The Blacksmith

by Howe, Barbara;

  “How do we know?”

  “Open it,” Doug said, “and find out.”

  I shook it. The paper rattled. “Nae, I’ll keep playing with it and wondering. Make the fun last longer.”

  Maggie stamped her foot. “Duncan!”

  “Just teasing.” I broke the seal, and tipped it up. A piece of bronze with a splayed head fell into my palm.

  The Earl’s Brat

  “What is it?” Maggie asked.

  It couldn’t be what it looked like. Not a chance. I stared at it with­out moving.

  “He’s speechless,” Jessie said.

  “That’s a first,” Maggie said. She pulled the paper out of my hand. Unfolded it and waved it under my nose. “What’s it say?”

  I couldn’t read the letter for the roaring in my head. The letters ran together, except for the end, where he’d written his name bigger than the rest. Clive.

  I sat down and rolled the beautiful seal between my fingers.

  Maggie snatched the letter out of my fingers and shoved it at Doug. “You read it. You read better than he does anyway.”

  Doug read,

  Dear Duncan,

  I have heard from the Swordsmiths’ Guild Council. As I expected, they are kicking me out, but I still have the right to pick my replacement, and I named you.

  I lost track of things for a bit after that. After a while, when Maggie and Jessie had stopped screaming, and my shoulder ached where Doug kept thumping it, he read the rest.

  There are other men in the queue ahead of you, but it’s my choice, and you’re the one I think would be best for the guild. There won’t be any argument about that, since Randall put your name on the waiting list. They will send you a letter with the guild rules, and will start to teach you about making swords at next spring’s meeting.

  Congratulations, Clive.

  P.S. Don’t worry about the magic. You’ve got enough to be a sword­smith. Trust me.

  P.P.S. Don’t give out any certificates until you’ve memorised the guild rules.

  “A swordsmith in Abertee,” Doug said. “Never thought I’d see that.”

  Maggie kissed my forehead. “Dad would have been so proud of you. So would Uncle Will.”

  “A swordsmith, right here in Nettleton,” Jessie breathed. “Everybody in Nettleton is going to be so excited. I can’t wait to tell my auntie.”

  I looked up from the seal. “Uh, about that. Could you wait a day or two?”

  Her face clouded over. “What’s the matter, Duncan?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing. It’s just that… I hadn’t gotten used to the notion I’m a master smith. I’d like some time to get used to the idea first, that’s all.”

  “Oh, aye. I can understand that.”

  “When I’m ready, I’ll let you spread the news.”

  “Deal,” she said.

  I set to work the next morning, fixing a broken stall door, but my mind was not on it. I’d work for a while, then take the seal out of my pocket and play with it a bit. I spent less time working than I did leaning against the rail, daydreaming about swords and gates the duke would be proud to show off. I’d have a smithy full of journeymen all answering to me. And a certain sweet earth witch’s eyes would light up when she heard.

  After a while I left the barn and climbed the hill to talk to Doug, alone. “It’s a mixed blessing, you know,” I said.

  “Aye. I’d wondered if you’d see that. Should’ve trusted you would.”

  “Nobody comes to Nettleton on their way someplace else. There’s not enough work in this valley to support a smithy full of journeymen and apprentices.”

  “Crossroads, then.”

  “Aye.” I could put up with Crossroads. I’d never persuade Hazel to live anywhere else, anyway. With all the Earth Guild tunnels leading into town, that’s where a healer belonged.

  I must be far gone. I’d never before considered giving a lass any say in where I lived.

  Doug said, “And then there’s the duke.”

  “Aye. Maybe he’ll see this as being good for Abertee…”

  “He should.”

  “Instead of seeing me as a bigger pain in the arse.”

  “That, too.”

  “Aye, both at the same time.”

  “Keep in mind, if the Frost Maiden comes after you, even the Royal Association of Swordsmiths can’t save you.”

  Doug’s warning didn’t spoil my good mood. I strolled downhill, waving at Jessie as she took the little ones to the village to see her mother, and headed for the barn, to set about fixing the stall door for real. I was whistling over my work when someone yelled, “Farmer!”

