The Tales of Raythia: Trojan Horse | Chapter 2: "Judgement"

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The Tales of Raythia

Trojan Horse

Chapter 2  -  Judgement

    Amelia swallowed hard, forcing the lump in her throat and the breakfast that was threatening to come up right behind it, down.

    Despite the absolute terror she felt at that moment, no one looking at her would be able to tell. Her amber eyes were steady, locked directly ahead of her. Her golden hair, straight, cut short, and tied close to her skull, was immaculate, without a single strand out of place. Her lips were a thin line, her jaw hard set, and her posture perfect. Arms rigid but ready, back straight but flexible, knees locked but trained to respond at her slightest thought.

    No, if you looked at her, she was a statuesque model of everything she had been trained to be.

    And people were looking at her.

    Eight other sets of eyes, each a matching hue of golden amber identical to hers, stared back at her: each a hard, trained gaze with many more decades experience then hers’. More decades then she could hope to achieve in her lifetime.

    Old men in a profession that killed young.

    The Eight Points of the Council of the Sun.

    The hand-appointed of the Goddess Solair.

    Each sat at their designated seat around the Council table, their bodies just as hard and ruthlessly trained and ready as her own. Despite their age, Amelia knew that she would not stand a chance in a one-on-one with any one of them and, with that passing thought, she once again had to swallow down breakfast.

    No face gave away any emotion. No thoughts could be made out from any of their stoic faces.

    “Recite the Doctrine of the Radiant.” Paladin Golina, the closest to her, commanded in his gravelly voice.

    The simple instruction brought a sudden stillness to her thoughts. A calmness that quelled her fear from the moment before.

    The words slipped out one by one, clear and crisp as easily as breathing.

    “A paladin is a tool to be used by the Golden Lady and by Man-Kind alone. Their sword is the blade to cut down foes and wheat alike. Their pommel is a hammer to crush evil and grind grain equally. Their shield a fortress to protect the innocent from evil and darkness no matter where it is found.”

    “A paladin is to serve until such time as they are released by death or the Golden Lady herself. Their work is for all and forever, a dedication of the one life they are granted in honor of all those who might lose such lives they have been gifted without one to stand against evil for them.”

    “A paladin may stand alone on the battlefield but never alone in life for all Man-Kind is but one blood. No bloodline is special and though all are unique, all are the same. The man to a paladin is their brother and the woman their sister and all are family lest they are a foe.”

    “A paladin does not seek judgement, but they do uphold it. Those that have wrought themselves an enemy of life, of the Golden Lady, and of Man-Kind are a foe to be dealt with. To be corrected, to be culled, and to be brought to the light under the sun.”

    “A paladin shall only use violence in defense of oneself or in defense of another and only so if peace or diplomacy is impossible or such acts would be corrupted by a foe to a twisted version of their original intent.”

    “A paladin understands that no foe is too great to be defeated and no weakness too small to be exploited. They know that everyone and everything will be brought to their end and so they must never fear the mighty while never believing themselves to be such.”

    “A paladin knows that a disarmed foe is not a harmless one for a snake without fangs still has venom and it needs only cunning to use it. However, when one is helpless, stripped of their mental, physical, and all other capabilities to defend or to harm, they are to be treated with absolute dignity and honor.”

    “A paladin without honor is paladin no more. All life is precious; a gift to be cherished and loved until that day which Hamet take us. Death is not a punishment but the end of a journey and should never be inflicted lest it be the permanent end of an otherwise dangerous foe. A dead man does not learn the error of their ways and it is only through life that a foe may be a friend and honor restored.”

    “A paladin stands before the Rising Sun as a symbol of peace, power, and righteousness. They hold themselves above all others not in glory, but in aid; a servant on their knees at the edge of a cliff pulling those below them up and standing before the gathering darkness to beckon the Sun and defend all who might fall back down without them.”

    “A paladin carries the Light of the Rising Sun within them wherever they go. Darkness may infiltrate the hearts of men, but the paladin is the light at the end of the tunnel, even if they merely hold the torch needed to find their way out of the gloom. No soul is forgotten, and every life is a blessing to be cherished and bolstered.”

