by Cheree Alsop
“Maes, our cutler, crafts the hilts according to the wielder's grip size and what the weapon will be used for. We then send measurements to Saren, the tanner, to create scabbards so that they’re ready the same time as the swords.” We must have looked surprised because he laughed, “What, you thought we simply pounded a piece of metal into a sword and we're done?” He chuckled. “We'd all be out of a job if that was the case.”
There was a hint of pride in his voice when he continued, “Our setup surprised even some of your young Princes. I think they'll be writing home some notes on how to improve their forges. Although,” he said with a shake of his head. “It won't help if they don't have a good smith, and I've got all the best here.”
The ringing ceased when Maes stopped to inspect his work. I forced myself to speak up in the silence. “This place is amazing. Thank you for letting us come.”
He grinned. “I hope you're still saying that by the time we're done. Forging is a lot of work; it takes time, patience, and someone who's not afraid to get down and dirty.” He looked us over pointedly and I could tell that he doubted our ability to get dirty. I think I actually heard Brynna shiver at the thought of it.
“Alright,” Smith Hensas said as he lead us over to a flat board propped up on two big barrels that served as a table. “The first step is to decide what you want. Most of the blades we fashion here are smaller than the average blade you'd find south of the mountains because they are used by both men and women, and because iron is getting a bit scarce in these here parts.” He opened a rolled sheet of paper that had been wrapped in oilskin to keep it from the harsh forge climate. Spreading it out on the table, he indicated a series of drawings.
We all leaned in, and I know I wasn't the only one surprised to see the skill with which the variety of swords had been sketched. They ranged from short swords no bigger than daggers with crossed handles, to a sketch of a huge axe better suited to defend against the long extinct dragons than to be of much use in battle. A box had been drawn around a sword in the middle of the page; I recognized it as the type the Antorans used in practice every morning.
“Your Princes were a bit, shall we say, flamboyant with their picks. They're used to having the finest weapons already available to choose from.” He gave an exasperated shake of his head. “It took me some time to convince them that the months it would take to create such a weapon would defeat the purpose of having one available.” He smiled wryly. “They eventually decided on some more conservative blades with the promise that they could do their own scroll work under Maes' supervision.” He shrugged. “I never saw much use for such details on a sword besides maybe a good blood groove, but that’s also used to give strength to longer weapons.”
He walked away to leave us to our decisions and I turned back to the page. The swords that had been sketched were practical, not something normally commissioned by a prince or princess. That struck a good chord with me and I chose a sturdy short sword much like the ones the Antorans had been using. The only difference was a lighter handle that I thought would fit my grip better.
The other girls chose similarly, though I could tell they were put out by the lack of options. Smith Hensas appeased them by allowing them to help design their hilts under Maes' direction. He also said that Tanner Saren would let them choose their design for the scabbards. “It'll take a few days to finish making the blades; we forge the iron together with a type of metal that we were fortunate to find in our mountains. It's stronger than iron, and when we forge the softer iron in the middle and this ore on the outside, it holds an edge much longer and is more supple.” He frowned sternly, “Which is an Antoran secret.”
We promised not to tell, though it was obvious he didn't believe us.
“Then Bagan will do the grinding, which takes another couple of days, especially with the number of swords we'll be working. The days you ladies are here you'll be with Maes to make sure the hilts fit your hands. They'll then have to be fitted to the blade. Our goal is to come out with well-balanced, sharp swords that you can wield easily.”
“What do you do?” Nyssa asked a bit haughtily, still nettled that she had been denied an intricate, but useless, lady's sword. At her question, several of the men around the forge guffawed.
Smith Hensas silenced them with a single look. His tone indicated that it was a foolish question. “I do the initial shaping and mixing of the metals, an art I've practiced since I was a six year old apprentice at my father's knee. It takes time and skill to mold the softer iron in the middle of the blade for flexibility, and edge the sword with the stronger ore to give it strength. If done incorrectly, even the strongest looking sword will give under a direct blow, and its edge will hold only until the first strike.”
He looked around at his men. “Without me, these oafs’d have nothing to do.” They laughed and he grinned good-naturedly.
He brought us over to the fire to watch one of the men take a heated sword out of the forge and carefully rub red clay along the main body of the blade, leaving the edge bare. He then thrust the blade into a tub of cool water. Steam swirled up and the metal sizzled as it cooled.
“What does the clay do?” I ask curiously.
The man turned to look at me; he had a thick black beard trimmed close to his jaw and dark smudges under his eyes. “The clay prevents the body of the blade from chilling too quickly; it lets the metal cool evenly and makes it that much stronger.” His voice had a thick, strange accent. I wondered if he came from across the ocean. I was glad the others had the courtesy not to ask.
A servant came to the door and announced that lunch was ready. I was surprised at how quickly time had passed, and saw the others' raised eyebrows as well. Apparently I wasn't the only one who had enjoyed our time at the forge.
