“You’re fine?” Sermas asked.
“I – ”
“Sermas, are you going to let the cripple outpace you?” Hern called.
Sermas rolled his eyes and followed Hern out the door, back into the main hall. Khollo mopped up the final drops of his stew with the last of his bread and stood, nearly tripping over his chair as he pushed it back.
Still clumsy, he reflected as he left the kitchens. I guess some things never change.
Khollo headed for the oaken doors of the keep, intending to return to the smithy. As he passed the table nearest the door, he noticed Genal. The large cadet leered up at Khollo as he passed.
“Wouldn’t fancy being kicked out of the barracks on a night like this,” he said loudly. “Looks like we might see our first snow of the season.”
Khollo merely smiled at Genal, then as he passed him, brought his left elbow up and back, smashing it into the cadet’s face. Genal howled and reared back, his nose broken, blood streaming over his fingers as he grabbed at the injury. Everyone in the hall looked around wildly, but no one took notice of Khollo, who left casually through the front door.
Some things apparently do change, Khollo thought with a smile as he rubbed his elbow. The skin was raw where he had made contact, but no injury had ever felt so good before.
Chapter 6
When Khollo woke the next morning, warm and dry, he discovered that Genal had another talent besides beating up his comrades and being an almighty pain.
He was also an excellent predictor of the weather.
The West Bank was hidden in a layer of glittering snow, evenly covering the drill field, icing the crenellations on the battlements and the top of the keep. The sentries were huddled around braziers on the wall tops, trying to keep warm despite their snow-crusted boots and equipment.
Khollo stood in the wide entrance to the smithy, pulling on his gloves and stretching luxuriously. For the first time in too long, he had not been woken by the frenzied preparations of the other cadets as they headed out for their morning run. Judging by the angle of the pale, watery disk that was the winter sun, Khollo had slept well past dawn, nearly to the end of breakfast. The remaining cadets would be returning from their run any minute.
Khollo stepped out into the transformed world and made for the keep, his feet punching though the thin layer of snow to the brown grass underneath. By the time he had climbed the steps to the keep, his feet felt like large blocks of ice and his boots were soaked through.
The kitchens were wonderfully warm though, with fires burning in every oven and every hearth, regardless of whether they were needed for cooking. Khollo helped himself to hot porridge and sliced ham, plus a beaker of scalding cider. He ate quickly, then ran back to the smithy to start the day’s work, noticing as he crossed the drill field that the first cadets were just stumbling through the main gate. To his perverse delight, Genal and the others looked exhausted, staggering across the threshold of the fortress and wearily clumping towards the keep.
Tarrik and the other smiths were just preparing for work when Khollo shuffled back into the warmth of the smithy, shivering slightly. The forges had been stoked while he was gone and a suffocating heat was quickly filling the workshop.
“No better place to be on a day like today,” Tarrik said cheerfully, noticing Khollo’s immediate retreat to the nearest forge.
Khollo smiled. “Beats the usual morning run, that’s for sure.”
“I’ll bet,” Tarrik agreed. “Unfortunately, we don’t have much to do today except sit by the forges. Nobody’s requested any work to be done.”
“Seems a waste to just sit here doing nothing,” Khollo murmured, tugging off his gloves and warming his hands by the fire.
“That’s life,” Tarrik replied. “Sometimes, all you can do is wait.”
Wait? When we may soon be facing vertaga? The thought frustrated Khollo immensely. “Can you make arrowheads?” he asked suddenly.
“Arrowheads?” Tarrik asked.
Khollo nodded. “Arrowheads.”
“Well . . . we could,” Tarrik said. “Why?”
Khollo turned towards the work bench. “Then let’s make some.”
“How many?”
“As many as we can,” Khollo replied with a shrug.
Tarrik blew out a frustrated sigh. “May I ask why?”
“You may,” Khollo said, raising one eyebrow.
“Will I get an answer?”
Khollo said nothing.
“Well, if there’s no reason to make any, then we won’t make any,” Tarrik decided. The other two smiths grunted and took seats by the largest forge.
Khollo swung around and stepped close to Tarrik. “If we do not spend this time making weapons, we will regret it later,” he said at last. “And you will think back on this day, this conversation, and wish you had agreed with my suggestion.”
Tarrik met Khollo’s fierce gaze. “You believe that?”
Khollo fixed him with an unwavering, penetrating stare, then nodded once.
Tarrik shifted uncertainly from one foot to the other. “Well, if you insist then.” He gestured to the other two smiths. “Aaron, Wendell, we have some arrowheads to make.”
“What?” the nearer one asked incredulously.
“You heard me,” Tarrik growled. “Get busy.”
“Yes, boss!”
Tarrik turned back to Khollo. “I suppose you want me making arrowheads too?”
Khollo shook his head. “Let’s take a look at that side project you were working on first.”
Tarrik hesitated, on the brink of refusing. Then he gave a defeated little shrug and led the way to the drawing table in the corner. Silently, he flicked through the sheets of parchment until he found the right one and carefully spread it over the smooth wood surface.
Khollo saw immediately that he had been right. It was some kind of weapon. But it looked like nothing he had
