***
Through a light snowfall, an ornate white and blue carriage ambled toward the north gate of the capital city of Vallo. The view out of the carriage window to the right showed dormant fields and a large manor house belonging to one of the King's cousins. To the left was a huge windmill on a snowy hillock out near the icy lakeshore. Further up ahead, the rising smoke of a thousand or more chimneys - pale in comparison to the darker clouds looming above - wafted over the high walls of the bustling city.
The aging Maker known as Frimgar Winter-hand sighed. He was finally home.
Over two seasons was a long time to be away, but he considered the annual journey along the South trail to be worthwhile. Being born and spending his young days in Kaald, a village more remote than most, Frimgar could appreciate how challenging life could be for the rural folk. He believed he had a basic understanding of their struggles, and felt a continuing obligation to help in the only way he knew how. The considerable profits for his work were merely a bonus.
Recognizing the emblem on the sides of the approaching carriage, visitors and guards at the gate respectfully stepped aside and pulled carts out of the way to let it pass. Frimgar took notice of their deferential actions and nodded his thanks to them all as he and his own guards rode by.
Many of the Makers took the veneration by the masses for granted, while a few haughty others of his enlightened society demanded cowering submission. Frimgar was not fond of arrogance.
The carriage had to pass through the north quarter, part of the second - and foulest - addition to Vallo. New battlements had twice been constructed to expand the city. The first expansion was in the 72nd year of the Triad, while the second took three years to build starting in 187; history was one of the subjects Frimgar taught. The thick walls were no longer necessary - there hadn't been a threat from distant Ferrens or raiding bandits in decades.
The north quarter and other neighborhoods between the second and outer walls were where the more pungent trades - tanneries, slaughterhouses and the like - were seen to. The odors Frimgar had to endure while rolling through that area gave him the urge to have the carriage turn around and go back out to the rural lands.
It was Frimgar's view that villages had fresher air and fewer rats, and rural folks tended to be cleaner and friendlier. Then again, villages had no chefs, hardly any salt, no gambling or bath houses, and the walls of their inns were thin. City or country - both had their nuisances.
The Maker's guards led his driver down Market Road, the widest route in Vallo. Nearing the castle, which butted against the cliffs overlooking Pioneer Lake, the carriage turned off toward the guarded iron gates of the expansive and imposing Maker's domain. Hooves clopped and wheels clattered over the snow-dusted cobblestone path that led to the inner courtyard.
The horses were reined in front of the Grand Hall, where a group of young student attendants and one of the domain's refined butlers stood waiting. Maker Frimgar forced his rotund body through the carriage door and took a deep breath for the effort it took. Oblivious to the snowflakes landing and melting on his bald head, he stretched his back with a groan.
"Welcome home, Maker Winter-hand," The butler said as he stepped forward. "How was your trip this year?"
"Well enough, Tennvik, thank you." Frimgar smoothed his pale blue robes and pulled his black Maker's sash up from under his round belly. "If we could, my good man, let us dispense with the formalities of announcing my return to those who still remember my name, eh? Please have my lockbox brought to my apartment, and have someone from the kitchens bring me wine and a proper ham meal. The closest thing to pork down south is gamey wild boar!"
Tennvik grinned along with the gregarious Maker, and then asked, "Is that all you require, sir?"
"If only it were," Frimgar sighed. "I need to meet with Maker Kauldur before I retire for the day. He still holds the post of Inquisitor of Mysteries, yes?"
At the mention of the other Maker's name, the butler's pleasant expression quickly faded. "That he does, sir, and makes full use of the title."
"Yes, I'm sure he does," Frimgar agreed with a frown. "Unfortunately, I need to pass along some reports. Otherwise, that obsessed man will be pounding down my door before I can get a wink of sleep. Where can I find him?"
"To my last knowledge, sir, Maker Night-heart was out on the training field between the guard barracks and the library, practicing his martial skills. I can send a student out to verify his whereabouts if you like."
"Not necessary, good Tennvik. I'd be surprised if he were elsewhere," Frimgar replied, and then added in a much softer tone, "That sadist always did enjoy using our guards to test his gruesome arts on. Remind me to petition the council for a raise of their wages."
"Of course, Maker; I will have papers drawn up by the morn."
"Oh, and is there any luck that Kauldur's demented apprentice no longer shadows him? Perhaps during my absence she was hopefully sent to a Maker's domain in one of the fortress towns?"
Tennvik shook his head. "There's no luck for you, Maker. Oradna still resides here, and continues to be in her mentor's company on most occasions. What's more, her chosen Road of Clarity is said to be clear and worthy. Her bid to become a Maker is at hand."
Frimgar's frown returned. "I am ashamed to admit it, but I'd always hoped that unnerving girl would never attain the mental prowess to earn a name. Ah well," he went on with a brighter tone, blocking out the thought of Oradna's dead stare, "the truth of it can't be helped. Let us move on with the matters at hand, eh?"
The butler nodded, bowed to the Maker, and then began directing the young students to their tasks. Frimgar stepped over to his trusted guards and handed an extra pouch of coins to each. When thanked for his generosity, he merely smiled and shook each man's hand. Walking away with a twinge in his hip, the weary Maker wondered how many more long journeys his old, heavy body could endure. And then he thought of food, drink, and a glutton's slumber.