    “I stand before you and the Golden Lady in reverence and solace and do hereby swear it that I, a paladin, will uphold these laws until Hamet take me from this life and beyond.”

    Every word that left Amelia’s mouth was clear.

    Crisp.

    Perfect.

    She had to wonder at times what she had done more of through her life: swinging her sword or reciting the Doctrine. Put to the test, she had to think that the numbers might be pretty close overall. She said it out loud and to herself dozens of times a day, everyday and had been doing so ever since she had learned it at the start of her training.

    A lullaby turned promise and a promise turned prayer that had been drilled into her since she was a babe.

    Paladin Golina glanced back over his shoulder towards Paladin Stillwater. They exchanged an unknowable look though this time Amelia felt less uneasy, her nerves calmed by the promises she had made to her Goddess and to Man-Kind. They were here to judge her right to be granted the mantle of Paladin but, if for some reason they elected not to, Amelia would simply continue her training and present herself again on the next Day of the Rising Sun.

    It would be a disappointment, but one she could and had dealt with before.

    No matter what happened, she knew where her heart laid, and an organization of men mattered little in the face of who she was as a person. No decision would burden her because, in her mind, nay, in her soul, she was a paladin already.

    She would fight for Golden Lady.

    She would fight for Man-Kind.

    She would lay her own life on the line to be the hammer and the blade for all others who stood under Solair’s radiance.

    Her title didn’t matter.

    Paladin Golina and Paladin Stillwater’s gaze turned to the other side of the table, this time both towards Paladin Jecoux who gave a very small nod.

    “You speak well, Sister.” Paladin Golina declared, looking back towards Amelia. “And you Know the Doctrine.”

    Strange choice of words. Every initiate knows it.

    “Thank you, Brother.” Amelia said.

    “You have called upon the Council before for Paladin-hood on the Day of the Rising Sun, have you not?”

    “I have.”

    “And you were denied.”

    “I was.”

    “How many times?”

    A wince of annoyance flashed in her mind. They all knew the answer. It’s not like they weren’t all there for it.

    “Seven.” She responded simply, giving away no sign of the momentary emotion.

    “And you continue to try.”

    “I continue to serve. It is my only desire.”

    “Hmm.” Paladin Golina hummed with a soft nod.

    The unease started to bubble up again from her belly. They’d done this before, and this was normally where they kicked her out. Recite the Doctrine and get the Hells out. Get back to drilling in the yards.

    “How long have you been training now, Sister?”

    “Twenty-six years. Since I was three, Brother.”

    “Yes, of-course. And how long will you continue to try?”

    Damnit all to the Hells.

    “Until I bear Solair’s mantle or Hamet take me, Brother.”

    “And what will you do until then?”

    “I will train. I will learn. And I will be a teacher and a servant to all, acting on and honoring the Doctrine no matter my title.”

    Paladin Golina held Amelia’s gaze for a long time. She was ready to be dismissed; ready to be excused. But it wasn’t coming. Granted, it was a slightly longer conversation then normal, but…

    And then he turned his back on her.

    One by one, Paladins Golina, Stillwater, Jecoux, Kimo, Redbark, Feign, Ianara, and Lasset all turned away from her and faced their place at the Council Table.

    Amelia had no idea what to say or do. They had never done something like this before. Normally they just told her to try again and come back next time around. This was new.

    So, in light of the unusual circumstances, she didn’t do anything.

    The Paladins each extended their hands out to their sides, just barely touching fingertips with their neighbors on either side, and forming a circle of gloved, metal gauntlets around the Council table. Their heads bowed and eyes closed, they begin to speak in perfect unison.

    “Oh, Radiant One!” they declared in a single, booming voice. “Rising Sun of the Heavens and Eternal Flame. We ask for your judgement. Look upon us and rejoice. Look upon us and sing. Look upon one who will be your Hero and your Champion. A Paladin of the People. Look upon her and let her be judged. To Know you. And you, to Know her! Know what is in her heart and let her be judged!”

