1212 A.B.

  Aside from a few incidents of narrowly avoided unpleasantness with Kromwell’s gang, things were going well for me. Bran and I had learned just about everything we could from mother’s teaching, which meant we could speak, read and write in the common trade tongue, Terran and Arborean. We knew the basics of history since the Breaking, and we had a good grasp of the geography of our world. We even knew a good bit about mathematics, like adding, subtracting, multiplying and dividing. I felt good about that. What more was there to learn about math? At that time, all I needed to know was how to make correct change for a silver coin.

  With regards to the powers I had discovered, I avoided them as much as possible. I had to use my mending magic from time to time as the family needed, but I still never let them know how much it hurt. Without much joy I learned the limits of my shielding magic, too. Mira “helped me practice,” as she called it, by popping out of hiding somewhere and throwing something at me at random times. She was incredibly sneaky, and I found myself walking on tiptoes, glancing every which way when I sensed some kind of illusion magic nearby. She managed to hit me a fair amount of the time at first, but those times lessened as I learned to anticipate attacks and block them with little conscious thought. As much as she delighted in tormenting me, she was right. It was good practice. She didn’t know it felt like I was being stabbed each time, and I didn’t want to scold her for it, since that would tip off my mom, and I really didn’t want anyone worrying about me all the time.

  Every now and then, I practiced my whooshing spell inside the house. That’s what I called it anyway. I didn’t know what I was really doing, so all I could do was call it by the sound it made when I did it. It seemed that I could only go about a hundred feet in one whoosh. Sometimes when no one was looking I would whoosh from one end of the block we lived on and straight into our bedroom. I even learned that I could take Bran with me when I whooshed if I was touching him at the time. That helped us get out of trouble with Kromwell’s gang once. I used it when we were running around a corner, and our pursuers couldn’t see us at the time. It worked great, except that both Bran and I banged our shins on Bran’s bed when we suddenly appeared in the bedroom at a full run. I had to be very careful when I used any of my powers, though, as I couldn’t let anyone outside our circle of trust see or suspect anything. It could be that I’d have to take Kromwell’s beating to avoid a death sentence sometime soon, but it didn’t happen that day.

  One day in Twelvemonth, we heard from a friend of ours, who heard from someone on the Council of Elders, that Prince Kimorel Mithram would be hosting the Executors as they searched for Mordonian sorcerers in the next month. The Executors traveled from their temples in Mithram and Aerie and needed the authority granted by the prince, as he was the rightful Lord of Stonekeep. Though the Council of Elders ruled in the prince’s and the king’s absence, they were subject to the prince’s will in all matters. The royal family kept the Council around because they knew people wanted to think that they had trustworthy, common men to work for justice for the common townsfolk, and this kept people quiet. Quiet people didn’t form mobs, and the tax revenue was steady as a result.

  The news of the Executors coming was not usually very troubling for anyone. It happened once every few of years, and rarely did anyone suffer for it. Whenever I was “tested” by an Executor before, I didn’t even sweat. They just waved a rod close to me and then passed by. This time we all thought things would be different. I could tell by the sidelong glances I got from my siblings. It made me very anxious when I thought about it. Nora tried to hide it, but she looked worried, too.

  Elric was back from militia training, so he was working in the smithy where Darek was working before. It was Darek’s turn to serve since he had just turned eighteen this year, so he was off doing that. Dortham, Elric, Bran and I were working in the smithy one day when Hamot came in to make his delivery.

  “Welcome, Hamot!” Dortham boomed. Then in Terran, he said “[May yer enemies feel yer boot on their necks.]”

  “Well met, Dortham! [May yer steel never break in battle,]” Hamot said.

  Hamot looked like he always did, covered head to toe in steel plate armor with a pack full of steel ingots and a sturdy shield held in an iron grasp. His companions were arrayed similarly, as always. The usual delivery was made with the usual small talk, and payment was rendered.

  “[Y’ know, I’ve been thinkin’, Hamot. Are ye still wantin’ ta trade apprentices?]” Dortham asked.

  Hamot got a thoughtful look on his face and said, “[Sure would. Good fer th’ clan, that. I know how ye feel about th’ matter. What changed yer mind, if ye don’t mind me askin’]?”

