By midday Sir Fereak had returned to Fort Omra. Word arrived in the forge while Suvau was sketching the new design Judd had suggested for the blade onto thin parchment. Suvau rolled the design and tucked it into the hollow leg of his table. He winked at Judd and gestured for him to be silent before taking up the custom sword he had made for Lord LeMewn which his wife had insisted be returned to him.

When they were walking through the fort, Suvau leaned down.

“Kenet has been known to ‘check’ my work at times…”

“You think he’s trying to steal your designs?”

“Or alter the measurements I have taken to ruin a custom make.” Suvau nodded. “Now that he’s back in the fort, I’d like to be a little extra careful with your design. Where is that library? I always get lost…I think it’s this way.”

Judd followed Suvau hastily. “The design for the sword…is it asking too much?”

“I like the challenge and it will certainly be a unique blade.” Suvau assured him. “I would have given you this,” he tapped the custom sword that was wrapped in its leather pouch, “but it wouldn’t suit your weight, height or personality. Lord LeMewn wanted to dazzle the king with a ‘pretty’ sword.”

They collected Caste from the library and went to the foyer of the fort, asking to speak with Sir Fereak.

No one who had ever become a knight had been small and weedy. It just wasn’t the occupation for small and weedy men. However, Sir Fereak was a rather impressive height and build. Though not a particularly aged man, approaching forty but not there yet, the trials of being in charge of a wall fort had turned his hair dark grey. It was pushed back from his face, showing the lines around his eyes, one of which had been rendered blind by an unfortunate monster attack.

Sitting off to one side was another man, heavy set with dark brown hair tied in a knot at the back of his head, the sharpness of the hairline adding to his frown. Judd couldn’t tell if it was his resting face or if it was their presence that put him in a foul mood. His eyebrows were thick also and almost looked to be pushing his eyes into a constant squint.

The steward ushered Judd, Suvau and Caste into the chamber where Sir Fereak was speaking with another of his soldiers, his hand on his arm, their heads close together as though sharing a secret. Respectfully the steward kept his distance and the visitors remained behind him, trying not to listen though a few words did reach their ears.

“…after supper…before the midnight shift.”

The soldier nodded, half bowing as he left and Sir Fereak turned to a metal jug, pouring water into the matching bowl, splashing water on his face, sweaty from days on patrol.

“Sir Fereak, I present Judd LaMogre to you, champion of Fort Bastil’s fighting tournament.”

“Sir Fereak,” Judd bowed, “thank you for granting me an audience so soon after your return from patrol.”

“Think nothing of it LaMogre,” Fereak tossed the towel aside, “the mount of Maul never stops so neither do we.”

“May I introduce my cleric, Caste Undern?”

“You’re a spindly little one,” Sir Fereak chuckled, “thank Astaril for things like the Order of the Grail as I doubt you’d be any use elsewhere.” Caste gave a small smile, acknowledging Sir Fereak’s humour without laughing. “So…you’re LaMogre…killer of the giant spider of Fort Sol,” Sir Fereak sat on a chair and gestured for Judd to do the same, his one good eye appraising him closely, “I thought you’d be taller…but then reports of monster kills often exaggerate details, of both the killer and the monster.”

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“Judd LaMogre has always been this height,” Caste said hastily, “however, I fail to see how the reports of the spider’s size could have been exaggerated.”

“It was big enough.” Judd shuddered. “I’m surprised you heard of it so quickly. It’s a long step from here to Fort Sol.”

“Egrette sent word through the wall. One messenger to the next and so on. We met with one on patrol and he told us what you had done.” Sir Fereak leaned to the side, comfortable and casual, still travel stained and yet knightly. “What brings you to Fort Omra? Another monster on your list? Seeking the thrills of the wall?”

“Actually, I need a custom sword forged.”

“You’ll do no better than Fort Omra’s forge, eh Kenet?” Sir Fereak twisted to look over his shoulder at man with the dark frown who had been quietly brooding since their arrival. “Best in all of Terra.”

