After the duel, Coryn, naturally, had wanted to teleport him directly back to his army so he could launch a plan to save Solanthus. He had made a reasonable explanation: the bridging equipment for which he had contracted in Palanthas would not reach the army for several weeks, and operations at the front would have to wait until then. He reminded her that the Vingaard was a deep, wide barrier; the river crossing was challenging, and the outcome of the campaign would depend on it. That was the truth.
But another truth he held more privately. As much as Coryn had helped him, he could not allow himself to fall completely under her influence. Though he was saddle sore by the second day of riding, though rain and wind lashed him through the high pass, he relished the discomfort. He would do things in his own time; Coryn be damned.
The parting from Selinda had been an easier test of his will, though it had involved high drama. The princess had wept and pleaded with him, clearly terrified that he would come to harm in warfare-or perhaps, that his desire to marry her would wane with time and distance. He had assured her, quite honestly, that his ardor would remain as passionate as ever, awkwardly disengaging himself from her arms and riding away.
The white gelding he rode previously had been splendid for show, but with a mountain road before him, he had left the animal in Donny’s keeping and purchased a sturdy black mare. She had proven a fast and tireless mount and seemed to share his restlessness as she climbed into the fragrant pine forests of the Vingaard foothills. Jaymes gave the mare her head, and the horse shivered with delight in the cool shade. The air was moist, and the fragrance of evergreens made a rich and soothing perfume. The rider allowed their pace to ease a little as the land rose; his customary urgency was tempered by a rare pleasure in his surroundings. This valley, his destination, might not have been home to him, but it was as close to a home as any place else in the world.
The trail climbed steadily, but the weary horse only picked up speed, as if she sensed the nearness of their destination. She trotted up a series of inclines, following the winding trail beneath the overhanging limbs of the pines, then broke into a trot as the path leveled off and the trees ended abruptly at the mouth of a wide, flat-bottomed valley.
Here the scent of pines was replaced by the acidic stink of smoke and ash. A cloud of smoke hung in the air, like a permanent stratus cloud roofing the valley, enclosing this secret place and shielding it from unwelcome eyes-as if to say “not even the gods may look here!” But to Jaymes Markham, all was as it should be in this place.
The Compound had changed a great deal over the past year. Where once a clearing had formed but a small gap in the vast forest, now the trees had been harvested not only from the valley floor, but also from the slopes of both of the adjacent ridges. The barren ground was brown, streaked with gullies and ravines where erosion had begun. Great piles of logs were stacked to the right and left, the timber drying in the air. Dwarven laborers, well paid and hard working, were busy lashing teams of horses as they hauled skids of logs, bringing more lumber down from the mountains. Others chopped and split the logs or pounded hammers into spikes as they worked at assembling buildings.
Instead of the rudimentary shacks of the original log buildings, there were long, timbered structures containing the factories, as well as a series of barracks where the workers-now numbering in the hundreds-lived and ate. The sounds of industry echoed through the whole valley, from the steady cadence of axes, the hammering of smiths, the roaring of forges, and the cacophony of overseers and foremen shouting their commands.
The arrival of the lone rider attracted notice, and messengers raced to inform their foremen and bring news to the great house in the center of the Compound. But work continued as Jaymes rode into the corral before the largest house in the entire place. It was a great, sprawling manor with two wings and a tall, colonnaded facade. Two young handlers, both human lads, came out of the stable to take charge of his horse, and as he made his way up the steps before the house, a bearded dwarf hastened across the yard, wiping his hands on his apron and meeting the marshal with a scowl just outside the front door.
“I thought you weren’t coming until three days from now!” Dram Feldspar complained crossly. “I have the test planned for then!”
“Events are moving quickly,” the marshal replied. “And I wanted to come up here now; I need to be back with the army within a week, for the next campaign.”
“Well, it’s too bad. And Sally will be disappointed; we were going to butcher a prize hog and spend a day roasting the thing, so we could celebrate in style.”
“Your simple country fare will be fine, I’m sure.” For the first time, the man cracked a thin smile, pointing toward his old friend’s bulging gut. “It looks to me as if you’ve been feasting plenty.”
“Aye,” Dram agreed without a hint of embarrassment. “I’ll tell you, married life agrees with me.”
“You don’t say? Sally hasn’t tossed you out on your ear, then?”
“Not a chance. Though I confess, I get a bit of the longing for the trail, and a warm campfire, now and then. And the sound of a good battle-now, that’s something that would get my blood pounding again.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” Jaymes cautioned.
Dram brightened immediately. “Are you here to call me back to arms? My axe is sharp-I keep the blade oiled, you know. I can be ready in-”
“No, no,” the lord marshal countered, raising a hand. “You know better. I need you more here.”
“Bah. I mighta figured. Rubbing shoulders with hill dwarves and gnomes all day!”
“Speaking of hill dwarves, how’s Sally’s father? Still tolerating you?”
The mountain dwarf snorted. “Swig Frostmead would tolerate anyone who brings him as much profit as I do. As to Sally, let’s just say that she and I make each other very happy. As a matter of fact, our family seems to be growing-she’s expecting a little forge-master before the first frost.” He blushed, his pride beaming through the redness that tinged his rugged face.
“Well, congratulations. Even if it turns out to be a forge-mistress.”
“Bite your tongue!” grunted the dwarf. But he halted, and scratched his beard in thought, as if the idea had never occurred to him before. “Do ya think…? Huh! Well, come on in and make yourself comfortable. I sent a message to Swig as soon as the lookouts reported you were coming. No doubt he’ll be over in time for supper.”
“Good.”
“Can you stay for longer than a few days?” He cleared his throat, trying to sound gruff. “I’ve missed… that is, there’s a lot to show you.”
“No, this will have to be a quick visit. The army is concentrating on the west bank of the Vingaard, and I need to meet them in camp as soon as possible. How long will it take to put together the demonstration?”
“Well, I’d prefer more time to prepare, but there’s no real reason why we couldn’t do it first thing in the morning-that is, if you really have to get going.” He looked rather crestfallen, but his expression brightened at the sound of a female voice from the next room.
“Jaymes!” Sally Feldspar came running, or more accurately waddling, into view. The dwarf maid’s rosy cheeks crinkled into a broad smile, and she turned half sideways so that her bulging belly allowed her to clasp the visitor in a powerful hug.
“You’re looking mighty healthy, Sally. Dram told me your good news, or I never would have guessed.”
“Oh, you’re a smooth one, Jaymes Markham. That you are. And I bet a thirsty one, too. That husband of mine doesn’t have the manners to offer an old friend a drink?”
“Darn it, woman!” barked the dwarf, who even then was filling a pair of large tankards from the keg that rested to one side of the entry hall. It was a permanent fixture of the room. “He only just came through the door!”