  “[I thought me youngest boys should see some o’ th’ world beyond Stonekeep. An’ I wanted ‘em ta learn what yer people have ta teach. Smeltin’, fightin’, tactics, and a general toughenin’ up. Same as any father would, don’t ye know.]” Dortham said.

  Hamot was anything but an idiot, and he knew something was up. His gaze went straight to me for some reason. He had the good grace to play along, though. “[Aye, Dortham. This’ll be good fer both our families, it will. I’ll bring Hituren wit’ me fer yer next delivery in two weeks’ time, I will. He’ll be happy as a berserker ‘fore battle, rest assured,]” Hamot said with a smile. He and Dortham shook hands.

  “[Me thanks, Hamot. Truly. ‘Til next we meet, may yer feet always find solid ground, me friend,]” Dortham said.

  “[And may yer temper always be true,]” Hamot replied.

  Hamot and his entourage marched off. I couldn’t help but smile with the prospect of apprenticing with the Terrans. I’d always wanted to know how they made such good steel. We couldn’t melt iron into a liquid form in our forges because coal didn’t burn hot enough. Bran looked excited, too. We grinned at each other.

  When father made the announcement at lunch that day, the others were less enthusiastic. Juleen, Mira and Elle seemed unusually quiet, and mother’s eyes got red, like she was about to cry. Father only had to mention the coming Executors, and we understood the reasoning. I would not pass whatever test they gave everyone, and that would be the end of me. Maybe the end for everyone. I was suddenly a lot less giddy.

  The next two weeks seemed to go by quickly. We had the New Year’s Day feast three days before Hamot was expected to return, and we had a very good time as a family. They let Darek come home to spend the day with us before he had to return to the barracks in Castle Stonekeep’s first floor. I pressed Elric and Darek for details, and they described the central chamber of the keep. It had corridors going eight directions and each one ending at a pair of arches set into blank walls that were thirty feet tall and twenty feet across. They told us about the huge doors made of adamantium in the keep. Two sets of doors were at either end of the hallway leading into the keep and were always open (no one knew how to close them), and there were a pair of adamantine doors that were closed at the north side of the central chamber that were twenty feet wide and forty feet tall that were guarded by a pair of statue-like adamantine golems. The worth of all that adamantium was more than the worth of the whole city. It was unbreakable and exceedingly rare. I daydreamed about the construction of that keep and wondered what the builders were trying to defend against. It must have been something really, really bad if they needed adamantium gates to keep it out. And how did they keep the air fresh if there were no windows?

  New Year’s Day was a good day and was free of worries. Those last three days went by in a blur. Father bought both Bran and me a gambeson and pair of thick leggings that had straps of leather sewn into certain places. It looked like the same gambesons that were worn under chainmail armor. They were made of ten layers of linen sewn together, so they’d be very hot when worn. I couldn’t imagine wearing these things on a normal day without suffocating. Were we going to be wearing armor? Father also bought each of us a thick leather belt, a pair of sturdy boots and two pairs of socks. We’d never worn shoes before, and I was less enthusiastic about our journey if we had to deal with the discomfort of new shoes. Elric was a very good swordsmith and had made each of us a dagger with a leather scabbard. When he and father gave us these things that day, I couldn’t help but feeling like I was a man finally. I was only twelve and had no idea what being a man was going to be like.

  As if reading my mind, father said, “You’re not men yet, but these are the things you’ll need in the transition. The Terrans are a very tough folk, and they’ll expect you to be as tough as they are. Your education will not be an easy one, but you’re both more than capable. Make me proud, boys.”

  The others said things to us that were probably words of encouragement, but I wasn’t listening. I was still puzzling out what Dortham said and what he really meant by it.

  We had one last breakfast with the family that day. Mira, Bandit, and Elle were also eating with us, as was custom now. Nora was up early and had prepared a bag of food for each of us. There was a cloth strap on each bag, and it looked like they were to be worn over the shoulder and across the back. When we heard the Terrans marching up the street, we said our goodbyes. There were hugs from everyone. Bran seemed to really enjoy the hug he got from Elle. It was surprising that she gave a hug at all, as Elle still didn’t like to be touched. She didn’t hug me, and I tried to be graceful about it.

