Tahlia pressed her nose up against the double paned window. In the room beyond, she could see Dak sitting on her bed, a thick book open on the cover in front of her. Tahlia tapped at the window and Dak's head jerked up, her mouth and eyes wide open in comical shock. She watched as her friend frantically looked around her for something, before finding the metal book pin hidden beneath her knee. She marked her place in the book, closed it, and then placed it on the table beside her bed before turning back to the window. Dak fumbled at the latches, her features turned from surprised to worried. She had good reason to be nervous after her desertion in the hall of arms the previous day.

Tahlia, though, decided that she would be kind to her friend and not hold a grudge.

"Good morning, Dak," she said cheerfully, when the window was finally opened.

"What are you doing here!" asked Dak, her brow creased in a frown.

"Well that is a nice welcome, I am sure."

Tahlia clambered through the window from the rooftop.

"Do the Forge-guard know you are coming here? I did not inform them!"

"Of course they do not know."

"Tahlia! You know how much trouble I will be in if they are finding you here without permission."

Tahlia brushed the rooftop grime from her hands and jumped down onto Dak's bed.

"You will be fine," she said.

"But you know it is not allowed! You should only be coming in by the guild-yards."

"I could not, even if I wanted to. The fortress is all shut up. No one is allowed to leave after that business last night."

"What business?"

"Have you not heard? Some creatures got into the fortress last night and tried to kill my father."

"Into the fortress! How?"

"Through the window, though I cannot imagine how they climbed all the way up there, and no one will tell me."

"What happened?"

"Mother and father killed them, of course, and now no one is allowed to leave the fortress."

She smiled and jumped down from the bed, than turned to see Dak looking critically at the two grey footprints that she had left behind.

"You had better come downstairs and wash," said her friend.

Tahlia followed Dak from her bedroom, onto the balcony that encircled the room below.

"But who would want to be killing your father?"

"I cannot begin to imagine," replied Tahlia. "Everybody likes my father."

"Not everyone, it is appearing."

Dak led the way down the spiral stairs to the level below. The first time that Tahlia had been in Dak's home, she had been immediately taken with the beauty of the rooms above Engineer Tomova's workshop. They were nothing like the fine apartments of the fortress' chambers she was used to, where all the metalwork was finely decorated and polished, and the curtains and hangings were made of fabric of the highest quality, brought from distant lands. Where Dak lived, the walls were made of stone, unadorned yet expertly crafted. The wood of the stairs, balcony, floor, ceiling and all the furniture in the room was unpainted and didn't have the delicately gilded carvings she was used to. Instead, it was of a solid, practical form, curved where appropriate and straight as necessity dictated. The rippling curves of the wood's thick grain was decoration enough, its beauty highlighted by the application of fragrant hive wax.

A small kitchen led off from the central living area, where all the utensils, pots and pans were hanging as neatly as the tools in the workshop below.

"The basin is over there," said Dak, pointing. "Please do not be touching anything on the way. I have just done my cleaning duties."

"Yes, Mistress Dak," said Tahlia, feigning a curtsy.

She went to the stone basin, which was wide and square, with smooth rounded corners, took a handful of washing salts from the jar standing beside it, and turned the lever on the tap.

"How is your learning going?" she called as she scrubbed her hands under the running water.

"It is going well," Dak answered from the other room. "It is all 'Two weights of this mixed to one weight of that, and knowing at what forge heat the different combinations will be workable."

"Sounds dull."

"In actuality it is very interesting. There is just a lot to be remembering, that is all."

Tahlia finished washing and went back into the large living area, wiping her hands on her dress as she went. Dak was arranging the cushions on her father's deep armchair. The animal hide covering the chair was well-worn, with a softly comfortable appearance. It faced a large window, with a view out through a gap in the workshop roofs and away over the plains towards the western marshes.

Set against the wall by the window, and within easy reach of the chair, stood a dark wooden cabinet that held pipe rack and tobacco pots. Behind the glass of the cabinet doors stood rows of bottles, holding liquids the colour of heartwood and sunsets.

"You need to know just how much to heat and exactly when to cool the metal to make it strong," Dak was saying as she continued to straighten cushions. "If you heat it too much or cool it too fast, the metal is becoming brittle and is no good. Unless it is competition lances that you are making, of course."

"Hmm," said Tahlia as she edged around the room towards a heavy oval table, which had been pushed up against one wall and covered with an old sheet. She carefully lifted a corner of the sheet and peered underneath.

