Happy 4th of July and 8th of Bridge Troll day

Happy Independence Day or as the British would call it Good Riddance To Those Annoying Colonials Day. Hey, we still get along as nations and people, so there’s hope for the world. In this line of thought, I want to plug Knight and Dei, a story of Equestrian tourists out in the US Midwest during this exact time, and give you a look at the 8th (twice a 4th) chapter of The Young Knight, the Fey Maiden, and the Bridge Troll.

Enjoy!

(edit still in progress)

Past Chapters of The Young Knight, the Fey Maiden, and the Bridge Troll

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Options

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The trip back to the bridge site along the bumpy path was… peculiar for Fetch. If his first plan of showing up to a king’s court had borne fruit, the kingdom of Nadrare would have been his home as he trained to become one of the king’s knights. That seemed to be so odd right now. Riding horseback in armor with a lance as he went out to fight dragons was fine in the abstract, but he honestly did not like hurting anything. Well, except for slugs. And garden caterpillars.

It was dark by the time Quartz pulled the wagon into the stone home’s corral, taking extra time to get it wedged back under the wooden lean-to. Although there was a considerable pile of rope on board along with a stack of supplies, there was no immediate need to unpack. There were days worth of work for Fetch ahead, a long string—regardless of the irony—of scale-model bridge design and testing. Quartz was secure in his knowledge of stone bridge construction, but stringing ropes and planks across the gorge was a new and fascinating thing for him, like a child with a new toy. A very large child.

“Home sweet home,” declared Quartz. “I think I kept some of them buttered rolls in a basket back there. Mind getting ‘em out for a bedtime snack?”

Fetch paused while untying Nutmeg, who was casually munching on the last dinner roll. “I think there’s a bag of dried apples left,” he managed instead.

There was some sort of magical lantern hung in the stable of the stone home, which showed the door swinging open in far too much detail. Broom stood there for a long moment in a rather accusatory stance, tapping one bristly ‘foot’ and giving him an eyeless glare before turning back inside and slamming the door.

“Ah don’t think our landbroom appreciates us dropping in at this hour of night,” said Quartz.

“It’s her house,” reminded Fetch.

“An’ I’m appreciative of it,” said Quartz. “Ain’t gonna argue with no household devices. Just wish we could do something for it.”

“We told her we’d be back today,” added Fetch after some due consideration and handing down the troll’s ironbound chest from the cart, both tasks of great mental and physical magnitude. “You don’t think—”

The back door banged open again and the broom stomped outside, carrying an iron pot that she placed rather abruptly on the table that Quartz had been using to sketch his bridge plans. There was a distinct slopping sound involved in the contents, made even more obvious when the broom put a pottery bowl down next to the pot and dropped two wooden spoons into it before stomping back inside. Quartz looked as if he were going to complain about his perfectly good drawing table being used for dining, but obviously reconsidered after drawing one thick finger along the splatter that dripped onto the smooth wood and taking a taste.

He looked at the supplies in rough wooden boxes against the stable wall, then over at Fetch. “She’s anglin’ for your job, I expect. Not a bad stew for something without meat. Must’a tapped into my stuff for ingredients.”

“Missus Triana would have been right there with Broom if we had been at home and come back so late,” said Fetch. “Probably would have grabbed me by the ear and dragged me inside.” He gave a nervous glance at the closed door, then quickly picked up the bowl and passed a spoon to Quartz. “We better eat before she comes back for the pot.”

It was practically a prophecy. No sooner had Fetch reached the bottom of his bowl and Quartz finished drinking out of the pot when the broom showed back up, gave an inaudible sniff, and reclaimed her kitchen utensils. Quartz politely waited until she was back inside before giving a brief belch and standing up.

“Well, lad. Figure we’ve got a few days work ahead of us getting the foundations laid out for the rope bridge afore we start for real. I was wanting to make a trip to Forselt afore we get started to pick out some brass works and get more rope, but we ain’t gonna be able to take the cart across the gorge and going back through Three Rivers just seems like a bad idea overall. Other ideas?”