  I dropped the hammer and chisel, and ran for the door, swearing. The clatter of horses on the track had been getting louder, but I’d been so lost in daydreams I’d not paid the noise any attention. I grabbed a hayfork on my way out.

  Three riders trotted into the barnyard, between the barn and the house. Jake Higgins, on the second horse, grinned and waved.

  Maggie should have been in the doorway, greeting the newcomers, but the house looked empty. “Wherever you are, Maggie,” I breathed, “stay there.”

  The blue-blooded peacock in the lead walked his horse around the barn­yard, taking in everything with his nose pinched. Like there was something wrong with us. We weren’t the ones wearing white for a ride on an upland track on a drizzly day. He saw me looking at the mud spattered on his fancy breeches, and his face twisted in a snarl.

  “Farmer,” he spat, “your landlord has better use for this property. You and your family have one week to vacate the premises. Anyone still here a week from today will be burned out.”

  “Landlord, my arse. We’re freeholders, not tenants.”

  He scowled at me. “The White Duke says you must leave.”

  If he’d been a commoner I would have shoved his teeth down his throat. “The duke should’ve come to do his own dirty work.”

  “Your duke is busy, and I offered to do this errand for him.” He walked his horse towards the house. Jake’s horse was between us. I tried to edge around him, but he kept pace with me.

  “Did you, now?” I said. “And who the devil are you?”

  The aristo turned and glared at me. “You need not doubt I have the authority. I am Lord Edmund Bradford, second son of, and second in line to, Earl Eddensford.”

  My heart dropped into my boots. This was the aristo Granny Mildred had complained about, and he had the Fire Warlock’s magical shields.

  He said, “I hear you have a pretty sister. Where is she?”

  Maggie, you should have already left for New London. I clenched the hayfork with both hands. “Not here. Gone fishing.”

  He got off his horse and walked towards the house. “You’re lying.”

  I bellowed, “You gave us the message, now get out. You’ve no right to do anything else.”

  He stopped with his hand on the door. “I will do as I please. You have no power to stop me.” He seemed to be waiting for something. I glared at him.

  He said, “Don’t you understand, simpleton?”

  Shove his teeth down his throat and shake him until every bone in his body rattled. As if. I knew better than to hit a protected aristo. The shock the Fire Warlock would give my arm would make it useless for days, and then the Frost Maiden would cripple me—if I was lucky. I breathed hard and glared.

  “Or don’t you know how to speak to your betters? Say ‘Yes, sir.’”

  “I know how to speak to my betters. You’re not one.”

  He turned purple. “You, there, horsewhip this insubordinate mongrel.”

  Jake Higgins raised his whip with a grin. “Aye, sir. A pleasure, sir.”

  I poked his horse with the hayfork.

  By the time I had dodged flying hooves and weaved my way
across the yard, the aristo had dragged Maggie outside by the arm. She cursed and landed a solid punch that made him yelp. I was proud of her, even if it would cost her plenty in the long run.

  He swung her around and shoved her against the wall. I was almost to the house. The aristo drew his sword and brought the point to her throat. “Shut up, wench, and don’t move.”

  I stopped dead, three steps away. Maggie squeezed against the wall. Her face, even her lips, went white.

  The aristo looked her up and down, like he was studying a whore. “This God-forsaken backwater might be worth my time, after all.” He stepped closer to her, lowered his sword, and ran his left hand over her bodice.

  I was on him, grabbing his arm, and yanking. He and his sword flew across the yard. “You’ll not touch my sister like that again.”

  For a moment, everything went still. The aristo sprawled in the muck. Jake stopped wiping himself off and gaped. And I glimpsed a mountain of trouble even before the aristo scrambled for his sword.

  He reached it before I got a boot on it, and came up swinging. I blocked with the hayfork handle, catching the sword and forcing it down. The tip sliced across my left arm. I dropped the hayfork, and clutched my arm with my other hand. Maggie screamed. Jake howled. The flunky still on his horse jeered.

