The Blacksmith Queen

by Aiken G. A.

  “Excellent.” Together, we headed back to the castle. “And you can now call me Dowager Queen. It’s quite fitting, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “And just wait until you meet my son’s future queen. She’s like no one you’ve met before.”

  I hoped the Dowager Queen was correct. Because that poor girl, whoever she may be, would have to be quite special if she was to have any chance of surviving this mother and son.

  CHAPTER 1

  The massive head of the hammer landed hard on the ground, startling the men who had strung him up.

  He could see her—barely—as he hung there. He tried to warn her. To tell her to get away. These were soldiers for hire. They had no loyalty to anyone but themselves and the one paying them.

  They had stumbled upon him sleeping by this same tree and before he knew it, they’d decided they wanted his meager things and the three horses he’d been traveling with and, Oh! Wouldn’t it be fun to see him swing?

  Well . . . no. No, it was not fun to swing.

  Still. He didn’t want this very large woman to risk her own life to save his. Men like this were even more cruel to women than they were to lone men sleeping under trees.

  She’d swung her big hammer up and over her head and, when the massive head had hit the ground, she’d stood there a moment. Chin down. Her muscles tense under her sleeveless, black leather tunic.

  After that brief moment, she lifted just her gaze and growled, “Cut him loose.”

  One of the soldiers laughed. “Look what we have here, lads! A big-armed slut looking for—”

  That hammer was up and swinging before the soldier could finish his statement, sending him flying into another nearby tree. Bones cracked and blood shot out of the soldier’s mouth.

  Swords were drawn and they surrounded her.

  “Bad decision, woman,” another soldier said.

  “No,” she replied. “Bad decision coming to my town and killing a boy.”

  Wait one moment. He wasn’t dead yet! Of course, that was mostly because the soldiers had taken their time dragging him off the ground so that he’d die slow. They’d literally said, “Let’s watch him die slow, lads!”

  One soldier swung his blade at the woman and she easily parried the move with that astoundingly large hammer before ramming the head into the man’s chest. He fell back, his chest caved in, his gasps for breath painful to hear.

  He wanted to watch more, begging the gods to protect this brave but foolish woman, but his gaze began to dim. He was choking to death.

  No! He wasn’t going to die. He was going to fight!

  Making the decision, he worked harder to get fingers between the rope and his throat in the hope of loosening it. As he struggled, he looked out toward a nearby hill, and saw the herd of wild horses he’d spotted the night before. At the time, he’d thought the three horses he’d been tending would blend in with the herd. He’d even stripped them of their saddles and bridles and hidden them right outside the forest. But that hadn’t worked out as he’d hoped.

  Now, those wild horses were charging over the hill in what seemed to be a panicked run, barreling down toward them. But as they moved over that hill, for a split second, Samuel thought he saw . . . people? Running amongst the horses? Over the horses?

  Or he was becoming delusional. That was possible too.

  Because he was dying. And he would die if he didn’t get the noose off.

  Knowing he was running out of time, Samuel fought harder. Struggled to get the rope from around his neck.

  Most of the men moved away to avoid the oncoming herd. But one attacked the woman. That’s when a gray stallion charged between them. When the stallion passed the pair, its back hooves kicked out, catching the man in the head and caving in his skull.

  The woman took her chance. She pulled a blade from her belt and hit where the rope had been tied off.

  Samuel slammed to the ground, choking and gasping, his fingers now able to dig under the rope; to pull it up and over his head.

  A leather-gloved hand appeared in front of his watery gaze.

  “Get up, lad!” the woman ordered. “Get up, get up, get up!”

  Grasping her hand, Samuel let her pull him to his feet. That was when he realized the horses were running past them. But none had crashed into them. It seemed they were purposely avoiding Samuel and the woman while they trampled the other men.

  The woman was looking at Samuel, her gaze on his throat, when suddenly her entire expression changed and she lifted that hammer with the head bigger than Samuel’s skull. He took a quick step back just as she turned, swinging her weapon up at the same time.