“A few.” Fetch hauled one of the thick bundles of cotton cord out of the cart and tossed it onto the table, then rearranged the rest of the rope bundles to make a comfortable nest for his blanket. “We’re probably better off waiting to make a decision on that. King Piast said he might want to talk to me again. If he sends somebody to bring me back, I’d hate for her to find an empty house.”

“Her?” asked Quartz with a raised eyebrow ridge.

“Or him,” added Fetch quickly, putting all of his concentration into arranging his blankets for the night.

---

Routine was a good thing. At the inn, Fetch had a solid routine without frequent repetition. Since traffic at the inn ebbed and crested, his tasks there did likewise, leaving him frequent opportunities to assist others in the village with their own tasks, which also had busy and slack periods. Everything fit together, from language lessons while learning how to shape barrel staves to history memorization during soap stirring. Even his supposed relaxation times came with sorting and identifying medicinal plants in the forest or reading the occasional book brought by merchants. He had to read quickly because a book traveled around the village at a good clip, and when everybody who wanted to read had finished, it went off with another merchant and the replacement novel began to circulate.

Building a rope bridge would have been much easier with a book describing the process and what materials were required. Unfortunately, Nadare did not have any such book. The queen had been quite proud of their library of nearly a hundred tomes, most of which came from the coastal cities and their modern printing machines, but none of them dealt with construction.

Thankfully, there were several citizens who helped build the original rope bridge nearly twenty years ago, and the king had said he would see if they would be willing to visit in a few weeks. It sounded more like he was planning some sort of springtime trip for the older construction experts plus a number of the townspeople. Presumably the others were going to pick berries, collect firewood, and generally do something constructive in the way of turning the rock-strewn path to the bridge site into a more suitable road, since any community activity like this tended to include other activities for relatives and children.

Personally, he thought the wizard must have liked the path to his house strewn with rocks. Some of them looked suspiciously planted. If Fetch had been the cranky loner type… No, the wizard certainly had been a cranky loner. Nobody who lived under a giant rock so far away from town could be considered a pillar of the community. Then again, the wizard was married to a princess now, even if they both were under the thumb of a particularly nasty king. And the boulder-house had evidence of children living there, so there must have been a softer side to the old man that Princess Lubomia had found, particularly since she had been the one who kept Nomor from bleeding to death and sent him outside of Seiki’s reach.

If the wizard managed to escape from Seiki the same way Fetch had, what would he say about the collection of rocks and strings that Quartz had begun to put together in several spots around the rock house’s yard. A wizard probably could just wave his hands and make a rainbow bridge across the ravine, but he had the town put up a rope bridge instead. Perhaps a wizard only had so much magic in them, and doing silly little stuff like rainbow bridges would just keep them from doing big important stuff like defending themselves if another wizard attacked them.

It was worth the thought and discussion while he helped Quartz build scale models. The troll had an enviable ability to estimate and improvise in addition to his careful drawings of what should be the ending structure. Fetch had to admit a certain doubt to their construction standing up over time, but most of those doubts went away when he stood on their third model and it did not break or collapse, even when he bounced somewhat on his toes.

“Not bad,” said Quartz, giving several of the hanging ropes a tug that nearly dumped Fetch off the narrow line of planks. “The temporary bridge’ll need more of them braces, of course. That’s gonna be a pile of bronze rope thimbles, an’ Nadare ain’t got no bronzeworks to speak of. We’ll have to check with Forselt when we go there.”

“Do you think the Iron Mountain—” started Fetch before catching Quartz’s sharp shaking of his head.

“Dwarves? Do a favor fer a troll? Asides, they’re mostly iron fittings and such. I hear they’re stoking the forges day and night to make iron pigs for the coast cities. Making somethin’ called a train. A steam engine that moves of all things.” Quartz kept shaking his head slowly. “Nonsense.”

