Though I stream through lands foreign to my tread,

Alone and waiting,

O my children; I will never leave you!

Reclaim me, and all that is thine!

Cedine's Promise, by Bard Rakasner. From the stacks of Corbel city

I awoke soaked and cold. Again dreams, thankfully unremembered, clutched at the corners of my consciousness. The thin softwood boards of my pallet creaked beneath me as I rolled onto my side, waiting for the night-fog to dispel. A wall of pottery resolved out of it, and I jerked fully awake, startled to see Gort standing before my bed.

The Golem stood unmoving, and I tried to recall if Gort had been told to return after finishing with the wood. A strip of warmth ran beneath my hand, and I refocused on the pallet to see a momentary glow flicker along my blade. I lifted the sword, turning it in the morning light. The polish caught the early sun, flashing as it turned, but it was not like the eerie nimbus I had just seen.

Chord's suspicions, the strange dreams, the odd heats and lights that flitted through this work of mine, were weaving a progressively alarming web. I no longer felt comfortable waiting for answers to come to me. I would have to talk to this Mage Orton. If Chord's duties to the Fief didn't take us to Corbell, I would have to take my leave of the tower, and strike out on my own. The realization weighed me down. Life was satisfying here; these were good people and the familiar bustle of the Smithy comfortable.

While my mind turned on this thought, I dressed and made my way to the forge's front. The difference between the forge, heated by the embering fire at its heart, and the still, gray chill of the new dawn, tightened my skin. Most of the tower's retinue were already at work, and down the packed earthen lane I spotted my two apprentices making their way towards the shop.

I checked my need to discuss this decision with the mage; still very early by any reckoning, too early to be bothering Chord and his official visitor yet. Instead, I turned back to Gort, who still stood passively by my pallet. Gort had been given a voice, though I had not really explored this function of the artifact. I still found its presence unsettling, and had been reluctant to plumb the full extent of its capabilities. I passed my hand over Gort's chest, feeling the slightly grainy texture of raw ceramic. This elicited no response from Gort, who continued to stand unmoving exactly where I had found it on awakening. "The carpenter's wood -- it is all split?"

Gort turned its head slightly to center on me. A hollow response echoed from the unmoving oval of its mouth. "All is done as you directed."

"Did the carpenter send you back here?"

The Golem stood silent a moment, then the breathy voice replied, "You called to me."

The announcement sent goosebumps down my spine. To know it could speak was a whole other thing from actually hearing it assess my words and reply. Besides being very disconcerting, I had done no such thing, unless perhaps, I had called out to it in my sleep, which set me thinking again of my disturbed rest.. The clomp of young feet entering the smithy distracted me, so I turned away to tend to the arrival of my helpers. Bree showed up soon after and set to work creating my molds. I had her fetch some straw to lay out behind the smithy, in the sun, and indicated she should use the area to dry them.

"Me mum says she don't got nuthun' ta pay for the prentic'in, sir. She says she' set aside her best brew for you- wants ta know if that'll do, sir."

I stopped, thinking about how apprenticing was done, about which I knew nothing. The boys had been assigned to me. I certainly didn't want or need barrels of ale, and though evidently customary for families to raise a dowry of some sort for apprenticing children, the master/apprentice relationship would certainly involve reciprocal obligations that might be troublesome later.

"Tell your mother that your help is valuable in its own right, that if and when a kiln is built, you will be apprenticed to Pottery work, rather than to the Smithy. She owes me nothing for this...practice. I owe Dimanda a debt of gratitude, and I am happy to help such a talented girl as yourself. Your mother should speak with Dimanda about that, rather than me. Thank her for letting me have the use of your work."

Bree smiled coyly. "Dimanda likes you. She says you be a good man."

There wasn't anything to be said about that, so I just smiled in return. I left Bree with a lighter step, however.Soon the sounds of a busy shop filled the air, and I returned to my examination of Gort. I wondered what the extent of its thought processes might be. Was it truly just the magical equivalent of a smart machine tool, or could there be more, hidden behind the hardened cool clay exterior of this unsettling homunculus? I picked up the steel blade, and held it up before Gort, who seemed to purposely rock back from it slightly, though the reactions of a teapot are hard to gauge.

"What can you tell me about this?"

Gort stood silent for a moment, and one of its arms seemed to shift. "A conductor," it said.

I stared at the Golem. True, as far as that went. Anything of iron or steel conducted electricity, but current was not used in this world.

"What else?"

Again, a slight shift of Gort's stance registered its attention.

"A weapon of men."

The effigy again fell silent. There was something called the Turing Test, I recalled, that supposedly could determine whether something exhibited the quality of self-awareness, but I didn't know enough about the test to apply it. Frustrated, I threw the sword back onto the pallet and decided to seek out Mage Chord. Before leaving, I instructed Gort to prepare the new saw engraving punch for the coins, and instructed him to begin manufacture of the new coin order.

An altercation started at the tower's rear.

Dwayne and Einte, the Seneschal's sons, stood before the trencher there, shouting at each other. The boys had been added to the carpenters staff recently, to help run errands. Blows must have been traded, for both boys' faces were marked, and Einte wore an especially puffy shiner under his left eye. Dwayne gesticulated wildly, his red shirt torn on the right side. This offered profound amusement to Sir Connor's men, who still cluttered the trencher, egging the boys on. I frowned to see what looked like a couple of my markers trading hands between one pair of men. As I closed on the lads, the words being bandied came into focus.

