"Let me see your face, kid." Walin raised the young dwarf's chin. Though the youth tried his best to avoid Walin's scrutiny, his fiery red hair and beard couldn't disguise his lineage. "I haven't heard you had another son or gained a grandson."

  "He's my elder brother Kabator's son."

  "Uh..." The black-bearded dwarf hesitated. He knew that Kabator Bilinski, as the eldest son, had been exiled for indulging in literature and art instead of inheriting the centuries-old forge-craft passed through their lineage. "I suppose congratulations are in order."

  "Hmph, I'll accept them on his behalf."

  Walin wanted to get to know the shy kid. "What's your name?" he asked the youth, who was slowly backing away.

  "Thorin Durin, my lord," he mumbled, so quiet you could barely hear him.

  Walin Barklo Vaslov leaned closer. "I fear my old ears are failing me. Could you repeat that?"

  "Thorin Durin." The young dwarf raised his head and said deliberately, "I'm a bastard."

  "......"

  "Kabator's son with a Zakailake woman," Toyef explained.

  "I see, I see. Now I understand." The black-bearded dwarf adjusted his belt and straightened his posture. "So you weren't born to Kabator and his wife—not that he has one yet. You're the product of his union with a foreign woman from across the Western Seas... but there's one thing I don't quite grasp. Is it fashionable now for bastards to use 'Thorin' as a surname?"

  "Bastards can take any name they wish, Walin. If circumstances allow, they could even share the family name without legal repercussions. But for the Bilinski Clan, honor ranks above craftsmanship, second only to gold. They refuse to acknowledge this young man as part of their clan and naturally won't permit him to bear their illustrious surname. I nearly severed ties with those old patriarchs to take this red-haired lad as my apprentice and teach him skills unique to the Bilinski Clan. I also bestowed upon him a name of greater significance."

  "Significant indeed—so much so it's exasperating." Walin sighed and shrugged. "Thorin is a legendary figure revered by all dwarves. His deeds during the Rebellion Era, resisting the Titans, outshine even your entire Bilinski Clan's achievements. And the poor yet mighty Durin Clan were among the first dwarves to walk this earth, though they couldn't survive even the Dark Era under Titan oppression. Had their bloodline endured to this day, we dwarves wouldn't be bowing to humans, serving those long-dead dukes of Elnya, or ceding entire provinces—leaving only Rovefen, a former capital, with a few miserable towns including a port so pitifully small that rowboats can't even enter—just to keep Hovek Browal Harowink from tumbling off his throne. Oh wait, he's not even a king anymore, just a lord." He added, "And you've bestowed these great names upon a bastard."

  The bastard lowered his head once more.

  "Yes, precisely. I want him to become great." Toyef Bilinski said coldly.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  The black-bearded dwarf coughed twice. "Well... I shouldn't have said that. Damn it... I hope you don't take offense, and please forgive me, child," he said, remorseful. "Raise your head, Thorin Durin, son of Kabator. You should achieve greatness, as should I. In these times, all dwarves must strive for greatness."

  Thorin Durin nodded solemnly, his flame-red hair blazing in the darkness.

  "Well then, Lord Walin, thank you for coming to greet us, but I believe we've exchanged enough pleasantries." Toyef stifled another wine-soaked hiccup. "Take me to your companions. If memory serves, Jim is still with you?"

  "Over there." Walin pointed leftward, toward Wyrm Ember. "Our camp is there."

  "Let's move, everyone. We need rest and recovery. At dawn, we'll need our bodies, our skills, and our battered but unyielding spirits." Toyef Bilinski grabbed the saddle and mounted his horse. "Aren't you getting on?" he asked Walin, who had arrived on foot. "Walking is too slow. Time is precious, second only to gold and fine wine, wouldn't you agree?"

  "No."

  "Which question are you answering?"

  "Both." Walin Barklo Vaslov began striding forward, murmuring, "Life is short; time trumps all else."

  Toyef reached for his wineskin but stopped halfway through removing the cork and pushed it back in. "Seems we disagree on that. No matter." He nudged his horse forward with his heels. "Come, Walin. Time waits for no dwarf, and neither does gold."

  "There's something I should clarify from the outset." Despite his small stature, the governor's secretary moved with surprising speed. Elisa had to lift her skirts and half-run to keep pace. "According to what I've been told, Lady Clawyn became the governor's mistress entirely of her own free will."

  "I believe you're mistaken, sir. You can't imagine her suffering. I've never seen her weep like this before."

  Portilo shrugged without turning. "Either the governor has lied to me, or your lady is quite the accomplished actress. Regardless, maintain your composure and proper etiquette in the governor's presence."

  "I get it, sir."

  "No, clearly you don't." He halted abruptly. "That tone you're using now would be considered disrespectful and challenging before the governor." The secretary fixed Elisa with a rat-like stare. "Whenever Lady Clawyn is mentioned, you seem to forget your station and place. I'd hate to see your body swinging from the gallows someday, or the Clawyn Estate reduced to cinders. Medros Ancard may not be of noble birth, but he holds absolute power over life and death throughout Monowe."

  "I've heard the real power rests with the governor's wife."

  Portilo's gaze transformed from that of a rat to a jackal. (Oh no,) Elisa thought with sudden alarm. (You've done it now, you loose-tongued fool.)

  "You'd be wise not to let the governor hear a single syllable of that." His expression remained neutral, like a priest reciting prayers. "Though I can't deny there's some truth to your words, even if they don't capture the full reality."

  The maid gathered her skirts to keep up. "So that means..." (Oh... shut your mouth!)

  "You're chirping like a little bird," Portilo said, visibly annoyed. "Do you comprehend anything of the Empire's provincial system?"

  "Not thoroughly, sir. Monowe formerly operated under a feudal system."

  "That makes sense," he replied. "Godma once functioned much like a kingdom, with feudal lords governing their territories. As the empire expanded, land management grew increasingly difficult. The emperor realized that incompetent dukes with their handful of advisors and armored knights couldn't manage the complexities of city governance. Thus began the provincial system. Governors are elected by the Royal Council to establish local governments and oversee cities. They serve as proxies for lords, handling daily affairs. Generally, governors possess considerable authority, only requiring lordly approval for major decisions. While lords are nominally superior, they too answer to the Royal Council."