The Blacksmith Queen

by Aiken G. A.

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “Why do you think she did this?” Keeley demanded. “She sent Straton after Mum and Da to distract me. To make me crazed!”

  “And because you want to prove what a queenly woman you’ve become you’re going to let that vainglorious cunt live?”

  “I’m going to do what I need to do!” Keeley yelled back, now staring down at her smaller sister. “And if that’s a problem for you, fucking leave!” She waved toward the castle exit. “There’s the fucking door!”

  * * *

  Determined, fed up, and crushed by everything that had happened, Gemma grabbed her travel bag and stormed out of the throne room.

  “You’re really leaving?” Quinn said from behind her.

  “I am.” She’d return to the protective gates where she’d left Samuel and her horses and those damn demon wolves and she’d head to the Old King’s castle. “Beatrix has to die and clearly Keeley doesn’t have the guts to do it.”

  “Really?” he sneered. “You really think that?”

  “If nothing else, it’s clear my queen sister doesn’t need me anymore. She has your brother and sister—”

  “And Keran.”

  Gemma stopped on the last step and looked back at the centaur.

  Smirking down at her, he said, “You know, the one who may or may not have started a war with the barbarians due to a drunken conversation she had with one that she may or may not have fucked over a decade ago.” He came slowly down the steps toward her. “And of course there’s your mother and father who will always be by her side. I’m sure they can take time out from watching your siblings to risk their lives in battle to keep the queen safe.” He reached the step just above the one she stood on. “I’m sure servants can raise the children, should all three be lost.”

  “So you’re assuming I’ll fail to kill Beatrix?”

  “Yes,” he said with a wide grin. “Because she’s expecting either one or both of you to come and she’ll crush you before you can get near her. And then she’ll laugh and laugh! Or,” he added, leaning down so they were eye to eye, “you can stop being a spoiled little nightmare and fight by your sister’s side to secure her crown and the safety of your family. Of course, that means you’ll need to start trusting her judgment. As hard as that may be for you.”

  “But as long as Beatrix lives—”

  “She will keep coming for you and your family. I do not deny that. For some reason she’s trying to wipe all of you out. The memory of you . . . offends her, I guess. I’m not sure why, but Keeley knows. But to go after Beatrix right now? Keeley knows better. She’s learning to play the game. Beatrix’s game. Because Prince Marius’s army will be waiting for you with open arms if you make this very predictable move. And even a War Monk can’t fight an entire army by herself.”

  Gemma hated that he was right and that he felt the need to pat her on the head like a dog.

  As he patted, he noted, “You are surprisingly short considering the size of your sister.”

  Gemma jerked away from his hand and started back up the stairs, punching him in the side as she passed.

  “Owwww! Evil viper!”

  * * *

  Unroch watched the Smythe sister return to the throne room, the centaur Quinn behind her, rubbing his side and wincing.

  Making sure to catch the attention of his head guard, Unroch motioned to the human females. Keeley Smythe might have been made queen by the Witches of Amhuinn but anyone who could batter away at Soiffart’s Anvil and not destroy her arms in the process was someone to be feared. And her sister? Well . . . she was a War Monk. Nothing else needed to be said about that.

  So Unroch wanted his men ready for anything should the sisters decide to turn on the king and queen.

  At first, the sisters did not speak. Queen Keeley kept her back to her sibling. The War Monk dropped her travel bag to the floor and leaned against the table. The cousin was eating.

  Finally, the War Monk seemed unable to take any more of the silence and asked, “So, what do you want from us . . . my queen?”

  Queen Keeley glanced over her shoulder at her sister. They stared at each other until the War Monk silently mouthed, Bitch.

  Unroch tensed, ready for the fight that would ensue. But the human queen merely mouthed back, Asshole.

  And when the queen looked away from her sister, there was a small smile on her face.

  “Well, Sister,” the queen said for all to hear, “I have been thinking that I need a place to live. I mean, as queen.”