    With each word, the sounds in the room seemed to echo and intensify. They seemed to bounce off the walls and each word began to feel like a punch to the gut. By the end, the force of each syllable felt like a hammer in her chest and she could only clench her jaw to keep from crying out in pain. Then it all stopped, and the room fell deathly still.

    Around her, the candles and torches winked out.

    No. she thought. They’re still burning. They’re just…not giving off as much light…?

    Wisps of flame seemed to sizzle, almost imperceptibly, away from the flickering, dulled candles and torches towards the center of the room. It gathered at the center of the table and began to form into a minute, flaming sphere. A tiny ball of fire that gave off for more light than anything that size should have been capable.

    Was this some sort of spell? Magic? But why?

    Amelia stared at the little dancing sphere as it started to grow both in size and intensity. The room growing hotter and sweat running down her chest and legs beneath the steel armor. None of the other paladins were looking at it and she wondered if she shouldn’t be either, but she couldn’t help it.

    It reminded her of the sun.

    An unconscious smile slipped across her lips as she stared at it.

    Why would she fear the sun?

    Why should she fear Solair?

    The heat was no longer too hot.

    The light was no longer too bright.

    The radiance of the little sphere was not too much for her because she knew that it would never harm her. The radiance she felt and the love she felt was that of her Goddess and both of them knew she would carry her Doctrine for the rest of her life in Solair’s name. She would love and be loved by the Golden Lady and she would be a beacon of light for all to rally behind.

    She wasn’t going to be a Paladin.

    She already was one.

    As quickly as it had come, the sphere vanished, and the room suddenly felt colder and darker for it. It was nothing compared to the love of her Goddess. The light that she cast.

    And, to her surprise, Paladin Golina was suddenly in front of her, cradling her cheek with an ungloved hand and a knowing look in his eyes.

    “It is alright, Sister.”

    A choked sob escaped her throat that she hadn’t known was there and she realized her cheeks were wet, stricken with more tears than she’d cried since she was a child. The tears still ran freely and, reaching up take Paladin Golina’s hand, she found she shook too hard to do so.

    “That was…” she barely managed.

    “It was. Just for a moment. And she has smiled upon you.”

    Paladin Golina took her hand, gently as the grizzled man could, and placed it against her own breastplate. There, emblazoned where it had not been before in glittering gold and red rubies, was the eight-point star.

    The symbol of Solair.

    The symbol of a Paladin of the Rising Sun.

    Any resolve Amelia still had was broken in that moment. She clung to Paladin Golina as a child might, collapsing to her knees but for the older man’s strength holding her up, sobbing uncontrollably.

    The tears would not stop coming.

    And there was joy in her heart.

The Dragon's Maw (Final) - The Chronicle's of Braum Stormforge

http://dragon.images3.org/picture/913-scary-dragon-breathing-with-fire-by-oustins/