  We all filed down the stairs to the smithy to meet the Terrans, who were marching in unison with great precision the way Terrans did everything. With them was a Terran I hadn’t met before who had a very short brown beard showing under his open-faced helm. Notably, he had two bruised eyes, which he paid no mind to. He was wearing plate armor like the others with a battleaxe at his side, but unlike the rest, he was obviously carrying a tremendously heavy burden on his back. He carried a metal shield, a greataxe, and wore a heavy-duty leather backpack that looked like it was full to bursting with steel ingots and an anvil. A full-sized anvil! Sweat was pouring from his face from the strain of carrying it all, and from the way he was huffing and puffing, he probably carried it all the way from Kurgh Rhamot.

  “[Well met! May yer enemies’ noggins feel th’ kiss o’ yer’ axes,]” Dortham said.

  “And a good mornin’ ta each o’ ye. [May yer hammer pound both yer steel and yer enemies,]” Hamot replied politely. He pointed to the struggling Terran and switched back to the common tongue. “This here’s me youngest son, Hituren. Ye can set that load down now, son.” Hamot said as he nodded in satisfaction. “Terran custom’s ta give a journeyman as much metal as he can carry ta start ‘em off right. Hituren here just carried about a hundred pounds in that pack from Kurgh Rhamot, plus his armor and weapons. He’s a strong lad, he is. Got two marriage proposals ‘fore he left, too.” Hamot beamed with pride, indicating the two black eyes Hituren had. That’ll be a tough act to follow, I thought. Bran and I probably didn’t even weigh a hundred pounds together.

  “Aye,” Hituren said happily. “An’ that Simya has a great left hook, she does.”

  As the others laughed politely, Bran looked at me with trepidation. He must have been wondering what we were really getting ourselves into. Looking back, I know I was assuming Terrans were just like shorter, stockier, rock-hard humans, and this was my first indication that I was terribly wrong. I had a moment of pause as I considered what this apprenticeship might truly become, reconsidering the wisdom of this arrangement while Hamot and Dortham hurried through the business of the usual delivery of ingots.

  “Are ye boys ready ta go?” Hamot asked brightly.

  “Yes, sir,” both Bran and I replied considerably more soberly.

  “Well, let’s get on with it, then,” Hamot said as he turned to Nora. She had her arms crossed before her with a hand by her mouth. Her eyes were red and about to overflow, and Hamot noticed. “They’ll be fine, lass,” he said in a slightly gentler tone to Nora.

  “I know. It’s just hard,”

  She gave us each one last hug as father paid Hamot for the ingots his Terrans had just deposited by the door. Father then gave us our sacks with the food and extra clothes.

  He clapped each of us on the shoulder. “Make us proud, boys.”

  Hamot turned to Dortham and said, “[May an ogre never see yer backside.]”

  “[An’ may th’ reach o’ yer hammer extend to ‘is teeth,]” Dortham said.

  “[Aye! It may take a bit o’ axe work, that!]” Hamot happily said as he slapped Dortham on the shoulder and turned to go.

  Without even looking back, Hamot began marching off down the street, his loyal Terrans falling in behind. Bran and I looked at each other quizzically, then back at Dortham, who helpfully pointed down the street after Hamot. We fell in behind the Terrans, trying to look like we knew where we were going. Whether consciously or not, we began to time our footfalls with those of the Terrans. I chuckled a bit when I noticed it, but the grin quickly faded as I realized that they probably wouldn’t vary their pace all the way back to Kurgh Rhamot. My heel was starting to chafe already, and we hadn’t even made it to the city gate yet.

  Our company was about to pass through the outer gate and into the marshalling yard where caravans assembled, when one of the six guards at the gate perked up at seeing Bran and me. When he pushed away from the wall he was leaning against, his comrades took notice and followed his gaze to us as well.

  “Hey, where do you two think you’re going?” The guard asked belligerently. He stepped in front of the line of Terrans with an upheld hand and addressed Hamot. “You know you have some tagalongs with ya?”

  Hamot stopped marching a few paces away from the guard, and without looking back, put his gauntleted fist on his hip. “Ya mean those two lads at th’ back? I think ye can see they’re dressed fer travellin’ same as we are.”

  “What’re you lot doing with those boys?” the guard asked suspiciously. My heart sank then as I envisioned being sent back to my home just before the Executors got here. I personally had a lot at stake in getting through those gates and my palms began to sweat.

  “Travellin’, o’ course.”

  “Where to?”

  “Kurgh Rhamot.”

  “Do their parents know you’re taking them there?” the guard persisted.

