The wind runner book 10.., p.81
The Wind Runner: Book 10 (The Wandering Inn), page 81
Silmak’s voice was slightly hoarse with nerves. Orthenon nodded. Without another word, he turned and strode back into the palace. One of the servants stepped forwards, an older woman.
“Will you follow me, Clan Tannousin? Your rooms await. And if you would care to retreat for lunch, it is being served. Follow me.”
She turned, and the clan awkwardly followed her as more servants came out to take the horses and belongings. There was a moment of hesitation when it came to the wagon, because the Tannousin men guarding it would let no one handle the contents or approach the wagon, not even the King of Destruction’s servants. But that was dealt with by letting them carry their burden inside, and Nawal was following Silmak anyways.
The thirty-two men and women milled about, beginning to follow the lead servant. On the way, they passed by Trey, who was awkwardly standing to one side, looking around as if still searching for Gazi. He caught Nawal’s eye as she passed him by and raised a hand, grinning sheepishly.
“Hi. I, uh—I’ll see you around, Nawal.”
She stared at him. Trey’s smile slipped, but Nawal nodded.
“We have met again, Trey Atwood. I will see you, if it is permitted.”
She bowed slightly, her hand resting on the little dagger at her side. Trey blinked at her, at it, nodded, and walked backwards before turning. Nawal watched him go, and the burning question in her breast finally made its way out.
Was that it? Was this all?
Part of her thought this was more than enough. She had seen two legends and heard both talk! The palace of the King of Destruction opened for her, and Nawal followed the four ordinary servants into the castle. But she couldn’t help but feel it should have been grander. Everything, that was.
——
“Ow.”
Across the world, Erin Solstice cut herself with a knife as she sliced some pork for a premade meal in her kitchen. Or rather, she thought she’d sliced herself. But when she checked her hand and the stinging line of pain, she found she’d barely cut into her skin.
“Whew. That’s a relief. No missing fingers? Check, check. I could have gotten myself badly! Then again—”
Erin frowned as she felt the edge of her knife gingerly with one finger. It was certainly sharp, but she’d had to work it through the meat, which had led to it cutting her to begin with. True, it was also her fault for getting her fingers in the way, but recent events had led Erin to focus on the quality of her knives. Or rather, their sharpness.
“You’re not that sharp, are you? I thought you were hot stuff, but I guess that was back when I first sliced my hand open by accident. Now look at you.”
Erin placed her knife on the table counter and stared at it. The plain steel stared back. Erin tried to think of how many things she’d cut in the time since.
“Too many to count! And you were always there with me, buddy. Well, I’m afraid to say that you’ve lost your edge. Sad. What’ll I do?”
The knife didn’t respond. Erin bent until it was at eye level.
“Don’t worry. I know a guy. Well, a Dullahan. But why should I settle for just him? Maybe the problem’s not just the knife being sharp. Maybe you’re just not up to scratch!”
She poked the knife.
“Ow. Okay, you’re still sort of sharp. But…I mean, I never went to Liscor’s [Blacksmiths]. But Pallass has really good [Blacksmiths], right? Hold on, I’m going to ask. Hey, Selys!”
Erin poked her head into the common room. There was a shout.
“What?”
“Does Liscor have [Blacksmiths]? And are they any good compared to Pallass?”
“Liscor has [Blacksmiths]! Why wouldn’t we? But Pallass is known for having good [Blacksmiths]!”
“Got it, thanks!”
Erin reappeared in the kitchen, although her conversation would have been perfectly audible if there was anyone to hear. Which there wasn’t; there was only a knife on the counter and some sliced pork. Erin shook her head sadly as she picked up said knife.
“Well, buddy. It might be curtains for you. I’m gonna check this out. Let me just slice the rest of this pork…”
She sliced the pork, shoved it to one side for Lyonette to use in the stir fry she’d wanted to try out with her [Flawless Attempt] Skill, and wandered into the common room.
“Hey, Ishkr! Tell Lyonette I’m going to Pallass! See you all later! Still on holiday!”