"T'was too! Clear as day! Four of 'em!" Dwayne insisted

"Liar!"

"Fool!"

"They are never about after sun-up! Da' says so too. Anyways, there's no colony fer miles a' here."

I pulled the two apart, and favored both with my sternest look. "I take it my order with Seth is filled? All my frames are delivered? The carpenter has released the two of you for the day?"

Einte cast his eyes down, chest still working, and shoved his hands down into his pockets. "Na sir. We be just bringing firewood up to the keep. Was Dwayne as started it!"

"Were not!"

"Was so!"

I didn't know what they argued over, and though curious, didn't want to chance seeing this fight flare up again. "That's enough. Any more of this and I'll have Seth decide what's what, since it's his time you waste here!"

Dwayne blanched. "Oh please sir - no. He'll hide us both! We be just bickering over four Nublins I see'd ina' woods this mornin'. Ente says I din't an was day-dreamin', but I did too see 'em."

Einte squinted and opened his mouth to retort. I held my hand up in warning, and his mouth clapped shut.

"What are Nublins?" I asked.

"They be the small men. The diggers."

"Miners? There is a mining camp around here?" I had not heard of any such thing in my time here, though most of the townies, farmers, and workers were not verbose and kept their talk to business. I again needed to confront the fact of my lack of knowledge about this place, its people and culture. I had no one else to blame, for having buried myself in the familiar work of the forge to the exclusion of all else. A determination to change this occupied my thoughts. I had allowed too many day to day things here to dilute my focus.

"Not miners, not humans, Nublins," Dwayne stated, as if this clarified everything

"Naturals, you know? We got ta' be gettin' back. We'll see ta' your frames, promise. Don't tell on us to Seth, please?"

The porters were looking on with interest, and I was not of a mind to make a spectacle of my ignorance, so I let them go.

Harold met me at the keep entrance. I kept silent about his son's scuffle and requested to see Chord. As he turned to deliver my request, I reached out and put my hand to his shoulder. "Wait, I have a question for you." The Seneschal turned back to face me and lifted an eyebrow.

"Yes?"

"I heard something about a mining camp, or a group, around here--Nublins, I think, were the people named. What do you know about them?"

"Not people, Nublins are Nublins, and not around hereabouts, I think."

"Not people?"

Harold's face tightened impatiently, and he threw a quick glance into the keep.

"T'is not the time for discourse, William. They are of another race. Our history tells that we are immigrants to this land. The Nublin are native to this place, but we have no dealings with them." Harold thought for a moment. "There was some bicker, I am told, long ago; settled now. We mind our own lands and concerns; they tend to theirs. They are small folk, heavy, coarse-haired. Dig their homes underground, hunt the woods at night, and don't like full sun. 'Tis all I know. Perhaps Chord can tell more. Why do you ask?"

"I overheard someone say they had seen some in the wood this morning. I thought I should ask who they were. Don't want to appear ignorant, that's all."

The Seneschal's face looked astonished. "Nublin? Around here? Incredible! Chord must be told! Where did you hear this?" Reluctantly, I conveyed the gist of what had occurred on the way to the keep, downplaying the fisticuffs involved.

Harold looked concerned. "The boys are not given to telling stories. They should have told me right away, though, if true."

"There was some disagreement over what exactly was seen, between the two of them," I said in their defense.

"Disagreement. Yes, I have experience with their disagreements," growled Harold. "Go fetch my brats here. I will approach Chord, meantime. Sir Connor is preparing to leave, and I have my duties. I will tell Chord you wish to see him. I'll send word to the forge when he has time for you. Leave the other matter to me."

I had left instructions with my apprentices to put a few melts of copper and a bit of tin in the furnace, preparatory to doing the pours for Seth's splitting wedges, a job I intended to complete personally. It only required a slight detour to check on the progress of the work and to set Gort busy making ready for the arrival of the cycle frames I was expecting. That done, I continued toward the carpenter's to deliver Harold's summons to the two boys.

Dwayne looked worried, and Einte sullen at receiving the message. Einte kicked at the dusty lane fronting the carpenter shanty as if to punish it, and complained. "Said you wouldn't tell."

"I promised not to tell Master Seth, and I won't. Your dad thinks what you saw might be important, and needs to hear it from you. I'll just tell Seth you've been called away; it's up to your father what Seth needs to know."

This mollified the pair somewhat, and they made off for the keep together, though with much dragging of feet. I then sought out Seth to notify him as to where his helpers were going, and inquired about my frames. After that, back to the forge. The copper was ready to pour. I prepared an alloy with rivulets of molten tin, and moved the crucibles quickly to the clay molds. The molds crackled and sizzled as the red-gold pour entered, and I barely escaped a bad charring, but casting is the quickest way to make the basic forms. Once cooled, my apprentices could break them out and finish them on the stone hand-wheels.

It occurred to me I might have Bree prepare a few more wedge molds, but these were a little trickier than the rough pour forms she worked on now, and that would have to wait until I had time to demonstrate their making. About then, the seneschal appeared at my shop.

"Sir Connor is leaving this morning, Chord wants you to attend. You will need to hurry, so leave be your other work."

I strapped my sword back on, and gave some last-minute instructions to my apprentices before I left.