  The highborn brat swung at me again. I dropped and rolled. His swing carried him on around, and I came up on his right side. He shifted his weight for another swing, backhanded. I grabbed his sword arm with my left, pulled him down in front of me, and swung with my right. My fist caught the side of his head, hard enough to knock him into next week. He went down, and lay without moving.

  He wouldn’t move again, ever.

  Flight

  Maggie had picked up the hayfork and braced it against the stone steps. I lifted the aristo and slung him across his horse. Jake bolted for the gate. The other flunky was slow to realise what had happened, but he got a look at the brat’s head and turned green. I gathered the horse’s reins and threw them to him.

  “Get out. Now.” He didn’t wait to be told twice.

  Maggie yelled, “Duncan, don’t move,” and disappeared into the house. Doug and the hands ran down the path towards us.

  I have a strong arm, even for a smith, and I had been hitting things all my life. That’s what a blacksmith does, day in, day out: he hits things. When I hit something less solid than a lump of iron, it breaks, like the side of this aristo’s head. I had felt it give as I hit him.

  He was a dead man, and my right arm wasn’t numb.

  He was a dead man, and I’d be one soon, too, if I didn’t run.

  Maggie flew out with towels in one hand and needle and thread in the other, and we sat down on the bench under the eaves so she could stitch my arm. Blood poured from the gash, and it hurt like the dickens. A quarterstaff would have left a bruise, but the sword had sliced through muscle. Doug reached us and ran into the house without speaking. One of the hands went into the barn and the other ran down the hill to fetch Jessie. After Maggie finished stitching, she helped me change out of the bloody clothes, then I sat on the bench clutching my arm while they packed. I listened to Maggie telling Doug what the aristo had said, and tried not to think. Thinking made it worse.

  Besides, we all knew what we had to do. This was the day we had planned for, and hoped would never come. I didn’t need more time to get ready.

  The hand led Doug’s horse and Charcoal, both saddled, out of the barn. Doug came out with packed saddlebags and threw them on the horses. Maggie was crying so hard she couldn’t see where she was going. She stumbled after him, arguing.

  Doug grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. “Shut up, Maggie. We can’t all ride. We’ll follow with the wagon, as soon as we can.”

  I said, “Get out before they come back. If they catch you, what I’ve done won’t be worth anything. Follow the river to the coast then go south. When you get to the Crystal Palace throw yourself on the Frost Maiden’s mercy.”

  She grabbed me, and buried her face in my shoulder. While she sobbed, Doug reached for the sword.

  “Don’t!” I said. “It’ll break your hand.”

  Doug scowled at it. “It should’ve shattered.”

  “I doubt that brat ever swore to protect anybody.”

  “They oughtn’t have let him have one then.” He gave it a wide berth, leading the horse towards us.

  I shoved Maggie at the horse. “Go. Run.”

  Doug gave her a leg up, and she kicked the horse into a trot. She rode away, still crying, without looking back. She was a sensible lass, and would settle down to do what she needed to do to protect herself. With a decent head start, her chances were good. They’d care more about catching me, anyway.

  Doug said, “Maggie said he was second in line to an earl.”

  “Aye, that’s what he said. The Fire Warlock should’ve protected him, no matter how hard I hit him. So why is he dead?”

  Doug threw up his hands and shook his head. “I’ve given you all the money we’ve got, but it’s not much.”

  I would have done the same for him. I gave him a one-armed hug. In return, he almost cracked my ribs. I climbed onto Charcoal, and he tossed me my coat.

  “The swordsmith’s seal and the letter are in the pocket,” he said.

  I looked at him, trying to think of something, anything, to say.

  “Godspeed,” he said.

  I nodded, and turned Charcoal towards the uphill track, heading west.

  The aristo’s broken head swam before my eyes. I retched. May God forgive me for killing a man, because I wasn’t sure I could forgive myself, even for one asking for it as much as that brat had. He’d been trying to kill me, but I’d just wanted to make him drop the sword. If I had known I could kill him, I wouldn’t have hit him so hard.