After carefully picking his way down from the scale model bridge, Fetch cast a considering eye on the rough rock of the ravine. “I’ve seen a steam engine,” he volunteered. “Several gnomes brought it to the lumber company to test how it worked. They brought it on a boat with a similar engine on it. Right up the river with no paddling at all, just a big wheel on the back that sprayed water in all directions while it was turning.”

“And?” asked Quartz.

“They said the steam winch really didn’t work better than oxen to move the logs to the river,” he confessed. “But they were putting one in the sawmill downstream. Until King Seiki overran the place.”

“Hope they got away,” said Quartz practically under his breath as he measured on the model with one of his tools. “Ain’t never met the guy an’ I already dislike him something terrible.”

Fetch felt much the same way, but kept quiet while helping. Nomor had been right. If he went looking for the people from his village, he stood a far greater chance of running into King Seiki’s men instead, and that would not end well. King Piast said he would send word if he found out anything, so that was a good start.

He was not so lost in thought that he did not notice when a shadow swept over a nearby tree, much like a very large bird.

“Hail there on the ground,” called out a young male voice from above. “King Piast said you’re building a bridge to our kingdom. Mind if I drop in to take a look?”

Squinting through watery eyes at the brilliant sky, Fetch could make out the rough form of what looked like a child on the back of a large bird. As it dropped lower, he had to revise his first impression several times because the passenger was at least as large as himself, and the bird… Well, it was not really a mere bird, but a predator more of a mixture of cat and eagle and larger than anything he had ever seen before. It had to be a griffon because it matched the sketches that Missus Triana had done, although from what he remembered of her lessons, they ate horses, not people.

Nutmeg must have known also because he took off like a scalded cat, dashing inside the odd boulder-house stable and most likely huddling up against the back door, nickering to be let inside.

With a single swoop, the snow-white griffon touched down on the last open area where Quartz had not yet spread ropes and sticks of his models, the handsome young man on its back swung out to land on his toes, and the griffon swept back up into the sky. In moments it was lost to the distance, except for the young man calling out, “Only one, Snowflake. Don’t want to get stuffed if we’re still going to do some more flying later.”

“Snowflake?” Quartz stepped forward and shook the young man’s hand. “Interesting name.”

“Oh, I’m Prince Svenson. I’ve known Snowflake since she was hatched. You have to be Quartz, and that’s Fetch, I suppose.” The young prince swept a lock of hair out of his eyes in an elegant motion that Fetch could never duplicate. “Guess you haven’t started yet.”

“There’s a lot to be done before we start either of the bridges,” said Fetch defensively, but gave a quick glance at Quartz and stepped back. “Quartz is in charge,” he added. “I’m just a helper.”

“Just,” scoffed Quartz. “This feller is too modest. Wouldn’t be halfway to where I’m today without his help. Some humans round here are a bit squirrely about a troll in their neighborhood.”

“I can understand,” said the young prince, turning to look up into the sky with one hand shading his eyes. “Snowflake drives the farmers into fits of the vapors, worried that she’ll swoop off with one of their children. Particularly since they discovered she likes shelled walnuts.”

“Who don’t?” said Quartz. “Suppose having a big bird like that eatin’ out of your hand is real thrilling for a child, an’ when you got a bunch of ‘em all crowded around her and a parent comes along—”

“Exactly.” Svenson looked around the clear area in front of the prospective bridge site, peering into the shadows that had crept under the trees in the afternoon sun, but Quartz caught his intentions before Fetch.

“We’re really early in the bridge process,” said Quartz. “Do you want to see my plans?”

There was really only space at Quartz’s stable table for two, considering one was a troll, so Fetch set about picking up and cleaning the area, trying to make the scale model of the upcoming rope bridge look a little more respectable. Then there were tools to be put away and wood chips to be swept, several canvas tarps that needed to be folded, and the fire needed rebuilt for this evening’s cooking. Fish was getting to be the exception instead of the rule now that they had made a trip to Nadare, although Fetch wasn’t about to try making Missus Trina’s chicken casserole. He had no idea on how to scale it down to feed only a dozen instead of an entire inn, for starters.

