Tahd smiled a vengeful smile. "I will find that woman, and she will tell me all about the secrets of this wilderness, and there will be no more foolish groomsman to interfere this time," he said as he handed the horseshoe back to the smithy. "That is all. You can be about your work then," he ordered. "I believe that woodcutter Chief is waiting for you."
Wielund's face went white with panic and he swallowed hard against his rising fears, knowing that the captain's words were ripe with the fragrant fruit of a double meaning. "Yes ... yes, of course. He asked for my help in waking the edge of his axe is all."
"I'll bet he did," Tahd said as he turned his back on the shaken smithy and walked out into the torch-lit square.
Wielund quickly reached for the flint that hung from his neck and kissed it three and then seven times, all the while whispering desperate prayers. "Never again, I promise you! Keep me safe and I swear I'll never risk my assignment again."
Before his nerves could get the better of him, Wielund began. He placed the broken, iron shoe in a small crucible and then positioned the two instruments of his craft in the white-hot coals of his forge. He pumped the bellows, breathing scorching life to the flames. Soon, the once broken and soiled piece of iron glowed a bright amber color before it melted down into a molten pool of infinite possibilities. Wielund, whose forearms were protected by his high-wristed leather gloves, took his tongs and clasped the crucible in their metal grip, then slowly removed the liquid iron from the forge's flames.
Atop his anvil sat a small mold, and with the deftness of well-practiced movements, the smithy poured the molten remains of the melted horseshoe into the very form that would soon give a rebirth to the metal. The liquid amber sizzled and popped as it cooled into a small, cylindrical rod, whose flattened head was given three square teeth.
Wielund quickly exchanged the heavy, two-handed tongs for a much smaller pair of grippers and a pointed hammer. He went to work pounding the glowing, rounded base, forming it with each precise blow into something more than just a tool of practicality. Rather, he fashioned his debt to the groomsman who had once fished his floundering body from the black waters of the Dark Sea. The iron key no longer glowed a fiery amber color, for the cooling metal had been doused in a water pail and the cloudy grey markings returned to the newly fashioned tool. Wielund held the still-warm key in his hand, applying pressure and examining his handiwork. "Let us hope you are keen enough to release the lock that holds my friend captive, but not so keen that your origin of craft traces back to me when this is all over."
The smithy pocketed the key and reached for the mighty axe of the North Wolf. He knew that Yasen would be back looking for both at any moment, and if nothing else he would be sure that his story would indeed hold up in the event that all of this plotting crumbled to pieces. Sparks littered the air of the small forge as the stone wheel spun faster and faster against the cutting edges of the double-bladed timber axe. "Gentle there, smithy," Yasen said playfully. "I still have a Wreath that needs taming, and I intend for this axe here to last long enough to bring the wild timber to order. If you keep up that intensity, I'll be needing you to forge me a new one altogether!"
Wielund's feet stopped pumping and the sprays of sparks instantly ceased as the nervous smithy wiped the sweat from his dripping brow. "I ... I am sorry, my lord," Wielund apologized.
"Firstly," Yasen said with a playfully correcting tone of voice, "I am no lord, and secondly, I was only mostly serious." His scarred face smiled as he reached for his mighty blade, intent on examining its edges.
"Yes, of course," Wielund continued.
"This will do," the chieftain spoke as he ran his thumb over its newly sharpened bite. "I trust that this was not your only accomplishment this morning," he said without making eye contact.
"Aye," Wielund agreed. "I have what you asked for, but do not ever ask something like this of me again." Wielund reached inside his pants pocket and produced a three-toothed, black, iron key.
Yasen barely glanced at the small key; his eye was fixed solely on its maker. "Lost your courage already?" he said warily.
"I came here to bend iron and sharpen edges, my lord- I mean, Yasen." Wielund fumbled over his words, shaking his head in frustrated fear as he spoke. "That is all ... and well, my debt is paid and I don't rightly intend to be shipped back in shame."
"Aye, your debt is paid enough. Though if you merely intend to do your work and stay out of trouble, I trust that you can keep your lips from the ears of Tahd's men." Yasen's gaze was not threatening, but it was certainly convincing.
