The Blacksmith Queen

by Aiken G. A.

  “So does Keran. That reminds me! I think I’ll go sing her awake!”

  Keeley pressed her hands against Caid’s chest and levered herself up. She smiled down at him. “Sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “Trapping you here.”

  “I’m never trapped where I don’t want to be.” He sat up, pushed her hair off her shoulder. “Feel better?”

  “I do.” Keeley sat on the ground, facing him. “It was Straton the Devourer who came for Beatrix, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the one who destroyed my town?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.” She stood. “Caid?”

  “Mhmm?” he replied, also standing.

  “Thank you so much for being kind when I needed it,” she said with great sincerity, her suddenly shy gaze on the ground. “It’s meant a lot to me.”

  “Despite the fact it’s all your fault and we’re all going to die?”

  Her head snapped up, her gaze wide. They stared at each other until her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed.

  “I hate you,” she said, walking back toward camp. “Can’t even give me five seconds of wallowing!”

  “We don’t have time for your wallowing, Your Majesty.”

  “Stop calling me that!”

  He chuckled but the sound faded when the demon wolves appeared all around the tree Caid and Keeley had been sleeping against, trotting after the new queen. They’d been there all night, he was guessing, watching out for Keeley.

  And, in no uncertain terms, freaking Caid the unholy hells out!

  CHAPTER 21

  They stood in front of a large cave and Keeley couldn’t help but gawk at the stone barrier blocking their entry. She wished her uncle Archie was here to see it. They weren’t double doors that could be opened by large men pulling them. They weren’t boulders that went to the roof to prevent entrance. It was simply one stone door with no design or markings to let one know what lay beyond.

  Laila, in her centaur form, which she’d stayed in for most of their few days traveling here, moved forward and yelled out, “I am Laila of the Scarred Earth Clan! I demand entry to see your king!”

  In silence their small traveling party watched as that stone door rolled up and back! Keeley’s mouth dropped.

  “How . . . ?”

  “Dwarves are not just good with iron and fire,” Caid replied. “At least half their population are stonemasons instead of blacksmiths.” “I really do wish Uncle Archie was here to see this.”

  The gigantic door—taller than hundred-year-old trees that reached the sky—opened completely and they rode inside. Once they were all in, the door rolled back down, slamming shut behind them.

  They were briefly in total darkness before a few of the centaurs lit torches and they all began their long march deep into the mountains.

  Keeley couldn’t say she felt comfortable. The darkness around them made the ceilings feel closer than they probably were, stretching her nerves. Making her want to see the sky and the trees and grass. Not so much rock and, ahead of them where the torches’ light did not reach, blackness.

  Even worse, the loyal wolves had to stay behind, unable to cross some barrier the dwarves had put up. As they had tried to run past her toward the mountain entrance, they’d suddenly disappeared, reappearing a few seconds later one hundred or so feet behind them all.

  “See this?” Gemma had asked pointing at some blood-covered totems built around the entrance. “These are to protect this area from pure evil.” Gemma gazed at her. “And your wolves could not get beyond this point. Does that tell you anything?”

  Keeley had smiled and replied, “No!” before riding on.

  But now, deep in this dark place, she wished her wolves were with her. She’d gotten used to their presence. Caid, however, did walk beside her in his centaur form. Always near but never crowding her. She appreciated that.

  Finally, the centaurs stopped and Laila called out again, “I am Laila of the Scarred Earth Clan! I demand entry to see your king!”

  When the door opened this time, Keeley couldn’t help but grin. The light was bright, there was plenty of activity inside, and she no longer felt lost in the dark.

  “Dismount,” Laila ordered the humans on horses, and the centaurs shifted to their human forms.

  “Dwarves find our true selves a hostile challenge,” Caid whispered to her.

  “Being yourselves is a hostile challenge?”

  “Apparently yes.”

  “Huh.” Keeley placed the reins around the pommel of her saddle and started walking, the gray mare following behind her without needing to be led.

