[Hereford Eye]

Even lower then the Lower Realms is a warren of caves and tunnels known only to the outcasts of the Gnarled Folk, the ones sent scurrying to find a life of their own. Unwilling to take a place in the Earl’s scheme, unwilling to take a place in any scheme not of their making they find themselves delving ever deeper in the earth, searching for the new wealth, the new lodestone, the new miracle to change their lives, their circumstances.
In a side cavern known only to a small group, opportunity answered the knock. A wall fell, a room revealed, a welcoming hiss invited them in. Snakes hiss, steam hisses, this being made speech as if deadly gas were leaking from its lips, a whisper barely twisted enough to form syllables, then words, sufficiently loud and sufficiently complex to draw the group into its power.
Always attended by four or more gnarled folk, the others sent scurrying to spy, to steal, to spread discontent, the presence slowly extended its influence. Over time, even the presence lost track of how many were committed to its plan, how many were standing idly by to see how that plan developed, ready to join any parade that looked as if it might march to the Earl’s throne.
The presence stood in deadly solitude in a corner of its room, watching, accepting reports, occasionally issuing instructions. It never seemed to eat, never seemed to sleep, never seemed to perform any of the acts necessary to all other life.
Into this pregnant silence a figure intrudes, face gleaming with anticipation of the reward to be bestowed by its master upon hearing the tale he bears. His name is Spite, a sobriquet earned over a troubled childhood, christened by playmates and siblings in tribute to his perpetual snarl, perpetual jealousy, perpetual schemes of retribution. He begins his report with a reminder of promises made, of rewards expected. “You said to tell if something unusual occurred. You said it would be worth my while.” Spite pauses waiting confirmation from the presence of his assertions. Barely audible, the presence commands him to proceed, neither confirming nor denying Spite’s words.
“There are new great ones in the caverns,” Spite begins and becomes unnerved by the stiffening presence, indication his words are making a mark. “How many?” the presence demands.
“Remember the reward,” Spite answers, attempting to negotiate. The presence stiffens even more and begins to move towards Spite who takes two steps backwards. “How many?” the presence demands once again.
Shaken, Spite answers “two.” The sight of the presence beginning to relax discourages him, his chance of great rewards seeping into the earth like spilled water. “A man and a woman,” he hurries into the air and the sight of renewed interest gives him hope that things are not totally lost. “Remember the reward,” he reminds the presence.
The next thing Spite is aware of is that he is no longer standing on the floor but is now suspended twice his height above the ground by a merciless grip. “Alone?” the presence rages. “No beasts of burden, no pets, just a man a woman?”
Feeling the moment slipping away but aware his hope for reward dangles by a thread more slender than whatever holds him in the air, Spite manages two syllables: ‘a horse” he gets out before he is slammed to the floor, all breath expunged from his lungs as if the air is rebounding from the cavern floor. His arm is broken, possibly a rib or two; his face is bruised and bleeding. The floor shows little mercy to beings that insist on trying to shift its form by brute force.
“Three came to the Realm! A man, a woman, a horse.” None of the gnarled folk still handing recognizes the elation in the words. “It begins….at last.” The presence squeals. A hissing squeal is an ugly assault on the gnarled folks ears and each ducks away to protect that faculty from further damage.
Spite slowly begs air back into his frame. When he has enough, he sobs another reminder that he was promised a reward.
“A reward! Yes, a reward for one who brings such glad news, such important news. You shall be the first to join me. The first above all others. None shall precede you. The glory and honor are yours.”
Again, Spite’s form lifts from the ground. “How shall I honor you?” the presence asks, most definitely a rhetorical question as it considers Spite from top to bottom. “Head first? No, the honor too soon concluded. You deserve to bask in your good fortune.”
Spite’s body changes position, lays out from the presence parallel to the ground, feet nearest to the presence. “What are you doing?” Spite howls. “Making you first to join me,” the presence hisses as Spite’s body moves, his feet disappearing into the presence. It is a painful honor, the gnarled folk realize because Spite is screaming, nothing intelligible, just screams of pain as his calves disappear followed by knees and thighs. The screams escalate in volume, in awful terrible power reflecting the ordeal Spite undergoes.
Until his lungs disappear.
At this point the sound ceases though Spite’s mouth moves in rhythm with the screams it would have released had there been a lung to power them. In horrified awe the assembled gnarled folk watch as the last of Spite is drawn into the presence.
“A watch on the couple, a watch on the horse, full time. Nothing must happen that is not reported to me. You four find four others. Send them to me, but you four begin the watch. One of you find the one near him and tell that one to report to me at once.”
A motivated quartet speeds from the presence. They order the first four they see into the presence while they lose no time ascending to the Lower Realm. None wishes to attain the honor of joining the presence.