Wielund nodded his sheepish agreement. "I wish to stay out of the way is all," he said with a petulant tone to his voice. "He is my friend, but … but it is not my battle to fight nor my wrong to right."
"You know just as well as I do that he does not deserve this exile." The chieftain held his mighty axe out before him, letting the scrutiny of his unpatched eye examine the full edge of the blade as he spoke. "He is a brother to us both. He liberated me from the green-eyed jaws of death once before, and he rescued you from the cold, black mouth of the hungry sea. So do not labor needlessly over the rightness of this deed, for both of our debts have been paid and perhaps an even greater good has been done."
Wielund felt ashamed at the fear he held, for he knew he owed this small debt to his friend. "Just ... just see to it that he is free and that I am not found to be the source of his liberation."
"Aye," Yasen said to the young man. "Thank you, then, for the fresh edge. The governor and his Brightness the Priest King himself … in fact, all of Haven will be grateful to you for your selfless service to their cause." A hint of disappointment colored the voice of the wizened woodcutter.
"Very well, then," Wielund replied, obviously eager for this conversation to be over.
Yasen nodded his dark-haired head and left to make his way towards the prison hold, carrying the tool of liberation in his cloak pocket.
"Yasen?" Wielund called after him.
Yasen turned his head ever so slightly back to catch the smithy's eye.
"My debt is paid now, isn't it?" Sadness traced the tone of his worried voice. "Then please see to it that it is paid in full."
Yasen simply nodded his head in reply, bridling the urge to react in frustration to the cowardice of the smithy.
The square was alive with hurried preparations and hopeful expectations. Ox carts loaded down with barrels of fresh water, salt packed boar, and smoked venison rolled through the east gate carrying provisions needed for the Determination's voyage home.
"The governor is looking for you, brother," the large-bellied Gvidus said conspiratorially. "Though I doubt it has much to do with the felling of trees this fine morning."
"Aye, I suppose you are right about that," Yasen grunted out an exhausted laugh. "Did you bring what I asked for?"
"That I did, though I hope the lad understands the magnitude of this sacrifice." Gvidus handed over the small, still-warm loaf of black bread as he spoke with a cautiously reproachful tone to his chieftain.
"Aye, I think we all understand the magnitude," Yasen chided playfully. "For the sake of all our ox-carts, I am sure you missing out on a loaf or two won't be such a bad thing! Huh?"
"Easy there, North Wolf," the round woodcutter said defensively.
"Thank you, Gvidus," he said, shaking his head in mock apology. "You can have mine come supper."
"Ah, never you mind. Besides, I would hate for the lad to make his journey on an empty stomach." The large woodcutter winked as Yasen took the newly made key from his pocket and pushed it inside the bottom of the black bread.
"Well then," Yasen raised his brow as he passed the bread back to Gvidus. "See to it that he has something to fill his belly before the leagues of salted sea rob him of his strength."
"Aye, Chieftain," Gvidus said as he lumbered off towards the timber prison. "Oh, and I almost forgot." He stopped, turning to meet the eye of his leader. "The oxen, they have been acting rather sluggish today, and I figured that w
ith all the commotion about the captain's departure, and being that we have no groomsman to aid me and my aching hands ... I might be a bit slow making my way to the forest line today."
"Well, see to it that you are out on the tree line before Tahd has any time to notice the error of his ways in all of this," Yasen said, his words were still colored with frustration at the captain.
"Aye, I'll do my best," the large woodcutter agreed and then continued on towards the prison hold.
Yasen ran his thumb over the newly sharpened axe blade while he surveyed the noise and commotion of the stronghold. The guardsmen were busy hauling supplies for the journey home down to the shoreline, the watch fires danced their amber tango with the salty sea air, and his woodcutters were already well on their way to the mighty forests of this wilderness land, ready to do battle against this suffocating darkness.