  The metal head slammed into a sword, and the tall, massively built man holding the weapon stared down at her through a mass of thick dark hair.

  “That hammer is ridiculous,” the man said.

  “I love my hammer,” the woman replied. “I made it myself.” She pulled her weapon away from his sword. “You’re Amichai. Aren’t you?”

  Which explained to Samuel the mighty mane of hair and the leather kilt.

  “Perhaps introductions later,” the Amichai replied. “You should be more worried about what’s behind you.” He moved his gaze to Samuel. “Down, boy.”

  It was barely an order, muttered low, but Samuel immediately followed, dropping to his knees. Just as he did, something whipped past his head. He heard a grunt and a snapping sound. A body fell down beside him and Samuel cringed. He couldn’t help it because the woman’s hammer slammed on a soldier’s face, crashing into it. Blood, skin, bone, and brain exploded out, briefly blinding Samuel.

  A hand gripped his upper arm and hauled him to his feet again.

  “Behind me, boy,” his female rescuer said, pushing him back until he hit a tree trunk.

  Samuel wiped the gore from his eyes in time to witness one of the soldiers swing his sword at the woman’s head. She jerked to the side and used her hammer to parry the blow, then followed up with a punch to the head that sent the man stumbling to his knees. Not that Samuel was surprised. The shoulders on that woman. By the gods!

  The Amichai who had stepped in to help now fought other soldiers. But he was not alone. Like most people from his part of the world, he traveled with others. Two men and a woman. Also tall, also powerfully built, and all of them heavily armed. Based on that description alone, they could have been from anywhere, but the leather kilts, tattoos of their tribes, and what his father always called “their mighty manes of hair” made it clear they were from the Amichai Mountains. The expanse of mountainous territories ruled over by powerful, unfriendly tribes. The Old King’s territory butted right up against the base of the Amichai range but he’d never dared challenge the tribes head-on. No one had. They were considered brutal barbarians. Mad killers who ate their own and sacrificed babies to their dead and their demon gods.

  Samuel didn’t know if all that was true, but at the moment he dearly hoped not. Because they and the big-shouldered woman were the only things keeping him alive.

  Reaching for his own sword, Samuel abruptly remembered that it had been snatched from him before the soldiers had strung him up.

  “What’s your name?” the woman asked, battering the soldier on the ground with her hammer. His face caved in; his chest cracked open.

  “Ssss . . . Sssss . . .” He shook his head; tried again. “Samuel.”

  “I’m Keeley,” she replied, stopping to give him a little smile before another soldier came running at her. She spun the hammer around and rammed it forward, the head battering the soldier in the gut. She quickly raised the weapon, bringing the soldier with it.

  Samuel watched her lift the man up and over her head. The muscles in her arms and shoulders rippled with the effort before smashing him back to the ground, the head of her hammer now buried inside the soldier’s body.

  When she yanked the hammer out, blood and gore spattered Samuel again, but he raised his arm to block his eyes this time.

&nb
sp; Samuel had to admit . . . he was tired of getting hit with men’s insides.

  Lowering his now gore-covered arm, Samuel watched as the people who’d taken it upon themselves to rescue him battled the brutal soldiers. Thankfully—for their own sakes more than his—they were all skilled at close-in battle and had handily taken down the soldiers in due course.

  Samuel had just let out a relieved breath when Keeley’s head snapped up and she looked toward the nearby road. Just as she did, the Amichai woman crouched down and pressed her hand to the ground.

  “More coming!” she called out.

  “We should get the boy to safety,” one of the tribal males said.

  “No time.” Keeley stalked across the forest toward the road. “I need an axe,” she ordered. “Now!”

  Another Amichai pulled out a beautiful weapon. An axe that seemed to be one long piece of steel. Keeley held out her hand and he tossed it to her. She caught it easily without even stopping.

