Knights of the Kingdom
Charles eased his pace when he saw Chris gasping for breath, and the two of them followed the brick road.
"There's something I ought to warn you about first."
"Yes."
Chris listened carefully.
"People sneer and call it a smithy, but ours is no ordinary place. More than a few Spirit Awakeners work under this roof."
"Yes."
"Every post that matters in the smithy—every post that pays well—belongs to a Spirit Awakener. An ordinary man like you can only rise so far."
"Ah. Here too… I understand."
Charles clapped him on the shoulder with a hand broad as a cauldron lid.
"You'll still eat. Don't take it too hard."
It was meant kindly. Chris's shoulder hurt anyway.
"Yes."
A little farther on, a broad square building came into view.
"That's where you'll sleep. Want a look before we go?"
"Yes."
They went inside.
"It's working hours. Nobody's around."
Charles led him to the room tucked into the farthest corner.
"This one's yours."
It was small, and the only furniture was a bed, but it was a room to himself, and that was enough to satisfy him. A room of his own. When had he ever had that?
"It's a good room."
Charles smiled, easy and good-natured.
"Glad it suits you."
"What's that map on the wall?"
"The roads you need to know."
It showed only Mickclonia Tower, the Lion Pavilion, the lecture halls, and Montgomery Smithy, with a single path linking them. Everything else was blank.
"It's very sparse."
"I marked the safe roads and nothing else. Take a wrong turn and wander into some mad mage's laboratory…"
Charles's face darkened. A chill crawled down Chris's spine at the scowl on that bandit-faced giant.
"I don't have to spell it out, do I?"
Chris swallowed and nodded.
"The rest of the buildings and roads—you fill those in yourself, a little at a time, as you live here."
"Yes."
"Right. On to the workplace."
The dormitory and the smithy stood close together. The smithy was four buildings, and the third—the one bearing the Montgomery Smithy sign—was the heart of the place. The two in front, Charles said, served as warehouse and processing room.
"Warehouse first."
By sheer size it was the largest of them. They stepped through a thick iron door that stood half open, and goods of every kind rose in mountainous heaps.
"This is where you'll work."
"Yes."
"New hire!"
Charles called toward the back, and the workers gathered to greet them. Since coming to the magic tower Chris had met nothing but cranks and oddities; the smithy, to his relief, seemed to be staffed by ordinary people.
"Welcome party's in front of the dormitory after work. Anyone who wants to come, come."
"Hey!"
A light cheer went up. Chris was genuinely glad of the welcome.
"I'll work hard."
He bowed, and applause broke over him.
"Thank you."
Charles took him on to the next building.
"Processing room. They take materials from the warehouse and work them so the smithy can turn them straight into goods. Warehouse hands with clever fingers get promoted here."
Unlike at the warehouse, Charles didn't announce the new arrival, and the workers made no fuss over a stranger. A glance, and they were back at their tasks. The air was cold through and through.
"A bit bleak."
"This is one of the better moods, actually. Come on. Time for the highlight."
They moved on to the manufacturing hall beneath the Montgomery Smithy sign.
"The hall's the heart of the smithy."
Not a soul so much as glanced aside. Eyes fixed on the benches, they did their work and nothing else, and Chris looked around hardly daring to breathe.
When they stepped out and he finally let go of the breath he'd been holding, Charles boomed with laughter and slapped him on the back. The blow nearly pitched him onto his face.
"Fine atmosphere, eh?"
"Yes. Cold as sheet ice. Lovely."
Charles laughed again, deep and hearty.
"That small, shabby building at the end is the office. The hall and the office have nothing to do with you, so on an ordinary day you can live without giving them a thought."
Chris went back to the warehouse and lent a hand, and around sunset they all knocked off together, grilled meat in front of the dormitory, and made a night of it. He liked the job.
Knights of the Kingdom
The Javier Barony, where Chris had grown up, was a remote and impoverished place. The soil was poor, and there were no mines worth having, neither gold nor iron. No great river and no sea, so it could never be a hub of trade, and it was no crossroads either. Even the mountains grew nothing but common grass. Precious herbs were nowhere to be found, however hard you looked.
A domain with nothing but shortcomings—and yet it had one virtue. The weather stayed mild even in winter, so no one froze to death. In the fifteen years Chris had lived there, snow had ridden the wind exactly once, and he had been three, so he didn't remember it.
At the magic tower he saw snow pouring down for the first time. It was a glad, happy day. Giddy as a child, he had built a snowman and fought a snowball war with Smith. Snow at the smithy was never a pleasure. From before dawn he had to go out and clear what had piled on the road.
He worked his way down the path from the warehouse, shoveling as he went. Then he would straighten and look back, and the road behind him would be buried again, so he would turn and clear his way back up. He did it over and over without end.
"Senior."
Chris called to Paul, shoveling beside him.
"What?"
"Couldn't we get a mage to clear it? Blow it off with wind, melt it with fire… Even a barrier over the road, just so it stops piling up, would be a huge help."
"Call their high-and-mighty lord mages out for grunt work like this? Aiy. Our youngest has some nerve."
"It won't work?"
