For the first time since he’d taken over Jarod’s body (for the first time he could remember in his existence really), there was no message to greet him in the morning. No extrasensory notification to inform him of a full night’s rest and of a secured point of health, all thanks to the priests at the Temple of Kanthara.

  Not all of his post-ritual youthful clearness was retained in the morning, but the aches and pains from years of swinging a hammer were still cleared up. He jaunted down the stairs, further animated from the night’s sleep in the private room of the inn Nikolao had set them up in, as well as from the promise of a day without being forced into the saddle.

  “Someone’s looking good this morning,” said Basma, already eating warm breakfast at a table. All around the common room were other patrons going about their morning routines, though mostly with business on their minds. Being a more upscale inn in the court district, the hall was filled with visiting gentry from other kingdoms, and well-off merchants who were already flipping through business reports at their tables.

  Jarod smiled at Basma’s comment. “Whatever those priests were doing sure had a kick to it. That twinge in my back that I’m always trying to make you massage out seems like it’s totally cleared up.”

  “Well then, I’ll have to find some other excuse to give you a massage.” She smiled like it was a joke, but her eyes never left his.

  Jarod did a mental double-take at that comment. It wasn’t that unusual for him to hear Basma be a little flirty, she was a barmaid after all. At the same time though, they’d grown close enough over the years that it felt like she didn’t have to concern herself with those tactics to get a tip out of him. They were good friends, and she usually didn’t resort to such methods to show her affection for him.

  “Seems like someone else is feeling good after their time with the priests,” Jarod said.

  “Whatever do you mean?” Basma asked, a mischievous grin still filling her face in a way that made Jarod all too aware of his own breathing. Just as quickly as she started it, Basma dissipated the tension with a playful laugh, and took a sip of her coffee. “Just feeling more youthful than I have in a while, that’s all.”

  Jarod chuckled and shook his head, dismissing the thought as he went to get his own breakfast at the bar. It wasn’t that he minded the flirting, it was just unexpected. There had always been a little tension between the two of them (which Wilfurd had been quick to point out many times over the years), but both of them saw each other as friends, first and foremost. At least, that was how Jarod felt. He didn’t want to complicate things between them by turning it into something more.

  That seemed to be the end of the exchange for the morning when Jarod returned with his food and found Filgrin had also found his way to the breakfast table. Jarod took the seat opposite from Basma and kept an eye on her, expecting something more, but finding only their usual conversation.

  Filgrin told them that he was going to wander around town on his own for a little bit, taking in the sights and seeing if he couldn’t find some magical trinket that might help with his bowyering. That left Jarod and Basma free to wander around the Crafts District on their own, checking in on the blacksmiths that Jarod was eager to investigate again. The two of them quickly finished up their breakfasts and wandered into town.

  The Crafts District was a ways away, not too far from the city gates that they’d entered in from. It was a sunny spring day, warmer out on the plains than they were used to in the mountains. They enjoyed the pleasant stroll through the Court District, casually walking through the less-crowded streets alongside parks and gardens. Many of the fancy houses throughout the area had large fountains or statues, placed in a bid to establish signs of their wealth, but enjoyable for those not competing in the games of the gentry to simply walk among.

  Soon they made their way out of the empty streets of the Court District, and into a more suburban area. The area was mostly residential, with a good mix of larger houses like Jarod might expect to see for a family in Cleftshire, and more densely packed units with many residences lined in rows along one larger structure. Wherever there wasn’t housing, smaller businesses had popped up, advertising tailoring services or grocers with produce from the surrounding farms.

  The area also had human and animal traffic moving in all directions. It must have been a crossroads for multiple entrances, because Jarod saw wagons, laden with fresh goods, inbound from both directions. A medley of sounds came from all around them. From horse hooves and wooden wheels on the cobbles, to the hundreds of voices, fighting to be heard over each other talking to friends and family.

  Basma noticed Jarod starting to develop that distant look and downturned head that he got when he was overwhelmed, so she hooked a reassuring hand around his arm. Hoping to stay out of the main thoroughfare as best they could, Basma led them down an alleyway between some of the houses.

  Observation check (?, ?)

  [8]+1

  Partial success

  Almost instantly when they walked down the alleyway, the sounds grew muffled, giving Jarod some relief. He wasn’t on the verge of the breakdown that he had the first time in Chath, nothing like that, but it did save him the mental energy of having to deal with all the noise of the city.

  Stolen story; please report.

  The narrow stone walls of the alley made the muffled sounds echo strangely down the walls, dampened by the dirt path running down the center. Even over the sudden shift in acoustics though, Jarod noticed another sound, seeming to echo from the rooftops.

  He glanced back past Basma, looking for the source of the sound, but found nothing but the tall stone illuminated partially from lights leaking out through windows, and the glinting morning sun reflecting down the walls. Basma smiled, her arm still around his, and followed his gaze upwards.

  “Did you see something?” she asked.

  Jarod stared up for a while, silently listening to see if he could make anything out again. After a few seconds of nothing notable, he answered the question. “Thought I heard something from up on the rooftops. Was worried we might have to look out for a falling shingle or something. Seems like it was nothing though.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Basma. “I know it’s been stressful for you, not just taking it upon yourself to rescue everyone, but being interrogated by Serefina, and wandering around through the city. If anything falls down on you, I’ll make sure to protect you.”