Keeping busy out in the ‘yard’ left Fetch relatively unattentive, so he jumped a little when Broom tapped him on the arm while he was sweeping, then pointed back to the stone house with a spindly wooden finger.

“Oh! Yes, Quartz is showing Prince Svenson his bridge plans back at the corral. He’s the son of King Sigmund, if I remember right. The young man, not Quartz.”

The broom straightened up, seemed to gain a certain perkiness to its motions, and swept up the lunch dishes in one quick motion. In moments, it had scurried back to the house with far more speed than Fetch had ever seen before. It made Fetch think. After all, the wizard had married a princess, so the broom was used to being around royalty. And very small royalty…

Wait a minute. The wizard moved out about ten years ago, and the house has evidence children lived in it. So… are they his children? Wizards don’t just pop up out of the ground like flowers after all. And it sounded like Lubonia had magic too since she had healed the stump of Nomor’s arm. The children would be about my age now. A whole group of wizards instead of just one under the control of King Seiki. The poor family.

There was another touch on his arm and Fetch looked down to find the broom putting a table next to their firepit. It was fairly plain, lightly varnished with small marks indicating it had seen considerable use over the years. In short order, Broom returned with several chairs, although she hesitated when placing a third.

“Probably not,” he had to say. “Quartz would squish it. I’ll get him a chunk of wood.”

The broom seemed to agree and scurried back to the house, but she was back with a kettle and some covered plates before Fetch realized exactly what was going on.

“You’re making tea? For the prince?”

In hindsight, it was a foolish statement. Broom was certainly not making tea for the bridge crew. Or the absent griffon. Fetch wanted to help set the table and prepare tea since it was his role at home, after all. All reaching for a plate here did was give him sore knuckles, because Broom was fast with a wooden spoon and did not want any help.

Eventually, Prince Svenson returned with Quartz. They certainly seemed to be getting along well, chatting back and forth about bridge-related subjects like old friends. The prince slipped into his chair with all the grace Fetch expected, and sipped tea just as well as Quartz sitting on a split log and encompassing the teacup with his entire hand. Fetch did get to pour because he managed to get a grip on the teakettle while Broom was at a distance.

He was fairly certain he had merely put off his punishment until later, most probably because Broom did not want to smack his knuckles where it might result in a liquid mess in front of the prince.

Although Prince Svenson seemed far more interested in Quartz, he did direct questions to Fetch on occasion, and not just meaningless comments to fill the air. Where the young prince had filled his days with tutors and lessons on the noble art of princeing, Fetch had been just as busy on the other side of the coin, and he had to admit a matching degree of curiosity about life in a castle where somebody else had to deal with leaky roofs and peeling vegetables. Then again, experience in fencing and court etiquette would not be very useful when building a bridge.

“Well, it’s been a joy, but I need to be getting home before dark.” Prince Svenson swept to his feet and dabbed his lips with a linen napkin that Broom had provided. “Snowflake should be back any minute. She’s more punctual than I am, most of the time. And there she is.”

A white fleck of light in the sky swooped down, carrying part of a deer in her beak, which didn’t impede her landing one bit. Snowflake dropped onto the trampled grass, took a few brisk steps, and shook the deer’s bloody remains like a dog with a bone.

“No, I don’t need any of your snack,” said the prince in a tone of minor chastisement. I’m certain,” he added as the griffon shook the body again.

With three quick snaps there was no more deer, and the griffon lunged forward affectionately to rub her bloody face against any part of Prince Svenson that he could not defend. Fetch could not help but think of the chickens around the village when they had gotten into a good patch of grasshoppers and eaten until their crops were distended, because there was a good amount of stuffing under Snowflake’s beak that was not disguised by the dark red wattles under her chin or the fluffed feathers around her neck.

“She’s beautiful,” he blurted out, which the griffon seemed to appreciate by the way she arched her neck.

“And she knows it,” agreed the prince, who had pulled out a kerchief to mop away some of the more damp reddish spots on himself and the griffon. “You want to go flying with us?”

