by Callie Kanno
“Hildar, escort our lady to the quarters and help her get settled in for the night,” instructed Cowan. “Aherin, see to the horses.”
No one appeared to be happy with their orders, least of all Lenora. She gave the captain a sharp look. “Should we not all stay together?”
“Certainly, m’lady,” Cowan responded smoothly. “I will join you as soon as I settle payment with our kind hosts.”
“Idris-” Lenora began.
“Idris will stay with me,” the captain interrupted. “Do not worry, m’lady. Hildar will keep you quite secure.”
And keep you from wandering where you are not wanted, Iona added.
Are you implying that I would have let Lenora wander around? Idris asked his weapon.
Iona snorted. You would let that young woman do anything if she smiled at you.
He felt a surge of indignation. That is not true!
The partisan’s suggestive silence made Idris’s face grow warm. She made him sound like some sort of love-struck fool, when that wasn’t the case. Idris acknowledged that he liked Lenora, but he had only recently met her. They could barely be considered friends, let alone anything more personal.
He tried to hide his embarrassment as the two miner women led Hildar and Lenora away. The second of the men offered to help Aherin with the horses, leaving the final three to finish conducting business. Coins changed hands while Idris stared at his boots.
“I hope is it not an imposition,” Cowan began, “but I was wondering if I could speak to your blacksmith.”
Idris’s head snapped up, his eyes widening. The miner seemed surprised as well. “I suppose so. Is there anything I can help you with?”
The captain of the Royal Guard waved a hand. “Oh, no. I just had a few questions. Nothing important, really.”
The miner nodded slowly. “He lives over this way,” he gestured in the direction opposite of the rock outcropping. “He does his work at night, too.”
Cowan and Idris followed the miner down the sloping path to a small cottage with a large forge behind it. Before they walked around the house, Cowan held up a hand to Idris. “Stay here, lad. I will not be long.”
“Yes, sir,” Idris stammered, but his thoughts were muddled with confusion. Why had the captain insisted that he come along if he was just going to stand alone and wait?
Probably to separate you and the princess, Iona guessed. It would be good for you to distance yourself from her.
“I doubt that is the reason,” Idris muttered, but he didn’t believe his own words. He kicked at the dirt with the toe of his boot, feeling more frustrated with each passing moment. “Lenora is not a spy or saboteur,” he insisted. “She just wants to help.”
Iona chose not to answer, leaving Idris feeling like he was trying too hard to defend Lenora’s actions. In a fit of restlessness, he turned on his heel and started walking toward one of the other houses.
Each of the wooden homes were fairly uniform, distinguishable only by small decorations on the doors. Idris found himself studying the doors with interest—one had a small wreath of pine needles, another had a string of feathers. He stopped abruptly, staring at a door that had a strange symbol burned into it.
“Can I help you, son?” a gravelly voice demanded.
Idris whipped around, facing an old man with long white hair. He was dressed as a miner, with the broad physique to match, but he didn’t act as though he was getting ready to go to work. He sat in a wooden rocking chair nestled between two of the houses. His green eyes were narrowed, looking at Idris in an unfriendly manner.
“Do you know who lives here?” Idris asked, pointing to the house with the symbol on the door.
“Of course I do,” the old man snapped. “I know everyone who lives in this village.”
The man didn’t offer any more information, even though Idris felt that it was obvious he wanted to know more. Idris took a small breath, smoothing over the impatience he experienced. “Can you tell me where I can find them?”
“Why would I want to do that?” the old man challenged.
Iona silently chuckled at Idris’s frustration. “Please,” he said as politely as he could manage, “this is very important. I need to know the history of this house.”
The old man’s expression was inscrutable. “Why would you need to know something like that?”
Idris pointed to the symbol. “I think this is a rune. The Forgers used rune magic, and we are trying to follow their trail from the village at the base of this mountain. I need to know if they came this way.”
The old man pursed his lips. “The Forgers died out centuries ago, boy. What does it matter if they passed this way?”
“It matters a great deal,” Idris assured him. “My friend’s future depends on it.”
“Bah,” the man spat. “Every youth thinks their interests are the most important in the world.”
Idris’s frustration blossomed into anger, expanding through his chest like a wildfire. “I do not need your help,” he said through gritted teeth. “I can find someone else to tell me what I need to know.”
The old man made a sharp gesture. “Go on, then, boy. Stop wasting my time.”
“Idris,” Captain Cowan called from a short distance.
“Here,” Idris answered.
Cowan approached them with his usual purposeful stride. He held his weapon in his hand once more, using it as a walking staff. Idris pointed to the symbol burned into the door. “Look, sir.”
The captain studied it with a furrowed brow. “We may be closer than we realized,” he murmured.
“Well,” the old man said in a quiet voice, “I never thought this day would come.”
Fenris flared with a swell of power, causing Cowan to stare at his bo staff in surprise. “What is it?” he asked the weapon.
The old man got to his feet, revealing that he was alarmingly tall. The top of Idris’s head barely came up to the man’s lower ribs. His build—so broad a moment before—now seemed almost slender when paired with his height.