  The War Monk frowned so harshly that Unroch thought she’d explode and storm out yet again.

  But, when the queen faced her and added, “Perhaps a chunky nun can help me secure such a place,” the frown faded, replaced by a small smile. Then a much bigger smile.

  “A queen does need a place to live,” the War Monk practically purred.

  “Then, my friends,” Queen Keeley announced, “let us get ready.”

  King Mundric did offer his army to Queen Keeley, but the human only said, “Not yet, my friend,” and then handed him the most important resource the gods had ever given Unroch’s people: Sichar’s gold.

  After that, the centaurs and humans moved quickly to gather up what they needed for whatever they were going to do next. The human queen paused only to yell, “Keran!”

  “I’m awake!” the guild fighter barked, jumping up from the royal dining table. “I’m awake! What are we doing? What’s happening?”

  Once they’d all left the throne room, Unroch examined Soif-fart’s Anvil.

  “By my cock!” he exclaimed to his king and queen, smoothing his hand across the metal. “She dented the fucking thing!”

  “That’s not possible,” the king argued; he and the queen now stood over the anvil and gawked at it along with their general and several of the shocked guards.

  “My ancestors made this themselves,” the queen gasped. “With the best of our steel given to us by the gods . . . it’s indestructible. This should not be possible.”

  “It’s a dent, my lady. A small dent, but it’s a dent. That human dented it with that hammer she made herself.”

  “He’s right,” Mundric said. “That . . . woman dented it with her pathetic little hammer.”

  Unroch blew out a breath. “I do not envy her enemies, my liege.”

  CHAPTER 28

  Lar s watched the chunky nun approach the closed gates with her two mules.

  “My lords,” she called up to them. “I beg you in the name of my merciful god to allow me to enter so that I may bring the words of love and care of the god Simon to those who are within.”

  Lars glanced at his men and asked, “Simon? You lot ever heard of a god named Simon?”

  After getting nothing but head shakes, Lars returned his gaze to the nun, who had moved closer. All two thousand pounds of her. Well, she wasn’t that big but still . . .

  “Sorry, Sister. You’ll have to take your words of love and whatever to someone else. We don’t need them here.” Grinning, he glanced at his men. “We wouldn’t want the ladies of this lovely town to change their ways toward us.”

  The nun’s eyes narrowed a bit. “Yes. I’m sure they’ve all happily welcomed you into their town.”

  “What?”

  Her soft smile returned. “I asked that you please allow me inside so I may bless this place in the name of my god.”

  Lars shook his head. “No, Sister. No one in or out.”

  She disappeared for a moment as she moved her bulk, covered in white robes, closer to the gates; and Lars heard a loud, panicked screech. A moment later, the nun reappeared. There was blood splattered across her face and on her white robes.

  “Woman, what have you done?” Lars demanded with a startled laugh.

  “Cursed you!” she said dramatically. “My god will come down upon you! And you will know true suffering. Because you’re all bad men! Bad, bad, bad!”

  “Your god Simon will come for us?” he asked with
great sarcasm. “Yes, I shiver in fear. Now go.” He motioned to his bowmen. “Or we’ll leave your body as warning to others.”

  “Bad men!” she said, shaking her finger. “Bad!” One of his bowmen leaned forward and the nun ran off screaming, hands above her head.

  “Where are her mules?” one of the men asked.

  “She left them, I guess.”

  “Should we bring them in?”

  “We’re not opening the gates for anyone. So no. They’ll wander off on their own.”

  Lars motioned to one of the young boys they’d recruited from among the locals as squires. With a few words, he sent the boy to the other side of town to alert the bowmen on the back gates. He wanted them to keep a lookout for the nun.

  But as the boy took off running, there was a banging at the front gates. Hard, brutal banging that didn’t stop.

  “What is that?” he demanded, looking over the battlements in an attempt to see below. “What is that?”

