Aalis was more than relieved but she knew better than to make a fuss. The air was much cooler so far south. The humid forest, the bug infested mangrove swamp and the sun drenched fields of harvest were left behind in the north. It was not as cool as Quarre had been but then they were much closer to sea level. Suvau warned them that it would only become colder the further south they travelled.

“It is beautiful country though.” He said, spooning the soup into his mouth.

“Beautiful country? This close to Maul?” Verne remarked sceptically. “Aren’t there monsters on every hillock and in every valley?”

“And they’re not the only danger. Across the steppelands roam the nomadic horsemen, fearsome warriors who are not welcoming to strangers. It is not safe to roam without good reason or being able to protect yourself.” Suvau admitted. “I am hardly an incompetent warrior should the need arise.”

“What kind of monsters are common where we’re going?”

Suvau considered this. “I have heard reports of unicorns running in herds, of ogres breaking through the earth, having dug their way beneath the wall and a werewolf killed two score of cattle and the men that guarded them before Sir Fereak and his soldiers were able to bring it down.”

“I’ve already killed an ogre, I’m pretty sure a unicorn is on the list and a manticore.” Judd mused thoughtfully.

“You sure?” Verne looked up from his soup. “I thought manticores were ancient mythology and not a real monster.”

“No…not manticore…oh, a minotaur!”

“So instead of a lion with a man’s head, you’ll be killing a monster with a bull’s head and legs but torso of a man?”

“Yeah,” Judd frowned, “why are monsters always a mash of creatures? Almost all of them are a bizarre blend of two or more normal animals.”

“Or a deformity of one.”

“You should ask my daughter about her theory of monsters,” Suvau chuckled and his deep voice reverberated with their spines in a warm rumble, “she has quite the inquisitive mind.”

“How old is your daughter?”

“Emeri is almost eighteen winters.” Suvau looked at Aalis. “I would like for her to meet you, young healer and host all of you in my home.”

“What will your wife say to that?” Judd asked. “I only inquire because my mother always used to berate my father for bringing home unexpected guests.”

“When Yolana hears of how you saved her foolish husband, she will be inclined to kick me out and keep all of you instead.” Suvau winked.

Judd wasn’t sure that was entirely true. “You’re a weaponsmith, is that right?” Judd asked.

“An excellent weaponsmith.” Suvau nodded without a hint of arrogance.

“You made a sword for Lord LeMewn?”

“A very fine one, fit for a king. He intended to give it to King Rocheveron as a gift, at least, that is what he said.” Suvau shook his head.

“Judd,” Aalis turned to him, “what about that hilt? The one you found in the goblin’s lair in the forest of Fort Faine?”

“Oh!” Judd rummaged around in his pack for the weight of the hilt always meant it was somewhere at the bottom. His fingers wrapped around it and he drew the hilt out, showing Suvau. “Spoils of a goblin’s trove…a broken hilt.”

Suvau took the hilt and studied it, leaning close to the fire to assess the detail. “This is very old,” he squinted, “it even has a crest on it…I believe it is ancient Terra. Emeri might be able to read the writing and possibly date it more accurately than I,” he held it back to Judd, “but it is at least five hundred years old.”

“I’m glad I’ve hung onto it then.” Judd tucked it back into his pack.

Aalis looked over her shoulder to see Caste gathering his belongings to bring them closer. She breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to the fire only to flinch when Giordi, who had finished his soup, was taking up his lute. Before she could protest, worried the minstrel’s plucking might drive the cleric away, Verne groaned loudly.

“Oh please, by Andigre…”

“Something wrong?” He asked Verne who had closed his eyes, his face coursed with pain.

“I can’t do it.” Verne shook his head. “Not today, not again…”

“What again?”

Judd turned to Giordi. “Your music.”

“Yes?”

“It makes things…tense.”

Giordi raised his eyebrows. “Perchance when you speak of ‘things’ do you mean our critical cleric?”

“That and the broken plucking wears a little thin…”

“It is the nature of a minstrel. This is my art, my livelihood. This is what I do and for many days, I did not have a lute.”