  I couldn’t see Hamot’s face, but there was an uncomfortable pause in the conversation. The guard swallowed, just now realizing what he had said and how a Terran, who were widely known to be honorable in all things, would react to that. As well as being above reproach, Terrans were also extremely belligerent, and any kind of a fight with a Terran was to be avoided at all costs.

  “Are ye sayin’ we’re kidnappin’ these lads?” Hamot asked in a low voice.

  “Um, no, good sir. I wasn’t implying anything like that,” the guard said too quickly.

  “Shame, that,” Hamot said, rolling his shoulders once to loosen them up. “Coulda used th’ practice.” Everyone, the passersby included, knew what he meant by that. The townsfolk within earshot cautiously backed away a couple of paces or hurried to go about their business elsewhere.

  The guard seemed to want to save face. “His Highness has ordered that no children under the age of fifteen are to leave the city until the Executors have tested them.”

  “We’re not wait’n fer none o’ them fargin’ bostiches ta ride here from Aerie, we’re not! We got schedules ta keep!” Hamot yelled. I didn’t know what a “fargin’ bostich” was, so I made a mental note to ask Hamot what that meant later. It sounded like some of the bad words he promised to teach us. “These lads are ta be prenticin’ with me clan! It’s been agreed, it has.”

  “We can’t let the boys leave,” the guard said, blank faced. He swallowed audibly. It seemed he already knew how this was going to go.

  In very fast and precise movements, the Terrans moved from a single-file line to a defensive formation around me and Bran, shields up and weapons out and ready with a flourish. Expressions of feral glee were worn by all the Terrans at the prospect of a good pitched battle. The human guards, to their credit, didn’t immediately flee, though a few of them seemed to be questioning their life choices.

  “Th’ lads’re comin’ wi’ us!” Hamot yelled at the guard. He continued quickly, “an’ ye’ll not be seein’ a single ingot o’ Terran steel ever again if’n ye dishonor our agreement!”

  The guard knew then that he was defeated. Kurgh Rhamot was the only source of quality steel Stonekeep had, and the guard knew the prince would not risk losing his source of arms and armor over a couple of scrawny boys. Hamot knew this well, and I think he was giving the guard a way out without either insult or bloodshed.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “There’s no need for that, good sirs. The prince would not want to insult our honorable Terran neighbors,” the guard said carefully, motioning to his comrades to back off. “You may pass, good sirs.” The other guards stood aside in the wide gateway with postures that indicated they were very glad things didn’t escalate.

  Hamot didn’t provoke them further. He simply relaxed his shield arm and put his warhammer away in a smooth motion the other Terrans mimicked a second later. The Terrans, still surrounding Bran and me protectively, marched through the gate and into the marshalling yard where the remainder of Hamot’s company were waiting with the wagons.

  “[Ye walk like ye never worn boots before, lads.]” Hamot said idly. Then he thought about it and his shoulders slumped a bit. “[Crap. Ye’ve never worn boots before, have ye?]” Hamot asked. We shook our heads negative. He saw that our boots were pristine. “[I mean no insult, lads, but ye both get yerselves in a wagon, or yer in fer a real tough march, ye are.]”

  We knew no Terran would ever ride in a wagon when they could march on their own two feet. It was insulting to suggest to a Terran that one should ride, as only a plague ridden, one-legged Terran on their deathbed wouldn’t have the grit to march twenty miles a day. That went for the females, too, and I soon learned the hard way that the Terran women were a lot more sensitive about such things.

  I wanted to prove my worth, but I thought I would be lame in half a day from blisters, so I agreed. Bran saw wisdom too, so we chose a wagon in the middle of the caravan and climbed on. I didn’t want to sit on the uppermost part of the load in case a strok swooped down to get me, so I found a sheltered spot among the foodstuff where I could see everything around me as well as have some cover from predators, then settled in. Hamot started marching up the river road to the south and without a word from any of the Terrans, they all formed up defensively around the five wagons. When the drivers flicked the ponies’ reigns, the whole column marched off without a spoken word.

  -----

  We were following the river road south, and it would take four days of travel to get to the crossroads where the road to Warsong Keep forked to the east. The road was ancient and very well built, but the stones were broken in many places and it was sorely in need of maintenance. The road was wide enough for two wagons to pass by each other, and it must have taken a lot of effort to build. The going was steady if not smooth, and the caravan was only slightly inconvenienced by the rains on Threedays and Sixdays.

