Chapter 6

The massive limestone walls of Judgment Falls gleamed brightly in the sun, their ramparts proudly adorned with colorful banners, as the trio approached the eastern gate. The road was choked with weary travelers. And the fields along it, for the last mile or so, were filled with a profusion of tents and covered wagons. Off in the distance could be heard the roar of the massive waterfall that shared its name with the city.

Tory glanced over at his sister. She was passing the time, as they crept along in their loaded cart, cheerfully playing the gemshorn Pavel gave her. He had to admit, she'd gotten quite good at it on their two day trip. Every so often, she would ask him to play with her, but he wasn't ready for that yet. He wasn't sure he would ever be, to be honest.

Passing through the large, heavy gates of the upper city, they got their first glimpse of Judgment Falls proper and the impressive castle that stood guard over it. They could see it from a distance as they came in, but to see it towering above them, built majestically on the rocky outcropping overlooking the White River, was truly a sight to behold. Extending below them, to the left along the river and enclosed with its own wall, was the lower city. Beyond that sat the southern dock district, situated just downriver of the falls.

"That, my friends, is Vevoda Castle," Pavel informed them, pointing up to the massive structure, "the home and citadel of our liege, his Grace, Lord Radok, Duke of Berkanan." Once they were out of earshot of the city guard, he whispered, "for all the fancy titles, he's actually a pretty good ruler. Stood up to the Slavers during the Great War and rode with King Chandler. He is a bit ... odd ... though."

Tory nodded. Elizabeth and Tasha had told him much the same thing, except for the "odd" part. Berkanan had been one of the few territories able to hold off the slavers and now, seeing the city for himself, he knew why. The Duke somehow survived multiple assassination attempts and the city three sieges during that time, but they stood firm. Now, the only unstable area the duchy had were the brigand lands over the mountain passes to the southeast and the robber barons down the White River to the southwest. Their neighbors to the west and northeast were their allies, the kingdoms of Chandler and Lee, respectively.

Thankfully, the city itself was a far cry from the muddy cesspool the two of them landed in when they first came to Chaos. Here all the streets were paved with cobblestone, with a sewer system of some sort diverting the human waste outside the walls—which Tory guessed meant right into the river itself. The wide main street they were currently on ran from the eastern gate to the western one. From there, you could head straight over the great stone bridge that crossed the White River, just above the falls—or you could turn right and find yourself at the city's smaller northern docks, which received all the traffic from upriver.

Progress was slow in the cart, due mainly to all the river freight being shunted through the city and around the falls, but also because of all the travelers and festival revelers filling the street. Once they were about two thirds of the way to the western gate, though, Pavel turned onto a narrower street to the right.

"Now to make our deliveries," he informed them, tipping his chin toward the castle looming ahead of them, as he urged the horses on down the side street.

"We're actually going into the castle?" Miri questioned excitedly.

"Aye," the collier responded, a grin on his face.

"This is so cool!"

Tory had to agree. He was puzzled, though, why they were travelling on what was turning out to be a winding backstreet, rather than one of the wider streets they'd passed up, and asked as much.

"This is the actual castle road," he replied to Tory's surprise. Stopping the cart, he motioned for Tory to turn around and look. "Imagine you're an invading army that's just breached the walls of the upper city. Some of your men will get caught going down wrong streets, and when you finally come down this one, they," he said, turning back around and pointing up at the castle, "will be waiting."

Tory glanced up and could see the tops of two successive walls and a few soldiers standing guard on each of them.

"Have the defenders tip over a few carts here as they're retreating, bottlenecking the invaders even more, and suddenly the soldiers up above have a perfect killing zone," he finished, visibly shivering at the thought.

With a few clicks of his tongue and a flick of his wrist, he had them moving again. At the base of the castle hill, they followed the road up a significant incline to the right, parallel to the castle wall, and up to the castle gate itself.