Erin waved at the room. No one waved back. Selys was too busy playing with Mrsha and her ball, and the other adventurers were busy reading one of Calruz’s maps and arguing. It might turn into a fistfight, or it might not. Erin walked over to the magic door and changed it to Pallass.
“Nobody cares about me anymore.”
She grumbled as she stepped through the door. Instantly, there was sunlight and noise. It was midday in Pallass, or just about. Bright, sunny—Erin looked around and noticed a Drake glaring at her.
“Oh hey! It’s you again! Okay, I know I’m not on the list, but—hey, don’t you point that spear at me!”
That was how she began her day. This tale had no bearing on Nawal’s introduction to Reim, but it was still relevant for other reasons. After all, Erin had little notion of, or interest in, the King of Destruction. But this wasn’t a tale about him today.
——
“…And here is the interior well. You may draw from it freely at need. Please seek out one of the servants if you have any other needs.”
The old woman finished her tour, and Bezha nodded. Both she and Nawal stared at the indoor well—who would have thought of such a thing?—and tried to guess at how much water it could supply. A lot, surely, if it was free for anyone to use. Reim must have been one of the natural oases—like many of the kingdoms or cities, it had grown on top of the only available water supply. Of course, there were some parts of Chandrar that even had streams and rivers, but Nawal had never seen them. She was born of the Tannousin tribe, and they wandered the edge of the great desert, plying their trade while mining the scattered deposits of ore only their tribe remembered existed.
It was a harsh life, but if they abandoned their lands, someone else would swoop in to control the valuable resources of metal. After all, it was said that in Chandrar, water was worth the same as blood. By the same token, steel and wood were worth their weight in gold if shaped correctly.
The King of Destruction lacked for neither, or so Nawal had assumed. The brief tour had taken her to the banquet halls, past training grounds filled with soldiers, through bustling corridors filled with servants, and finally here, to a wing of the palace devoted to guests. Now she and Bezha returned to the quarters gifted to the Tannousin clan.
The quarters were…nice. Yes, nice was the word. The palace of Reim had enough unused wings and rooms to house a caravan twenty times the size of Clan Tannousin without issue, and so the clan found themselves treated to wide, spacious rooms free of dust and beds of soft cotton. Nawal had her private room, as did Silmak, Hesseif, and Bezha, as befit their status. Meanwhile, the rest of the clan was given two large bunk rooms, one for the women and one for the men.
Spacious. You couldn’t ask for better treatment, really. Had they been in any other castle or palace, Nawal was certain they’d be sharing rooms and that their status, even as a blacksmithing clan, wouldn’t earn them private rooms to themselves. But here she had her own private bed, freshly made. ‘Nice’ might be too weak a word. This was excellent treatment for a nomadic tribe who had done nothing yet to earn it.
And yet—cotton sheets. Nawal had to poke them a few times to be sure. The soft cloth was luxurious, to be certain, but they weren’t exactly silk. Perhaps it was a reminder of their status? But the drapes and other decorations in the palace had been made of cotton too, not silks or more expensive fabrics. And the walls had been decorated with some paintings, but many spots were conspicuously bare. Had the palace been looted?
Bezha wondered the same thing as both Hesseif and Silmak met with them. Obviously, it was inappropriate for them to be together in a closed room, two men who weren’t Nawal’s immediate family in the same room, but Bezha was Hesseif’s aunt and they were all of the same tribe, so they left the door partly open. This wasn’t the time for strictest adherence to custom either.
“It’s fine treatment, Nawali. Don’t prod so. Were this any other castle, you would be overjoyed for a single room for us to share! And the quarters are filled with beds so that the men and women can stretch out and not roll into each other as they sleep! This is beyond gracious!”
The older woman pointed that out to Nawal. The [Blacksmith] scowled, flexing her callused hands restlessly.
“But this is the King of Destruction’s abode, is it not? Surely there are some rooms meant for the most privileged of guests, and we are not they! Our beds are simple, but is this a courtesy of goodwill or the basest of rooms spared because we are considered savages?”
Silmak shook his head.