    The last kobold hit the ground with a resounding thud.
    For half a moment, Braum just stood there, his breath coming in short ragged gasps. His head was spinning and his fingers were numb. Despite this, he could easily feel the liquid collecting in extremities of his armor; the combined blood and sweat from the fight pooling and sloshing about in the metal gauntlet's fingertips and at the base of his boots.
    Some of it was theirs. More of it was his.
    With a crackle and sizzle of electricity, the eidolon settled next to him as Ember made his way down the stairs, stepping gingerly over the corpses.
    "Well that was fun." the summoner commented.
    Braum could do little more than scoff as he brought his hand to his chest, the palm growing a distinct golden hue. A warmth spread through his body as his god's divine blessing touched him and, while he would need actual rest to properly heal, he felt the blood from his wounds stop flowing as the flesh began to knit itself back together.
    He let out a sigh as the burn of battle began to be replaced by a wash of relief.
    "Yea." Braum agreed with a half-hearted nod before turning his attention upwards towards the orb. "But at least we found the o-"
    The entire room shuddered with the force of a small earthquake.
    "-rb." he finished and quickly added. "What was that?"
    Boooooom.
    Another shake and shudder, the echoing explosion could be felt in their bones and Braum could actually see the shockwave run through the walls; sending dust and bits of loose debris skittering about.
    Ember's eyes narrowed and Braum, his body still burning from the battle moments before, wearily lifted his hammer again, ready for a fight.
    Unfortunately, they weren't ready for what came.
    A jet of flame, blazing blue with tinges of red and orange, exploded through the wall on the far end of the room. The solid stone didn't fragment as much as it did turn instantly to molten rock and splatter like liquid wax from the sheer force and heat of the blast.
    Half a second later, what wall hadn't been liquefied by the flames collapsed as the head and neck of dragon came crashing through. The beast was larger than any creature Braum had even dreamed about; a mountain turned monster. It's bright red scales shone brilliantly in the firelight and the gargantuan creature, quite literally large enough that it could likely use the entirety of Wyrmshorde as a nest, was quickly followed by a bolt of lightning that struck it across its face from somewhere beyond the wall's precipice.
    "GRAB THE ORB AND RUN YOU FOOLS!" the magically enhanced voice reverberated off the walls, echoing from the room the beast had just broken through from.
    While the speaker was unseen, both men knew instantly who it was. It was the priest of Bahumut. They very man who had sent them on the quest.
    And so they ran.
    Sparing an extra few seconds to climb the small pillar in the center of the room, Braum snatched the orb and tucked it away in his bag before sprinting for all he was worth. In that time, several more blasts of flame had turned the walls, ceiling, and a number of nearby treasure piles to boiling slag and at least a dozen bolts of lightning had ricocheted off the beasts glittering hide.
    "Just remember the old Elvish proverb!" Ember called back as they barreled up the stairs and away from the chaos. "One does not need to outrun the dragon. They just need to outrun the dwarf!"
    Braum could do little more than growl as the summoner laughed at him. The taller, lither man quickly picked up speed but, to his credit, used the headway to open the magical armoire at the far end of the hall instead of simply leaving him behind.
    With Ember at the front, Braum behind, and the mage's Eidolon taking up the rear, they quickly navigated the twisting stone tunnels and didn't stop running until they were a half mile out the cave's entrance and down the road.
    Once there, they both collapsed in exhaustion; their faces and bodies drenched in sweat as they openly wheezed.
    "Th-That was..." Ember started.
    "Yea...
    "And the priest..."
    "Yea..."
    "Why?"
    "Don't know."
    Nothing else needed to be said. The two sat there for a minute, trying desperately to catch their breath while watching hesitantly up the mountain road at the cave's entrance. Nothing followed them out, although Braum doubted that such a beast as they'd seen would use the cave. Based on its sheer size, it very well might take the mountain with it if it decided to pursue them.
    Weakly, he stood up.
    "Let's get back to town." Ember said, his words barely a whisper through his hoarse throat. "I'm not sure what we're supposed to do with this damned orb if our payday is in their with a dragon, but I'd rather not wait around here."
    "Agreed." Braum said with a nod.
    And so, after another minute of collecting themselves, the pair began their trek back down the mountain. He noted that the necromancer seemed to be missing but thought little of it at the time. There were other things on his mind.
    Braum was thinking about the glowing orb in his pocket. He was thinking about how strangely heavy it was and how it felt in his palm, a slight sensation of energy tingling through his nerves at every slight touch.
    He was also wondering. He was wondering what he was supposed to do with this thing now that they had acquired it and whether the priest, who very likely saved their life, would be able to collect it from him.
    What he was not doing was thinking about the future.
    He wasn't thinking about some sociopathic mage with a love of dead bodies. He wasn't thinking about the implications that such a man, with an entire troop of dead goblins, was no where to be seen. As he was not a fortune teller, he wasn't thinking about how this one act, this one little quest they had just performed, would change the world forever. And finally, he certainly was not thinking, wondering, or really had any way of knowing that this orb and its quest would not only lead to his death, but his rebirth, and how the wheels that were now turning would strip him of his title in the eyes of his god and his position as a paladin.
    Instead, his mind was on the orb and no where else.

