We pore over the details in his hut, a cozy little home with walls covered in animal skins and taxidermy heads. Various bladed weapons are hung up as well, a testament to the Smith’s level of skill. Several scrolls fill up the table at which we sit, their contents ranging from different types of metal to intricate pommel designs. He offers inscriptions, blessings from whatever Novhina I wish, anything I would desire. After a goblet or two of wine and careful consideration, we agree upon a simple steel greatsword. Its hilt is to be wrapped in leather, its pommel round. My only request is for it to bear the lavender scent of his forge, as a reminder to always remain strong. He agrees without quarrel.
“How soon might it be ready?” I ask as he guides me to the door, our business concluded.
“Not too long for most of it, only a couple days,” he answers. The hut breathes in the heat of the forge as the Smith opens the door. “But for the lavender to take, I’d give it a week to be safe. Think you can be back by then?”
“If escaping the Tower is as easy as it was this time, absolutely,” I tell him with a grin.
“Good,” he roars a laugh. “If not, I’ll hold on to it until you return.”
“Dagan had his dagger when he came back. A really nice one.”
“The one with the fancy sheath, right?” he laughs again. “Had that thing lying around. Bought it off some miniature fella that was passing through. Strange merchant, he was. Had a pet squirrel, I think. It’s fake, anyway. Gems and all. Blade will likely snap the first time the fool uses it. But that’s what you get when you try to trick an honest man.”
“What was his task?” I ask.
“Ah,” he shakes his head slow, the jovial tones fading a little. “That’s between me, him, and Valier Forest. Just know that he has the strength of a flea compared to you.”
He bids me farewell as I pass through the trees, the warmth of the forge and the smell of Lavender fading with every step. My path stays straight as an arrow, just as it had been during my earlier trek. The wind has calmed once more, snow sparsely drifting from the sky. The absence of the whistling makes room for the low, grumbling voices of men. I hesitate behind a pine near the campsite, poking my head out just enough to find the fire smoldering and my friends gone. Two bearded men stand just beyond the smoking pit, long coats and insulated caps keeping them warm. A third waits on a carriage, reins in hand and ready to order the two horses to move.
“There you are, Rokkoh,” her voice comes from behind, light yet terrifying. Cloaked in a black fur coat that covers her head to her ankles, her face shielded in a scarf as pale white as her skin, her sharp hazel eyes reveling in her victory, steps out the Baroness from the front of my tree.
“We were beginning to worry about you.” Her words come slow, calculated, cutting. “Thought the wolves might have gotten you. I’ll take that back, by the way.”
Her eyes go to the iron sword for a moment, as do mine. She extends a hand to receive it, eyes flicking back up. I could cut her down right here if I wanted. End her reign of lashings with one of my own. The guards might be a problem, but I see no weapons on them. Perhaps I’ll get lucky. Once they’re taken out, all I would need to do is find my friends. My guess is they’re inside the carriage. Only one way to be sure.
“You’ll be dead within the minute if you try it,” she whispers, a playful eyebrow arching.
Reminding myself of what the Smith had said about strength, I toss the sword into the snow. Though I cannot see it, her scowl freezes my skin. Her beckoning hand relaxes, a mean yet tired look casting over me. With her other hand, she summons the two bearded men.
“Get in the carriage with the others,” she orders, no humor left in her. “You will receive your punishment when we get home. Go.”
Willingly I make my way to the carriage. The Baroness whispers something to the men, but I am too far to hear the words. The door at the back of the carriage opens with ease, and my three cohorts greet me with sleepy disappointment. We do not exchange greetings, or even a single word at all, as I climb in and take my place next to Kym.
Tyler Gohde 
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