"Of course it won't, you dolt. You think a mage with his nose in the clouds is going to sweep the road in front of a smithy? Somebody hard up for coin might offer, and then charge a fortune to soothe that crooked pride. A hundred times your month's wages, easy. Hiring a mage costs far more than working you. So quit the nonsense and swing that broom."
Ralph was pushing snow to the roadside with a scraper.
"Let's rest a minute."
The three of them set down broom, shovel, and scraper and straightened their backs.
"Wow. It just keeps coming. Nasty. Downright nasty."
Chris tipped his head back and drank the falling snow. Cold, and clean.
From behind them the warehouse keeper bellowed.
"You lot slacking?"
"Just a short break."
They took up their tools again, trading them off in turn, and cleared snow without another pause. Chris was driving the scraper hard when a boot suddenly thrust in under the snow.
He looked up. Alex stood there. Chris tightened his grip on the scraper.
"Sir Alex. What brings you here?"
"You little shit. You had the nerve to report me."
Chris's eyes went round.
"Me?"
"The day the prince died, you tattled to those old fossils that I'd found Mark. You son of a bitch framed me for it."
Paul and Ralph edged closer as the air turned ugly. Then they saw the yellow belt at Alex's waist, and neither of them could lift a hand to help.
"Did I?"
"You did. You bastard. Did you think I'd just let it go?"
"I only cooperated with the mages' investigation."
"That day nobody was even looking at me. Then you ran your mouth, and the whole thing got complicated."
"The prince was dead. Someone had to catch the one who did it."
"I'm the one who did it!"
"I don't think you are."
"Then why'd you report me?"
"I never reported you."
"That was a report, idiot."
Alex's fist crashed into the bridge of Chris's nose.
Thud.
Fire seemed to flash across his eyes. Tears and blood poured from his nose together.
"I'll get the warehouse keeper."
Paul ran for the warehouse.
Chris pinched his nose.
"Anyway, nothing came of it."
"I nearly died!"
Chris remembered the translucent hand that had hauled Alex out of the parlor. Who in the world saved him? Better if he'd burned then.
"Smith, Tony, and Faye died. You lived. That should be enough."
"You think I'm the same as those worthless losers?"
Alex's foot drove into his stomach. Pain tore through him as if his guts were being severed, and he went tumbling.
They were better people than you.
When the pain eased a little, Chris got up and swung the scraper at Alex's head. Alex threw out an arm and blocked it.
Thud.
He had expected the arm to break. The scraper broke instead.
"Reach Spirit Awakening and the body toughens up. Didn't know that, did you?"
"…"
"A laborer, assaulting a Spirit Awakener. This works out nicely."
Alex drew a dagger from his coat. Chris held what was left of the scraper out in front of him.
"That what you killed the prince with?"
"I didn't kill him."
"Then if you didn't, that's the end of it. Nursing a grudge over old business… A man shouldn't be that small inside. Or was it you after all?"
"This bastard's still slandering me."
The dagger shot in, right under his nose. Chris struck the hand with the scraper.
Thud.
The dagger flew from Alex's grip. Chris lunged for it. Bare-handed, he knew, he had no chance at all.
Alex threw himself after the lost blade as well. The instant both hands raced for it, a boot came down on the dagger.
Chris's gaze climbed from the boot. A square-jawed man of middle years was looking down at the two of them, snow gathering on silver armor.
A knight.
What's a knight doing at the magic tower?
Alex spoke.
"Dagger's mine. Move your foot."
The boot drew back. Alex snatched the dagger up and swung it at Chris, and in that instant white light flashed.
Chris never saw the middle-aged knight draw. He never saw the swing. He only saw something pale shear through the dagger and pass on. Astonishingly, the blade was sliced clean through, like a carrot on a chopping block.
Alex stood holding nothing but the hilt, his face blank.
"Who…?"
The knight didn't answer. His eyes, brave as a lion's, were fixed on Chris.
"This one killed the prince?"
Chris chose his words with care.
"I don't know that."
"A moment ago you said he did."
"He was trying to kill me… I only spat it out because I was furious."
"I'll have to confirm it."
The sword turned with a hiss of wind and stopped just short of Alex's neck.
"Did you kill His Highness the prince?"
"No! I didn't! Everyone who killed the prince burned to death!"
"If you don't tell the truth…"
The knight let the words hang, heavy with meaning. White light rose along the blade. Snowflakes that touched the edge melted and vanished at once.
"H-h-how… d-dare…"
Alex stammered, terrified.
"Inside the magic tower… a knight trying to kill a mage…!"
A knight who looked about the same age caught his arm.
"Captain. We're inside the magic tower."
The man he had called captain withdrew the sword.
"Later, boy."
Alex backed away, opening the distance. Then he shouted at the top of his lungs and ran.
"What are you looking at!"
Chris rubbed his neck. He was alive because of that knight, and yet the sense of danger wouldn't leave him.
"Who are you?"
He swallowed and asked.
"Yan. Captain of the Royal Knight Order of the Grant Kingdom."
A far bigger man than he'd thought.
Captain of the Royal Knight Order—the finest knight in the kingdom.
"It's an honor to meet you."
"Injuries first. Follow me."
Chris did not particularly want to follow.
"I have snow to clear."
The warehouse keeper Paul had fetched called out at once.
"Chris. Starting today, you're on leave."
Then he added, all courtesy toward the knight:
"Use him however you wish."