"Please be careful with that!" said Dak sharply from behind her.

Tahlia dropped the sheet guiltily.

"It is a Conquest Table, is it not?" she said.

Dak came over and smoothed the sheet back into place.

"Yes, but you should not be touching. Father would not like it."

"It looks very impressive," said Tahlia.

"My grandfather made it."

Tahlia was looking innocently around the room.

"Where is your father, anyway?" she asked.

"Guild meeting," replied Dak.

"Surely he will not know if I have a quick look."

"No. If he is finding out, I will be in trouble for eternity."

"I will not tell him. Go on, where is the harm?"

With a quick flick, Tahlia tugged the sheet from the table and let it fold into a pile on the floor.

"Tahlia! Please! I said no!"

But Tahlia was not listening. She gazed at the table, her eyes wide.

"That is incredible!" she said. "I have never seen one like it."

And it was indeed magnificent.

The oval table, two metres in length and one in width, was fashioned from dark, beautifully grained wood, and in its centre the playing arena was set like the iris of an eye. Strips of dark metal divided its circle into hexagonal tiles, all exquisitely carved and inlaid with woods of different colours and textures to capture the essence of the terrain. White rippling rivers flowed through plains of pale yellow, and the land rose into green uplands, touched in places with clumps of colourful grass.

It was a table of Klinberg's province, the detail of it exquisite.

"It is wonderful," said Tahlia as she traced a finger along the pale line of the river Siceria, which divided the province in two from north to south. She followed its course, to where it split, and the line of the Lance brook cut its western path across the plains. South of the brook, in the very centre of the board, a rocky hill rose from the plains, waiting for Klinberg to be built there.

"Where are all the pieces?"

"Locked away," replied Dak. She had picked up the sheet, but rather than pulling it back over, she simply stood with it in her hands, looking at the table.

"Can I see?" asked Tahlia.

"No. Father put them away when mother died. It was her that was making them, you see."

"Where are they?"

Dak hung the cloth she was holding over a nearby chair, pulled a stool from under the table and climbed up. At either end of the oval table, the circle of the play area left two large crescents, each decorated with an intricate pattern, wrought in finely worked metal. The centrepiece of each was a round shallow casting dish, where the chance disks would be thrown, and around each dish was a mosaic showing scenes from the Wars of Conquest.

The end at which Dak stood showed men riding madriel, but they were not like the knights Tahlia was used to. They carried spears rather than lances, and held crude rail shields, little more than a stick with a rough hand guard. The madriel they rode had no armour, and the riders wore thick animal hide tunics and mesh. In the background was a scene of rolling planes and cherossa trees.

Dak ran her fingers over the decorated surface.

"They are under here," she said.

Tahlia peered at the pattern.

"How do you get in? Is there a key?"

"No. Look."

Dak laid a finger on the arm of one of the madriel riders and slid it round so that his sword was raised above his head rather than down at his side. Then she pushed a branch from a cherossa tree, so that it seemed to sag to the floor.

"You have to put the pieces in exactly the right starting position, otherwise it is not working. You have to work through moving the pieces in the right order to unlock it. There's a rhyme as well, to help you remember."

"Clever," said Tahlia. "Show me."

"I told you I cannot," said Dak, but her eyes seemed to look at the pattern in front of her with longing. "I have to respect my father's wishes."

"Why?"

"Because he is my father."

"Oh, Dak, you are such a tame critter. I thought you were my friend."

Dak was looking at the table again.

"There is one piece that I can be showing you, but you have to make a promise not to tell anyone."

"All right," said Tahlia, with interest.

"I will go and get it. It is in my room."

"Go on then."

"You have to promise not to touch anything while I am gone."

"I promise, of course. Hurry up, I want to see."

Dak climbed down off the stool and went to the stairs. At the bottom, she turned to look back.

"You promise?" she said.

"On my brother's life. That is serious you know, because we are twins."

She clasped both her hands convincingly behind her back.

Dak climbed quickly up the stairs, though she cast Tahlia another worried look before she disappeared into her bedroom.

Left alone, Tahlia looked back down at the table.