  Because overland travel was so dangerous, walled enclaves were set up by hardy and enterprising folks along the busiest trade routes, and were spaced about twenty miles apart, the distance a caravan could travel in a day. Each day we marched to the next enclave and ended our day in the safety only sturdy stone walls could offer. The enclaves themselves were little more than a stone keep (usually just an inn and tavern) with a few outbuildings like stables inside stout stone walls that were normally around twenty feet tall and five feet thick. They weren’t very impressive places, but they were safe, and they were the best the inhabitants could build by themselves. The enclaves usually just had one extended family living there to service the caravans that came through, and they were not owned by the king or local ruler. That meant each one was a little different, and the quality of the food and accommodations offered tended to degrade the further one travelled from a city.

  Hamot’s company had gone through Warsong Keep on the way north to Stonekeep, and he planned to take the south road to Goldsprocket to trade there before taking an eastern road back to Kurgh Rhamot. I had always wanted to travel, so getting to see both the Seeker city of Goldsprocket and the Terran fortress of Kurgh Rhamot was like a dream come true. I didn’t even mind the potholes so much. It was better than the blisters we would get, even with the disdainful looks we got from a Terran now and then. For Bran, who always wanted to be a ranger, this journey was a lot of fun. His head was on a swivel, it seemed. He was trying to see everything at once as the countryside rolled by, alternating between a few, rare grassy meadows and long stretches of deep, dark forest. Our journey was mostly one of constant gloom, as the trees covered even the road.

  About a half a day south of the crossroads, shouts suddenly sounded from the front of the caravan. From our vantage point in the wagon, it looked like a blurry part of the scenery had reached out and grabbed the Terran that was first in line on the right side of the first wagon. I could hear the screeches of talons on steel and the loud roars of some huge monster. The Terran was yanked off his feet and was being pulled back into the forest, and he was struggling to keep his shield between him and what looked like a set of black fangs that snapped at him repeatedly. It had to be a dreaded render that was attacking.

  Renders are reptiles that were between twenty and thirty feet long, with six strong rear legs that it walked on, and a vertically upturned front part of its body that had a pair of strong arms with long, sharp talons. The hide of a render could change color to match its surroundings, and they were very hard to see before they attacked.

  The Terran’s right arm was pinned, but he managed to wedge his shield in its mouth and kept it there while the other Terrans surrounded it. Then Hamot did something. I could feel some sort of magic come into being around him, then affect the ground at the render’s feet. The render sank into mud about a foot deep, then the magic disappeared. It appeared as though the render was stuck in place. The next few moments were a frenzy of meaty blows from axes and hammers that were almost drowned out by the joyful shouting of the Terrans. It was shocking. The Terrans were having fun! Even the Terran who was being savagely attacked was laughing with abandon. The men of Stonekeep always spoke of render attacks with dread in low voices, and the renders very often got away with whatever hapless soul it had attacked. Not today, though.

  The Terrans made short work of it, then gutted and butchered the beast when they were through. They had to chop the legs off at the ankles, as it appeared the beast was stuck up to its calves in stone. They started arguing amongst themselves which recipes they’d use when we got to the next enclave. We ended up settling on barbecue after the meat had been marinated in some kind of Terran brew.

  We brought the rest of the meat along with us on one of the wagons to be shared with the people at the next enclave in exchange for a healthy discount on lodging. That’s when I found out that renders tasted like chicken, and I thought the meal was pretty good compared to trail rations. Even in this diluted a form, it was enough to affect my balance.

  When we were ready to move on, the Terran who was attacked moved to resume his post at the front of the line on the right-hand side. He was rudely grabbed from behind by another Terran, who shouted at him as he spun him around.

  “[Not so fast! It’s me turn t’ be bait!]”

  “[Bah! It’s me day t’ be bait, an’ I get to do it th’ whole day!]” he said, fist on hip.

  “[Ye know th’ rules, Bergen],” Hamot said firmly. “[After an attack ye have to give way ta th’ next in line, ye do. Be kind an’ let some o’ th’ others get attacked.]”

  He grumbled about it, but he dutifully took his place at the end of the line.

  “[Maybe we’ll have two render attacks today!]” the winner said gleefully.

  “[That’s the spirit!]” Hamot shouted. Everyone took their places and the caravan moved on.