  “You trust her not to run?” Quinn asked.

  “She can do what she wants,” Keeley replied. “She’s not my horse.”

  Quinn studied the gray mare and the saddle on her back. “If she’s not your horse, then what is she?”

  “A mother looking for justice.”

  They were in a city. A city filled with dwarves and the homes and businesses of dwarves. They weren’t the only humans or centaurs inside the city walls but none of the humans there looked like they were from the Hill Lands. They appeared to be more like traveling merchants looking for dwarven iron or steel to sell. Not that Keeley blamed them. Dwarven steel was worth plenty, and weapons or other items already made with dwarven steel cost a lot of gold.

  Keeley had only been lucky enough to work with dwarven iron a few times and it had always been a bloody delight. But there were few who could afford such weapons. She’d actually only done such work when royals had come to her with the dwarven iron already purchased, asking her to make them a sword or spear.

  She wondered if these people knew another, easier way into the dwarf stronghold. She envied them . . . being able to avoid that road into darkness.

  Eventually, they made their way through the city and to the massive front steps that led to the Dwarf King’s castle.

  They stood at the bottom of the steps and, yet again, Laila called out, “I am Laila of the Scarred Earth Clan! I demand entry to see your king!”

  Keran rubbed her forehead. “How many times are we going to have to hear her yell that?”

  “Perhaps, Cousin,” Gemma softly suggested, “you shouldn’t drink so much in the evenings.”

  “And maybe you should shut the fuck up, bastard monk!”

  “That’s enough,” Keeley growled, finding her growls worked better on Keran and Gemma than her higher-pitched, snappy voice. “Let’s just get through this.”

  Her kin nodded and fell silent, allowing Keeley to focus on her sudden onset of panic.

  She’d be meeting the Dwarf King. Her. Keeley Smythe. She didn’t know how to think about that. She’d never thought she’d meet a dwarf, much less their king. But here she was. About to be introduced to him as Queen Keeley.

  She’d laugh if she wasn’t afraid she’d end up vomiting.

  Three loud bangs rang out from inside the castle. Caid swiped his hand over Keeley’s back before he joined his sister and the pair headed up the stairs. The rest fell in behind them, Keeley doing her best not to start panting. She sometimes panted when she was excited and/or terrified.

  They made it up the stairs, and there they met three armored and armed dwarf warriors.

  The one in the middle rammed the end of his steel spear against the floor.

  Laila nodded at him. “Unroch.”

  “Laila of the Scarred Earth,” Unroch growled back, his voice lower than Keeley had ever heard. “Good to see you again.” He glanced at Caid but didn’t speak to him. Keeley sensed they had a past.

  He turned and headed inside; their travel party followed. The throne room was filled with dwarves. Almost all of them attired either in stunning armor or exquisite chainmail. Keeley wanted to run around and touch each piece of metalwork, getting a closer look so she could see how it was made. Could she buy her own? For her size? A queen needed stunning armor, did she not?

  Gods, Keeley had so much
more to learn when it came to being a blacksmith.

  They walked down a long stretch of black cloth until they reached the throne of King Mundric. He sat upon his metal throne and Keeley wanted nothing more than to shove him out of the way so she could take a long look at it. How had they made it? It appeared to be built from a single sheet of steel but she knew better. The seams were just invisible. But she wanted to find them, look at them, then ask a thousand questions about how the dwarves did that and what kind of iron they used and—

  “You need to pay attention,” Gemma snarled low against her ear, “and stop staring at their bloody throne!”

  Keeley cringed, knowing her sister was right. She didn’t realize she’d already been introduced to the king until Laila cleared her throat.

  She looked away from that amazing throne and saw that Caid and Laila were staring right at her, waiting for her. Actually . . . so was everyone in the throne room.

  “King Mundric,” she said, nodding at him.

