The Blacksmith's Son

by Michael G. Manning

  He chuckled, “Go ahead. Scream if you like. Who will take your word over mine? I found you rifling through my possessions when I returned to my room.” As he said this he idly reached over and knocked a jewelry case from the top of the dressing table. Rings and jewels worth more than she’d ever earned were scattered across the floor. “Looks like you were startled when I found you.”

  Despair crashed over Penny in a dark wave. There was no escape left to her now, in an instant she knew her life was over, her dreams dashed by this pompous and spoiled lordling. The thought made her angry and she determined to scream anyway. If she was to be driven into the mud she would make sure as much dirt rubbed off on the bastard who had done it as possible. She took a deep breath.

  “Relax. I have no intention of harming you my dear, or deflowering you either, if that is what you fear. I simply want the answers to a few questions.” He was smiling reassuringly at her.

  “What questions?” she asked, for a second hope lit within her and she was ashamed at how easily he had manipulated her.

  “Tell me about your friend, Master Eldridge.” That confused her utterly. Why is he interested in Mort? she thought to herself. As far as she knew Mordecai should be completely beneath the notice of someone like Devon Tremont.

  “Pardon sir, I don’t know him at all, he only recently arrived here and...” she started, but Devon stepped forward. She paused. He stood only inches from her now.

  “What was your name girl?”

  “Penelope sir, but folks here call me Penny,” she hated how servile she sounded.

  “Well, Penelope who goes by Penny, let me explain something. Are you listening?” He still sounded calm but she could hear his breath coming more hoarsely now. She didn’t trust herself to speak but she managed to nod. If you’ve ever been confronted by a large wild animal when you were a child you might understand how she felt. The menace was rolling off of him in waves.

  “I absolutely abhor being lied to Penny. I hate it. And I think you’re lying to me now. I know it, because I saw you watching him earlier.” Penny’s heart was beating so rapidly she felt it would surely burst from her chest. “Do you think me a fool Penny?” She kept her head down, to avoid his eyes, but he was having none of it. “Look at me Penny.” He lifted her chin up. Large tears welled up and ran down her cheeks, betraying her fear.

  “Do you know Master Eldridge?”

  “I told you sir, I don’t. I only watched him because he seemed handsome...” her head whipped back from a stinging slap; strong enough to hurt like hell, soft enough to avoid bruising. Something snapped and her fear turned to rage, she brought her hand up to strike him in return. So furious was she, that if it had connected, he most surely would have taken a bruise. He was ready for her though, strong and quick he caught her by the wrist and abruptly twisted her arm, spinning her around and pinning it behind her. Her arm felt near to breaking as he applied a steadily increasing pressure. Helpless now, he pressed her face first onto the mattress.

  “Now you’re starting to piss me off. Which is too bad for you Penny. I had wanted to keep this a nice friendly chat, but you just don’t seem to want to cooperate.” He was lying across her, using his weight to keep her pinned, and worse she felt a disturbing bulge behind her. His voice was coarse and husky in her ear as he continued, “Nothing excites me more than a girl with a fiery disposition. I’ve learned to break girls like you. Just like a young mare, sometimes you have to ride them hard to tame them to the bit and bridle. I’m sure your husband will thank me someday.” His hand was under her skirt now, relentlessly moving up her leg.

  Desperation robbed her of reason for a moment, “No wait, wait, I’ll tell you. Please stop! He’s the blacksmith’s son. He’s not important, please you can’t do this!” She was crying now, her voice thick with fear. His hand had reached the top of her thigh now and when she felt his fingers touch her she lost control. A primal scream of rage, and terror ripped out of her throat, seeking to deny the injustice being done to her.

  The sound of it was so great that for a moment he drew back, shocked at the volume of sound coming from such a young woman. “Grethak” he barked in a tone of command and abruptly her scream was cut off, every muscle in her body locked rigidly in place. Devon let go of her arm and rolled her over on the bed so he could see her face.

  “You really are something special aren’t you my dear? I don’t believe I have ever heard a maiden scream as loudly as you just did.” He smiled at her, “But then you won’t be a maiden for much longer will you?” Devon’s face was rapt with pleasure as he stared down at her. He reached out and began calmly trying to unlace her bodice, which soon proved to be too difficult. Taking hold of her neckline he ripped it wide, exposing her breasts.

  Penny couldn’t breathe; her lungs were paralyzed just as surely as the rest of her muscles. The only movement left to her was that of her eyes, which rolled wildly as she looked for some means of escape. Her head was pounding in time with her heart as she fought to draw breath. Devon leaned down and slowly licked her face, leaving a trail of spittle from her neck to her lips. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen such a lovely shade of purple,” he mocked. “Keltis” he spoke and touched her throat, before running his hand down to pinch her nipple rudely. Her throat opened and she was suddenly able to draw breath. She drew air into her lungs, her breath coming in great heaving sobs. She prepared to scream again, but he put his finger to his lips, warning her. Fear stopped her.