She walked round to the other end of it, her hands still firmly clasped together behind her back, and found that the scenes surrounding the casting dish there were quite different. They showed a horde of strange beasts, all of them quite loathsome. They were the herredna, who had once inhabited the plains before civilisation came along,

They had four thick muscular legs, supporting a horribly bloated stomach. Their knobbly spines protruded back from between their legs, and curved round as they leant forward to protect their soft swollen stomach by covering it with the thick scaled plating on their shoulders and chest. From underneath their stomachs sprang another set of smaller limbs, which ended in blade like claws. The detail was so good that Tahlia could see the glaring hatred in their small pin prick eyes, and it was easy to imagine the stench of the creatures' breath coming from their mandible jaws.

"Yuck."

"What are you doing?"

Dak had appeared from her bedroom doorway.

"Not touching," replied Tahlia, quite truthfully.

Dak came down the stairs, clutching something in her hand.

"Is that it?" asked Tahlia.

Dak opened her hand and carefully placed the piece on the table in front of her. She picked it up and held it close to her face, so she could see its detail.

"It is beautiful."

The wooden figure was a man, heavily built, wearing an apron and holding a large hammer, which rested casually on his shoulder. The detail was exquisite. The face in particular was so wonderfully done that it portrayed perfectly a demeanour of both wisdom and kindness.

"It is my favourite piece. Mother said that it was just one of the six Engineers in the set, no different from the others, but I always used to pretend that it was Yeltov, founder of the Guild."

"And your mother made this?"

"Yes. Father always said she had the gift for detail."

"So why is it not locked away with all the others?"

"Mother was teaching me how to play, and sometimes I would be playing on my own. After I had finished, I was supposed to be putting all the figures away, but I sometimes kept this one out to keep on my window at night."

"Naughty!" said Tahlia.

Dak looked at the floor.

"I had him there the night that mother fell sick, and I did not play with the table all the time she was being ill. Father thought it was just a fallow's fever but the weeks went on and she just got worse."

"He should have called Doctor Fos; she can cure anything."

"Father did in the end, but it was too late. I remember her coming out of my parent's room looking grave and serious. I stayed in my room so they could not be seeing me, but I heard her and my father talking. I could not hear what it was they said, but I could tell father was upset."

Dak took the small figure from Tahlia.

"I took this in my hands every night after, and asked Yeltov to be looking over my mother, but she died after a week. I should put it back, only father says I cannot open the table, so I have not."

"I had a pet krebian once that died," said Tahlia. "It was very upsetting. Mother told me it had gone to Fortak and its strength would go to him to aid his return. It is probably the same with your mother."

"She was an Engineer and we are not to go to Fortak."

"I do not suppose that krebian do either," said Tahlia thoughtfully.

"I would not think so," said Dak.

"Maybe you should keep him. I am sure your mother would not mind."

"What?" asked Dak.

"Yeltov," said Tahlia, pointing at the figure in Dak's hand.

"Oh, yes, I suppose that she would not."

"I know," said Tahlia. "Why do you not put him away and we can go and play hoop ball." Tahlia took the cloth from the back of the chair, gave the table one final admiring look, and then pulled it back into place.

"Okay," said Dak.

"Well, hurry up!" said Tahlia.

Dak frowned.

"Oh! Right. I will be doing that, then."

She took the small figure of Yeltov and climbed the stairs to her bedroom. As she was coming back down, there were three loud knocks on the door to the forge below.

"What was that?" said Tahlia.

"Visitor," replied Dak, frowning.

She crossed to the stair. Tahlia heard the door to the workshop below open and a voice call.

"Tomova's daughter!"

"It is Senior Forge-guard Harev!" said Dak, a note of concern rising in her voice.

She shouted down the stairs.

"Hello, Harev. It is Dakskansia!"

"Good morning to you Dakskansia, daughter of Tomova. Do you happen to have your friend, the daughter of Pride-commander Kralaford, visiting you up there this morning?"

Tahlia gestured with her hands and mouthed a warning to Dak, urging her to silence. Dak looked at her and then back to the forge stairs, clearly torn between friendship and obedience.

"Dak!" hissed Tahlia.

"Tomova's daughter! Is she with you?"

"Sorry!" whispered Dak to Tahlia, and then she called down the stairs. "Yes, she is here."

Tahlia threw her hands in the air.

"Would you care to be bringing her down the stairs? They are looking for her up at the fortress. Her father would like to be speaking with her."

Tahlia's mouth dropped open.

Her father! Not Mistress Oleander, or one of her tutors, but her father!

"Oh dear," said Tahlia.

There were some summonses which simply could not be ignored.