The gate sentry called out to Pavel when they drew near. "Good day, Collier. The Forge Master said to expect your arrival. Who is it you have with you?"

"Good day, Sergeant. These are my cousins, Hector and Miranda," he replied, sticking to the story they'd worked out from the fact the three of them already looked like family. "They wanted to come to the Harvest Festival with me this year."

Miri, in her excitement, bounced a bit on her seat and waved at the man.

The sentry laughed and motioned them in. "Welcome to Castle Vevoda. Be sure to check out the view from the upper courtyard, children, but try not to get too close to the edge. That's a very long drop to the river below."

"That it is," Pavel agreed.

With a cluck and a flick, they were back in motion. Once through the gate, he turned left and headed across the lower courtyard to the castle forge—easily located by the smoke of its chimney and the din of its craftsmen. As soon as they stopped by the coal bunker, however, they were accosted by a large, heavyset man in a soiled, bloody apron.

"Oh, you are just in time, just in time, my good collier!" he shouted as he got closer. "Please tell me you brought them!"

"Why, Jirka, I have no idea what you mean," Pavel intoned. "Did you want me to bring you something?"

"Oh, don't tease me, Pavel, not today," the man begged, shaking his head. "Just tell me you have my wood chips."

"I can do you one better, I can actually give them to you," he replied with a grin, motioning for Tory to pull the four big burlap bags off the top of the pile. "How does four sacks of top quality birch shavings sound?"

"Oh, excellent! Excellent!"

For a moment there, Tory thought the man—who he presumed was the castle butcher—was going to give Pavel a huge hug. At the last second, it appeared he changed his mind in favor of grabbing one of the four bags and heading back the way he came.

"Just leave the rest by the forge," he called out as he left, "and I'll have one of my boys come get them."

Pavel nudged Tory and he went to pull down the last of the sacks. "He makes the best smoked sausage anywhere," he whispered, patting the burlap sacks affectionately, before heading in to deal with the Forge Master.

In very little time at all he was back out, trailed by two very dirty boys who were probably around Tory's age. While they started to unload the cart of its charcoal sacks, the collier pointed for him and his sister to grab the two boxes of birch bark tar, while he hoisted the large barrel of birch bark oil over his shoulder.

Crossing the lower courtyard, he led them to a series of shops situated against the inner castle wall. "I'll take this in to the leatherworker. Tory, you take yours in to the fletcher. And Miri, you head on in to the cobbler and give yours to him. Don't worry about collecting anything. Just tell them it's from me and that I'll collect later."

Tory headed into the shop he was directed to and was amazed at the sight. It was a veritable assembly line with two workers finishing the shafts, two workers attaching metal tips to make them arrows, while two others attached the feather fletches on the back. The master of the shop glanced up from looking over the shoulder of one of his workers, when Tory entered.

"Ah, you are from Collier Pavel, I presume," the man broached.

Tory nodded. "Yes, Master Fletcher. The collier said he would stop by later to collect payment."

"Very good." The man took the good sized box and then opened its lid. "Simply outstanding," he said with a smile. "This should keep us in stock for at least the next six months."

Looking around the shop, Tory was astonished at the number of arrows and crossbow bolts there were, stacked in wicker baskets all along the walls.

Seeing Tory's eyes, the master fletcher chuckled. "We have a shop just off the main street. Selling our lesser arrows, spears and lances there offsets what it costs the Duke to keep his armory fully stocked. Plus, it keeps us busy."

From just the little he'd seen in the last hour or so, Tory was starting to get an idea of how much work went into running a castle, and said so.

"Just be glad you're not his Grace, the Duke," the man laughed, slapping him on the shoulder.

Their conversation, however, was suddenly disrupted by the sounds of yelling and screaming coming from outside the shop.

"That sounds like Kristof," the master fletcher commented, as if used to this kind of commotion. "I wonder what's set him off again."