Judd eyed him. “Yes…but are you doing it on purpose?” He leaned forward to hiss confidentially. “Riling Caste into a state of indignant frenzy?”

Giordi returned the lean. “I suspect, no matter what I played or sang, he would take umbrage to it.”

“That much is true.”

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“It is my lot in life to offend as often as I entertain.”

“I think that could be a little more on your head than you realise.” Judd argued.

“It would simply give us a reprieve from the bickering,” Aalis said gently, “at least, for one night…”

Giordi caught her glance towards Caste who had come closer to the fire. He nodded, coming to an understanding.

“Very well,” he said in a slightly strained voice but putting the lute down before Caste could see it, “instead, let us work on your deportment, Judd.”

“My what?” Judd clutched at his shirt, not entirely sure to what Giordi was referring.

“Your posture…the way you stand.” Giordi added.

“What’s wrong with the way I stand?” Judd stood up and shrugged.

“Nothing when you are in the company of friends,” Giordi assured him, “however, when standing before a knight or king, as you may well do when you receive your knighthood, you ought to look the part.”

“Giordi, I’ve been walking all day…”

“And Verne bullied me into archery lessons at your insistence. Square your shoulders and straighten your spine or I’ll have Suvau do it for you.”

Judd rolled his eyes at Giordi and smiled at Suvau…who cracked his knuckles with a wicked grin.

“I saved your life.” Judd grumbled. Giordi stepped back from Judd then walked around him. Aalis stifled a giggle, sitting with one of Judd’s socks in her hands. He had managed to put a hole in it and she was determined that, by the light of the fire, she would darn it. “The closer you look at me, the less remarkable I will become.” Judd insisted. “I’m really rather plain.”

“Oh Judd…” Aalis berated sadly.

“I’m not insensible of it,” Judd explained, “we had mirrors in Astaril. I know I’m not Giordi handsome,” to which the minstrel preened, “or Verne striking,” the archer raised an eyebrow, “I don’t have Caste’s colouring,” the cleric glanced at Judd before looking away, “or Suvau’s…well, let’s face it, I’m nothing like him…you are utterly memorable.”

“Thank you…I think.”

“You are not giving yourself enough credit.” Giordi stepped back. “Every person has a redeeming feature, something worth noting and…”

“Exploiting?”

“Capitalising.” Giordi corrected. “You are tall without being leeringly so, you have excellent muscle tone and while you may not be Andigre or Verion handsome, you are not ugly.”

“Far from it.” Aalis insisted, her needle and thread drawing the edges of the hole together.

“Wait…I’m far from handsome or ugly?”

“He’s getting antsy…” Verne whispered to Suvau then lifted his voice. “What if you did something with your hair?”

“My hair?” Judd pulled at a curly lock. “Like what?”

“We could try braiding it like Suvau’s…”

“Uh…”

“What about a beard?”

Judd turned to Aalis in astonishment. “Me? With a beard?”

“Before you shaved in Quarre after several days of letting it grow,” Aalis looked up, “it was starting to look quite distinctive.”

Judd rubbed his chin, feeling the prickle of growth. “Oh…is distinctive…good?”

“It’s worth a try.” Giordi nodded. “For me, facial hair would only cover my dimples and ruin my boyish charm…”

“Give me strength…” Verne muttered and Caste had to agree.

“But I think it would work on you.”

“So I can sit down?”

“Nope!” Judd moaned as Giordi leaned down to Aalis. “Could I persuade you?”

Aalis stood, brushing her skirt down. “Am I going to be the Lady Gaillot Archard again?”

“Indeed. Now Judd, note how I am standing.” Giordi gestured. “Not stiffly and not slouching. You want to carry yourself with an air of confidence and not arrogance.”

Judd breathed in deeply, trying to mimic Giordi’s chest thrust.

“You look like you’re about to burst.” Verne yawned and leaned back on his bed roll, arm behind his head.

Judd let the breath out. “Won’t the…”

“Will not.”

He restrained himself from grinding his teeth. “Will not the stance of confidence come when I am confident?”

“Fake it until you make it.”

“Sounds like a perfect way to describe your chosen profession.” Caste grumbled.