[Holbrook]

As Lucas, speaks to the servant bringing the last of his bags and baggage to the rooms given over to his and the woman, he has called Anna, use. Others are being informed of the metal worker's arrival.

This is a dwarf realm, many here know the workings of all metal. Many come here to learn how dwarves work metal. Some come here to make a good profit alongside the dwarves.

A small enclave of human smiths, a circle of workings, homes and an inn cut out of the rock on the side of one cave.

Round a table in the smokey inn words are exchanged between dwarves and men over ale and female company.

"You sure?" Thomas repeats his question, shifting Betty on his knee so to see Drack better.

"Aye Arian worker, Lucas of Pithall by name, called the woman Anna." Drack repeats his words and spits, pushing the weed further into his pipe with a grubby finger.

"Pithall, know that name, cursed bastards. Working the metal runs in the family. Never father to son, like true craftsman, Uncle to nephew. Can't breed you see, the arian takes that from them."

"What man would not wish to...." Betty giggles in Thomas' ear.

"Oh they can, but not produce, wives they have had, women a plenty. No life in their loins." Thomas barks.

"For the money that working brings in, its a small price to pay." Mark pipes up, his youthful face showing his interest in the subject. His hands are wrapped round a tankard of ale.

"Along with crippled hands in old age, no son or daughter to carry your blood, your work, what is yours." Thomas snaps and narrows his eyes, in the corner is a figure, its finger crooked beckoning. Seems he is wanted.

He puts the wench from his knee and takes his ale, fading into the corner, hand covering his mouth as he speaks. "Aye and what."

"Aye and watch, a man a woman and a horse." The figure repeats.

"A worker of arian, his woman, wife or whore I know not and his beast of burden." Thomas answers.

"Keep an eye and you will be rewarded." The figure answers, fading away into the shadows.

"That I shall and my children too." Thomas says to himself....

[Hereford Eye]

