A thin arrow of light found its way through the iron shutters of Halfur's cavernous bedchamber. He had lain awake for nearly an hour, basking in quiet darkness while thumbing through one of his favorite books.

The wolf paced back and forth, its head lifting and drooping, ears perked, then pressed flat. It walked in circles, lay down, then stood and circled again. A sense of unease struck me, in spite of the stout metal cage. I realized then, that curiosity and boredom were dangerous things to inflict upon a creature so well equipped to shed blood.

He flipped the page over and read the next words.

The wounds inflicted by the ram had mostly healed, and while the wolf seemed less brazen than before, it had lost none of its overall ferocity. I admire a creature that can rise from defeat with wisdom gained and pride intact. Also, I marvel at the ram. Like the wolf, I thought it would be vulnerable while alone and separated from its familial group. Instead it was savage and relentless. Perhaps having no ewes or lambs to protect emboldened the creature. Whatever the cause, I have no doubt that what had weakened the wolf had strengthened the ram. I assume the opposite to be true.

A muffled voice shouted his name. Before he could shout back, telling her to leave him be, his younger sister Yemi had picked the lock to his door and burst into the room, leaping onto his bed.

He covered his face with his book and sighed. "Yemi, when a door is locked..."

"You need a better lock. But who cares?! It's better if I wake you than Dad, or Klar. They're all awake and people are looking for you! You know what's about to happen, don't you?"

"You said something just now, something intelligent for once..."

Yemi rolled her eyes. "Halfur..."

"After you said I need a better lock..."

"Get up, Halfur!"

"You said 'Who cares?'"

"Everyone, Halfur, that's who! Uncle Balvor is getting married."

Halfur sighed again. "I'll be at the wedding."

"Everyone's helping but you! There's still a quintillion things to do for the wedding feast, and the guest rooms, and getting all the food ready and that weird stuff the humans drink."

Halfur furrowed his brow. "Oh, alcohol. Strange people. Drinking a cleaning solution."

"Mom says it makes them stupid when they drink it. Dad says it's poisonous."

"Maybe they'll all die, and I can stay in bed."

"Halfur..."

"Get off my bed, Yemi."

"You're hopeless!"

"Get off my bed, and out of my chambers."

Yemi left in a huff, but not without announcing that their father wanted Halfur to meet him in the Warding Hall. Halfur sighed and lay still. He heard the sounds of people milling around outside and the grinding of casters on the stoney floor as porters pushed carts down the hall. She left the door open. He clenched his fists and reluctantly rose to shut his door.

He reflected on what he knew of political marriages while he washed and dressed himself. It was not the custom among his own kin. He of course would be expected to marry and have children, to keep the line of Narvi strong, and he would only select a woman of great note as his bride. The notion of noble castes however, and marrying to form alliances was odd to him. He pondered over the ramifications of marrying to solidify an alliance, wondering if his uncle had fallen for a woman who did not truly love him. When he had donned his breeches, jerkin and doublet, he left his room.

He chose the most direct path he could to the Barter House ohr-tempus. It wasn't the most inconspicuous lift, but with the whole citadel consumed by the impending ceremony it was all but ignored. Only a pair of guards and a trio of porters shared the stage with him. The guards saluted him and he smiled curtly, then looked at his feet. After disembarking the stage, he found his way to a smaller lift that went the rest of the way. Eventually he was in the hidden halls beneath the citadel where the king and his advisors held counsel.

Halfur paused outside the door to the Warding Hall. It was not a room one entered idly. The light of the crystal sconces glowed dimly, even for Halfur's bright dwarven eyes. Green they were, like pale emeralds, a gift from his mother. The soft orange light blended with his pelt of red-gold hair, and seemed to mask the shallow carvings along the stony wall. At this level of the citadel, every door had its own combination of carvings that must be pressed in the proper order. Halfur knew it well enough, yet the official summons from his King Father had stirred his nerves. He lived for these moments, few and far between as they felt to him, and rued the thought of making any false step. He looked closely at the symbols, pressed them, and hurried through the entry. The door shut swiftly behind him, almost catching the corner of his heavy velvet doublet.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

His footsteps echoed loudly in the long tunnel; a trick of design so those in the hall knew when another approached. A guard in full plate opened the door and Halfur entered. Inside the long, narrow chamber was a very large human, his father, tall and strong and old, with streaks of silver running like melted snow down his mane of long crimson hair. His beard was split into three long braids, each bound at the bottom by cuffs of sapphire. With his father was Urum Brann, Chieftain of the Guilds. Urum too was older than his father, though his hair was raven black with no signs of grey. All three were standing on either side of the assembly table, leaning forward and looking at a piece of jewelry. The chandelier of crystals above the table glowed with bright yellow light, setting ablaze the seal of the Fell; a great iron pyramid within an obsidian circle and filled with a thousand and two hundred smaller pyramids. Stabbing downward through the center of the Fell, the blue arrow of Orvar was set in polished azurite.