  Now Keeley noticed that King Mundric had vicious scars all along his right side. Burn scars, starting from the right side of his head, all the way down and disappearing under his armor. But she guessed that those scars kept going since his badly burned right hand was wrapped tightly around a steel walking stick.

  He sat on the edge of his throne, gazing at her with his left eye since his right was damaged, his left arm resting on his knee.

  Mundric was an extremely wide dwarf. Wide. And despite the scars, muscular. His neck was like that tree trunk she and Caid had slept against their first night of this trip.

  After gazing at her, he motioned to Laila and Caid with his left hand. Just a small wave, but they seemed to understand. They gestured to the others, who all moved off to the side so Keeley stood alone in front of the king—and everyone else.

  Now she really did want to vomit.

  Before she could choke down the bile building in the back of her throat, the king rammed the end of his walking stick against the floor and his dwarven guard moved in front of her entire travel party and locked their spears in such a way that none of them could get to Keeley if she needed help.

  “Dammit, Mundric! What are you doing?” Laila demanded, shifting back to her centaur form and causing all the dwarves behind her to make a mad run for it before she could start kicking them with her back legs.

  “Quiet, woman!” Mundric barked, his voice low like Unroch’s.

  “I’m not a woman, I’m a centaur! And if you betray our alliance, the tribal lords will find out about it.”

  Mundric ignored Laila, who was pushing against the spears that blocked her, and motioned Keeley to move closer.

  She didn’t get too close, making sure not to go up the few stairs to his throne. He had armed guards on either side of him.

  “So . . . you’re the Blacksmith Queen.”

  That confused Keeley a bit. “Well . . . I’m a blacksmith and now a queen. But Blacksmith Queen implies that I’m queen of all the blacksmiths, which I’m not. But yes.”

  Now the king appeared confused and he glanced to his left at Unroch, who could only shrug.

  With a quick shake, the king focused on her again. “You brought a War Monk with you? Was that to threaten us?”

  “No. She’s my sister. That’s Gemma. And be glad. I thought she was a nun. Can you imagine any woman giving up her life to—”

  “Do not start that again!” Gemma bellowed at her.

  * * *

  Caid briefly closed his eyes. They were all going to die, but at least they’d die in such a way that the tale would be told for ages.

  A dwarf guard pressed the tip of his endlessly sharp spear against Laila’s throat and warned, “Go back to your human form, horsey, or I’ll run ya through.”

  Caid heard Quinn growl, always defensive when their sister was even looked at the wrong way, much less actively threatened. But he caught Quinn by his hair and kept control of him before he could shift.

  “Stop. Think. For once, Brother.”

  Caid’s words calmed Quinn down but the way he sucked his tongue against his teeth told Caid that with even a tiny bit more provocation Quinn might start causing more damage to the dwarf-centaur alliance than anyone could imagine.

  Laila shifted to her human form and the spear returned to its locked position with another spear, no longer close to her throat. Caid let out a breath and moved his attention back to the king and Keeley.

  “So, you are a blacksmith,” the king was saying to Keeley.

  “I am.”

  “Have you made anything legendary?”

  “Not that I know of.” She pulled her hammer from the leather holder strapped to her back. “Made this hammer, though. Love me hammer.”

  The king studied it from where he sat on the throne. “It’s cute,” he finally said.

  Caid grimaced and Gemma let out an “Uh-oh.”

  Keeley slammed the head into the floor—the sound ringing around the stone throne room—and leaned her weight on the handle.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she snapped.

  “I think,” the king said, “you’re just tellin’ everyone you’re a blacksmith, so you can claim to be one of the people. Humans are stupid like that. They’ll believe anything.”

  “I don’t lie, King Mundric. I have no reason to. I’m from a long line of blacksmiths. Some of the best blacksmiths in history.”

  When the entire room erupted into laughter, Caid whispered to his brother, “Get ready to move. Preferably before she starts killing everybody.”