Running beneath the snow builds relationships. There is the romantic glow of sunlight filtered through a thirty foot blanket of snow, there is the huffing and puffing of exertion. There is the occasional unspoken “damn, she’s keeping up with me too easily. What happen’s if I pick up the pace?” followed by a slight increase in speed which Tari matches easily and then goes on to better. Then, it is Tuli’s turn to catch up and they end up laughing as they run.
The occasional narrowing of the tunnels forces the couple to run in file rather than their accustomed pair and that allows one or the other to examine their partner without reservation. Of course, it is the other person’s back but something can be learned about a person from behind as well as in front.
Rest breaks afford the opportunity to discuss family, mate, children, interests, likes and dislikes. Tari has birthed three children; Tuli has sired two. Tari likes riding hares and spinning tales for children. Tuli likes swinging swords and wrestling; he’s his squadron’s champion.
Rest breaks also afford the opportunity to discuss auguries and missions and how the two seem to come together. “The end of all things” is a drastic summation and neither can produce a convincing explanation for the phrase but :the beginnings of new things” seems obviously to involve a man, a woman, and a horse. The goddess knows there has been no traffic with such as these for too many generations to count. Therefore, they are new things that are beginning. How the Koldred augury will affect them is a mystery only time can resolve.
It is a 45 mile run from the base of High Peak to the Gate to the Lower Realm, all but the final 50 meters under snow. Just before the tunnel exit the runners come upon the expected guard contingent, half dozen Kobold sitting by a firefly, eating. The eating part attracts the runners to them. They need another hour or two to rest after their recent exertion and what better way to rest than to chew something tasty.
Time speeds quickly under the snow. Rations disappear, the guard force changes roles, the couple finish resting. Just before the guards move the level to shift the snow blanket from the door, Tari remembers the powder in the packs. With water from the guards’ fountain, the two down the concoction.
Tari feels the muddied powder track down her gullet, believes it hit her stomach with a thud that dispersed the powder all around that tiny sack. A sudden dizziness sweeps over her threatening to knock her down, threatening but never quite following through on the threat. A sour flavor climbs back up the trail the powder had traveled, exiting Tari’s mouth in a belch rude even for Gnarled Folk but disgusting in a Koldred. The sound of Tuli duplicating the feat eases her enbarassment.
When the dizziness passes, Tari checks on Tuli who seems to be re-orienting himself as well. “Are you okay?” one asks the other and both nod assent. Tari turns to the guard and asks for the gate to open. The guard looks shocked by her question but nods and pulls feverishly at the level. Tari has never watched anyone move so quickly. Before she can catch her breath the gate is open, the snow is pounding in, and the sad light left in the day barely illuminates the trail to the gate.
Tari and Tuli exit the tunnel without comment heading for their next destination, the cold and the wind offering additional motivation as if it were needed. Just outside the range of the tunnel gate, it suddenly crashes into place moving so quickly it leaves no mark in the snow, the explosion of its closure drawing snow from the blanket around it. There is no sign the tunnel entrance exists.
“So, this is what the great races see,” Tuli remarks, his remark bringing a sheepish understanding to Tari. She is embarrassed that she needed explanation of the events surrounding their departure from the Koldred realms.

[Holbrook]

Cough, Rasper and Snarley exchange gossip with their replacements. They tell of a man, woman and a horse. The replacements hand the three each a flask of warmed ale and tell of the three taken to the Lord and treated like honoured guests.

"Tis the Arian." Cough rasped and warms his hands on the flask.

"He will have his gates now." Rasper gargles as the ale hits the back of his throat.

"And more besides, he has a cavern full of the metal, he will see it all worked." Snarley confirms.

Two of the three relief nod their heads sagely. The third is squinting into the blizzard. Two shapes no more than a foot high, move forward.

"You see." He says pulling on Cough.

"Aye, I see the Lord will have his way..." Cough replies and prepares to move back into where his toes might once more feel part of him.

"No... there... " He points out into the white wall drifting before them.

"Where... "His fellow members of the new guard move forwards spears angled low, aiming at the small forms clattering over the wooden drawbridge.

Cough, Snarley and Rasper for a moment consider they might stay, but having dealt with a man, a woman and horse and the Sergeant. The consider their work done and depart to the warmth of the barracks, via the inn off Pickle cavern.

~#~

The Lord turns the key in the massive lock, ordering the servant to hold the torch higher. The door creaks, groans and opens.

The light bounces, trickles and shimmers off the contents.

"Higher!" The Lord snaps and moves forward to stand amid the raw silver ore. Length, like dragon's tongues, tore out of the bowels of the earth, lie around. Piled, tumbled, layered. All ready to feel the heat of a forge and the kiss of a hammer.

"Take five stone in weight, make the forge ready, the man will work come the second the sun touches High Peak. Only this night shall he rest, I will have my gates."

~#~

In the quarters given him Lucas checks the packs now brought in by a shuffling servant. He asks after the horse, is content with the answer and turns to Anna.