“I mean, act confident and you will become confident. Become confident and you will start to act it. They compliment each other. Now…your left arm needs to rest in the small of your back like so…” Judd did as Giordi showed. “Then lightly shift your weight onto your left leg, your right gently extended…chin up…no not that far you gimp…” Suvau gave a small huffing laugh which Judd ignored. “Meet my eyes but don’t stare as that can be seen as a challenge to authority…” Giordi stepped back. “You cut quite a dashing figure.”

“In bare feet.” Judd mocked.

“He is right, Judd,” Aalis studied him, “you do look more…polished than before.”

“Really…” Judd allowed himself a small preen.

“Aalis, if you please,” Giordi drew her to stand beside Judd, “Judd, when there is a lady to be escorted, have your left arm take the same position except in front and Aalis will slip her arm through the gap…more of a gap…Judd, she’s not threading a needle…there.”

“Why my left?” Judd asked. “Why would Aalis not be on my right?”

“Keeps your sword arm free.” Giordi chuckled. “Now you bow…”

“Not like you,” Judd insisted before Giordi could continue, “I don’t think I have the personality for your flourished bows.”

Giordi chuckled. “Very well. We’ll practice a strong bow. Drop your left hand to your side, right hand into a fist, pressed firmly against your chest and remember, the lower the bow, the deeper the respect. Want to insult your host? Shallow bow. Then you straighten, left hand back to rest in the small of your back or in front if you have a lady with you.”

Judd practiced it several times before he didn’t feel like he was going to fall over and relaxed back into his confident stance.

“I think I can do this.” He grinned. “It’s…ahem, it is easier than all the eloquence nonsense I have been trying to learn.”

“Well, why don’t we try something a little trickier,” the gleam in Giordi’s eyes was downright wicked and Judd’s heart sank as he picked up his lute, “don’t worry, I’m not going to sing.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Teach you how to dance.”

Judd looked at the others then back at Giordi. “Dance?”

“Your lessons in becoming a gentleman include dance instruction.”

“Since when?”

“Since now.”

Judd snorted. “Well, you can pass me on that. I am a good dancer.” He looked around indignantly as there was a ripple of laughter around the campfire. “What? I am!” The laughing continued. “I can dance the Rundolette, the Farrayon and the Shamble. I can even do the Turnabout as well as a dozen more.”

“Those are group dances.” Giordi wiped at his eyes, making Judd want to smite him. “What about between a man and a woman?”

Judd faltered. “Well…those kinds of dances…they’re not…”

“What?”

“Encouraged,” he blurted, “at least, amongst those who are not couples it is not encouraged. There needs to be an…understanding.”

“Like a wedding.” Caste grunted.

“On the contrary,” Giordi tuned his lute, blinking as he listened to the strings hum their individual notes, “couple dancing is becoming more and more popular outside of weddings and it is important to know how lest you offend host and host’s very pretty wife, sister or daughter.” Giordi turned to Aalis. “Would you?”

“Me?” Aalis clutched at her skirts.

“Unless we get Caste to play the role of the maiden.” Undern’s snort harumph was dripping with disdain. “If Judd is to learn couple dancing, he must have a partner.”

Giordi was concentrating so hard on fiddling with his lute, he missed Aalis’ expression of panic. Judd, however, was aware of her mortification.

“Actually Giordi, let’s leave dancing lessons for another night.”

“Now Judd…”

“How about a ditty instead?” Verne offered bravely, peeking out from beneath his bandana. “After all, no one sings as well as you.”

Giordi studied him. “I suspect you are flattering me to get Judd out of practicing dancing…and pride dictates I refuse…have you heard the ballad of the ‘Falling Star’?”

Judd sank onto his bed roll, relieved beyond measure as Giordi started to sing with his lute. Dancing lessons had been dodged, at least for one night and the only person more relieved than he was Aalis. That said, when he caught sight of her expression, returning to her darning with unbreakable focus, Judd couldn’t help but get the feeling that Aalis wasn’t just relieved. Her shoulders dipped and she swallowed and licked her lips. He wondered why, when she had escaped being his partner, she looked as though she wanted to cry.