  “What are you going to do?” one of them asked.

  “Block this road.” She used the axe to motion behind her. “Over there. Now. Move.”

  Samuel quickly followed her orders as, to his surprise, did the Amichais. Strange, since he’d been raised to believe they were barbarians that didn’t follow the orders of anyone.

  Grasping the handle of the axe, Keeley raised the weapon high, her entire body tense, her muscles rippling. Then she brought it down, directly into the base of a large tree. She hit it once . . . twice . . . and the tree came down across the road.

  “Gods, she’s strong,” one of the Amichais muttered behind Samuel.

  Keeley moved across the road and attacked another tree. Now there were two very large trees blocking the road, but he could finally see what the others had felt. More mercenaries on horseback, riding hard toward them.

  “Impressive,” the dark-haired male said, “but I don’t know what that’s supposed to do. We would have been better off running.”

  The Amichai was probably right, although Keeley did manage to temporarily stop the riders. The ones in front pulled on the reins of their horses and halted their animals by the trees. The one in the lead laughed when he saw the roadblock.

  “What is this?”

  Keeley didn’t answer. She was too busy carrying the body of one of the soldiers’ compatriots toward them.

  “You bitch!” one of the soldiers barked. “What have you—”

  His question was cut off when that body and its insides hit him and several of the others. She then put two bloody fingers to her lips and whistled long and loud.

  “You mad cow,” the leader said, pulling his sword from its sheath and—

  Samuel stumbled back into the tribal female. He couldn’t help himself when a wolf appeared from seemingly nowhere, leaped over the soldier’s horse, and took down the leader with his fanged maw around the man’s throat.

  More wolves came from the trees . . . or the ground . . . Samuel wasn’t sure. He really wasn’t. They seemed to come from everywhere. They weren’t larger than the forest wolves he’d seen in his travels but he’d never met any this bold, this bloodthirsty, or this mean.

  Then one of those wolves turned toward him and Samuel immediately looked away, desperately chanting a protection spell at the same time. He had to.

  Their eyes. Dear gods . . . their eyes!

  But before Samuel could truly panic, Keeley came jogging toward him, carrying the axe and her hammer as if they weighed nothing. She tossed the axe back to its owner and said, as she ran past, “Now we run away. Run,” she cheerfully pushed. “Everyone run. Quick like bunnies!”

  Shocked, confused, and unnerved by the death screams of the soldiers, Samuel and the others ran after Keeley.

  Samuel whistled and the three horses he’d been traveling with appeared at the edge of the forest and followed their group, which made Samuel very grateful. He didn’t want to go back into that forest to find them and he didn’t want to tell his master that he’d lost the horses.

  That would be a quick way to lose his head. And after he’d gone through so much to keep it on his shoulders . . .

  CHAPTER 2

  Keeley Smythe had to admit, she hadn’t expected her day to go like this. Not when she’d woken up this morning, forced her siblings out of bed so they could begin their chores while their mum slept until the new baby woke her up with her delightful squalling. Helped her father feed the horses, helped her younger brother turn those horses out into the east fields, and stopped a fistfight between two of her siblings.

  All a normal early morning for her on her father’s farm. Then, as the two suns rose in the sky, she’d picked up her favorite hammer, kissed her mum and da good-bye, and headed out to her favorite place, the Iorwerth Forests. A vast, dense, treed expanse that Keeley had been exploring since she was a little girl. It was in Iorwerth that she saw her first wild horses. Several herds that had made the forest their home. She would go by every day and spend time watching them. She did it for so long, never bothering any of the animals, that they eventually came to her. The foals first, making their wobbly way over to her spot by a tree. Then the yearlings. Finally the beautiful gray lead mare sauntered over, stared at Keeley for a bit, and then went about her own business. After that, the other horses let Keeley get close, offer them treats or help them when they were hurt. But her best friend, her most favorite was the gray mare’s son. A gray stallion that always watched out for her, made her laugh, and warned her when her younger siblings were about to do something they would all regret.