The woman has let the thick fur slip from her shoulder, she stands by the fire, her hands outspread to its warmth, yet her flesh is pale. Lucas makes to speak, but again a servant knocks and brings food and a request that come the dawn the man will begin his work.

Lucas nods and knows now is not the time to speak. He goes to the packs seeking one of fine oiled leather. Out of it he takes a small length of silvered metal and a small set of tools The metal he places in the hot ashes of the fire. As it warms the woman's eyes begin to reflect its heat.

Lucas squats down and removes the length, with a small pair of tongs. He begins to beat the red hot section on the stone of the hearth with a small hammer.

The metal hisses curses, snapping out, angry at man forcing its shape away from what it is now. Then it sighs in contentment as it finds its new shape more pleasing. For Lucas, takes the metal the way it wishes to be, not the way he wishes it.

On the hearth now a small twisting link within a link sits shining, the sivler arian bright and brittle for all to see. So is the woman, her hair, once dull, shimmers, her lips pale, now red and bowed. And her eyes are clear. Anna's hand reaches out and gently touches Lucas' shoulder.

He feels the warm of the touch, feels the truth of it, as does the very air around him. The chains have been loosened a little more. There is a little more hope.

[Hereford Eye]

The guards venture out of the gate to surround the Koldred couple. “What d’ya make o’ this?” one asks and another responds “A couple o’ kids, maybe?” They seem ready to poke the pair to determine whether they or real or not.
Tari draws up to her full ambassadorial height: “You gentlemen had best get on with your business, don’t you think? Or has the Lower Realm’s reputation for accepting visitors outlasted the actual circumstances?”
While she’s talking, Tuli edges around so they are now back to back facing the three gnarled folk. “I’ll take the two I’m facing,” he announces. Tari immediately answers she’ll take the two she’s facing which brings peals of laughter from the guards.
“Uh, Tari? I just remembered the powder and its aftereffects.”
Over her shoulder, Tari responds: “Yes, that does limit our options, doesn’t it?”
Turning back to the guard before her, she begins again, this time more forcefully: “It may well be that the gnarled folk have no memory of the Koldred. However, we are Koldred and we bring important news to your lord. I suggest you put aside your fun and games and return to the matters I assume you do remember. You are gate guards, are you not? Gnarled folk gate guards are not powers unto themselves; there are sergeants and captains and a lord to answer to, true? Then best be about your duty.”
“Get ‘em inside. The clothes they wear are not fit for this clime. I’ll go get the Sergeant.”
“Let’s go, children. You’re out way past your bedtime.”
“You know, junior," Tuli retorts, “That could cost you a portion of your anatomy of which I am sure you have grown fond over the years. I strongly recommend you learn some manners before we meet again.”
“Shore, little guy! I’m shorely gonna be quaking in me boots; I am,” and still crippled with laughter, he leads the party into the tunnel.

Sergeant’s memory are no better than privates but Captains have some education about them. The officer-of-the-day remembers lore of Koldred sufficiently to run the news by the Chamberlain who quickly informs the Earl of the latest guests in the Lower Realm. Only great control prevents the Earl from running to meet the newcomers. He is Earl, after all, and understands the dignity of his station. Despite his enforced delay awaiting their arrival in his common room, the Earl becomes so excited he completely forgets the reason for their visit, that they carry important news.

The one chosen to relay this message to the presence did not enter demanding promised rewards. This messenger stepped inside the door to the presence’ chamber exactly two paces. Immediately he sensed the presence come to attention so immediately he blurted out his news: “Two Koldred, man and woman, come to deliver news.” Mission completed he turned to flee from the room but his feet seemed pasted to the floor. He had managed the turn but that was as far as he was able to progress. Now he had his back to the presence and that seemed much worse than facing the thing.
The hiss is barely intelligible as if the presence is too preoccupied to concentrate on mere words to gnarled folk. “They bring an omen, an augury. I must know the words. Find out what they said and deliver it to me. I will reward you well.”
An icy chill sweeps over the messenger’s body. “No, sir, no rewards, please. Just let me do me duty, your lordship, sir. Just serving is all the reward the likes o’ me are entitled to.”
“Yesssss,” the presence seems to agree. The messenger finds movement again flying from the chamber, heading up in the Lower Realms, hoping that he will be able to discover what message the strange little people brought. For the first time in many years, he also wonders if maybe he has made a mistake not following the Earl’s policies.