We thanked Smith Hensas, promised to return soon to help with our swords, and crossed the threshold into the bright day. We blinked at the sudden light. Clouds had formed while we were inside, and tiny flakes drifted down. “Looks like another storm,” the servant said quietly. I thought he was talking to himself until I noticed the small dog that trotted at his side. The animal sniffed the wind and wagged his tail as if in agreement.
Chapter 15
Andric met us at lunch this time. He gave me a smile and I wondered if he felt better after our talk last night. The boys came in laughing and covered in different colors of paint. Kenyen blamed it on Landis, but Landis, Trevin, and Danyen pointed their fingers at Kenyen. They were eager to hear about our experience at the forge; we kept the details to a minimum, unwilling to give away any hints about the swords we were having made.
“Was Smith Hensas good to you?” Andric asked.
“Very,” I said. “He taught us all the basics.”
“Yeah,” Kaerdra cut in. “We might know even more than you guys.”
“I doubt that,” Trevin told his sister. “You forget that we were at the forge, too.”
“Yes,” Nyssa said, “But do you think a sword smith is more likely to share his secrets with princes who might use them in their own countries against his people, or with princesses who probably won't remember.”
Trevin's eyebrows rose. “Did he?”
Brynna nodded. “But we promised not to tell, and a princess knows how to keep a secret.”
“She does?” Kenyen put in skeptically.
They bantered over lunch and avoided Kaerdra's suggestion that we compare paintings, for which I was grateful. Thankfully, the steward had taken the initiative to hide our creations from less than sensitive minds; though I doubted anyone would think a princess had painted mine or Nyssa's.
“The Kasans have invited you over for dinner in their home,” Andric said as lunch drew to a close. He said the invitation carefully, but everyone took the news eagerly. I think we were all anxious to see how their new roof was holding up under the few snowflakes that had fallen. Though we did the work to the best of our ability, we still doubted that a family could live comfortably under a roof we had helped build
. It would be good to see it for ourselves.
“Are you coming?” Landis asked. He directed the question at Andric.
The Antoran Prince studied him carefully. “I figured you might want to go by yourselves, after what you accomplished.”
This time, Kaerdra was the one to speak. “You have as much right as we do to go; plus, you're their prince and should be there to make sure everyone is doing well.”
Andric nodded, his face carefully expressionless. “Alright, I'll be there.”
A tap on the door caught our attention. The atmosphere changed immediately when Ayd came in with sealed letters in his hand.
Andric didn't wait for anyone to speak. He rose smoothly and excused himself, saying that he had things to attend to.
I broke the seal and opened the letter Ayd handed me. A small pit had formed in my stomach. Glancing around, I saw that the others weren't as enthusiastic as they had initially been upon seeing the letters. I think we all felt a little guilty about having a good time in Antor, like we should be angry and intractable instead of painting, making swords, and helping to improve Antoran houses.
I went over to the window to read my letter. Father’s concise handwriting filled the entire page.
“My dearest Kit,
I can't tell you how worried I was when I found you gone. I didn't have the patience to wait for King Trand to organize his army and I left before the others. By the time we found the trail, you must have been gone over a few hours. I pushed Megrath almost to death trying to catch up before you entered the foothills.
Your message in the snow calmed us down. You probably guessed that by this point, we were getting very irrational. We knew that if we didn't get to you before you reached the pass, you’d be stuck, so we pushed even harder, foundering two of Trand's horses.
When we saw you in the foothills, we thought we would
make it in time, but then we saw the Breizans closing in.
I would never have believed it if I hadn't seen them with
my own eyes. We tried to reach you before the avalanche,
but we were too far away. We thought we'd lost you all.”
The words were a bit harder to read, and there were a few splotches on the paper. It made my heart ache to know that I had caused Father so much pain. I forced myself to read on.
“I didn't know what to tell your mother and Rory, but I didn't have to say anything. Prince Andric's letter reached home before me, and your mother was furious and worried sick at the same time. She had the palace upside down before I got there, and I thought she was going to kill me by the look on her face. When I read what Prince Andric wrote, I was furious. I doubt his intentions, and even though you seem to believe them, I beg that you be careful.”
I skimmed the rest of the letter anxiously. Mother had written quite a bit below Father, and I could tell how worried she was by her sharp letters and briefly ended sentences. She always wrote so elegantly that her writing portrayed more than her words.
Father wrote how troubled he was, stressing again and again how careful I needed to be and to not trust anyone. He said that carrier pigeons were coming in from all of the other countries faster than he could keep up with them. Apparently, the other Kings and Queens were looking to him, the oldest ruler, to guide their actions. He said he was hard put to convince them that trying to storm the mountain while the pass was closed would be of no avail, and the ocean would be gridlocked with ice for months, impassable by ship.
He said that I needed to look after the others, that their constitutions were such that they weren't used to this kind of situation and might not handle it well. He warned me that they might be as irrational as their parents, and to be prepared for anything. He trusted that I would be able to take care of myself, a statement that made me feel warm inside. But despite all that he wrote, it was the things that he didn't say that became more and more obvious.
