The Earl's men were already arrayed before the keep by the time I arrived. Chord and Sir Connor were exchanging parting comments at the tower door. Both looked up at my approach. The heavyset official took my hand in an iron grip and pumped it vigorously. "Hah! Glad to have run into you before I left, William. Look forward to seeing more of you at court soon! We must have a long chat about this adventure of yours. Fascinating stuff, other-world travel, all that. Your talents will be most welcome in Corbell, no question! Off I go then. Always a pleasure, Chord, until month's end!"

One of the cadre opened the door to the dusty litter, and Sir Connor stepped in with a final wave. The men lifted the conveyance, and started down the lane from the keep. Chord motioned me inside, and we seated ourselves at the same table where I had talked with Sir Connor the day before.

"I know," said Chord, "that you must be bursting with questions, but let me speak first. We will be leaving for Corbell in two weeks. The Duke is waiving the usual tithe of food and goods this year - instead, he will have a levy of our services for the raising of the new hall for Mage Orton. Your services for smithing, mine for raising stone for the masons. Seth will come, for his carpentry skills, and five laborers from the farms. I will bring Dimanda with me, and you are to bring Gort. Set your affairs in order accordingly, and do keep Harold apprised of everything, as he will stay here to keep things going while we are away."

I listened with some satisfaction, since it meant I would not have to sever my position with Chord, after all. The mage watched me carefully, and doubtless saw signs of relief flood across my features. "I have spoken with Harold, who told me of his son's encounter in the wood. This is a matter of concern to me," noted Chord. "We must establish the truth of this before we leave. If Nublin are starting a colony nearby, there will be talk among the farmers and villagers. Possibly some foolish action taken. This must be staved off, at all costs. There used to be some bad blood long ago, history now, between the Nublin and men."

Chord shrugged. "No reason to suspect trouble; some of our communities are close by theirs, but it would be something new here. We tend to ignore each other's business, actually. All the same, I am going to mount a patrol to ferret out the facts, and I want you to lead it."

This startled me. "Couldn't make a worse choice," I groused. "I know little of this place and next to nothing of these...these Nublin; not even what they look like. I just heard the name in passing, from Harold's kids!"

Chord smiled and cut short my protests with a waving hand. "Makes you the perfect choice. All that is known of them by most are children's tales and the babble of bards. Better someone unburdened with such tripe and foolery meet with them. Also, you are bright and accustomed to trafficking with strangers. It is, after all, what you do at the forge. You will know them if you see them, no mistake. My concerns are local. I will confide in you. I would like you to probe them, if Nublin are found, to see if there is a possibility for trade. Whatever you can garner as to their intentions without entering into political discussion would be good as well, of course.

"Besides, we don't know that there are any to find, as yet. You will take three men with you each morning, to accompany the gleaners through the wood on their morning rounds. The Nublin like our ale, I am told. See that you draw some from stocks each morning before going out. If you have an encounter, offer it up, and see if they can be enticed to talk. That's all. Will you do it?"

I agreed, albeit reluctantly, so Chord sent Harold to arrange matters. It was remarkable to me how busy everyone kept in this seemingly pastoral world. When told to do something, they run to the work, instead of walking. The extra duties Chord and others had piled on barely managed to bring the pace of my days up to par with their own. Food, water, clothes, all the essentials of life were available here, but at what a stupendous cost in labor!

I took leave of the mage, and decided to try an experiment before returning to the forge. The heats that ran through my blade from time to time spooked me. Resolving to be true to my earlier resolution, I thought to probe that wound a little, instead of trying to wish it away. The effect occurred every time I passed over the dais in Chord's cave, so I took the downward path to it, entered, and walked to the dais, swallowing my reluctance to fool with matters, that in retrospect, I should have avoided.

As usual, the sword warmed as I stepped onto the flat surface. The cavern was vacant. Even the oubliette, now empty of the stocks of Burlies, since Chord had scheduled no further rituals of late. The cavern's vents still bloomed with billows of burning gas, and a hot stench still wavered in the air like barely visible spirits, making their journeys to the cracks in the cave roof. The timing of the vent's blow-offs caused a strobe of shadow against the mottled walls, and then they seemed to change size and shape, as if I stood within the working lungs of some giant beast. I tore my eyes from the spectacle, and reached behind me, pulling the blade free. Its metal felt more than warm now, but screwing up my courage, I plunged it deep into the sanded circle's floor.