T W E L V E

Summers in Forge were hot and dusty. Roads and stonework absorbed and reflected the sun, and passing crowds kicked up dirt, which in turn stuck to Tristam’s drenched tunic. Of course, the Council would decide that this was the perfect day to extend an aqueduct. So here he was, with his contingent of shieldmen, passing rocks in the midday heat.

“Bet you wish you weren’t working under Sir Malikel just now,” said Martin as he hefted yet another cut stone to Tristam.

“Why’s that?”

“Because if you were working under anyone else, you’d be supervising.”

Tristam grunted and passed the rock to the next man in line. Martin was probably right, but in Malikel’s unit, knights and shieldmen worked side by side. “Nonsense.” Tristam mustered a grin that felt more like a grimace. “What greater honor can there be than to be roasted to a crisp and worked to the ground so that Forge’s noble citizens can have fresh water?”

“I’d forgo that honor for a bath and a nap in the shade, myself.”

“No more mention of shade, or I won’t last the afternoon.”

Tristam wiped the sweat from his brow and surveyed the progress. Despite his complaining, he was actually grateful to be on such a simple assignment. There was something to be said about physical labor, when the task was straightforward and the reasons were clear. The same was not true of his other jobs. One in particular still lingered in his mind. Malikel had recently assigned him to the city’s northwest quadrant, and Tristam’s contingent had been called in for a rent collection. The herbalist had admitted to failing his rent when Tristam asked, and Tristam understood that Forge’s laws needed to be upheld. But days later, he still couldn’t forget the despair in the shopkeeper’s face as the Red Shields emptied his store, nor could he dismiss the simmering anger in the crowd that had gathered to watch.

Martin’s voice intruded on his thoughts. “How goes the search for the barbarians?”

Tristam gave Martin a sideways glance. “You’re just full of cheerful conversation today, aren’t you?”

“That bad?”

“We’ve not skirmished with them in three weeks.”

Martin’s expression brightened. “So they’ve pulled back.”

Tristam’s laugh must have been sharper than intended, because a few Red Shields looked at him in alarm. “If only. There have been the same number of attacks. They’re just getting better at avoiding patrols. They’ve changed their pattern of attack. It used to be mostly farms and the occasional caravan. Now it’s the other way around.”

“That’s strange. What do you make of it?”

He shook his head. “One week would be a coincidence. We have a large area to patrol, and relatively few soldiers. But three weeks in a row…there’s something going on.”