The question came right out of the blue, much like the handsome prince had, and left Fetch stumbling for words. “Oh… Yes, of course, but—”

“Great!” With one bound, Prince Svenson swung onto his place behind the griffon’s neck and stuck one hand down to help Fetch climb on.

Then there was a whooshing noise, and everything below got very small, very fast.

“I’ll bring him back tomorrow,” called the prince over his shoulder as the bridge site continued to shrink below them. “Probably have to send you back with one of Father’s knights,” he admitted more quietly. “I’m supposed to fly down to Sianna tomorrow, and that’s almost in the opposite direction. Princess Helena wants to see if Thunderbolt shares any romantic interest with Snowflake and I have no idea why. The last few times I flew down there, all they did was fly around and ignore each other.”

If Fetch had not been clutching so tightly to Prince Sven’s shirt and keeping his eyes fixed forward instead of looking down, he would not have caught the griffon’s casual glance backwards at her owner. It was only for a moment, but Fetch got the distinct impression that rather than the royals trying to see if their griffons were compatible, the griffons were playing matchmakers with their respective human pets.

“So are you really working with the troll voluntarily, or was he keeping you there,” continued the prince over his shoulder in what certainly did not sound like a question. “Because he sounded sincere, but—”

“He’s great,” said Fetch quickly before the prince could go any further down the wrong conversational road. “I was in a really bad situation when I met him, worse than I thought.”

“Were you really trying to become a knight?” The prince shook his head. “There are no end of young commoners around our kingdom who compete for a few spots at court. They’ve trained for years, but even added into the regular knights of the kingdom, Father doesn’t think they’re going to do spit against Seiki if he decides to go up against us.”

It took a few mental gyrations to make sense of it, which was made more difficult by being so far above the ground and the relative rapidity of their trip. Fetch had to take a deep breath as his ears popped, then another deep breath as the altitude kicked in.

It was beautiful. A few fluffy clouds floated by underneath them as the griffon’s broad wings chewed up the distance in sweeping bursts of pure strength. The thin granite crevice of the Marzpan ravine was already invisible behind them, but various other thin blue lines of streams and rivers began to uncoil below, weaving a tapestry between the thinning trees as a patchwork of fields began to appear. More clouds in the distance obscured the peaks of the Iron Range, painted in gold and red from the setting sun and bringing a tightness to his chest at the sheer glory of the sight. Three Rivers should have been visible in the distance on the downstream side, but a thin grey haze obscured where the blue lines converged, fading the colors of vegetation and rock outcroppings until only vague shapes could be seen in his imagination.

If I could fly like this, I might never land.

He might have remained frozen like that for hours, but it was far less time before Snowflake angled her path downward in a breathtaking swoop from the sky, skimming over a pen of placid sheep who must have been used to the sight by now since they just barely looked up, then swept up the stone face of a large castle. Furling her wings and taking a few quick flaps for stability, she lighted on the tile roof like a piece of thistledown. It could scarcely be called a landing because it still felt as if the huge griffon were still airborne, and he had to look down twice to make sure there was something solid beneath them.

“And we’re here,” announced the prince quite redundantly while sliding off the griffon’s neck and landing on the reddish tiles of the roof with a clatter. “Come on, hurry up and get down before she heads to her nest.”

“Oh!” It was quite a shock for Fetch to be groundbound again, but he could see a rough structure of sticks and discarded clothing on a nearby tower, and he quickly slid down the smooth feathers to stand next to the prince rather than try the much more difficult task of climbing down from over there. A moment later, Snowflake launched into the air with a single flap, glided over to her home, and settled in like an old broody hen on her nest.

“Does she have eggs?” asked Fetch, but when he turned to look, there was nobody on the roof but himself. There was an open window nearby with some curtains blowing out of them, and since only a sliver of the sun was visible over the horizon, he really did not want to stand out on the darkening roof for long anyway. He did take a moment to look around and consider the castle/estate in comparison to the much smaller structure at Nadare.