[Holbrook]

The woman Lucas called Anna, does not sleep. But then she is not awake. For her the world is a blur. A hazy picture of half remembered throughts. It is a dream struggling to be real.

She knows so much, but can't remember anything.

She has lived far beyond any, yet she is newborn.

She had died, yet has not begun to live.

The glow produced by the working of the metal has faded. She is again, dull, faded and ragged.

Lucas sleeps, his body seeking to regain the strength it took making the climb up High Peak.

Anna's body trys to remember what it is like to sleep.

Anna is aware of is the "enemy" seeping into the veins of the world, seeking answers. Is that what she is doing seeking answers?

Who will strike true with the blade Lucas will forge. What price will she and others pay so the blow can be struck.

Who is friend?

Who is foe?

What is the reason behind her being, is she a mere reflection of the enemy. A like but not alike.

She blinks her eyes, sighs and sits on the edge of the bed. Lucas shifts in his sleep, his arm dragging across his features. his long hair is tangled round his shoulders. Anna straightens the strands, smoothing them onto the pillow.

Lucas awakes, his eyes snapping open. He struggles to see in the faint glow from the fire.. His head shakes and he reaches out to Anna, saying "Rest," it is a gentle command.

Anna does not move.

"Rest..." the word is repeated and Lucas pats the bed beside him. Anna shifts her body and lies down, on her back.

"Close your eyes." Lucas says and turns away from her, his back close but not touching.

Anna closes her eyes and listens to her own heart beat. Beat, a tattoo, too fast, too slow... then a hitch. It stutters and becomes a steady gentle rhythm.

A rhythm that is matched by the measured footsteps of two as they walk to meet the Lord of this Realm.

[Hereford Eye]

The Earl of the Lower Realms barely contains his glee at the sight of the Koldred couple entering his chambers. “It’s true; it’s true,” he laughs, dancing around the disgusted couple. “All these years I have had the rumor and now I have the proof. Wait till those buffoons on the side of the mountain learn that I have two Koldreds……er….visiting. How long can you stay?”
Before the Koldred can answer three more people enter the chamber, the man, Lucas, the woman, Anna, and immediately behind them follows a Gnarled One though the title seems cruel for one so young. She is Harsh, the Earl’s 14 year old daughter, full of her own importance but appropriately awed at the visitors in her father’s chambers.
Tari, upset at the reception thus far, urges words from her throat: “We are an embassy, lord Earl. An embassy with a message.”
“And nought else?” the Earl asks, disappointment heavy in his tone.
“Perhaps, lord earl, we should hear the message before we engage in other discussions.” It is Ann who says these words bringing the Earl round on her with instant fury: “The message is for me, woman.”
His fury has no place to rest. Anna remains head bowed, unflinching at his assault, standing as if the end of the world were a breath away. Lucas would come to her defense but Tari is there first: “It is the arrival of these folk in your realm that prompts the message, Lord Earl. Whose ears should hear it must definitely include theirs, would you not agree?”
Harsh, in the meantime, has ventured to a chair out of the line of fire.
“Very well,” comes the grudging agreement. “Let us hear this message.”
“It is an augury, Lord Earl. One held in Koldred lore for 45 generations. The words to this augury are: Before the end of all things there must be a beginning of new things.”
The Earl hears but does not understand. Lucas may understand and certainly Anna does but most surprising to everyone in the room is that Harsh comes bouncing from her chair: “Of course,” she cries, “the Legend of the End. You remember, Daddy, the lost poem we all study for the morals it teaches. At least, that’s what you told me when I asked why I had to learn the thing.”
Recognition appears instantly on the Earl’s face. Rather than be annoyed at his daughter’s untimely interruption of matters of state, he turns from his audience to ponder the words, to try to recall the poem. Harsh has a similar problem. “I remember the first two lines and the next two but I cannot remember the rest. The next two go: A lost woman must be found, an alliance of strangers must be wound.”
There are more lines, I am certain,” Lucas says, his brow lined in an unsuccessful attempt to remember something he knows he should know.
“But, it is not time for those lines,” Anna murmurs.
Again the Earl rounds on Anna, a trace of his former irritation feeding this new one her words generate. “You know the poem?” he demands.
“I know many things, Earl,” Anna’s head rises in defiance as her words cross the gap to the Earl. “I know there are ears to hear this that should not hear it.”
“My daughter?” the Earl asks in stunned disbelief.
“No,” and Anna delivers a smile of encouragement to the teenager, “not your daughter. She has already begun to play her role.”
“Role? My daughter has no role save to grow into the princess she is to be and marry the man I tell her.”
Tari laughs. Tuli smirks. But Harsh’ eyes glow with rebellion. The Earl does not observe the latter as he turns on the Koldred smarting from their irreverence. “You have delivered your message. You may…”
Again Anna finishes a sentence for the Earl: “..well have a part to play in this end of all things.” With that, Anna’s head bows and no further words are forthcoming.
“Later, then, when the amenities are satisfied with our new guests, we will meet again.”
“All of us,” says Lucas, “should meet again and soon. Include your daughter, Earl. It seems that she, too, has a part to play.”