  Because Keeley took her blacksmithing more seriously than almost anything. Anything except her family, of course.

  “I don’t see what’s so funny!” Keeley barked out, looking around the room.

  “If you’re such a mighty blacksmith family,” Unroch annoyingly suggested, “you should know the Old Songs.”

  “Old Songs?” Laila desperately whispered at them. “What bloody Old Songs?”

  “The songs we were taught as children,” Gemma whispered back. “They’re blacksmith songs.”

  “Of course I do,” Keeley replied, with way more confidence than Caid was feeling. Just because her family of human blacksmiths had their “old songs” didn’t mean they were the same Old Songs as the dwarves’. Especially when the dwarves had their own gods-damn language.

  Mundric grinned and it was not pretty.

  “Then sing one,” he ordered.

  Keeley frowned and Caid felt his heart drop into his stomach.

  “I’m not much of a singer,” she confessed. “How about if I recite the words?”

  “Anyone can learn the words. The question is whether you know the words and the tune. So sing.”

  Keeley let out a breath, bent her neck one way, then the other. Both times her body making loud cracking noises.

  She cleared her throat. Once. Twice.

  “In times long by when blood did pourrrr!”

  And . . . oy. She hadn’t been joking. She had a terrible singing voice. And the song was not made for bad singers. Because it was slow and a bit boring. But Keeley, gods bless her. She kept going.

  “A hammer and anvil, I did score.

  A hammer and anvil, I did roar!

  To bless the gods, the gods, the war gods

  I’m covered in blood from war gods!

  For the blood of war is our way!”

  “Ow,” Laila muttered, sticking her finger in her ear and wiggling it around after Keeley had hit that last high note.

  Caid thought it was over. But it wasn’t. Because the tempo changed. Abruptly. Into a fast-moving jig that didn’t sound any better than the earlier dirge.

  “I used my hammer

  To beat that iron, finesse that steel

  Make that spear, craft that bow

  For the blood of war is our way!”

  The king rammed his spear against the floor again and Keeley stopped singing—thank the gods!—as he struggled to get to his feet. Unroch attempted to help
but the king angrily waved him off.

  Once he stood, he made his slow way down the three stairs to the black cloth and walked along it until he reached Keeley. While she stood much taller than the Dwarf King, he was definitely wider. Caid couldn’t figure out if he wanted to see them in a fight or not. If nothing else, a fight between those two would definitely be interesting.

  When Mundric only stared at her, not speaking, Keeley cleared her throat once more and reminded him, “I told you I was not the best singer.”

  The king raised his walking stick and Caid readied himself to attack. Because he looked as if he was about to strike her.

  But he didn’t. Instead, he sang out, “In times long by when blood did pourrrr!”

  “Oh, gods,” Laila gasped. “We’re going to have to hear that thing again.” Only this time, it was two equally bad voices singing.

  And they did. From the very beginning, they both sang that stupid song. Only now, the king’s musicians joined in and the other dwarves sang along. It was a nightmare!

  But only in the sense that none of their group wanted to hear that gods-damn song again. Other than that, the whole thing couldn’t have gone better. Especially when the king and Keeley began to dance with each other, hooking arms, and moving around to the “old song.” The king couldn’t move well but Keeley kept that in mind, giving him ample time and keeping things loose.

  “Huh,” Quinn said to them, sounding shocked. “I did not see that coming.”

  CHAPTER 22

  They were released and Laila had to fight her urge to slap Mundric’s face.

  Rude bastard. To take her and her brothers prisoner while rudely “testing” their choice of queen.

  Laila knew her mother would have handled things brilliantly—as she would no doubt remind Laila as soon as she heard about this affront—but Laila wasn’t sure what to do. She felt repercussions were necessary, but she also knew they needed armies at their back or they’d have no chance against Marius and Beatrix.

  So, when Laila saw Quinn reaching out to grab one of the dwarves to slam him into the wall, she slapped his arm down.