There was no mistaking the elvish roots in that castle, much like the obvious human influence here. Elves made stonework that flowed, crested, swirled around like clouds, and made Fetch feel quite like he needed a broom in hand to keep the place tidy. This was human architecture with solid blocked corners and a tapered density that thinned as it rose. While looking around, it made him wonder how dwarves constructed their stone warrens, but only briefly since Prince Svenson stuck his head out the window and said, “Oh, good. I was afraid you had fallen off the roof. Broke my arm doing that a few years ago, and Mother was apoplectic. That means angry,” he added.

“I know what it means,” said Fetch, turning his attention back to the roof and the window that would let him go somewhere a little safer. “Missis Triana was very stringent about my lessons in vocabulary and enunciation in several languages. She used to stand beside me while we were washing dishes so she could recite literature and have me repeat it until I got it right. It was quite a learning experience, but not nearly like this.” It took Fetch two tries to get his leg over the windowsill since his knees were still a little wobbly, so he sat down as soon as he was inside the bedroom.

“The girls normally scream,” admitted Prince Svenson as he vanished inside a huge closet.

“I almost did.” Fetch took another deep breath, still overwhelmed at his rapid shift from muddy bridge-building site to royal residence. “I’ve never been any higher than the roof on a building at home.”

“No mountains?” filtered the prince’s voice out from the closet. “You’re missing the best part. I’ll stop by sometime and we can go flying up to the Iron Mountain range. There’s a few mountain lakes up there with huge trout. I was going to take Helena up there sometime when we can scrounge up the appropriate chaperone. You know. Since she’s a princess and everything, our parents don’t think we should be out of their sight when we’re together.”

A pair of pants came flying out of the closet, followed by a ruffled pinkish shirt.

“Try those on,” said Prince Svenson. “You’re about my size, and we don’t want to miss dinner with my parents.”

Suddenly aware of his own muddy boots and sweaty odor, Fetch used the nearby boot jack to get his work boots pried loose and was just shedding his muddy trousers when he became additionally aware of an older man in the room with him. Tall and slender with a stern expression, he regarded Fetch with disdainful eyes.

“Um… Prince Svenson?” Fetch perched on one leg like a frozen waterfowl, swaying back and forth slightly. “There’s a person out here.”

“That’s Andre,” called out the prince, and a piece of blue cloth flew out of the closet. “Ask him where my red scarf went. You can wear the blue one. Mother’s nearsighted, so it will help keep us straight at dinner.”

Still standing on one leg, Fetch looked back at the prim well-dressed man but before he could ask the obvious, Andre turned for the door. “Sir, I will get a basin and some soap for your guest so he may wash before dinner, which will be slightly delayed if you do not hasten your steps.”

* * *

Still slightly damp and wearing unfamiliar clothes, Fetch followed the prince and the servant down a long marble staircase. Prince Svenson took a few quick steps and slid down the banister, then waited at the bottom for his two less-adventurous companions. In mere minutes, Fetch found himself following the prince into a fairly large dining room, less of a king dining with his subjects and various important people, and more like a family-only affair that had no place for an awkward young man like himself.

With the glitter, crystal, and fine linen all around him, Fetch felt incredibly out of place. He barely knew which fork to use, and things were happening so fast. All three of the royal children had questions about working with a real troll, which seemed to be a much more interesting topic than his life at the village. And the king avoided any questions about the bridge, going along with his children’s conversational direction rather than what Fetch had expected to be talking about. It was quite a mental drop much like missing a step on a staircase, and made his mind conjure up other things to think about.

Like the simple outfits they wore in this private dinner, which he had not expected from royalty, but Queen Vivia of Nadare had dented Fetch’s exalted opinion of royal fashion enough that Queen Ada’s simple outfit did not seem terribly out of place after some thought. Another thing he noticed was the relative differences in the family. After all, young Prince Ellar took after his father, somewhat stout and broad-shouldered, although without King Sigmund’s curly white beard and booming voice. Maybe in another fifteen years. And Princess Adrinia most certainly looked like her mother, with the height and prominent cheekbones that probably made her quite dangerous to other teenaged princes, particularly with the way she was filling out her bustline.