  She should have known something was wrong with the day when she went to make her morning check on the herd and found no animal in sight except for three domesticated horses she didn’t recognize. Then she’d heard the raucous laughter of men. Keeley knew that sound rarely meant anything good out in the middle of the woods. And she’d been right—a small unit of soldiers were hanging a boy from a tree for their amusement.

  Keeley was very glad she’d stepped in when she had. And was even gladder that the Amichais had come along. Could she have handled that entire unit by herself? Probably. Could she have outlasted them all? Most likely. Could she have done that and kept all her important bits and pieces? Like her arms, legs, and eyes? Probably not.

  So she would forever be grateful to the outsiders who’d come to her aid, which was why she was rushing them through the forest.

  They’d just made it into the valley when screams from behind them had Keeley spinning around. One of the soldiers was running out of the forest but he suddenly pitched forward and went down, a wolf on his back.

  “Shit,” she mumbled to herself.

  Two more wolves came out of the forest. One grabbed the calf of the soldier and began to drag him back, inch by slow inch. The wolf that was already on his back swiped at his spine, tearing flesh, sending pieces of bone flying.

  The soldier screamed, reached out for Keeley.

  “Help me! Please!”

  Keeley went down on her knees and opened her arms. The black wolf she’d known since she’d found him in the forest—alone, crying, and about to be killed by three religious zealots in the garb of Peace Monks—ran to her. He jumped on her, licked her face, and Keeley dug her fingers into his thick fur and wrestled him to the ground.

  She laughed until she heard a sword being drawn. Keeley picked up her hammer and turned on her knees, faced the sound. The black wolf stood next to her, baring his fangs, blood-flecked drool dripping down his jaws.

  It was the female Amichai who now brandished her sword, gaze locked on the wolves.

  “I appreciate that you helped out in the forest,” Keeley told the female as she got to her feet, holding her hammer in both hands. “But I won’t like it if you insist on threatening my friends.”

  “Your friends? Those things are your friends?”

  “Those things saved our lives.”

  “Those things had a meal.”

  Keeley smirked. “A hearty one, too.”

 
; “They were called from some hell pit. Demons. You called demons to help you. That doesn’t bother you? That they’re evil?”

  “Evil? What makes you think they’re evil?” Keeley asked, truly confused.

  She pointed her sword. “Flames. They all have flames instead of eyes! That doesn’t bother you?”

  “As long as I don’t put my hands right on their faces, I—”

  “That’s not what I mean!”

  The dark-haired Amichai approached the female. “Give us a moment,” he said before pulling the female away.

  Keeley shrugged and looked down at the black wolf, his eyes of flame gazing back at her.

  “Moody bitch, eh?” she asked and her friend “muffed” in agreement.

  * * *

  Caid of the Scarred Earth Clan looked down at his sister and asked, “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “Eyes of flame!”

  “I know. I can see them.” Hard not to really with their eyes burning bright as the two suns above his head. “But you seem to have forgotten why we’re here.”

  “I forget nothing, Brother. But I do ask what kind of people we are dealing with.”

  “It doesn’t matter. The woman is not our goal. Her sister is. And we can’t get to one without the other.” That was what they’d been told before they were sent out to protect the future queen of these lands, and after watching the family, Caid knew the truth of it. Because Keeley Smythe might not be the mother or father of her family, but she was the matriarch. And after seeing how she’d handled herself in the forest, Caid knew she was not a woman to be trifled with. So his sister’s sudden need to challenge Keeley because of her attachment to demon wolves was beyond him. There seemed to be no animal the woman didn’t have a fondness for, and she was not about to let some flames shooting from eye sockets stop her.

  By the mighty horse gods of the east, Keeley Smythe wasn’t anything like he’d been expecting.

  “You’ll have to get through the sister before you can get to the girl,” they had been warned. “She of the steel and stone.”