  It was fun to watch the Terrans at their drinking, too. They could each drink more ale than any three men, and they almost always took to fighting amongst each other. In particular, there was one evening when the caravan was encamped at a small enclave and everyone was in the common room having a beer (or a dozen) after the long day’s march. Bran and I sat close to Hamot, as was our wont, sipping heavily watered wine. Two of our company were arguing amongst themselves over something with quickly muttered phrases in Terran that I couldn’t understand. One of the Terrans punched the other right on the nose with a lightning fast jab. The other threw his drink in the first Terran’s face, and while his eyes were still closed, smashed the other Terran right in the eye with a rock-like fist. They traded blows until they were winded and had knocked each other to the floor. The one who got up first extended his hand down to the other and helped him to his feet. That one frowned and blinked a few times, looking around and trying to focus his vision again as his fellow patiently rested his fists on his hips. The loser then bought a drink for both of them and they sat down again side by side as if nothing had happened. During the entire fight none of the other Terrans joined in or even raised their voices. Sure, they let loose with some pointed comments during the fight and laughed a bit, but nothing in the inn was even broken at the end of the ruckus. From the stories I’d heard from Dortham, that was not the way things usually worked out in human cities.

  The next day we got started again, and the journey went on until rainy Threeday, when we rounded a bend and saw a city on a hill at the end of the gloomy, leafy tunnel. The walls looked thick and tall, and there were little silver specks moving around the base of the city and in the fields. Hamot let our wagon catch up to him and called up to us.

  “Hey! Watch yerselves in Goldsprocket, lads. Th’ Seekers who live ‘ere have all kinds o’ dangerous experiments goin’ on. Sometimes methinks it’s more dangerous inside th’ walls than out! An’ if ye see one o’ their golems charging at ye, play dead. If ye panic an’ run, yer done for,” Hamot said. Terrans were not a very comforting, gentle folk. “Best stay close ta me.”

  “Is he serious?” Bran asked.

  I gave him a wide-eyed shrug.

  The caravan advanced through the rain to stop at a little wooden bar on a post that was about fifty feet from the edge of the fields encircling the city on its gentle slope. The gate didn’t prevent anything from getting around it, as it was situated at the edge of an empty field with no fences. A small house sat next to the useless looking gate. The house was made of sturdy stone with a door that was four feet tall. It looked like a typical house from Stonekeep, but half the size. Hamot stepped up to the door and rang a little bell that was attached to the wall. A few seconds later, a Seeker stepped out wearing a wooden framework covered with canvas on his head that kept the rain off. He was about three feet tall with white hair and dark brown, wrinkled skin. He reminded me of a raisin with some fuzz on top.

  “Well met, Hamot,” the Seeker said in a high pitched and cheerful voice.

  “Well met yerself, Falimus,” Hamot said. “Yer family still has most of their limbs, I hope?”

  “Indeed! Indeed! It’s been a good year. Only one casualty so far,” Falimus said happily. That wasn’t bad, considering it was only the second Threeday of Onemonth. “He’ll walk again, maybe even by next year. Thanks for asking! The usual passage?”

  “Aye, good sir. Got me a couple o’ new lads with me this time, I do,” Hamot said, hoisting a thumb up behind him at me and Bran on the wagon.

  The gatekeeper launched into a very well-rehearsed speech. “Have they heard and agreed to the disclaimer? Do they know that entry to Goldsprocket is solely at the visitor’s discretion, and that any and all injury sustained here is regrettable, but not the fault of the Guildmaster of Goldsprocket or any of his retainers? And that the destruction of private property by any B.U.M.M. or T.U.R.D. or accidental explosion is not subject to reimbursement? And have they notified their next of kin that they plan to enter our fair city?”

  “Aye. They were warned,” Hamot said.

  “What’s a B.U.M.M.?” I asked at the same time that Bran asked, “What’s a T.U.R.D.?”

  Falimus looked up to us and cheerfully said “Benevolent Unpiloted Maintenance Mechanicals, and Terrifying Unpiloted Reapers of Destruction. You’ll know which is which.” Lovely, I thought.

  Hamot handed Falimus five gold coins. Falimus pocketed the money, then opened the door to the house and called inside.

  “Caravan escort! White flags!” Falimus hollered.

  “Do we have to?” Came a reply with a series of small groans.

  “You’re getting hazard pay! Time to earn it, you sluggards!” Falimus shouted.

