Khollo grudgingly obeyed and found a reasonably comfortable place to sit on the edge of the twenty-foot-square pit, where he could look down on the proceedings and see virtually everything. The diggers were working well. The arches were slowly taking shape, shallow indentations in the wall at this point, only noticeable because of the growing shadows as the sun set over the western wall.
The one thing Khollo was not pleased with was the roughness of the lines of the pillars between the arches. The lines were not smooth curves or straight vertical lines like the drawings in Tarrik’s book. Khollo didn’t know if this would affect the strength of the arches, but he did know that it didn’t look good. The first priority is strength, he decided. We can make it pretty to look at later.
“My lord!” Hamon shouted, waving his pickaxe. “We’re two feet into the wall. What next?”
Khollo stood and made his way down into the pit, taking the improvised stairs carefully. His side twinged when he negotiated one particularly large step. Then, finally, he was on level ground again and moving towards the arches.
Hamon’s arch was not perfect, not by a long shot. There were extra little ridges of rock that should have been chiseled away, but the shape was roughly that of the tall arch Khollo had wanted and it extended two feet straight into the rock without tapering into a narrower passage. The tip of the arch was seven feet above the ground, and it spanned nearly five feet side to side.
“Good work, Hamon,” Khollo said finally. “Very good work. Take it another six feet in, or at least as far as you can before the sun goes down.”
“Aye, lordship,” Hamon said.
Khollo frowned. “Hamon, I’d rather you didn’t call me that.”
“You’re a lord, aren’t you?”
Khollo sighed. “Well, sort of, but – ”
“And lords are worthy and deserving of our respect aren’t they?”
“Well, usually, but – ”
“And we should give them that respect regardless of what they do because they’re our lord, right?”
“Well, yes, but – No!” Khollo corrected himself. “No.” He looked Hamon right in the eye, thinking back to the code he had been building for himself, recalling what he had decided on this matter. “They do not deserve respect no matter what. That way enables dangerous things. If a lord is wrong it is the duty of his followers to let him know that he is wrong and to hold him accountable. In that moment, you must ignore that he is your superior and help him to do the right thing.”
“So, mutiny is acceptable in certain situations?” Hamon frowned. “That doesn’t seem right somehow.”
“Well, not mutiny exactly,” Khollo explained. “Just . . . respectful disobedience.”
“So do we still call them lord even when they’re wrong?”
Khollo sighed with frustration, then realized that the other diggers in Hamon’s group had all stopped working. They were grinning at the exchange and elbowing each other. Hamon wore an innocent expression, but Khollo could see that he was barely restraining a smile.
“Hamon, how would you address a leader that you are on easy terms with?” he asked.
Hamon’s expression transformed into one of uncertainty. The change in course had made him wary. “By his name I suppose.”
Not good enough, Khollo thought. I can’t have them too close or they won’t obey orders. “Maybe a little less familiar,” he amended.
“I’d call ‘em ‘Chief’,” Hamon said with a shrug. “That’s how things are done in our village anyways.”
“That will do,’ Khollo said, relieved. “Anything but your lordship.”
“Literally anything, or-?”
“No!” Khollo said quickly. “Chief will do admirably, thank you Hamon. Now, can we get back to the digging?”
“On it, chief,” Hamon said, turning to his diggers. “Get those picks moving lads.”
Khollo shook his head and moved back from the workers. By now, the other two arches had been finished as well. Neither was perfect, but they would do. Khollo glanced up at the sky. The sun was moving steadily towards the horizon, the day drawing to a close. The arches were slowly extending deeper into the stone, with no sign of imminent collapse. Finally, as the last rays of light were extinguished, Khollo called a halt to the day’s work.
“Well done,” Khollo called to his foremen, getting to his feet. “We’ll continue early tomorrow. For now, get dinner in the main hall and find a place to bed down out of the weather.”
This announcement was led by a ragged cheer from the workers. They set their tools by the stairs in an unwieldy pile and straggled off towards the keep in small groups, stretching their strained muscles and talking excitedly amongst themselves. Khollo started to follow, but a sudden wave of exhaustion stopped him. He leaned against the wall for support, gasping. The pain in his side swelled up suddenly, incapacitating him, nearly bringing him to his knees.
“Khollo? Khollo!”
Khollo slumped forwards and nearly fell before a pair of strong hands grabbed him. “Easy, we’ve got you. Hern, little help here?”
“I’m fine,” Khollo said, swaying blearily. “Just . . . needed a moment is all.”
“You aren’t fooling me for a minute,” Sermas informed him bluntly. “You overworked yourself and you can barely stand now, admit it.”
“Maybe,” Khollo grunted. “But – ”
“No arguments. Hern, let’s haul this one up out of this hole and put him in restraints.”
“If you do, I‘ll have you brought up on charges of treachery and insubordination,” Khollo growled.
“Which Lord Kurkan will dismiss,” Sermas pointed out gleefully.
Khollo opened his mouth to reply, then realized that Sermas was right. The two cadets half-carried him up the improvised stairway and into the warmth of the smithy. Khollo shivered. Now that the sun was down, the temperature was dropping rapidly.
“I think I’ll stay here tonight,” he