===

(Hello Lovelies. I hope you enjoyed 'The Dragon's Maw'. While I'm going to be stopping here for a little bit, worry not, Braum will be returning later. More of his story exists and hopefully the ending gives you a hint at some of what is to come. For now though, I'm going to be returning to Little Island Tales as well as a few other new pieces. Some of them will be a return to the classics and heavily horror oriented while a few others will be attempts at branching out my talents. Check in soon for more and I hope you have a wonderful day.)

The Dragon's Maw (Part 6) - Chronicles of Braum Stormforge

Artwork officially owned and copyrighted from the 4th edition Monster Manual

    BAM!
    BAMBAMBAMBAM!
    Braum and Ember stood dead silent for a tense moment, their eyes locked on the interior of the wardrobe door. The little beasties on the outside were pounding with all of the force they could, but none of the kobolds seemed to be trying to open the door. Either they were too dumb to try, which honestly seemed unlikely to Braum, or they were smart enough to know that actually opening the rune-locked door would end badly for all involved.
    The battering of the wood lastly a only few more seconds, though it felt much longer.
    It was only after all had fallen quiet, the silence broken only by the sound of scampering feet pattering out of the room beyond, did the two adventurers explore their surroundings.
    Turning away from the battered armoire, Ember openly groaned. The illusionary wall had dropped them into yet another stone hallway.
    "Ants. I'm saying it now: you're all descended from ants."
    Braum grimaced as he stared at the hard, cold stone but for much different reasons than the pissed off summoner. The earth and rock of the hall was a comfort to him given the sheer amount of time he'd spent on the surface since he had become a paladin. All the same, they had just passed through a magical barrier into an unknown hall and officially had no idea where they were going.
    Much like the halls before, this one twisted and worked its way downward and deeper into the earth. However it turned out to be much shorter than anything else they'd dealt with. After just a couple hundred yards, the hall emptied out into a dark, cavernous void.
    "Stay here." Braum grunted to Ember who was idly glancing into the darkness while holding the little celestial monkey.
    The mage offered no qualms and, past the precipice of the hall, Braum was happy to make out shapes in the darkness. Great long shelves ran along the edges of the room and disappeared into the darkness beyond. There was another, similar one at the top of a great stone stairwell nearby that seemed to run parallel with the stairs.
    No. Not shelves. Braum thought as he got closer.
    The stone structures protruded from the walls and along banisters but they weren't flat. Instead they seemed to be filled with something. Not shelves, but a basin perhaps? They all seemed to be topped off to the brim with sort of brown and tarry liquid whose pungent aroma stung his nose as he approached it.
    Petrol? Lamp oil?
    He recognized the smell but couldn't place it. Whatever it was, Braum felt pretty certain it would burn though.
    "So let's light it." Ember said nonchalantly after Braum returned to explain his findings to him.
    "Could be a trap."
    "Could be."
    They stared at each other for a long moment before their gazes fell down to the celestial monkey chittering away in Ember's arms.
    "Let the monkey do it." they said in near unison.
    And so, a minute later, the little celestial monkey was wandering into the darkness grasping one of their misbegotten torches from earlier. It clutched the flaming stick in both hands as it waddled on its hind legs towards the nearest basin, occasionally glancing back with a look of disdain and annoyance. Braum was happy it didn't look afraid; he might have felt guilty otherwise.