  His men and bowmen also leaned over the wall, trying to see below. That’s when he heard the sound, slicing through the air. He’d been a mercenary for decades and instinctively ducked. But he had many younger, less experienced men under his command and they were hit with arrows to the head, neck, and chests. Those who weren’t killed outright died when they fell from the wall and landed hard inside the city.

  “Blow the horn!” Lars yelled to the men below. “We’re under attack!”

  * * *

  She heard the horn blow and knew that someone was attacking her town. She looked at her sister and Efa nodded. They’d be losing their hiding place but they couldn’t live like this much longer. Every time they had to steal food or get water, they put themselves—and the few who’d managed to make it into the safety of the tunnels under the town—at risk of being caught and killed by Straton’s men. Or worse. For the younger girls, there was always the promise of much worse.

  Of course, who knew what horrors lay on the other side of that gate? It could be Prince Marius’s army trying to get in, and that royal was no better than his brother. But he had a queen now. Perhaps she would bring a bit of humanity to the men of the prince’s army.

  As she gripped her sister’s hand one last time, the pair charged out of their hidden position toward the big wooden gates.

  “Stop them!” someone yelled as she and Efa grabbed the wood pieces blocking the doors and lifted, tossing them aside.

  Hands grabbed her, but she swung her arms, hitting the men, and lunged for the third and last piece of wood. She and Efa tossed it aside together as the soldiers caught her and her sister and dragged them away.

  The doors banged open and . . . two mules ran in.

  Two mules. Mules!

  The soldiers laughed and one said to her, “I guess your great rescuers aren’t coming, whore!”

  Foolish! How could she have done something so foolish?

  The soldiers started to bind her and her sister’s wrists, to drag them to the brothel.

  But before the men could tie those bindings tight, one of the mules lifted its head and that’s when she realized the animal’s throat had been cut. Its eyes were also red from blood and it . . . it was dead.

  It was dead!

  The mule swung its head toward her and her abductor and the man’s grip on her loosened as her captor went for his sword.

  She yanked Efa away from the soldiers as the second—also dead—mule charged the men.

  Both animals turned and began kicking at the men with their back legs, apparently still possessing that instinct even in their dead state.

  She dragged Efa back toward the safety of the tunnels and shoved her sister inside. As she was about to follow, she stopped and looked over her shoulder. The attackers came in on horseback . . . she thought. But no. They weren’t on horseback. They were horses . . . and human.

  Centaurs! Centaurs with bows and swords and deadly intent.

  Grinning for the first time in ages, she followed her sister back into the tunnels.

  * * *

  Laila rammed her spear into one soldier, yanked it out, spun, speared another. She sensed a soldier behind her, and she kicked out her back legs, sending the man flying.

  Caid leaped over her, tackling another soldier coming from her right. Quinn cut off the head of a mercenary to her left. The rest of her battle squad took down soldiers running in from the barracks.

  Laila took off toward the longhouse where she assumed Straton was staying and where Keeley was headed to confront him. But a small unit of soldiers came at her from the side, startling her. She reared up on her back legs. One of the soldiers attacked her there with a spear, so she shifted to human, diving over the weapon. When she landed on the ground, she again shifted to centaur and kicked out with her back legs. Bones cracked and a body flew.

  She tried again to get to the longhouse but more soldiers cut her off, blocking her from reaching Keeley.

  “Gemma!” she called out. “Get to your sister!”

  * * *

  Keran swung her axe and took another head before she ran into the town behind Gemma. But she wasn’t meant to be fighting by the War Monk’s side. Keeley had given Keran very specific orders after they’d talked to those who lived outside of town and discovered what had been happening since Straton and his men had taken over. And Keeley needed that dealt with in case none of them made it out of here alive.

  Samuel tried to follow Gemma, but Keran grabbed his arm and yanked him with her.

  Together, they quickly ran down the streets but kept close to the buildings, hoping to avoid running into any soldiers. They reached their destination and Keran pulled out the axe given to her by the dwarves. She ran up the stairs to a front door and kicked it in, but she immediately stopped.