The house was a fairly large one for the city, with large wooden beams, white plaster walls, and a brownish red, clay tile roof. Miri wanted to ask Pavel who lived in it, but she was not very happy with him at the moment. Her hands were still shaking from the confrontation with the cobbler. Just as she was about to mentally relive it all again, the wide wooden door of the house opened.

A gregarious older woman, with graying red hair and a happy smile—as well as several children peeking out the door behind her—came out and greeted them warmly. "Well I'll be! Pavel, the lonely man of the forest, has brought guests with him," she teased. "And who might you be?" the lady of the house asked Tory.

"Marta, these are my cousins, Hector and Miranda," Pavel replied before her brother had a chance. "Miri here's had a bit of a rough time at the castle, though, so I thought I'd bring them down here right away."

The older woman, noticing her distress, knelt down in front of her and touched her cheek. "How about we get you settled and you can tell me all about it, alright?"

Miri responded with a nod, trying not to cry.

The next few minutes were a bit of a whirlwind, as they were given a quick tour of the home and shown where they would be sleeping. After stowing their gear, Miri found herself sitting at the kitchen table, describing her run in with the cobbler again—this time to Marta, the Forge Master's wife, at whose home they were staying for the week. It turned out no sooner had Miri walked through the door of the shop, than the cobbler turned to see who entered and promptly fainted.

"It was awful," she told her hostess. "I went to go see if I could help him, but when he woke up, he just started yelling for help and screamed at me," she recounted with dismay.

Pavel, for his part, snickered a bit, while Tory scowled.

Marta, however, was none too happy. "What were you thinking, sending this girl into Kristof's shop like that, Pavel? You know how he feels about fairies, and she's a dead ringer for one!"

"That's just it, Marta, I wasn't thinking. If I had, I would have switched her and Tory," he admitted, followed by a slight, mischievous grin. "But Marta, you've got to admit, it's at least a little funny."

Marta—a large, normally jovial woman—however, was not smiling. Seeing the young child's continuing dismay, she reached over and took her hand. "There, there, dearie, don't fret none," she cooed softly. "Kristof's wife lost a baby some years back and they've always said the fairies took it. He's been a bit unstable ever since."

"But that was like seven or eight years ago," Pavel protested, "back before the war, when they were living down south near Stojespal's Tower. In that area, it could just as easily been slavers who took their baby as fairies."

"Hardly!" Marta countered. "You know as well as I do, that slavers have no use for babies—or small children, for that matter. No, I've always suspected Kristof and Dagmar were telling the truth. And after this little episode, I'm even more convinced."

"You really think I look like a fairy?" Miri asked in wonder, recalling how plain she felt next to all the beautiful fairies in Hidden Blossom.

"Absolutely, my dear! In fact, if I didn't know better, I'd swear you had more than a little bit of Fey blood in you," Marta answered with a nod. "And it's not just you being rather small for your age. It's also your delicate features," she tossed in, lightly touching Miri's nose, "the slight point to the tops of your ears, and your very large, expressive eyes."

"I'll admit she looks a little like fairy folk, but it can't be that much. I mean, everyone knows that fairies have white blonde hair and pale skin."

"Oh, Pavel," the sizable woman replied with a snicker, "just because that's who you dream about every night, doesn't mean all fairies have to look that way."

The collier snorted a bit but said nothing, instead turning away with a somewhat red hue to his cheeks.

For her part, Miri desperately wanted to add to the conversation, but something held her back. She wanted to let them know that fairies come in all kinds of hair and skin colors—just like everyone else. She wanted to tell about how beautiful they were and how kind. She wanted to share everything she knew—everything she'd seen and heard. But somewhere deep within, she knew she dare not. The fairies worked hard to hide, both themselves and where they lived, for a reason. As these thoughts flooded through, she found herself lightly touching the pendant she'd been given.

"So, did this lout at least show you the sights of the castle while you were up there?" Miri heard their hostess ask her brother.