The man took Fenris from Cowan’s grasp, not bothering to ask permission. The captain let him, frozen with an expression of shock on his scarred face. “Who are you?” Cowan whispered hoarsely.
“I am Kurag,” the old man answered, holding the bo staff reverently in his large hands, “and I was there the day Fenris was born.”
Chapter Seventeen: Taint
“You are a Forger?” Idris blurted.
Kurag made a hissing sound. “Quiet, boy. You never know who is listening.”
“No wonder the blacksmith seemed so reluctant to give me any information,” Cowan said quietly. “He was trying to protect your identity.”
The Forger nodded, handing Fenris back to his master. “I have known everyone in this village from the day they were born. They are my family, and they would rather die than betray my secret.”
“You really would have let us leave without telling us who you are?” Idris asked incredulously.
Kurag’s expression was unapologetic. “I had no reason to believe that you meant me anything but harm.”
“May we speak to you now?” Cowan requested, using a tone filled with sincere respect.
The Forger considered his options for a few moments before making a curt motion. “Into my home,” he ordered.
They filed through the door with the rune on it, into a one-room shack. A long cot filled one corner of the room, and a small cooking stove sat in the other. There were only two chairs in Kurag’s home, which he offered to his guests. He sat on the edge of the bed, speaking as if to himself.
“My mother put that rune on the door. Although, the door belonged to a different house back then. We lived higher up the mountain, where we thought we would be safe from the Hunters. After my mother died, I decided to come down again. I was tired of being alone, so I thought I would search out other survivors. That is when I first came across the small group of miners that founded this village.” Kurag’s eyes were filled with the w
eight of his memories. “I was afraid they would try to kill me, too, but they did not. They befriended me and allowed me to build a life here with them.”
“How long ago was that?” Cowan asked softly.
Kurag rubbed his chin. “Oh, I would say about seventy years ago.”
Idris’s eyebrows shot upward. “How old are you?”
The Forger’s mouth hinted a smile. “Two hundred fifty-four—certainly not a young man anymore.”
“Why did you not seek out Wielders?” Cowan inquired. “They would have protected you.”
Kurag held up a finger. “Some of them would have, but how could someone like me tell the difference between light and dark Wielders?”
“Surely the people using dark weapons would have died out by now,” said Idris.
The Forger raised an eyebrow. “You think so, boy?” He sounded amused.
“It has been hundreds of years…” Idris explained lamely.
Kurag crossed his arms against his chest, leaning back against the wall. “The forging of items of power began four hundred six years ago, when Hedda made a protective charm as a gift for her husband. In less than fifty years, the art began to be corrupted and dark items became known to humankind. By the time I was born, the conflict between light and dark Wielders had turned into an outright war. Marlais Dragonspear and his companions were given the task of destroying as many dark creations as they could, which spanned the ten years before I was born to the ten years after I was born. After the death of Marlais Dragonspear, all hope for eradicating evil items of power was lost. The second decade of my life was filled with a darkness you cannot imagine. Only a fool would think that such power would simply die out with the passage of time.”
Idris felt Kurag’s words like a slap to the face. To him, the stories of Marlais Dragonspear and the wars of the time were things of the distant past. But to this Forger, they were times he had lived through—memories that still haunted him. “I am sorry,” Idris whispered.
Kurag nodded, acknowledging the apology. “I am glad to see that Fenris remains as pure as the day he was forged.”
Idris’s gaze turned to Cowan’s bo staff. “Did you forge him?”
The Forger chuckled. “I may be old, but I am not that old. I was only a child when Fenris was born, but I was allowed to watch the process. It was the first forging I ever witnessed. My mother was truly an artist.”
“Did you ever forge any weapons yourself?” asked Idris, leaning forward with interest.
“On my own?” Kurag clarified. “No. I was just finishing my apprenticeship when the Hunters destroyed the Forger village.”
“Who are these Hunters you keep mentioning?” Cowan frowned.
“They are an organization that grew in power during my third decade of life. I believe they called themselves The Order of Tivan. They blamed the Forgers for all of the terrible things that happened over the years. They resolved that every Forger—along with the knowledge of forging—needed to be destroyed.”
“That is terrible,” exclaimed Idris.
“There were many terrible things going on at that time,” Kurag said bluntly.
Yes, there were, Iona murmured.
The Forger turned his attention to Idris’s partisan. “Let us see which trinket you ended up with, boy.”
“She is not a trinket,” Idris responded warmly.
Kurag didn’t argue, but waved an impatient hand. Idris reluctantly pulled Iona from the holder on his back and untied the cover that kept the upper portion of his polearm hidden. He gently removed the leather sheath, setting it on the ground.
There was a sharp intake of breath as the Forger laid eyes on the partisan. “Lady Iona,” he whispered reverently. “I thought she had been lost.”
“Marlais left her in the keeping of Lyndham while he went to visit her Life Flame,” Idris explained.
Kurag’s brow furrowed. “Yes, I know the story. His purpose for going, though, is still unknown.”
“I do not even know what it is,” admitted Idris.
“I would think not,” Kurag agreed. “It seemed to be a closely guarded secret.”