  Even as I thought that, I knew it was a lie. There’s no time in the middle of a fight to think. I had done what I had to, to save my own life, and he shouldn’t have died. The Fire Warlock’s magic ought to have protected him, or maybe that was as much a fairy tale as the stories about swords shattering when they were raised against the aristo’s subjects. Or that other fairy tale saying a commoner could go to the king or the Frost Maiden, and get a fair hearing.

  If it was a lie, the duke should have known better than to send that bastard after my sister. Mostly he left us alone, so why had he tried to evict Doug now? The question troubled me, but gave me something to think about other than the dead aristo, or my throbbing arm. The red stain on the bandage grew, and every step jolted it.

  We’d heard rumours of other aristos forcing tenants off their land so the aristos could run the better-paying sheep, but the White Duke hadn’t tried that—yet. He was lazy and his greedy duchess didn’t spend any more time in Abertee than she had to. The law said they couldn’t force freeholders out, but Doug would have a hard time proving he owned the farm. Like everybody in Nettleton, we were proud freeholders, not grovelling tenants. We knew where our boundary markers were, and settled disputes amongst ourselves. We’d never had to prove it. If it came down to Doug’s word, or even the whole village’s, against the duke’s, the duke would win.

  The valley yanked at my soul. At the top of the ridge, I stopped and took a good long look to fix the sight in my mind. It seemed certain I would never be back.

  And that earth witch… She had handed me a bag of hot muffins the morning I’d left Crossroads, and had promised to go riding with me on Sunday. Healers don’t look kindly on barroom brawls or other commotions where folk get hurt. Even if the Water Guild wasn’t hunting me, she’d not have anything to do with me, once she found out I was a killer.

  I’m not ashamed to say I had to wipe my eyes and blow my nose, and it was a while before the hillside stopped blurring. I gave Charcoal his head and he plodded downhill. Two-thirds of the way down, angling south, we lost the trac
k. A slip had wiped it out, leaving us no good way down.

  The spring had been wetter than usual, and we’d had a good soaking rain two nights ago, so the fact that part of the hill had let go wasn’t a surprise. There could be other sections where a footfall would trigger another slide, but we’d have to take our chances. I got off Charcoal and let him lead the way. He was more surefooted, and I hoped had a better nose for firm ground than I had, but I didn’t want to be on him if the ground slid.

  We picked our way downhill, and bit by bit got closer to the valley floor. I had begun to think that we would make it without mishap, when Charcoal’s head snapped up. A heartbeat later I felt what he had felt, and cursed as the ground slid out from under our feet.

  Hunted

  Some would have called me lucky—I wasn’t dead. I didn’t feel lucky. I hurt worse than I’d ever hurt before. No hangover had come anywhere close. I would have lain still in the mud, hoping to die, if Charcoal hadn’t been screaming. He lay half-buried under mud and rocks, thrashing around despite two broken legs.

  That mercy killing was one of the hardest jobs I’d ever done. He’d been a good friend. He deserved better. Better than I could give him.

  Getting my knife out and using it with my left hand wasn’t easy either, but my right hand was on fire. Something broken there. More than one something.

  When he was still, and I’d stopped heaving, I raised my head for a better look. We had been at the top of a small slip, and landed on the valley floor atop a pile of mud and rocks. If the rocks had landed on me, I’d have been no better off than Charcoal. Besides the hand, I had at least one broken rib, bruises and cuts everywhere, and my arm bled where several stitches had torn out.

  I crawled to a boulder about chest high, and pulled myself upright. I couldn’t have stood without its help, but the effort ripped out the last of the stitches. I was dizzy, and my left ankle complained when I put weight on it.

  My knife, the clothes on me, and a few coins in my pocket were all I had left. My hat had flown clear, but after nearly blacking out when stooping to pick it up, I let it and the saddlebags lie. My coat, with the swordsmith’s seal in its pocket, was lost, probably under Charcoal.