Father didn't answer any of my questions about Zalen's involvement in Antor's situation, and he didn't answer my pleas for an update of how Rory was doing. The last one scared me more than anything. My eyes started to burn and I blinked to keep back the tears when I realized that no news meant he was probably getting worse, otherwise they would have told me.
“Well that's just great,” Kenyen growled. He slammed the letter he and Danyen had been reading onto the table.
Trevin, who was frowning at the letter Kaerdra held, asked, “What?”
“There's nothing they can do. We're stuck here until the pass clears.” He pointed at me. “At least, that's what your father tells them.”
I bristled, already upset. “You doubt my father's intentions? He's the smartest of them all and they know it.”
“He's the oldest,” Tisha replied calmly from her chair by the table. “It's right that they would go to him for advice.” She looked over at me. “When did you have time to leave a note?”
Some of the others nodded. “My father mentioned it, too,” Landis said.
I shrugged and blushed under their stares. “The second day. I wrote with a soot-covered stick on a rock by our camp to let them know we were alright. I knew they'd be worried.”
Kaerdra gave a small smile. “That was brave. Father said knowing we weren’t hurt really helped them calm down.”
Brynna scowled. “But they're right. We need to be more careful. We can't trust that prince.”
Danyen nodded in agreement. “He's still a thief.”
I stared at them, amazed at their sudden change in thought. “But we know his intentions. He's not keeping us in the dungeon or feeding us moldy bread and rice. He made us rooms in his castle and has seen to it that we are comfortable and as happy as possible.”
Trevin rose from the table and shook his head. “Who knows what his real intentions are. We're still stuck here because of him, and our parents are the ones we need to listen to, not you. I'm not trusting the thief prince and I advise you all to do the same.”
“He took a sword for your sister, Trevin,” I reminded him darkly. “He risked his life to save ours, and said that he wished it hadn't turned out like this.”
“Tricks,” Nyssa said with a grimace. “He's crafty, like my mother says.”
“Your mother doesn't even know him,” I pointed out.
“Neither do you,” Kenyen said. He closed the distance between us, talking in a careful, even tone. “Because Rory is my friend and I respect him, I recommend you steer clear of Prince Andric. If Rory was here, he'd have this situation under control and not be the friend of the person who kidnapped us and brought us here for who knows what reason.”
“He told you his reasons,” I argued. We stood face to face now, and I knew I should back down but I couldn't. “You're just too stubborn to see it.”
He shook his head. “No, I'm too smart to be fooled by his excuse that he brought us here to teach us how to work together in ruling our countries.” He said the last bit in a poor impression of Prince Andric's careful, even tones.
“Why does everyone have to have a secondary motive?” I forced myself not to crumple the letter I held.
Kaerdra rose from the table. “People aren't as perfect as you think they are, Kit. Everyone has other intentions than what they show. You have to learn that if you’re going to be a good ruler.”
I grimaced and felt tears begin to burn in my eyes. “Why does everyone assume that I want to be a ruler at all? Rory is the Crown Prince, and he will rule our country, not me.” Angry at myself for the outburst, I stormed from the room. Tears spilled down my cheeks as I ran down the hall, heedless of the stares of servants.
I didn't pay attention to where I ran, I just wanted to get away from everyone and find a place where I could make sense of the swirl of thoughts clouding my mind. I went to where I would have gone at home, the highest point of the castle.
It wasn't hard to find stairs leading up. A castle built for defense like this one usually had many routes to the roof; the stairs I followed were wide and unadorned to pre
vent weapons from catching on unnecessary decorations. I pushed open the door at the top. A light skiff of snow dusted the roof, fallen either earlier today or last night and not yet brushed off by the servants.
A swirl of biting winter wind stole my breath, but I stepped onto the roof and made my way to the parapet. It wasn't until I looked out over the short, rocky hills at the base of the towering mountains that I realized I was still clutching the letter. I took a deep breath and forced my hand to open. Father said I was always so level-headed. I was angry at myself for losing my temper; I was also angry at the other Crowns for their stubbornness and the ease with which their parents' opinion of what was happening here swayed them against Andric. Just moments before, they had almost been friends.
Most of all, I was angry at the fact that my parents hadn't answered my questions, making me doubt their actions. I had been so sure that Zalen would have had nothing to do with the state Antor was in, but now I wasn't sure and that shook me. And they didn’t once mention Rory. The fear that filled my chest made it hard to breathe.
I was surprised when I heard the door open behind me, but one glance told me I shouldn't have been. Our palace had eyes in all places; of course this one would be the same way. I turned back to study the mountains again hoping my face was somewhat more collected than the emotions that filled me.
“I take it I shouldn't go to the Kasans' tonight.” Andric's voice was light, but forced. His feet crunched on the snow as he walked to stand beside me. He put his elbows on the parapet and stared out at the jagged black mountains.
The spark of anger rose in me again, but I forced it back down. I wasn't used to being so volatile, and I struggled to check my emotions. “You should do whatever you want. This is your country, not theirs, and you know why you're doing what you do.”