Through the shadows of dry alcoves and under pillar supports of an upper walkway, Frimgar came to the training field. Out on the snowy grass ahead of him were three domain guards and Maker Kauldur Night-heart. Apparently, the martial practice had just concluded. One guard was wrapping cloth around his hand, another was sitting on the cold ground with a dark-stained rag pressed to his face, and the third guard was on hands and knees vomiting blood.
Kauldur was gripping his own muscular upper arm from a wound, and had just turned away to leave the field. "Impudence was your folly. See that it does not reoccur," he said over his shoulder to the still-heaving guard. Frimgar watched the Maker stride over toward a woman who stood near the dark stone walls of the barracks wing.
Adjusting the scrolls in his hands, Frimgar reluctantly approached the two. He saw that Kauldur was dressed only in boots, breeches and a vest for his training session. Half the age of himself, the younger Maker was as trim and strong as always. His dark hair was kept short, and shorn to the scalp on the sides. Kauldur was a tall man - not overly so, but often used it to his advantage. More coercive than Kauldur's height was the quality sword he always wore, and his infamously unpredictable mood swings. Throughout the years, Maker Night-heart had seen to all of his duties with ruthless efficiency, and was on the list for a council seat despite his intensity.
The woman Kauldur stood with was the student called Oradna. At well over ten years younger than Kauldur, there was speculation as to whether he viewed her as a favored pupil or as a lover. She was attractive enough, although her pale gray eyes had an unsettling effect. Even under the hood of her thick fur coat, Frimgar could see those eyes. Oradna's long auburn hair and pale skin were other features that marked her at a distance, which was where most men chose to admire her alluring figure from. Her frequent, wicked smirk and thinly veiled contempt for anyone but Kauldur made most folks shy away from her presence.
"Good day, Kauldur," Frimgar said with false cheer as he neared. "Still in fine form, I see."
Initially thinking he was being mocked for
being wounded by a mere guard, Kauldur turned with an angry scowl. He relaxed when he saw who it was - Frimgar Winter-hand, the obese old Maker with the ever-present benign smile. Kauldur had a childhood memory of the fat Maker teaching him his first trick, the mental servant; the ability to move small objects from a short distance. That small kindness had since softened his judgment of Frimgar's timidity. "Ah, Winter-hand, back once again from cavorting with the peasantry," he said with little emotion.
Frimgar glanced out to the training field and saw that Kauldur's last combatant was still on the ground with snow beginning to settle on him. "Should he be seen to?" he asked.
Kauldur cast a derisive glare out to the guard. "I caused no lasting damage. His ambition to best me drove his bellicosity to attempt a rash endeavor. Considering his bold transgression against a Maker, I was lenient."
Frimgar held his response when Kauldur began to create a Maker's art, drawing a symbol in the air while murmuring a short chant in the Locan tongue. The wound on his arm immediately stopped bleeding and began to scab over.
In the moments of the uncomfortable pause, Frimgar looked past Kauldur and met Oradna's odd stare as he offered her a warm greeting. Her response was a barely perceptible bow of her head as she softly muttered, "Maker" with a hint of a smile.
"Those scrolls relate to the duties of my office, I take it?" Kauldur asked as he slipped on a wool robe that Oradna had handed to him. "Tell me the gist of them, if you would."
"Ah, yes; I have three reports for your scribe to copy. None are so serious that you need to rush out and investigate, I'd say."
"With all due respect," Kauldur said as he cinched his robe, "I will be the judge of that."
"Yes, of course," Frimgar replied with an affable grin. He was tired, his hip ached, and he did not want to suffer any more of Night-heart's posturing than was necessary. "One report is from a farmer and his wife near the village of Sleeva who hoped their child was exhibiting a Maker's sign. As it turned out, the poor boy was merely blind in one eye."
"Witless peasants," Oradna giggled.
Ignoring her, Frimgar continued with his overviews. "Another is from Bruvaal; a girl made claims that a boy she knew had some uncommon abilities. I estimate that the boy in question was past the latter age to show any signs, so I don't give the story much credit."
"Given that your assumption is correct, false accusation of this sort is a crime."
"True," Frimgar said with a shrug, "I although I wonder if the offense is worth riding down to a small village and arresting a girl for a case of unrequited love, or, more likely, a jilted heart. We are both aware that foolish things are said and done on those occasions, eh?"
"Very well," Kauldur reluctantly agreed. "What is the last report?"
"A young boy from Romiir actually did show a Maker's sign. He could accurately predict the weather. I stayed in that village a few extra days to verify it, and then brought the boy to Guldra Steel-horn at the Maker's domain in Derralin. She will administer further tests; if the boy shows promise, he'll be sent here."
Kauldur nodded, took the offered scrolls, and then handed them to Oradna. "That will do. If there is nothing else, I will remove myself from these frigid conditions. While I'm sure you are accustomed to them and most likely prefer the cold, you also appear frail and ashen. Gather some warmth and get some rest, my good Maker."
Frimgar only smiled before he nodded and turned to leave. Eager to be away from Kauldur's imperious tones, he found the energy to move quickly.