  The soldiers assigned to keep an eye on the brothel were standing in the main room. All the women who’d been trapped there cowered behind them. And one of the soldiers, a big blond, had a blade to the throat of a sobbing young girl.

  Samuel started to dart forward but Keran blocked him with her body and put down the axe. She held up her hands and said, “It’s all right, lads. No problem here. Everyone can stay calm.”

  The blond nodded to one of his men and he came toward Keran. He pointed a sword at her belly with one hand and reached for the rest of her weapons with the other.

  As he leaned in a bit, Keran looked over the shorter man’s shoulder at the girl currently being held hostage. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t even smile. Keran just stared and waited.

  The girl’s gaze slid away, then back.

  That was all Keran needed.

  * * *

  Straton stormed from his bedroom, putting on his chainmail as he walked.

  “What is going on?” he demanded, hearing the warning calls and screams from outside the walls.

  “We’re under attack, my prince,” one of the mercenaries announced.

  Straton smiled. “My brother is finally here to face me.”

  “No, my lord. Something else.”

  Allowing his squire to finish putting on his clothes and bits of armor, Straton stared at the mercenary. “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s not Prince Marius,” the man repeated. “But I did see Amichai.”

  “Amichai? What are Amichai doing . . .” Straton’s words faded out. “That mad bitch.” He laughed. “That mad, wondrous bitch! The false queen is here attacking me!”

  Loving the very idea, Straton adjusted his armor and stalked through the feasting hall toward the front doors but abruptly stopped midway.

  And without even turning around, he knew the false queen was already behind him.

  * * *

  Keeley pushed her way through the small door that led into the jarl’s bedroom. She hadn’t been acquainted with this type of royal home; the jarls of the past had faded to mere memory ages ago. But these stone buildings had held up well and the dwarves knew about the ways those rulers would get their young children and wives to safety du
ring wartime.

  Once she was halfway out of the escape tunnel door, she paused to take a quick look around the bedroom. She didn’t see anyone, but she could hear . . . sobbing. Muffled sobbing.

  Dragging herself completely out, Keeley stayed in a crouch and inched quickly across the dark bedroom. She froze when she reached the bed, spotting the bruised and obviously battered naked woman chained to the bedpost. Keeley went to her quickly. She knew she shouldn’t. She had one goal. To sneak up behind Straton and slit his throat. That was it. That was all she was supposed to do. But how could she just leave this woman here? Suffering. The answer was, she couldn’t.

  Keeley grasped the cuffs that kept the woman trapped.

  “Don’t bother,” the woman whispered through her tears. “They’re dwarven made. You can’t—”

  One cuff fell away; then the other.

  Shocked, the woman gawked at her. “How did you . . . ?”

  “Blacksmith secrets,” Keeley whispered back. “Now go. Through the tunnel on the other side of the bed. I left the door open. Go before he comes back.”

  “He’ll kill you,” she warned.

  “Maybe. But at least you’ll be gone. Go someplace safe; don’t look back.” Keeley started to go but stopped, grasped the woman’s bruised but now free hands, and added, “I am so sorry for what’s happened to you. So sorry.”

  Determined to keep Straton off this woman’s back, Keeley would no longer lure him to his bedroom for a quick blindside attack, which was what she and Gemma had planned. Instead, Keeley went to the big open doors that led out into the feasting hall. No longer crouching, she walked away from the safety of that bedroom and into the hall. She waited until he turned and spotted her.

  “Come to face me, bitch?” Straton taunted.

  She was surprised to find that he was actually quite handsome. She’d assumed he’d be horrific looking. A living monster. But no.

  It was amazing how someone so handsome could be so unbelievably cruel.

  “Want revenge, do you?” he asked. “For your family?”

  Keeley pulled her hammer from its sheath, letting the head slap hard into her opposite palm.

  The prince laughed. “Oh, dear girl . . .”