one room. Sheal fussed around them, apologising for the clothes she had been washing in a tub.

“Please, do not make yourself uneasy,” Aalis put her hand on her arm, “we are here to help you.”

Sheal turned to her. “Help me?”

“Ersha said your feet were aching.” Aalis removed her pack and handed it to Verne. “My name is Aalis and I am a healer. May I inspect your feet?”

Sheal licked her lips and nodded. Verne suspected that Sheal wouldn’t dare refuse her even if she wanted to. She sat on a chair and Aalis knelt on the floor and took one of her feet in her hands. She pressed her fingers into the muscles, massaging them.

“Verne, could you finish that washing and see about some relatively hot water?”

Verne did as he was bid as Aalis prepared a salt blend. Sheal watched them nervously.

“Is this your first child?” Aalis asked.

“Yes.”

“Are you excited?”

Sheal licked her lips. “Well…actually…Ersha and I never wanted to become pregnant.”

Aalis turned to her. “Oh…”

“Fort Omra is not the safest of places to live…for my people.” She looked away, scared she had been too honest.

“I can only imagine.” Aalis sighed. “For that I am sorry. May I feel your belly?” She put her hands on the swollen abdomen and closed her eyes. “You are rather large…but only about four months pregnant?”

“Yes,” Sheal blinked, surprised, “my mother worked up until she was in labour and all my sisters were the same. But I can barely stand on my feet.”

“Yolana said as much,” Aalis’ hands jumped off Sheal’s belly, “he is quite active.”

“He? You think it is a boy?”

Verne saw Aalis’ expression stiffen. “I…just a slip of the tongue. I would not know, really…” Aalis stood up and out of the way of the tub of water, sprinkling the salt mix in. “Slide your feet in slowly so they adjust,” Sheal did as she was told and Aalis put her hands back on her belly, gently pressing, “I think I know why you ache, Sheal…” She said, tilting her head as though listening to something the others could not hear. “You are carrying twins.”

“Twins?” Sheal gasped. “Two babies?”

“You are very big for not far along.” Aalis looked up. “I can feel two separate movements.”

“Oh…I thought…” Sheal shivered. “I thought I was going mad. It was as though there was a tug of war inside of me at times.”

“They are jostling for space and making you very uncomfortable.” Aalis stood up. “When you can, sleep on your side with a cushion between your knees. I will give you something to help you rest and soaking your feet every day will alleviate some of the ache.”

“Truly?” Sheal closed her eyes. “I have felt like such a burden. Ersha is out there doing the work of both of us and I am just sitting here…”

“You’re doing plenty on your own.” Verne assured her.

“It is not enough, not in the eyes of the tallyman.”

Verne frowned and put his hand on Aalis’ shoulder. “Why don’t I go pick Sheal’s quota? At least that’s one day they don’t have to worry about it.”

Aalis nodded. “That’s very kind of you, Verne.”

“I couldn’t ask it.” Sheal gasped in horror.

“You didn’t. I offered.” Verne looked at Aalis. “Will you be alright?”

Aalis assured him she would be fine.

Verne got directions to the stables where he found Ersha who was able to direct Verne to where Sheal would have been assigned to pick apples. Verne worked quickly, bringing in several bushels to the tallyman, citing them as Sheal’s. The tallyman didn’t seem worried that Verne was doing the work for Sheal. Verne wondered if the Terra was only motivated by reaching the necessary quota handed out by Fort Omra rather than who brought the bushels in.

Though it was very cool, Verne worked up a sweat and wiped at his brow, catching sight of Fort Omra above.

“I wonder how everyone else is going today?”

Judd flinched at the heat of the Fort Omra forge which was famous throughout Terra as the largest, if not the hottest. It was deep in the bowels of the keep where the walls were no longer blocks of stone, but just stone, the forge carved into the very mountain itself.

Judd fanned himself as Suvau led him into the main workshop where a dozen men were already working, shining from the sweat and hammering with their tools. Metal on metal resounded constantly through the workshop but the cave walls seemed to absorb the sound.

“Are all the weapons of Fort Omra made here?”

“All and we also make swords and weapons for the other forts through commission.” Suvau explained, leading Judd into the natural cave, past the workbenches that appeared to be allocated to specific blacksmiths. Judd noticed that the majority of the blacksmiths were men of Maul. They greeted Suvau enthusiastically, shaking his hand or nodding when their hands were clutching tools.

It was clear that Suvau was well respected. Even the Terra blacksmiths greeted Suvau politely. Despite several odd looks at Judd, who was clearly not one of them, they said nothing and Judd marvelled at the authority that Suvau possessed in his line of work.

“Not that I’m doubting the reputation of Fort Omra,” Judd swiped at the sweat on his brow, “but what makes this forge so much better than all the rest?”

Suvau gestured for him to follow to the back of the cavern where the fires of the forge burned brightly inside a natural basin.

“This is the reason…our forge burns hotter than any other flame in Terra.”

Judd could well believe it. The heat was intense. “How do you get it so hot? Where are the bellows?” And with that statement, Judd had exhausted his knowledge of blacksmith work.

“No need,” Suvau pointed, “we do not have fire…that red glow…is lava.”

Judd froze on the spot, staring at the basin. As he gaped, several of the blacksmiths approached the basin and, using various degrees of nearness and a variety of tongs, they used the heat from the lava to soften the metal they were working on, hastening to their tables to beat it with hammers. Large tubs of water steamed mightily as they thrust their malleable pieces into the water, cooling their projects, solidifying their shape with extreme measures.

“That’s…that’s insane!”

“And yet, extremely effective.” Suvau winked. “The lava flow was discovered many years ago when the fort was being extended and this cavern was broken into. It’s a single stream which we think comes from deep within the veins of the mountain.”

“All the way from the mountain of Maul?” Judd asked.

“It’s very possible.” Suvau nodded. “See there,” he showed Judd a place at the back of the cave where a waterfall was running, “that comes from the tops of the mountains and it is frigid, probably melted snow. We take what we need from it and have extremes of hot and cold at our fingertips.”

Judd marvelled and was a little scared. “That’s…as brilliant as it is terrifying.”

“That’s the first rule of bring a blacksmith.” Suvau nodded. “Respect your tools. Come.”

Suvau showed him a large workbench behind which tools hung from hooks driven into the rockface. Nearby was a crate of scrolls. Suvau rummaged through them and drew several out, lying them on the table.

“Now, Judd LaMogre,” Suvau grinned, his teeth startling and his eagerness, unmasked, “let’s talk about that hilt of yours.”