“Hardly savages. You heard the way the King’s Steward welcomed us. Perhaps there aren’t any rooms filled with silk beds and rugs that span wall to wall?”
“And pretty maidens to wait on us hand and foot.”
Hesseif sighed. Nawal glared at him, and the big caravan guard hunched his shoulders. Technically, he and Silmak were in charge, but Hesseif was actually rather timid outside of battle. And Silmak? He only sighed when Nawal shifted her glare to him.
“It may be we are treated as those of lesser station, Nawal. What of it? Would you argue if you heard a [Lord] resided in the most luxurious of rooms, or a [First Warrior] of a tribe? No, I would not. And yes, it is odd that our rooms are not grand as the legends say, but perhaps silk bed sheets are too much to ask of the King of Destruction’s castle?”
He raised his eyebrows meaningfully, and Nawal flushed. It was true; expecting that would be insane anywhere but the King of Destruction’s castle. Bezha nodded, running her tattooed hands up her covered arms.
“Perhaps such riches were sold off, too. Twenty years would lay any kingdom low. Perhaps they sold all of what was here to survive. It would not do to bring it up lest we cause offence. We should not cause any offence.”
She looked at Nawal when she said that. The young woman blushed and tugged her veil more securely around her face furiously. She gripped the dagger at her side.
“I will mind my tongue. But I represent Clan Tannousin, and we are due respect!”
“And the King of Destruction is due deference and fear and awe! And you are a woman!”
Bezha smacked Nawal on the back of her neck. Nawal’s grip tightened on her dagger, but she didn’t unsheathe it. Silmak looked between the two, not wanting to intrude on the argument and go the way of Nawal’s brother.
“Patience, Nawal, Bezha. We know not if offence has been given or taken. It is simply good now that we were issued a welcome and both bed and sustenance, is it not? We should eat first and then inquire. But tell me—that foreign boy whom the King’s Steward spoke of. Trey Atwood. He was the one who you met, wasn’t he, Nawal?”
The young woman nodded. So did Hesseif.
“He was the same, Silmak. I would recognize him a thousand times over, sands strike my eyes if I err. Nawal must be careful around him, lest she give offence, even to someone not of Chandrar.”
A second poke at Nawal. The [Blacksmith] girl knew they were right—she’d gotten into trouble countless times and been taken to task by everyone from her deceased father, may he rest in the sands, to Bezha. But she still tossed her head defiantly.
“I did not know he was so important. But he is still a servant, is he not? Should I not speak to him like some dumb mule? I am the one chosen to forge the Naq-Alrama blades. To speak with a foreigner like Trey Atwood is not as disgraceful, surely.”
“You swore to make a blade that surpasses any the King of Destruction has ever seen. Let us hope he has never laid eyes on a Naq-Alrama blade. Or that he does not hold you to the strictest words of your promise.”
Silmak’s eyes were guarded. Nawal’s bluster faded. She looked around the room. Hesseif, Bezha, both stared at Nawal with the question in their eyes. Could she do it alone? Nawal had been trained by her father, yes, and aided him when he was too weak to do the forging, but always under his supervision.
This year was the first since his passing, and this would be the first blade of Naq-Alrama steel she forged unaided. It was a challenge even for a fully experienced Tannousin [Blacksmith], and Nawal was yet young and low-level for the work, even if she was the best in her clan by far.
Part of Nawal faltered. But then she straightened her back defiantly.
“I will forge him blades of our steel that can cut through any spell! If he asks for more, I will rise to his challenge! What else can be done? Until an apprentice rises in level and skill, I am the only [Blacksmith] our tribe possesses. If I cannot forge the Naq-Alrama steel perfectly, our people will scatter to dust.”
Nawal pounded her breast passionately.
“I may curse the fact ten thousand times waking that I was born a woman and not a man and that no other apprentice lived long enough or had the skill to follow in my deceased father’s footsteps, may he rest in the sands, but I will not disgrace our tribe! If I do, may my hammer twist in my hands and my blood water the sands!”