“Indeed…to those who can pay.” Kenet said with a bite in his voice. “You’d be surprised how many come to Fort Omra thinking they can wheedle their way into a free sword.”

“I have the payment for LaMogre’s sword,” Suvau announced suddenly, “it has all been arranged.”

“Ah yes…Suvau, wasn’t it?” Sir Fereak squinted at Suvau who bowed.

“You were supposed to be in Quarre, trading with Lord LeMewn.” Kenet said sharply. “He ordered a custom sword from Fort Omra…”

Judd could feel the tension, the history between the two men, build in the room.

“Unfortunately Lord LeMewn only ordered the sword so that he could lure me to Quarre.”

“You defame a lord of Astaril?”

“Suvau speaks the truth.” Caste explained quickly. “Lord LeMewn had no intention of paying for the sword.”

“And you insisted he could be trusted.” Sir Fereak grasped a goblet of wine and tipped it down his throat. Kenet’s jaw twitched.

“I did not think it wise to call into question the integrity of a man so closely connected to the throne.” Kenet excused then glared at Suvau. “Where is the sword?”

“I have it here.” Suvau presented it to Sir Fereak who drew back the leather pouch flaps to whistle as the sword was exposed to the light. He grasped the hilt and held it up, the elegant sword polished beautifully, a seam of delicate gold in a swirling pattern up its length.

“Though not my style, this is a very fine sword.” Sir Fereak inspected it with the eye of one who had seen many swords in his day. “You made this, Suvau?”

Suvau nodded as Kenet blurted. “Under my supervision.”

“Naturally.” Judd wanted to grind his teeth as Fereak held it out to Suvau. “Still, even under supervision, that is an excellent blade.”

“As it was a commissioned blade that was never paid for, I return it to you, Sir Fereak.” Suvau bowed and left the sword in Fereak’s possession.

“Well…I’m not sure I’ll have much use for it…although it’d make a fine gift to Sir Rylan in honour of his ascent to the throne if King Rocheveron cannot produce another heir.” Fereak nodded. “You’re a valuable addition to the forge, Suvau. I take it Lord LeMewn thought he could get away with not paying for the sword because he was thinly connected to the king?”

“He had Suvau charged with a false crime and imprisoned.” Caste explained. “If not for Judd LaMogre’s intervention, amongst other factors, Suvau would have been executed.”

“But what of the werewolf?”

Everyone looked at Kenet. Judd’s eyes narrowed. “What do you know of the werewolf?”

Ermo Kenet stammered for a brief moment. “Lord LeMewn…he said something about a werewolf.”

“I killed it.” Judd said.

“You?” He nodded.

“A giant spider, a werewolf…and you’re Fort Bastil’s champion…” Sir Fereak stood up. “I think we could stand to trade some monster stories, don’t you? Come for supper this evening, an hour before sunset. You’ve earned the chance to witness the wall and see what it is we are dealing with. Bring your cleric.”

“May my archer and minstrel accompany us?”

“By all means. The more the merrier.”

With that they were dismissed and escaped the room. Judd peered over his shoulder to make sure they couldn’t be seen or heard. “I did wonder if you were being a touch paranoid about Ermo Kenet. I stand corrected. He has it in for you.”

“LeMewn’s scheme was supposed to discredit me and get me killed.” Suvau replied softly.

“Didn’t work out quite the way Kenet had in mind.” Judd chuckled then paused. “Suvau…I don’t have the coin to pay for this sword.”

“You have the coin Lady LeMewn gave me in compensation.”

Caste looked at Judd who spluttered. “That’s yours!”

“And you saved my life.” Suvau held up his hand to stop Judd’s protestation. “In my world, Judd LaMogre, gold matters little. No amount of coin will change my people’s lot or protect my daughter from the lustful schemes of Terras without ethics or morals. A good man deserves the best sword.”

Judd sighed and folded his arms. “I thought a good man ought to deserve a good sword, not the best.”

“In my opinion, men rise to the expectation of their weapons.” Suvau winked. “Come, we have work to do.”

“And you’ll be going back to the library, Caste?”

“Of course.”

“Have fun.”