  “Now now, lets be a good girl. If you scream again I might not let you have air next time. Besides, isn’t it so much nicer when you have some complicity in this? The knowledge that you could have screamed but didn’t? Sometimes it takes something like that to teach someone just how important life is, certainly it’s worth more than your maidenhead.” He leered as he began sliding her skirt up, exposing her nakedness to the light.

  Penny closed her eyes, the awful reality of it being too much to look upon any longer. Then blessed unconsciousness overtook her and she knew no more.

  Chapter 7

  The skilled use of aythar by a wizard relies on the last of the three important characteristics, called simply enough, ‘control’. Of the three attributes it is the only one that is able to change significantly with practice or training. Mages that survive puberty generally learn to channel their aythar using some method of symbolism and ritual, generally through the use of one or more dead languages. Although aythar may be used without language or symbols, as it often is in the young, it is quite dangerous to do so. Wizards learn the use of a language or system of rituals in order to control not merely ‘how’ their power is released, but also ‘when’. An untrained mage whose power lies purely in his thoughts is dangerous indeed, as his power may come to the fore at any moment and lend deadly puissance to unbidden thoughts.

  ~Marcus the Heretic,

  On the Nature of Faith and Magic

  I got to the library without meeting anyone in the corridors, which was a relief. After the day I had had I wasn’t really looking forward to seeing people. Once inside I retrieved the book and took a moment to weigh it in my hands. It was an impressive tome weighing several pounds and covered with arcane words and symbols that glowed in my sight. Having already read a substantial part of Vestrius’ journal I felt sure it would make the remainder much easier to understand. Mastery of the Lycian tongue was quite literally the most important knowledge I could gain, it being the means for me to control my incipient abilities.

  Feeling a little better I tucked it under my arm and headed back toward my room. My life might be a mess in most respects but here at least was a problem I could solve through honest application of effort. Wrapped in my own thoughts I barely noticed the voices coming from one of the rooms along the hallway. I kept walking, wondering how late I could stay up studying and still be able to rise at the proper time in the morning, when a shrill scream cut through my ruminations. It was a sound I’ll never forget. A raw expression of fear and terror, the s
ort of scream you sometimes imagine but never hope to hear. The sort of sound someone might make falling to their death. It stopped abruptly, cut off before it could be completed.

  I looked around anxiously, unsure which direction it had come from. The book distracted me so I set it down against the wall to free my hands and walked back the way I had come. There. I could hear someone talking behind a door. I checked the doors on both sides before I found the correct one and leaning in I thought I could hear Devon’s voice, speaking calmly to someone else. I almost moved on at that point, surely the person that had given that blood curdling yell couldn’t be inside, not with Devon talking in such a composed manner.

  I pulled my head back from the door frame, and then I felt a sudden release of power. My practice over the last few days had made me quite familiar with the sensation. That held my attention. I pressed my ear firmly to the door, straining to hear his voice through the thick wood. The words that finally came chilled my blood, “Sometimes it takes something like that to teach someone just how important life is, certainly it’s worth more than your maidenhead.” I couldn’t be sure who Devon was speaking to, but it was clear that whoever it was, they were in terrible trouble.

  Unsure what to do I drew a deep breath and used the only spell I knew that might help, “Shibal,” I intoned quietly with as much power as I had, directing my will beyond the door. I listened again, I wasn’t sure but I thought I heard someone slump to the floor, and Devon was no longer talking. Satisfied I tried the door handle.

  It was locked, of course. I had no knowledge that would get me past locked doors, and the doors in Castle Lancaster were so sturdily constructed it would take two men and a ram to batter one down. I stared at the door, angry at my own ignorance; surely if I were better educated there would be a simple way to bypass the lock. Thinking of the state the poor girl must be in gave urgency to my anger. Placing my hand on the door I closed my eyes and bowed my head. I took a deep breath and drew my power up as I filled my lungs, pulling in ever more, till it felt as if it would be a race to see which burst first, my mind or my chest. I had never tried to do something like this before but I knew that without proper words it would take a lot of strength. Then I began to exhale slowly, building pressure in my hand as it pressed against the door. As my breath emptied I began to feel the door give way and I blew the rest of the air from my lungs in an explosive rush. The result was an explosion of wood and splinters as the door disintegrated, slivers of wood flying in every direction.

  The vision I found within was one that still gives me nightmares. Devon lay slumped on the floor on the opposite side of bed, but I had no attention to spare for him. The figure on the bed riveted me in place. It was Penny, her long dark hair had come loose from the bun she usually kept it in when working, and it lay scattered about her head in dark ringlets. Her uniform was ripped open, from her neck to her belly, exposing flesh that I had previously imagined but never hoped to see. Her skirt was shoved up above her hips and her legs were spread, one folded awkwardly under her, the while the other was stretched out, her foot touching the floor. She looked dead. A long splinter stood out from her right thigh, blood dripping down onto the linen sheets. If I could describe the emotion that filled me then I would, but there were no words, the world went white, as if all the color had been leached from it, leaving a horror of stark white and black contrasts.

  I was numb with horror and shock while at the same time filled with a cold heartless rage. Walking over I bent down to pull the dagger from Devon Tremont’s belt, which was already partly undone. From the looks of things he hadn’t had time to bring his crime to fruition. It hardly mattered, Penny was dead. Her virginity or lack thereof would not bring her back to life, would not make her smile at me again. I knelt beside the bed, and though I cannot remember feeling anything but a cold numbness, tears ran down my face.