The three Tannousin clan leaders nodded solemnly. What choice did they have indeed? The King of Destruction had offered them gold where no one else would take their steel, let alone Nawal’s craft. If they had to live in the stables with the animals, they would humble themselves to keep their clan alive.
Bezha sighed as she sat in a chair made of soft, polished wood and backed by fabric.
“Then remember that, Nawali. Do not disgrace us, and we will support you. I will see to the caravan as I always have and ensure they do not cause offence—even find work for them if work is to be had in Reim.”
“I will guard the metal. It is being kept in a room, and we will stand watch day and night and let no one not of our blood enter, or any ray of sunlight in.”
Hesseif bowed his broad, shaved head. Silmak nodded. His eyes shone, and his hands, tattooed like Bezha’s, sparkled and lit up as he looked at Nawal.
“And I will prepare your forge, Nawalishifra. When the time is needed, we will do all in our power to give you no reason for failure. The rest lies on you.”
Nawal nodded, pride filling her along with fear. Her clan was with her. What else could she ask for? She bowed her head low, once, and the others did likewise. Then she went to find Trey to ask him to show her around the castle. He seemed the most approachable, the least guarded and easiest not to offend with careless talk.
Most importantly, he was a foreigner, and she could speak freely to him and ask how good the King of Destruction’s [Blacksmiths] were. And at least in this, Nawal hoped the legends of the King of Destruction were exaggerated. Because she wanted to see the competition she would be facing.
No one could remember specific legends of the King of Destruction’s [Blacksmiths], although all agreed they must have been mighty workers of metal and magical ore, so Nawal had hopes that the greatest of the masters had died out or gone elsewhere in his slumber. At the very least, she was relieved none of the legends mentioned Dwarves serving the King of Destruction. They would be really hard to outdo.
——
Erin Solstice stomped down the streets of Pallass towards one of the elevators, grumbling to herself. This was actually a good sign, despite the people who gave her weird looks.
“Stupid, uptight Drake guards. It’s my door! Security risk, am I? Your face is a security risk! That’s what I should have said. Boom! Nice one, Erin. High-five, self-five!”
Erin slapped her hands together over her head and laughed. She felt better today. More like normal Erin after—gosh, how long had it been? Ages. But somehow she was in a good mood. Even if she thought about Goblins, she didn’t want to cry—at least not now.
“Ninth floor, please! That’s the blacksmithing section, right?”
Erin asked the elevator attendant. The female Drake, who Erin could have sworn was the same one as yesterday, sighed and nodded.
“That’s correct, Miss. Please stand clear of the ledge.”
“Whoops. Sorry.”
Erin walked further into the elevator and watched the Drake teen pull a lever. The elevator started to go up very quickly.
“You know, you should really have buttons instead of that lever! So the elevator stops on whatever floor you press a button for! It’d be a lot safer I bet!”
The Drake frowned as Erin gestured to an imaginary set of buttons.
“What would my job be, then?”
The young woman wavered and gave the Drake attendant a blank look.
“Uh…pressing the buttons, I guess?”
The Drake thought about that. She pulled a second lever, and the elevator slowed.
“That would be nice. Hm. Ninth floor, Miss.”
“Thanks!”
Erin smiled at her, walked onto the ninth floor, and immediately heard a different noise take over. Clanging, sharp and brisk, filled the air, and behind it, a dull mix of voices, the sound of metal rasping on metal. Shouts as someone carrying white-hot metal navigated around the edge of a blacksmithing shop—the sounds of serious work.
There was something appealing about it; Erin had never seen anything like it in her world. Industrial factories were precise, mechanical without fault unless something went wrong. But this? This was organized chaos.
“Time to find me a [Blacksmith] and see about that knife. I wonder if I can get an extra-sturdy one if I have to slice up Ashfire Bees or stab monsters with it too?”
Erin rubbed her hands as she walked forwards. Last time, she’d admired how many forges there were, but she hadn’t really appreciated the layout. Pallass had effectively created half a floor dedicated only to the blacksmiths and given them rows of forges to work out of. Each one was more or less identical, such that you could move into one for the day, set up, and move out, or rent a space indefinitely.