"Protect him, for if any of us here remain true of heart and directed in purpose, it is him." Yasen whispered his anxious prayer into the morning air of the stronghold. "And perhaps I, too, believe that our fates are tangled in the threads of his seeking." He reached into his shirt and grabbed the flint that hung around his neck. Holding it between his thumb and forefinger, he paused, contemplating his ever-repeated actions before finally placing the small, shiny stone to his lips. "May it be so," he finished.
"About our morning prayers, are we?" The commanding voice of the governor himself sounded from behind the chieftain of the woodcutters, and his unexpected words startled the one-eyed man. "I took you as more of a man of action, Yasen, whose devotion was exercised with blade upon bark. Yet I find you here, overlooking my colony, forsaking the acts of worship that are meant for your kind … for what?" Seig chided. "Solace? Sanctuary? Or are you merely sulking about the fact that you will have to saddle your own horses and hitch your own oxen for a few more weeks?"
"No, Governor, certainly not," Yasen replied with steel to his voice and sarcasm on his lips. "I was merely reveling in the competency of our leadership here in this colony of Haven."
"You dare insult the anointed governor of this holy outpost?" Seig's voice lost all hint of humor, and the tall, dark-haired man grabbed the shoulder of the North Wolf, demanding him to meet his gaze.
"Tinted oil and official titles do not make any man holy, Governor," Yasen growled as he raised the biting edges of his mighty axe up between the bodies of the two men. "Let there be no confusion amongst the two of us: I serve the Citadel, and the people of our once shining city; I do not serve you or your silver-haired fox of a captain!"
"I should have you thrown into the prison hold along with that damned fool of a groomsman," Seig barked back.
"I should remind you which of us commands the greater number of blades here in this colony, Governor," Yasen said evenly and deliberately, his eye fixed on Seig's raging, nervous expression.
"It certainly is not you, woodcutter!" Seig spat. "Every back and every blade in this wilderness is under my authority, by order of the Priest King himself."
"Well then," Yasen said, sucking his teeth, "for your sake I hope that the merit of that order still remains here on these distant shores of this darkened wilderness. Now, if there is nothing else, I must be about my devotion, for my axe is freshly sharpened and ready to break its fast."
Yasen pushed past the stunned governor and walked without turning back towards the large timber gates of the colony's stronghold. Seig seethed as he watched this brazen woodcutter mount his massive, black Friesian. In the same moment that he signaled the Friesian forward, he grabbed the reigns of a large chestnut and silver-grey courser, leading them in tow out into the darkness beyond the wall.
"Captain!" Seig shouted into the busy courtyard, his fists balled and his jaw clenched in wounded anger. "Captain!"
Chapter Thirty
GVIDUS LUMBERED THROUGH THE STRONGHOLD'S courtyard, moving past the granary and the storehouses until he reached the small, two-celled prison hold there on the east wall of the colony. In light of all the activity within the stronghold, every able-bodied man was set to work either on felling more trees or transporting supplies to the shoreline in preparation for the Determination's first voyage back to Haven. With so much excitement and still so much work to be done, Seig required that every man aid in the preparations to launch. There were no men to spare, not even to guard the renegade groomsman on this busy morning.
"Are you ready to break your fast yet, lad?" Gvidus whispered into the iron-barred window of the timber jail.
Cal had not slept much the previous night, for his mind was anxious and his heart heavy. Yasen had told him three days before that he would not be banished back to Haven—but that was three days ago, and he had not heard a word or a whisper since.
"I do not think I have the stomach for food on a day like this," Cal said to the man outside the locked cell door.
"Oh, but this is a fresh loaf of black bread—a rare commodity here among the ever-hungry, hard-working likes of men in this colony of ours," Gvidus reasoned. "It would be an insult to every hunger pang and growling belly to refuse."
"Oh how the governor must despise me indeed, sending me fresh bread before sending me away," Cal replied, his words heavy in the suffocating fog of his self-pity.
"Oh, I am sure that he does," Gvidus said with a chuckle. "But it was not the governor who sent this loaf of bread, brother."
"If not him, then ..."
Light flickered in Cal's eyes as the possibility of what might be happening occurred to him.