  Pretty soon, a dozen Seekers filed out of the house with those funny looking canvas hats on their heads and carrying white flags. The Terrans had already started storing their weapons in compartments in the five wagons, and they handed a couple of spare shields to Bran and me. I had never seen an unarmed Terran before and didn’t know they would even suffer that indignity willingly. The prince’s men would certainly never try to disarm one. They kept their shields at the ready, however, which was very telling. I hunched down farther in the wagon, just in case.

  “Once we get into th’ city, keep yer back to a wall an’ yer shield up,” Hamot told us. “Trouble can come from any direction, and ye won’t have time ta yell, so best be ready.”

  The Terrans surrounded the wagons and the Seekers surrounded the Terrans, then the caravan slowly made its way up the gentle incline on the flagstone road. As we passed through the fields, I saw what had to be the B.U.M.M.s working the fields. They were large steel golems about ten feet tall, and they each had several arms with a variety of farming implements attached. In another part of the field, there was a B.U.M.M. fixing another B.U.M.M. It looked like one of its arms had a broken tool at the end. As we watched, it replaced the tool and walked back up the hill toward the city gate. There were no Seekers doing any menial tasks at all.

  There were a few of the T.U.R.D.s patrolling the perimeter of the fields. They were pretty intimidating, too. They were also around ten feet tall, made of steel, and they had four legs and four arms. The lower two arms had large, circular saw blades on the ends, and the upper two arms had curved swords like scimitars held in their metallic grasp. As we got closer to one, it saw us and charged. It was a lot faster than I was, to be sure. When it got close, it must have seen the Seekers waving their white flags, because it stopped in a spray of mud, drenching the two Seekers who had stepped in front of it. The Terrans froze in place, shields up. When nothing attacked it, the golem made a buzzing noise and went back to its patrol. When our little escorts had wiped the mud from their faces, we moved on.

  When we got to the city gates, which had a pair of T.U.R.D.s guarding it, I could see inside the city. It was full of half-sized houses, most of which were six stories tall. Some were built so they were touching their neighbor’s homes, and some were solitary towers. Most of the houses had different building materials used in different parts of the house, like they were patched. There were different colors of paint everywhere I looked, and it was pretty common to see multiple colors of paint in random places on the same house.

  The Seekers were busily going about their day, walking the cobblestoned streets, carrying strangely inidentifiable burdens or absently wandering along, lost in thought. As we turned to the right, towards what looked like a caravansary, I heard a cry of pure joy with a loud whooshing noise.

  “I can fly! I can fly!” yelled a Seeker happily. He had some sort of wings strapped to his back with a big metal cylinder spewing fire behind him. He soared up in the air in a big loop. “I can f…” BOOM! He hit the side of a building on the lowest part of his loop with a sickening crack, making the whole house sway alarmingly. The wings flew in different directions before hitting the ground, narrowly missing a pedestrian who looked like he was in such a deep state of contemplation that he didn’t know he had nearly been decapitated. A faint groan came from the midst of the wreckage.

  “Nice try, Bizenum! You’ll get it right next time!” came an encouraging call.

  Looking at the smoldering wreckage on the ground, I thought it was unlikely. The Terrans didn’t even bat an eye. They just kept their shields in front of themselves as they went about unhitching the wagons, taking care of the ponies and unloading some of the cargo. I stood with Bran next to the city wall, trying to stay out of the way.

  Down the street to our right came a pained cry as a Seeker ran out of his house with the lower half of his robes on fire. “AAAARRRRHHHH!!” He ran straight to a nearby fountain and dove in headfirst. He surfaced with an unfazed but thoughtful look on his face as he rubbed at his sore legs.

  “How’s that D.A.F.T. coming, Rommy?” a female Seeker asked him.

  “Still running a bit too hot, Furna. Thanks for asking. I think I’ve almost got it, though. Hey, you have any burn balm?”

  Furna shook her head sadly. “Fresh out, sorry. I think Nizzlenot made a fresh batch yesterday, though.”

  “Thanks!” He smiled at her and stepped out of the fountain, shook the water off of his ruined robes, and then walked over to another house across the street, knocking politely.

  Now that I looked, I noticed there were pools and fountains at the intersection of every street. Small wonder. I also noticed a line of Seekers holding hands, making an unbroken chain between a B.U.M.M. and a house under construction. The B.U.M.M. was trying to walk around the Seekers, looking for a way to get to the house without success. It emitted angry buzzing noises from time to time and waved its multiple arms menacingly. I pointed them out to Hamot.