[Holbrook]

"Koldred," Lucas repeats the name of a race spoken of only in half remembered fables. His hands are as busy as his thoughts, teasing and shaping the metal in the forge provided. Already the Earl's gates are forming.

"Yes. "Anna answers, her eyes reflecting the bright glow of the forge's hearth.

"Before the end of all things there must be a beginning of new things.” Lucas beats the metal, then plunges it into the quenching bath.

"Yes."

"You spoke out?" The hammer in Lucas' hand strikes hard, mirroring his annoyance at her action.

"You think I said too much?" Anna asks, placing her hand on Lucas' arm, her touch is warm, no longer chill. She is more real.

"Yes... The enemy remember." His anger boils over and he throws the the metal and tools from him. He turns away from Anna's gaze and makes for the work bench, taking a pull at a flagon of ale to quench a thrist that can not be.

"What enemy?" A voice asks from the end of the bench. There stands two small figures. The Koldred.

"The enemy of all." Lucas says softly his eyes narrowing.

Who will bring about the end of all things?" Tari asks and looks at the flagon of ale not much smaller than she.

Tuli does not answer his companion's question but adds one of his own "Beginning of new things, like what?"

"Friendship, love, life." Anna says softly.

#####

"Rubbish" Thomas the smith mutters from his listening place, but continues to cup his ear to catch more words.

[Hereford Eye]