    It clambered up the side of the closest basin awkwardly and, with no fanfare outside of one last glance back at Ember and Braum, tossed the flaming torch into the petrol.
    The oil caught fire instantly.
    To their surprise however, nothing seemed to explode or detonate or punish them in anyway for their actions. Instead, the fires spread cleanly and seamlessly down the the length of the basins; connecting in multiple areas and working quickly to illuminate a truly massive room far larger than either of them had imagined. The flaming petrol extended as far as they could see and what they saw caught Braum's heart in his throat.
    Treasure. Literal mountains of it.
    The paladin could not even guess at the size of the room, but he didn't doubt it could fit a small townscape in it, at the very least. Hills, plateaus, and mountains dotted the "landscape", but instead of being made of rock or mineral, they were constructed out of piles of long forgotten coins and loot; many of them so old they didn't even appear to be made out of modern day precious metals. There was certainly some gold and silver, but piles of iron, copper, nickle, and lead seemed to shine back tenfold for every one that glinted gold.
    And, at the center of the room, a pedestal stood towering above it all. Upon it was a spherical gem. The sphere seemed to light and spark and crackle with energy despite its smooth, ruby-red surface. The serene globe was at odds with the internal torment of arcs and bolts of magic that the gem contained; a veritable maelstrom beneath a thin shell of calm.
    "Me thinks that's our prize." Ember commented.
    "Aye."
    The pair stepped forward, heading towards the large stairwell that lead to the base of the room, when a loud clattering sound interrupted them. Along the Eastern wall, a large pile of iron coins and scrap seemed to be moving all on its own, pressing inward from against the wall.
    "Looks like we're going to need to earn it though." Braum muttered.
    As if to punctuate his point, the high, squeaky voices of kobolds could be heard screeching somewhere beyond.
    Ember's face hardened in recognition.
    "Cover me." was all the normally witty summoner said in response.
    The man snapped his fingers and, with a crack like a thunderbolt, the celestial monkey that had just began to paw at a nearby pile of copper coins disappeared in a flash and a blast of blue smoke. A single, echoing screech of defiance fading into thin air was all that remained a half moment later as mage brought his hands together and started to chant.
    Had Braum decided to keep watching, he would have seen the runes form on the ground and the distinct shape of the eidolon begin to materialize.
    But he didn't have the time.
    They had no way back, no way forward, and had to retrieve that orb and get the hell out before they were overrun or something even worse showed up. He already knew from having seen Ember work with the monkey that it would take him a good minute or two to summon the big guns and that meant it was only him between the mage and whatever the hell was coming to get them.
    Barreling down the stairs, he once again drew his hammer and raised his shield; this time certain they would see use. And, at the bottom, he planted himself firmly to the ground; ready to keep from anyone or anything that might try to get past and up to the defenseless summoner above.
    He would hold the line no matter what.
    The screeching reached a crescendo and the hoard of iron treasure gave way to a wall of bodies. Scrabbling, skittering, and  yelling, dozens of small, dragon-like humanoids pried their ways past the treasure that had been blocking the previously hidden hall. Their roars filled the chamber as they rushed him, weapons held high.
    And, as the first creature was brought to the floor in a single swing of his mighty hammer, Braum roared back in defiance.

