Today we return for our third visit to Mejaran.
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"I know you're there Yarel," Orsana called out between hammer blows, not looking away from the length of steel she was gradually convincing that it was born to be a sword.
"No, you don't," Yarel countered as he stepped out from behind a rack filled with shields waiting to be repaired. "You're such a liar."
"Is that right?" Orsana growled, though she had to bite her lip to keep a smile in check. "How do you figure?"
"You probably just say that every few minutes, all day, every day. That way you're bound to be right whenever I do happen by." The towering smith was the only person in Mejaran that the boy was unable to approach without their knowledge and it drove him to fits. More than a few sleepless nights had been spent trying to figure out how she did it - so far, this explanation was his best guess. "That's it, isn't it?"
"If you care to find out, you can hang around here all day, every day. Just don't get in my way."
"Please, I have much better things to do with my time." Yarel sniffed daintily and looked away. "Besides, I have news."
"Spill it." It took Orsana a moment to understand the alarm in her young friend's eyes, but once she remembered she was still holding the sword-in-progress she set it aside and repeated her request in softer tones. "Spill it, youngblood."
"Lady Helen has taken Shotek into custody."
"She wouldn't dare."
"She would, and she has." Yarel studied his boots for a moment before looking up, his youth and uncertainty making rare appearances in his eyes. "It doesn't look good."
Outside rain began to fall in heavy, pounding droplets.