The door shut, and he stepped toward them slowly, eyeing the human. He was powerfully built and had a wildness to his bronze skinned face. His long dark hair was bound behind his head and he was dressed for ranging, oiled leathers and tall boots and a long red cloak. From his belt was hung a longsword, handaxe and a dagger, on his back a crossbow. Halfur could not see where he kept his bolts.

"Halfur," said King Grar, "this is Blastus Iduma. Blastus, my son Halfur."

Blastus bowed. "Dread Highness."

Halfur looked the human up and down as he stood closer. The man was dark skinned, but not as dark as the humans from Casimir or the Araad. He was both tall and stocky, and had an unnerving wildness in his eyes. "And what brings the Janissaries our way?" Halfur asked, guessing at the man's origin.

Blastus smiled. "Tides of mayhem and woe, Dread Highness."

Halfur smiled wryly. "My favorite kind." He stepped closer to the table to see the jewelry. It was a rope chain of thinly wrought silver with a three gemmed pendant. The pendant was fashioned after the Autumn Triske, the crest of High Alden, where his uncle Balvor's betrothed hailed from. Three starbursts of different gems, amber, moonstone and opal. Each gem was set in a circular piece that wove into the other, so all three were connected. "Is this the chain? I thought Balvor sent it to High Alden three weeks ago."

Urum grinned. His deep and hollow voice rang loud in the narrow hall. "This is a forgery, to replace the original when it arrives."

"Couldn't Salimod have learned the original's make by now?"

It was Blastus who replied. "Your uncle may have been wiser than we thought. The original looks just as this forgery. He had the chain enameled to mute the glow of the mannarim."

What's he doing here and how does he know of these things? "Were these gems mined in the Araad?"

Grar took the necklace and tucked it into a pouch which he handed to Halfur. "Yes. Your uncle wanted to impress his lady-love, so he had the stones bought from the Araad, the pendant made in Eruhal, and the chain made here, of mannarim. And now we are going to take back his gift, in hopes that King Salimod has not already learned its true make, and announced to his other allies that we can now forge the most durable metal in the known world. The last thing we need is all six kins lining up to strike us down while they still can."

"We want you to make the switch," said Urum. "You're a cautious and crafty young man. Quite the opposite of poor, foolish Balvor. Your pardon, Dread Sovereign."

Grar laughed slightly and shook his head. "The whole kingdom has my leave to mock him. I had half a mind to send him to the Underguard. I still might. Keep this safe, son. Don't try to switch them until you're certain you can. You’ll have multiple chances during their stay, so choose your moment well, only don’t delay too long."

Halfur nodded. "I'll get it done."

"We know you will, son. Now, I imagine you're wondering why a Janissary from the Araad is privy to such a sensitive topic. Well, I've decided it's time to bring you into the inner circle of our affairs. Queen Nandi has helped provide us with mannarim from Heth so we could experiment on forging techniques without exhausting our own mineable supply."

"Without King Karli knowing." Halfur looked at his father through squinting eyes. "So how well paid has Nandi been?"

Blastus drew his sword and laid it on the table. It's blade was bright and shimmered like a star. Halfur peered closely and saw that the metal looked like pure silver, with faint blue light glowing in the fuller. A hint of gold flashed along its razor sharp edge as Blastus tilted it. "You got one before I did."

"I commissioned armor for you and your brother," said his father. "Blastus will be staying here under pretense, posing as an emissary from Janissi. Salimod knows less of the world than he wants others to believe, and will doubtless try to ingratiate himself to Blastus, hoping to gain an ally at court in Amani. We need to know, even though you’ll get the original back, if Salimod has learned we can forge the stuff."

"Just the one sword?" Halfur asked the Janissary.

Blastus smiled knowingly as he sheathed his weapon.

"Any word from Neri?" Halfur asked his father.

"Troubling word. A gnoll pack has been sighted. They're all dead fortunately, killed by orcs."

"Orcs this close?" Halfur asked. "It's been a generation since the tribes wandered through our mountains."

Blastus spoke, his voice betraying his worry. "They weren't from any known tribe."

"They were grey orcs, and wore no standards or bandanas," said Grar.

Halfur was confused. Orcs always wore some token of their tribe.

"Their faces were crushed," said Blastus, "along with their shoulders and chests."

Halfur frowned. He knew what that meant. He was far too young to have seen a centaur, but he had heard enough from those who had. "I'll get this switched with the original." He folded the envelope and tucked it away in a pouch on his belt.

"Thank you, son. I'd do it myself, but I'm swamped. Salimod has made better time than we'd hoped. He'll arrive on the morrow. Your uncle Lobuhl took a ship down the Nazrad to meet with Neri and his Owl Guard. He should be back before Salimod arrives, if only just. I like Salimod more than most people, but he’s a wily little beast, and I need to be ready for him."