  Carefully, I brought the dagger to bear, directly over the bastard’s still beating heart, careful not to prick him with the point lest it wake him before I made the final plunge. I held it there for a timeless moment. My only worry was that it was too clean a death, better than he deserved. That momentary debate was all that saved his life.

  A sudden sound broke my train of thought, an incongruous noise, too improbable to belong there. Penny was snoring. If it had been a light snore I might have missed it, but this was no delicate thing, it was a deep rumbling vibration. The sort a fat farmer might make after having too much ale and passing out in his bed. It led me out of the dark place that had replaced my heart, and improbably I began to laugh.

  It was an awful laugh as such things go; when it started it was a terrible sound, a wretched gibbering sound, the kind of laugh to make townsfolk shutter their windows and lock their doors. As it stretched on though my stomach relaxed and I began to laugh more naturally, a deep belly laugh, interspersed with gasps as I struggled to catch my breath. Eventually the laughter faded into tears and I cried quietly till I got control of myself.

  Easing myself up from the floor I began to think. Carefully I drew the splinter from Penny’s leg, which caused it to start bleeding again. I watched her face to see if she might waken, but I had put a lot of power into the spell and she hardly stirred. Reaching down I cut a long strip from the bed sheet and used it to bind her wound. Then I straightened up and surveyed the room.

  It was a mess to say the least. Jewelry lay scattered on the floor, interspersed with oaken shards. The sheets were stained where Penny had bled upon them, and two people lay sleeping in varying degrees of disarray. It was too much to deal with all at once, so I did the most important thing first. Bending down, I slipped my arms underneath Penelope, easing one arm behind her shoulders and the other beneath her knees. It was not the best angle to stand up from and I staggered for a moment, nearly stepping on Devon’s head. Aww, that would have been a shame, to ruin those pretty features. I thought sarcastically. I couldn’t risk waking him though. Penny was not a slight girl, she was nearly as tall as me and hard work had given her plenty of muscle, yet she felt light as a feather in my arms. Adrenaline I suppose, but I didn’t bother to think about it.

  I walked out into the hallway and made my way to my room as quickly as I could. Hers might have been better but I had no idea where she kept her quarters. Gently I laid her upon my bed, taking a moment to cover her with the blankets. I returned to the hall and recovered the book where I had left it leaning against the wall and went back to stow it safely with the others in my room. Each trip took several minutes and I worried constantly that I might meet someone in the halls. It was past midnight and my luck held; the corridors were deserted. I still had several problems.

  I needed help and there was only one person I could trust at this hour. Fifteen minutes later I was standing outside the door of the Thornbear household. Lord Thornbear was the seneschal for Castle Lancaster and accordingly his family lived in the large bailey overlooking the main gate. The night air was damp and a light rain had begun so I was a little wet when I got to their door, which suited my mood just fine. A sleepy servant opened the door, a man I knew from my previous stays with the Thornbear family. I’m not sure if he had a surname as I had only ever heard him addressed as ‘Remy’.

  “Mort, what in the name of the gods are you doing out here at this hour?” He kept his voice lowered to keep from waking the family.

  “Remy, I know this seems odd, but I want you to wake Dorian for me, quietly if you can, I need to speak with him.” I tried to put as much sincerity in my voice as possible.

  “Fine fine, let me see...” he turned and promptly ran into the door frame. “Damn!” he cursed quietly, “Nobody cares if Remy gets any sleep now do they? No of course they don’t, Remy don’t need no sleep do he?” He was muttering to himself as he stumbled back into the Thornbear family rooms.

  I waited anxiously for several minutes before Dorian appeared at the door. “Mort, I don’t mean to be rude, but it is really late...” he started. Then he saw my face. Something there mu
st have tipped him to my desperation. “Hang on, let me get my cloak.”

  A moment later we were hurrying back across the courtyard to the castle proper. I should mention that Dorian is one of those rare individuals that sleeps wearing a long stocking cap. He had forgotten to remove it in his haste and I didn’t have the heart to remind him. Some things are better left unsaid, and I needed all the humor I could find that dark night.

  As we went I tried to explain to him what had happened, but I don’t think it sank in properly till he saw Penny sleeping in my bed. With the covers drawn she looked like an angel lying there.

  “Do you know where her chamber is? I need to get her back to her own room before she wakes.” I told him.

  “Sure but I doubt we can get her in there without waking the other maids,” he replied.

  “Leave that to me.” I moved over to stand at the side of the bed, preparing myself to pick her up again.

  “Do you need me to carry her?” he asked. I considered his offer for a moment, but something inside of me snarled at the thought of anyone else touching her. Something had broken inside when I found her in that room and I didn’t yet even know to mourn for my lost innocence.

  “No, no, I have her. If you could just help with the doors and lead the way.” I drew back the covers and lifted her up from the bed. This time I could feel the strain in my back, exhaustion and lack of sleep were beginning to take their toll.