Then there was Svenson, who looked nothing at all like either of his parents.

“I’m adopted,” he said before Fetch could broach the subject or blunder into it by accident. “Everybody gets that look before they ask.”

“Showed up on our doorstep in a basket,” chortled Sigmund through his beard. “Him and the griffon egg. Never did find out who left him, but we had Adriana less than a year later and things got complicated in a hurry.”

“El’s gonna inherit anyway,” said Svenson through a mouthful of a dessert tart which he had just maneuvered away from his younger brother. “I don’t want it. Cuts into flying time. Snowflake would get jealous. A bad deal all around. Besides, I’m terrible at dealing with people.”

Fetch wanted to object because he had seen how effortlessly the prince had gotten Quartz to open up about the bridge, and on a personal level, how he had gotten a clumsy bridge-building apprentice to go for a griffon ride and get introduced to yet another king and queen. From the parents’ ill-concealed pride, they knew the facts behind his opinion already so there was no need to make any more of a fool out of himself.

When dinner was over and the rest of the family dispersed to their tasks, Fetch found himself being politely steered by a servant into a comfortable room filled with books and overstuffed chairs. Unlike Nadare, there were no fey lanterns shedding a soft light around for comfortable reading while digesting, but a number of oil lanterns fueled by something pinkish filled the room with the delicate fragrance of cinnamon. It was a very pleasant place to be alone, if not for wondering what reason he was directed to the library, but just when Fetch considered taking one of the books off the shelf for closer examination, King Sigmund swept into the room with no fanfare.

“Your Majesty!” Fetch shot to his feet, then knelt, only to feel the king’s heavy hand drop on his shoulder.

“Sit down, lad. I swear my son drags somebody new back home every week, and they all stumble around like stunned bunnies for a few hours. Your troll is rebuilding the Wizard’s Bridge, right?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. A rope bridge to start, then a real bridge after. He’s really the one to ask about—”

“How long until the first bridge is up?” continued the king as he guided Fetch to a chair and gave him a little push to sit down.

“Probably a few weeks,” said Fetch, feeling slightly trampled on by the conversation, much like he had felt since Prince Svenson had given him a hand-up to ride the griffon. It seemed to be a habit learned from his father, which was only made more obvious as the king went on.

“And what do you need to speed things up?” Sigmund licked his lips and lowered his voice as he sat in the closest chair. “Not that it’s an emergency. Yet.”

“This is about Seiki, isn’t it?” asked Fetch. “He’s on the other side of your kingdom, so are you looking for a route for reinforcements?”

“Unless you’ve got a wizard up your sleeve, it doesn’t matter how many men you can put across that bridge.” Sigmund lowered his voice again. “When Seiki moves against me, I want a way to send my children to safety.”

“What about sending them to Three Rivers?” asked Fetch, because it was the obvious alternative.

“The wizard’s mother lives there,” said the king.

The obvious conclusion lept to Fetch’s mouth before he could stop it. “The Witch of Three Rivers. Why don’t you ask her for help? Seiki is holding something against her son to make him work for the usurper, so she should be willing to help.”

“A mother fight against her son?” Sigmund let out his breath. “I would not force anybody into that situation, even if she were willing. But why do you say he’s forcing the wizard to work for him?”

King Piast had not said to keep his observations secret, nor had Nomor. Still, it was obvious that Seiki would not want any suppositions about ‘his’ wizard to become common knowledge, and Fetch made certain King Sigmund knew of his reasoning before starting to explain his last few days. It was oddly much like his previous Royal conversation, only without knowledge of any additional facts that King Piast had learned from the dwarf. It was also surreal, because Fetch’s place had always been listening entranced while others told stories or passed along information. He had gone from meeting his first king to advising a second in such a short time that his mind still was swirling.