===

(Hello Lovelies, I do hope you all enjoyed Part 6 of Dragon's Maw. I wanted to give you a heads up based on some comments I've received that I'm only going to put out one more part of Braum's story for now as that will be the end of this little arc. I will definitely be picking it up later, but I want to move on to other work to regain some inspiration. I need to return to Little Island Tales and I have a few other smaller works that I'd like to put out as well. So, keep your eye out for the last entry here shortly and I hope you enjoy what will be the climax of this dungeon adventure!)

Smithy - Chap 4

    “Thank you again for breakfast” Ailla said with that same soft smile that she always wore around him.

    Tristan smiled in return and nodded. He took both of their dishes away and set them aside before settling again at the table. His chest still felt tight and occasionally the room started to spin a little, but he felt vastly better than the night before.

    “So, I know that you probably don’t want to think about it…” she said, trailing off. “But, what are you going to do about Whitecrest?”

    He’d been dwelling on it and he wasn’t sure either.

    “I don’t know. That sword I was working on. It has to be done. Some great, shining lordling came by last week to commission it. Apparently he’d traveled all the way from Frothing Rock just to find Hagon and request the blade.”

    “I need to finish it.” He said, his voice lacking any of the conviction he’d hoped to muster.

    “Tristan.” Ailla said with a worried tone. “Please. You have to talk to Hagon. I’m sure he won’t have a problem if it meant you were going to get help.”

    “I can’t.” he rebutted, his voice cracking a bit. “If it’s not done when that lordling gets back then we’ll probably never resell it. We’d be so far in the hole that…”

    Tristan tried to think of a comparison, but couldn’t come up with one. The truth was, Hagon made enough gold that the lost commission would certainly hurt, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world. Yet, for some reason, he felt like if he abandoned the blade, it would be something he could never forgive himself for.

    “Then let Hagon finish it. It’s not like they came all the way to Oak’s Grove for the great and mighty Tristan Casterlan.”

    He winced at the sound of his last name and felt a burning in his chest again. She was right. It’s not like the lordling cared that he was even alive. He had sought out Hagon, not Hagon’s apprentice. His work equated to nothing when his name wasn’t on the woodwork.

    “Oh, Tristan.” Ailla reached out to softly touch his fingertips. “I know. I’m sorry. I forgot that you don’t like to be called that.”

    He shook his head. “It’s not that.”

    They sat in bated silence for what seemed to be an eternity. Ailla never seemed to stop watching him while he, instead, was more focused on mentally tracing the woodwork of the table. All the while, berating himself for thinking he mattered in the equation at all.

    Finally, Ailla broke the silence.

    “Come on, let’s go find Hagon. We’ll get it all worked out and then I’ll help you pack for the trip.”

    Tristan finally looked up to her again, a smile finally tracing his lips.

    “Alright.” He said with a nod. “And Ailla?”

    “Hmm?”

    “Thank you.”

    Ailla responded with a wink and, a moment later, they were setting the table and making their way outside.

    They found Hagon exactly where Tristan expected him to be. Seated in front of his anvil, hammer in hand, pounding on a chunk of metal. In a heartbeat, however, Tristan felt his chest tightening again and the room closing in when he saw what he was actually working on.

    Hagon was putting the final touches on the lordling’s sword.

    “Boy.” Hagon said evenly, his deep voice reaching them despite the roar of the forge.

    “Hagon.” Tristan responded, his head unconsciously bowing. It was an old habit that was hard to break.

    “Hagon.” Ailla chimed in from his side. “Tristan has something he’d like to talk to you about.”

    He and Ailla traded sidelong glances and she gave him a reassuring nod and a smile before motioning for him to step towards the anvil. Hagon set down blade and hammer and watched them carefully with his deep black eyes.

    “Hagon.” Tristan repeated, feeling like a lump was in his throat. “I wanted to talk to you about going to Whitecrest.”

    There was no response, but Tristan had known the old man long enough to need no prompting to continue. He was listening.

    “After last night, you’ve both mentioned it to me and…well, you’re right. I just…just…I just don’t know what to do because I’m supposed to finish the sword and then there’s the other orders that are piling up and…”

    He was talking faster than he meant to and his voice was getting higher the faster he went. He stopped when he realized he was breathing hard just from talking.

    “Boy. Are you daft?” Hagon said simply.

    “Sir?”

    “I told you to go, but you’re asking permission.”

    “Uh…” Tristan sighed as he realized what he was getting at. “Yessir.”

    “I told you to go. That means go. I got along fine enough without ye. I’ll last a few days more.”

    Ailla smile brightened and she practically hopped a little.

    “See?” she said. “And you were worried.”

    She was right, of course. Tristan couldn’t get his head around why he was worried. Yes, it was work, but it wasn’t like he was trying to skip out. He was ill.

    He nodded again. “I’ll be back as fast as I can.”

    “You’ll take as long as ye need to get better, boy. Now go.” Hagon said, motioning with the hammer. “Tell me before you leave.”

    Nothing else was said as Tristan and Ailla slipped out of the smithy. He could hear Hagon return to pounding on the new sword and Ailla was alight with excitement and chatter. Yet, Tristan didn’t feel excited. If anything, he felt like he might throw up.

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