Cowan leaned forward. “It is for some of those Forger secrets that we have undertaken this journey to find you.”
Kurag drew his lips into a firm line. “Yes, your apprentice said that you were looking for help.”
“One of our number has a weapon that is tainted,” Cowan went on. “We need your help to reforge it.”
Kurag made an incredulous noise. “You do not know what you are asking.”
“Perhaps,” acknowledged Cowan, “but it needs to be done all the same.”
The Forger’s expression was grim. “If you have a tainted weapon, the best choice you can make would be to destroy it. You have the means,” he gestured to Iona.
“We cannot do that,” the captain insisted.
Kurag stared at them for several moments with an unreadable expression. Idris was certain that the Forger wouldn’t agree to help them, which filled him with a sudden desperation. “Please,” he begged, “we cannot help Hildar without you. She wants so much to do something truly worthwhile with her life. If she was forced to give up everything she has worked for, it would break her heart.”
“Better that than breaking her soul,” Kurag replied, but his expression had softened somewhat.
Idris looked down at the weapon in his hands. He wished that he had been better educated as a child, or that he had been gifted with some measure of natural eloquence. If only he could put into words the feelings in his heart—feelings that he knew Hildar shared—about standing with the Royal Guard to make a difference. Not long ago he and Hildar had played a vital role in protecting members of the royal family from death at the hands of traitors. He had kept Queen Arminell and Princess Zorina safe more than once. But how could he put into words his conviction of what they were trying to accomplish?
Kurag sighed quietly, getting to his feet. “I suppose there would be no harm in looking at the weapon and its Wielder. If the taint is not too deep…well, we shall see.”
The Forger led the way out of the small house, where they were met by the man who had guided them to the blacksmith. His expression was stiff as his eyes darted over each of them. “Kurag,” he said slowly, “is everything alright?”
The part-giant nodded. “I am fine. We are going to speak to the others, but there is no cause for concern.”
“They are in Juna’s home,” the man offered.
“Thank you,” Kurag replied, walking in the appropriate direction. His gait was long, forcing his companions to trot to keep up. They didn’t have far to go before arriving at the house where Hildar and the others were waiting.
Princess Lenora appeared to have already gone to bed, but the other two were standing outside the door with bored expressions on their faces. That immediately changed when they spotted the Forger approaching them.
Captain Cowan made the introductions. “Kurag, this is Hildar. She is the one we were discussing. That is Aherin, one of my other students.”
Kurag didn’t seem to care about Aherin. He didn’t even acknowledge the existence of anyone other than Hildar. The old man stared into Hildar’s eyes, leaning down to study her. She frowned in confusion, but didn’t look away.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
Kurag didn’t answer her question. He looked into her eyes for five minutes or so—long enough that the young members of the Royal Guard began to shift uncomfortably. Cowan stood with his arms crossed against his chest, watching the process with just as much focus.
The Forger finally gave a curt nod. “Now show me the weapon,” he ordered.
“Aherin,” Cowan instructed, “get the box from my saddlebag.”
“Yes, sir,” the young man answered, walking to the small house next to the one where Lenora was resting.
“Have we been split up?” Idris asked in surprise.
“Of course,” Hildar answered, looking irritated by his question. “
We would not all fit in a single shelter.”
Aherin returned quickly with the crystal box that held Hildar’s dagger. Kurag’s face darkened when he saw what the young soldier held in his hand. “Is it really so dangerous that you must imprison it so?” he asked Cowan.
Cowan raised his bushy eyebrows. “I knew no other way to keep it contained.”
The Forger grunted, taking the box from Aherin. The captain took a step forward, as if to offer his assistance, but Kurag waved him away. “I am familiar with how these prisons work,” the old man said.
Kurag placed a hand on the top of the crystal box for a brief moment, then he closed his hand around the hilt of the dagger and pulled it out. It happened so quickly that Idris wasn’t certain how it was managed. One minute the box was solid, completely encasing the weapon. The next, the upper portion of the box was gone as if it had never been there.
Hildar gasped involuntarily when the dagger was pulled from its container. Her hand flew to her sternum, clutching at the front of her blouse. Idris and Aherin were instantly at her side. “What is wrong?” Aherin asked.
Hildar shook her head. “I had forgotten the weight of Savion pressing on my mind.”
Kurag studied the dagger, bringing it close to his eyes. He looked at every detail, turning the weapon at every angle. He finally sighed. “This dagger should never have been forged.”
Cowan frowned. “What do you mean?”
“The material was tainted before it was ever made. The Forger should have been able to see that,” Kurag explained.
“But it was not tainted on purpose?” Cowan queried.
Kurag shook his head. “No, it was not made with a dark purpose. That is something, I suppose.”
“Does that mean there is hope?” Hildar asked, looking frightened of the possible answer.
Kurag rested his gaze on the young woman before him. “That depends on you,” he replied. He gestured to her. “Walk with me, child.”
Hildar and the Forger walked away from the others, into the trees beyond the village. Idris could see them sit on a fallen log, speaking in hushed tones. Kurag’s expression was earnest, and Hildar looked scared.