It was a wonder that Maapu was able to keep the Ogre Rock Hurlers and the goblin sappers from revolting. Despite the harsh unfriendly terrain, the dry arid air, the hot merciless sun and more importantly, the lack of means to fill their belly, the ogres still remained docile. Even the goblin sappers dug the pits for the ogres diligently without any complaint. Either Maapu is developing commanding abilities or Lyria’s presence subconsciously overwhelmed even those brutes.

For four nights, they were sullen, and silent but soon forgot about Mikhul’s Redoubt; accepted Maapu as their captain but always treated Lyria with the utmost respect. Yet she was never accepted among them. Many times, Taltil and Theko were invited to share gruel, even Tharkas was extended the invitation, but never Lyria.

On the sixth day, Theko brought reports of Orc Scouts ahead. Tharkas rode ahead and returned, accompanied by two Dusk Reavers carrying bows that nearly reached the full height of Lyria. It turned out that Urganza set up a war band as a part of the hunting exercise. As those exercise parties were always reckless enough, the Dusk Reavers, though proclaiming no association to any clan, still roamed the periphery for immediate response.

With a bit of persuasion from Tharkas, the Dusk Reavers, quickly guided us through and late in the evening of the second day, the Stone-Cleaver’s encampment at Forge-wife Folly greeted us.

Urganza swung the training dire flail with the untamed ferocity of a mountain lion.

It was savage and frightening in its viciousness, but that very savagery carried wisps of charisma; inspiring superstitious awe in the onlookers. The heavy lead-filled sphere of her weapon danced over in graceful curve as though following invisible lines marked out by a cartographer.

I flashed forward before her eyes and stood facing her, closer to her. The tip of my dull rapier pressed firmly against her chest, beneath which her heart beats. Pregnant with the knowledge that the protected tip will never draw blood, I pressed the hilt harder. The slender piece of metal bent till the curving blade tickled her chin.

“You lost,” I said with a smirk, “again.”

Urganza grumbled. Not the silent, under the breath sort of grumbling. Loud, very loud and vocal grumbling; to be heard by all.

“Bah! The rapier weighs nothing compared to this lead-filled flail,” she grunted.

My grin widened at the intensity under which she spoke those words.

“No more sparring for today. It is back to basics,” I said.

Urganza looked puzzled. As if she did not know what the basics were? Balance on a single foot and pirouette like a dancer.

Those present laughed boisterously in anticipation.

“I want to duel the Storm Lord, not seduce him over a mating ritual,” groaned Urganza. More Mockery ensured from the crowd of onlookers. Urganza snarled back, realizing the origin but not the source of the mockery.

“Ignore,” I commanded her to practice more.

Her irritation got worse every time I pointed out her flaws.

“Overhead swing, pirouette, overhead swing,” I made her repeat the mantra. Vocally.

“It is a straight lunge. A dancer’s pirouette instead of a warrior’s dodge,” I instructed again, exhausting my patience. But Urganza was a born warrior.

Eventually, Urganza was relieved to see the amorphous form of Lyria strutting across the enclosure. Even the orc noticed that I could not resist her charms.

Lyria gathered me in her arms with a smirk.

“How is she progressing?” she asked. The question was posed more as a formality. She knew well how much Urganza has improved.

“How long do you estimate?” she continued.

The chill of the evening set in. I longed for the warm furnace and more importantly to see Lyria without her linen shirt and work her sculpted muscles in the searing heat of the forge.

“Would take ten or even twenty days,” I shrugged, “if she takes her lessons earnestly.”

We reached the smithy that was temporarily allotted to Lyria. It is here, every day since our arrival, she toiled on Urganza’s weapons. Everything hinges on the weapons that she forges and on the one who wields them. Our freedom, the survival of The Aberrant Irregulars and the future of poor Jessbeth, the unwilling pawn tossed into a bigger board. All my well-laid plans to protect Lady Wysteria will crumble should Urganza fail; should the weapons crafted by Lyria fail.

Lyria held her hand to heave me over the platform. As she drew me closer, both of our minds clouded with thoughts of one another; forbidden romances played within us. With the way we stood so close to each other; temptation lurked around every corner. Our wild eyes locked together for a while longer than necessary. And then we broke contact.

“I should get to billowing,” said a flustered Lyria.

“You should undulate,” I stammered, “You undulate those handles, the smoke from exhaust billows then --”

Why is the semantics between billowing and undulating important now?

“There is a difference between those words?” uttered a baffled Lyria.

“I am the one who is forging, so when I say it is billowing--” The linen shirt hiding her chiselled features came off. Tongue-tied, I could only inhale a deep breath. All arguments are conceded beyond this point in favour of Lyria.

The flames erupted a brilliant amber, and died out, leaving the coal red-hot. Lyria still worked the bellows till bright hot coal became a vibrant cerulean. The contours of her face danced with the constant shift in light. Her body, warmed from the sweltering heat, slowly cooled down until tiny beads of sweat sparkled along her bulging veins. She grabbed a piece of cloth and slowly wiped her sweat. She is doing it on purpose -- definitely.

An awestruck silence shrouded the air. We both waited for the other to make a move. With trembling fingers, I finally dragged Lyria into a dizzying embrace. One lip brushed softly. Lyria squirmed and my strength failed me at first, but quickly recovered with blinding speed.

“You have been tempting me for the past days,” I whispered in her ears.

She refused to meet my eyes.

“Coincidence,” she said coyly.

“And you have been distracting me from asking important questions,” I insisted.

“Kissing someone is the second-best way to prevent them from demanding answers,” said Lyria playfully.

Enticing me with teasing remarks -- if that is her plan, it is working well.

My eyebrows shot skywards with an incredulous look on her beautiful lips.

“Do that often, sooner or later, your lips will forget how else to claim their desires,” I sighed dramatically.

“The second-best way is reserved only for a special someone,” she teased.

“And what is the best way, then?” I played along. Her mirth seems contagious.

“Punching them in the face also works, effectively.”

She is right. Can’t argue against that. I should know better.