It seemed like forever later but could not have been more than an hour before Fetch ran out of words, leaving the king in deep thought. Finally, he looked up from his comfortable chair and locked eyes with Fetch.

“You are an uncommon person,” he stated plainly. “Half of my court could not have explained the situation as well.”

“I had good teachers,” said Fetch, although a faint warmth began to rise in his ears.

“And you wanted to become a knight,” mused the king further. “Seems a waste to put that kind of sharp mind on a horse.”

Fetch could see the direction of the conversation and moved quickly. “Quartz has first claim on me. He rescued me from a bad situation, gave me a job, and is relying on my assistance to build his bridge.”

“Youth always think of the now,” said the king, who thankfully appeared to be pleased at Fetch’s comments instead of insulted. “Your loyalty is commendable, moreso since it is to a most unusual creature. But today is not tomorrow, and there will come a time when you will part ways with your companion. At that point, if you are successful with your project, and provided the usurper doesn’t kill us all, I suspect Tully and I will be competing for your services. He does have the more rocky kingdom, with more places that need bridging, but we are far larger and expanding our roads in all directions. Think about it for the next few years. And I think I shall head to my chambers.”

“And what about King Seiki?” asked Fetch as he scrambled to his feet from the stuffed chair that seemed to be holding him back.

“Nothing you need worry about.” Sigmund rubbed his beard, which seemed to conceal a thoughtful frown. “If my kingdom is to twist your troll’s arm into its fair share of bridge tolls, it would be best to start off on the right foot. I think I shall send Edward, my Royal Engineer to your site for an evaluation. Prepare a list of things he will need to bring and have it ready for him at first light. ”

“I can do that,” said Fetch.

“And if he is able to cross the ravine at that point, Edward may decide to visit his cousin in Nadare. Purely social, of course.”

“And consult with the king about the usurper?” asked Fetch cautiously, only to look away and clear his throat when an answer did not immediately come back. “Social visit. Of course. I’ll get to work on that list, Your Majesty.”

He must have looked lost, because Sigmund chuckled. “The staff has laid out a guest room for you. Breakfast will be a more formal occasion because I have several barons over for the day, so you’ll be dining with the servants, and coincidentally out of eyesight. Discretion is the word, lad. Seiki weaseled his way into his position with spies and traitors, after all. Don’t expect him to be any different a weasel on the throne than fighting his way up it. And if anybody asks what we were discussing here—” the king plucked a heavy book off the shelf with one thick hand and handed it to Fetch “—this should suffice.”

It was a heavy tome with a thick wooden cover engraved with a drawing of some sort of stone-flinging machine and a man’s name in elegant loopy curves at the bottom. Fetch could not resist peeking inside and was promptly taken aback at the loopy script that continued on the interior pages as well.

“Elven engineering book,” said King Sigmund. “Was in a box I got in a trade and can’t make heads or tails out of it so I was going to give it to Tully sometime as a gift. If your bridge stands, it’s yours.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” said Fetch automatically. “You are too kind.”

Less than an hour later as Fetch sank into a gloriously soft bed, he found himself staring at the sculpted stone of the ceiling barely visible in the flickering candlelight. It had been a very fast day with little time to catch his breath, but he had to admit the whole Kingdom of Forselt seemed just as quick. Standing on protocol and interviewing Fetch in the way a king should have acted would have wasted hours, if not days, and gotten him far less information in the process. Still, there was an undeniable order to the people in the kingdom even if proper protocol and the elaborate rituals of the royals had been crumpled up and tossed to one side for his sake.

And the king had been right, also. Fetch had only been thinking of the next few weeks. When Quartz’s bridge was complete in a year or two, he would have a great deal more experience as he moved along to another job. That is provided that King Seiki did not sweep through the Kingdom of Forselt and up to Quartz’s bridge, in which case any long-term planning was worthless anyway.

He was still considering his future when he blew out the candle and let sleep overcome his busy mind.

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[Booster Spice]

The catapult is a varient of a dockside cargo crane, capable of swinging a flat bed of random load out over the gap between dockside and ship deck?