"Here, take it, eat it before it grows cool and loses its ability to warm your belly this cold, dark morning." Gvidus stepped in front of the iron window, revealing his round, smiling face. "Besides, I fear a storm is coming this day, and you'll need something to fuel your bones for this journey of yours." The large woodcutter reached through the timber slats and passed the loaf of black bread to his younger woodcutter brother.
Cal clasped his arm in a sign of gratitude and took the bread with his other hand. "Thank you, Gvidus."
"No time for that now, lad," Gvidus said. "Mind you chew carefully though, for there are no guards out here to rescue you if you bite your tongue or chip your tooth." The large, bushy eyebrows of this fattened woodcutter accentuated the true meaning of his words, and Cal was able to read clearly his meaning. "Now, eat up, for the seas will not be kind to the hungry. As for me, I still have to fill these water barrels and drive these lazy oxen out to the tree line before our mighty woodcutters die of thirst."
Cal stood there, holding the now cooled loaf of black bread in his eager hands, smiling a warm, grateful smile to the woodcutter.
"On the other side then, lad!" Gvidus said as he lumbered his way back across the courtyard to a barrel-filled ox-cart waiting by the well.
Cal turned his back to the iron window and wasted no time in breaking the salt-crusted bread into two jagged halves. "What is it, Cal? What did your woodcutter brothers send you?" The voice of the blue-winged Sprite whispered into the dimness of the cell as he flitted down from his hideaway in the rafters.
The groomsman excitedly whirled around to examine the large, iron lock that held the latches of the prison door firmly secure. As he did, hope lit alive in the tired eyes of the young prisoner. "Our salvation, my friend," Cal whispered, holding the skeleton key for his Sprite guardian to see.
Deryn flew towards the hand that held the key, and he too could sense the palatable taste of relief that this small piece of iron carried within its small frame. "All is not lost, for our Great Father has indeed provided a way for us."
"Indeed, my little blue warrior," Cal said with a laugh. "Now come on, let's be done with this damn wooden box and see if we might fetch ourselves a long draught of water from the well," Cal winked.
The hopeful smile that had painted the azure face of the small Sprite faded to a more serious expression. "This key will certainly open the door to this prison cell, swinging wide the gate for our momentary freedom," he said as he flew towards the iron lock that h
eld them captive. "But I sense that it also opens another door, the door to our exile; and once opened, I trust you realize that it might very well never be undone."
"This colony was never the point, Deryn," Cal argued, his brow furrowed with perplexed confusion. "You know this."
"No, not the walls of timber, or the office of honor," Deryn spoke. "But you must see that the way things are ... that they may never be the same again." The small Sprite flew up to meet the gaze of his ward. "Lines will be drawn, and loyalties will be tested; true intentions will bare their ugly fangs in name of survival and righteousness. And you, my friend, will become an enemy of the very city for whom you have sought out a greater light."
"That very well may be," Cal replied. "But my home was never truly within the walls of our once bright city, nor was it here on these wild shores of this wild land. So if it takes exile to find my true home ... well, then I pray that you will be an exile with me."
Deryn smiled a curious smile as he surveyed the stubbled face of this young groomsman, and his bright, azure eyes betrayed deeper thoughts.
"What in the damnable dark are you smiling about?" Cal said playfully.
"There is something ancient about you, something that I have never noticed in you before," Deryn responded. "Maybe it was always there, or perhaps … perhaps something in you has changed."
"Well, something good, I hope," Cal said a bit nervously.
"I cannot say, for I have not yet seen the full fruit of its sprouting determination," Deryn said frankly. "But never you mind what it is that I see, Calarmindon Bright Fame. Salvation and exile await us both, and they ride upon the back of that iron key of yours."
Cal held the key in his right hand and steeled himself for what would happen next. "Come on, then. I will need you to be my eyes outside of these timber walls," he told the Sprite sentinel. "Fly atop the rafters of the granary and tell me when I am clear to make my escape."
Cal fixed his gaze upon his tiny, winged friend. "Be safe ... and stay hidden."
The Ravenous Siege (Epic of Haven Trilogy Book 2) Page 27