The presence stirs restlessly, hissing just below the intelligible level, unsettling the four Gnarled Ones kept as…as what? Guards? Messengers? The next snack? Not one of the four stands easily in this chamber. Just one of this set was present when their comrade joined the presence but word spread quickly through all the faithful and none entered this chamber with peace of mind.
Round and round the room the presence moves, a physical chill traveling with it that, over time, seeps into the blood of the guards causing shivering and sneezing. By watch end, each feels a terminal illness has settled in their frames. Their departure always produces “that’s the last time I stand watch with that infernal thing!’ usually answered by “what ya gonna do, mate? You going crawling back to the Earl, are you?” Crawling back, in this case, is a metaphor as the Earl is quite unaware any of his people have left him.
This time, when Growler makes his declaration his feet freeze in place. No amount of leg jerking frees them. Terror sets in. He hears the hissed summons of the presence and more than anything he has ever wanted to do in his life, he wants to run to the Earl and beg his forgiveness. Slowly, his traitorous body turns; slowly his legs move his feet in the only direction permissible. Slower than the coming of spring, he enters the chamber.
Words gush as if volcano spewed. “I’m sorry, sir! I’m terrible sorry. It was no more than a soldier’s gripe. It didn’t mean nothing.” Growler falls to his knees, crying his remorse to the presence that does not seem to be listening. From protests of innocent griping to abject abasement, Growler kneels, head touching the rock floor, hands splayed flat, every muscle in his body throbbing in time with the sobs coming from his throat.
“Things are happening. Events are passing. I need information.” The presence’ hiss is a knife to Growler’s heart. “Tell the one near him I want answers, now! Tell the one near him that I want to see him now or his son will join me before the day passes.”
Growler feels control of his body returned to him. Relief fills him, almost ecstasy as he realizes this is not his time to join the presence. “Yes, sir, your majesty. Yes, sir. You bet! I’m on it this very instant.”
Growler flies from the chamber heading for the tunnels up into the Lower Realm. Panic gradually subsides. As panic evaporates, speed diminishes and thought returns. “That was close,” Growler thinks. “The goddess almost let him have me that time. Maybe it’s time to not be pushing my luck anymore. Must be some way to make things better for myself.”
This line of thought continues until half way up the tunnels, it dawns on Growler what the solution must be.
First, he goes to the one near him and relays the message. No sense dooming the guy’s son for no reason. That done, Growler heads for the Earl’s chambers. The Earl ought to be willing to compensate someone who brings the news of the danger lurking below his realm.

[Holbrook]

"Friendship, love, life. what do you know of those?" Lucas begins work on another length of metal. Tari and Tuli look at each other. Was the gaint addressing them?

They were Koldred, companions. Friends? Had their journey together made them so. Tari coughed and answered. "I think we are, we know a little of each other."

"Just a little" Lucas, pushed a length of metal into the coals and worked the bellows. The flame round the arian turned from a dul orange to near white, the metal began to glow, dull, sullen, it did not want the heat or welcome it.

"No one knows all about another." Anna said her eyes on Lucas' hands as he shifts his grip on the tongs, holding the arian.

"No? Not husband, wife, lover....? You certainly don't know." Lucas commented dryly.

"They least of all, " Anna sighed. "The love makes them accept without knowing"

"Nonsense," hissed Lucas as he lifted the metal out and placed it on the anvil. His hand closed round a hammer and he struck. Sparks flew, dancing into the corners of the forge, illuminating the four faces, turning them into demon masks.

"Then why do you..." Tari, suddenly asked as she watched the woman's shape shudder and flicker with each blow of the hammer.

"I don't." Lucas snapped.

"You work the metal." Tari countered walking down the bench drawn for some reason to the shining length Lucas had formed and was now setting into the Earl's gates.

"Because it must be done, the enemy cannot be allowed to win. That is why you are here is it not? To play your parts."

"Parts yes, " Tuli mumbled as he bent over and examined a scrap of the metal on the bench. "This stuff sharp?" he reached out to touch it.

"Don't" Lucas and Anna said as one. Tuli had. He lifted it up and sniffed it.

"Let it go, it will get in your bones." Lucas stormed across the forge. Tuli just smiled and wet his thumb to test the rough edge of the metal.

####

Harsh was sitting at a loom, she wasn't working it. She hated doing it. The loom sat by the fire in her father's hall. So she sat in her father's hall, all ears and eyes, yet ignored by all.

A soldier came in gabbling, arms waving. Her father laughed then frowned, then took the sodlier by the throat, shaking him like a rat.

The Earl then bellowed for his General at arms, dragged the soldier from the hall and headed , where? Harsh gathered her skirts up round her knees and dashed after the father and the fast going blue, soldier......