  “New house. B.U.M.M.s try ta take it apart ‘cuz it’s new, but they’re not able ta hurt a Seeker on purpose. The B.U.M.M. ‘ll give up in an hour or so,” Hamot said. “Blasted contraptions.”

  Hamot walked into the inn, which looked to be sized for the Terrans’ comfort. The building was made completely of stone and had a thick, steel-plated front door. The windows on the side facing the city all had steel shutters covering the windows with louvered plates to let fresh air in. It had a sign out front with a smiling Terran holding a foaming mug on it. It was the most heavily fortified inn I had ever seen.

  Bran caught my eye. “I’m never moving to this city,” he said.

  “Not a chance,” I said. “You suppose it’s any safer inside?”

  He shrugged, and keeping his shield in front of him, backed inside. I did the same, then shut the stout door behind us and took a look around. This was a very low-ceilinged tavern from a human perspective, but it was cozy. It had wood paneled walls with sturdy tables and booths in the common room, all of which were sized for Terrans. Bran was bigger than me, but neither of us were tall enough yet that the low ceiling would be a problem. Hamot was talking with the innkeeper, a paunchy, balding Terran with a thick, red beard. He wiped his hands on a soft leather apron that he wore over a light brown shirt and dark brown trousers.

  “I tell ye, I can’t take it anymore! Th’ blasted Seekers ’re likely ta blow th’ place up at any moment!” the innkeeper asserted. His face twitched a little under his left eye from time to time.

  “Bah! Can’t be that bad, Tashen,” Hamot replied.

  “What do ye know ‘bout it? Last week one o’ th’ little buggers shot a jet o’ flame out his window that set th’ stones o’ th’ street on fire! Set th’ stones on fire, I tell ye! I can’t get a decent night’s sleep! Seems every third day I’m putting out a fire in th’ yard. Look outside, Hamot. Ain’t no grass out there. They can burn th’ dirt, they can! I jus’ can’t take it. Ye have ta speak ta th’ Clanfathers an’ get me outta here! Please, Hamot.” The innkeeper said. He gestured like he was begging for his life.

  “In th’ good ol’ days, ye’ve stood by yerself against a goblin raidin’ party. I thought ye could handle it, I did,” Hamot said. He thought about it for a moment. “All right, Tashen, I’ll talk ta th’ Clanfathers fer ye,” Hamot said ruefully.

  “Thank ye. Thank ye, Hamot. I won’t ferget it, I won’t,” Tashen said. He surveyed the room briefly. “Heldra, th’ lads need sustenance!” He yelled out towards the kitchen behind him.

  “Already workin’ on it, don’t ye know!” Came the terse reply.

  The Terrans were already filing into the common room, stacking their shields by the door and then sitting at what looked to be their customary places. Heldra was already bringing plates of food out for them, and Tashen began filling mugs with thick Terran brew three at a time. Everything the Terrans did, whether it was marching with the caravan or cooking up dinner, was right on schedule like they were all part of a big machine. I got the feeling they could each do it blindfolded. And with one arm tied behind their back.

  Hamot sat down at a table. Not knowing what else to do, Bran and I sat down with him. We hadn’t been there more than a minute before a steaming plate of beef stew and a small loaf of bread was set before each of us. A tankard of Terran ale was next to arrive. I looked at Bran, who shrugged and took a sip. He tried not to make a face at the taste but was only partially successful. We had never had ale before, but I’d always been curious. I took a sip. I definitely didn’t like it, and shook my head at Bran with a disgusted expression on my face when Hamot was looking someplace else. I would eat what I was given, though.

  “We’ll do our business today an’ then pack it up in th’ mornin’. Another three days ta th’ east an’ we’ll be in Kurgh Rhamot,” Hamot said. “We’ll get ye lads settled in an’ start yer education in th’ Terran way, don’t ye worry. Toughen ye right up, we will.”

  I tried not to think about “the Terran way.” That sounded like it involved a lot of punching. It would be good to get settled, though. As we ate, I wondered what our family was doing while we were gone. It was probably all just chores, eating and sleeping. Nothing exciting ever happened with the adults around our household. Mira usually livened things up, though. She could always be counted on to do that.