  Jarod had to laugh at that. Not at the thought that she wouldn’t be able to protect him, but at the thought he’d need protecting. After everything that had happened in Cleftshire, he thought he had more than proved himself in a fight.

  He looked down from the rooftops back at Basma, ready with some witty remark that was instantly forgotten once he saw the playful fire in her eyes. The same look he’d seen a few times over the last few days, most recently at breakfast this morning. He felt color rush to his checks that he hoped was disguised by the dim lighting and pulled her further down the alley.

  * * *

  The Crafts District was just as busy as the main gates they’d entered the city through, but in an entirely different way. Although there were still some wagons ferrying goods between businesses, most of the bustle was from businesses hard at work on their trade.

  Many of the craftsmen worked out in the open, eager to draw in wandering business with displays of their talents or intricate designs. Carpenters finished elaborate wardrobes and chests across the street from rugmakers with hands stained from dye. The acrid smells of tanners fought over the earthy scents of papermakers. Banging from coopers crowded chaotically over the melodious sounds of luthiers.

  And of course, drawn to the forefront of Jarod’s attention, was the wonderful familiarity of the blacksmiths.

  There was a whole section of them, working under all sorts of specialties. Chain-makers, ferriers, lock-makers, and all manner of weapons and armor specialists.

  Jarod remembered how many of them there were from last time, but unlike before, they all seemed to be working with a new sense of haste. The armorers and weaponers especially seemed to be entirely focused on their work, with no indication of showing off for the wandering citizens of the district.

  “Are you going to ask them about their work?” asked Basma. “What is it blacksmiths talk about, their favorite hammers?”

  Jarod laughed at the comment. Basma always found the right thing to put him at ease. “No, I'm not going to ask them about their favorite hammer. I mean, yes, we do like talking about hammers, but I’m not gonna come all the way to the city just to ask about that. I don’t know if I want to bother them right now though, they all seem so focused on their work.”

  “Well then start with someone who doesn’t look so busy. I’m sure they’d be more than happy to trade a couple words with you. Besides, what’s the worst they can say: ‘I’m too busy’?”

  Jarod sighed. “Fine, I guess I’ll give it a shot.”

  He looked around the smithies and found a ferrier swinging his hammer with somewhat less enthusiasm than some of his fellow tradesemen. Banking on the hope that he wouldn’t mind a break, Jarod waited until he finished up with his current cycle on the anvil and stepped up to say something.

  “That a three and half pound hammer you’re using for those?” Jarod asked.

  The blacksmith glanced up and wiped a dirty forearm across his forehead. “Just about, little on the lighter end of that.” He sized up Jarod, taking note of his size and well-developed arms. “I take it you’re a blacksmith yourself. Looking for work?”

  “Oh, nothing like that. I’m just from a village out west. I was just curious about your work.”

  “Well if you ever are looking for work, we could definitely use the help right now. King’s orders have us working overtime to fulfill all the orders. Not that I’m complaining about the extra coin, but there’s plenty of work to go around.”

  The blacksmith set down his hammer and grabbed some water from a large mug by his workbench. “You’re from one of the villages, eh? You’ve probably got some experience making horseshoes yourself then. That hammer comment a clever way to tell me you use a four-pounder? Big fellow like you, I’m sure you could handle it better’n I can.”

  “No, honestly I use an even lighter one,” said Jarod. “Probably softer steel than you use too though. There’s enough sharp rocks in the mountains that we try to make them a little softer for the horse’s comfort.”

  The blacksmith cocked his head curiously. “Huh, never thought about that. Most of the horseshoes we do are for work out in the plains, or at most, pulling loads on the smooth cobbles. Dunno about where they’re heading off to with these new orders though, I’ll have to ask around.”

  Emboldened by the other man’s enthusiasm, Jarod took the opportunity to ask about some of his other work. The two talked for a while, and then he introduced Jarod to an armorer friend who stopped by. Before long, Jarod had introduced himself to a good half-dozen blacksmiths and had interesting conversations about the differences in their work.

  By the time a lull happened in the conversation, and Jarod managed to extricate himself back to Basma, he’d gotten all sorts of useful tips that he could take back to Cleftshire with him. When he finally found Basma, watching him from nearby some weavers, he was walking with a contented smile on his face.

  “And you said that blacksmiths don’t talk about their hammers,” joked Basma.

  Observation check (?, ?)

  [4]+1+4

  Partial success

  Jarod was about to respond, but he heard something that pulled him out of the noisy clangs of the smithies. He wouldn’t have noticed it at all had it not been familiar to him at this point. It was the same sound he’d heard when they’d turned down the alleyway earlier. A sound that he pieced together now didn’t sound like sliding shingles, but like rushing wind.

  The smile dropped from his face and he looked out among the lower rooftops of the Crafts District. There, atop some sort of import/export business, he spotted movement in the general direction of the sound.

  “Follow me,” he said, grabbing Basma by the hand and taking off in that direction. It was likely the sound was nothing, but after what they’d been through, he wasn’t about to take any chances.