Forged

by Liam Reese

  “Princess,” said Thorn.

  She stared at him, wide-eyed.

  “What?”

  “You said the Queen’s great grandfather. She’s still a princess, if she hasn’t been crowned.”

  Jelen darted him around a corner. He caught up with her in an alley.

  “She should have been crowned,” she said, with an unexpected and momentary fierceness, which dropped away immediately. “Anyway, Castle Balfour had an Anvil as a relic of the past,” she went on, more or less pleasantly. “They used to be venerated, you know, when the Forged were more about. After the Forged were outlawed, the Anvil were used for other purposes. Ceremonial chopping blocks, for example. Not for commoners, though. Strictly reserved for use with a king’s highborn enemies.”

  Thorn swallowed, inadvertently imagining how it would feel to have the blade slice down upon his neck.

  “Because the highborn care so dearly about how they are killed,” he said.

  “You might be surprised,” said Jelen.

  He didn’t think he would be, but he had other things to worry about.

  He knew that they were approaching a moment of truth — unless he could come across a method for avoiding it. In the silence of their travel he had continually wracked his brain for some solution, but there seemed nothing to be done. He was unwilling to tell her the truth about his powers and turn back, not when something could be gained by the journey. At the same time, he had a horrible feeling that once they met up with the Queen’s loyal companions, his window of opportunity would be lost, and the next moment of truth would be in the inner rooms of Castle Balfour, with his glowing right hand on the prone belly of the king.

  If they got that far.

  Which they wouldn’t.

  The longer he spent in Jelen’s company, the more certain he was that she was the last person who should have been sent out to collect him. But she did seem very determined, and he supposed this had to make up for what she lacked in other ways.

  She turned into an alley that he hadn’t even noticed, and took him down to the depths of it, nearly to the end. The buildings lining it were cockeyed, leaning into each other for support; the doors were clearly not their main doors, being shabby and dirty and much the worse for wear. One in particular, near the end, looked worse than the others. The door was set so far back that it appeared nothing more than a dark hole in the wall. She reached up to rap above the doorway, and after a moment or two, the door cracked opened. The smell of cooking drifted out, and a dim glow from within.

  “Password,” a deep voice grunted.

  “Long live the Queen,” breathed Jelen into the crack of the door.

  Thorn choked. “Are you joking me?”

  Jelen cast him an irritated glance.

  “That is without doubt the worst password I have ever heard,” said Thorn, by way of explanation. “The only way you could have come up with a worse is, maybe, ‘Conspiracy to depose the king.’ Suppose someone were to hear you?”

  Jelen looked around them at the empty alleyway. “They’d be far more likely to hear your ridiculous laughter,” she said. She rapped on the door a little. “Open up, please, Graic, I’m hungry.”

  There was another grunt, though this one seemed to be in the affirmative, and the door opened wider. Not a great deal wider, but enough that Jelen could slip in, and after a moment of seriously second-guessing himself, Thorn followed. He went down three steps that led into the room. Into the depths of the lair wherein the Queen’s supporters, the rebel army, reposed. No turning back now.

  The lair was almost empty. The sole exception was the old woman — at least, he thought it was probably a woman, and he was almost certain that she was old — who had opened the door to them.

  “Is this — a kitchen?”

  “Scullery,” said Jelen briefly. She was busy at the little table in the corner, which had a loaf of bread on it. Evidently, she was not joking about being hungry, as she pounced on it and ripped it in two with both hands.

  “Don’t see any skulls,” said Thorn.

  “You are not funny.” But she smiled despite herself. “Now, Graic.” She took both hands of the old woman, and held them tightly, notwithstanding the piece of bread she held also in one. “I’ve found him.”

  The old woman eyed Thorn. Thorn eyed her back and smoothed his hair down around his ears self-consciously.

  “Doesn’t look like much.”

  “Have I stumbled into some sort of beauty contest by accident?” said Thorn.

  Jelen swung a hand at him which may have been intended to connect. It was a half-hearted attempt though. Thorn took it as a hint to shut up. Jelen put her hands on Graic’s shoulders.

  “Is he the one?” she said, her voice low and trembling with excitement. “Do you remember him?”

  Graic raised one shoulder in a shrug, either trying to get out of answering or not capable of giving one. “So long ago,” she mumbled, “and so dark in here.”

  “It is dark in here,” Thorn agreed, looking around himself. “And, forgive me, but it doesn’t really look as though there are many thronged and waiting for the Queen to come and lead them to victory. I know you said you had only three, but I didn’t expect that by three, you meant one.”

  “They will be coming.”

  “After the great hurry that we were in getting here, I expected there to be more than this.”

  “There will be!” snapped Jelen.

  Thorn persisted. “It only strikes me as a little hypocritical, shall we say, to bring me all this way while promising me riches and glory and an army of rebels at my side, to find that the end result is a dingy kitchen where you show me to an old woman and question whether or not I am who I say I am.”

  “Graic is the only one who has ever seen you before,” Jelen argued, “and her opinion is important.”

  Thorn folded his arms. “Is that so?” he said. “Is she the power behind all this? Because I see neither Queen, nor guard, nor even serving girl here, waiting for you to arrive. I see only Granny here, and a surprising amount of damp hay, for a kitchen. I’m beginning to think that all of this really was just a fool’s errand.”

  “I am not a fool!” said Jelen hotly, turning on him.

  “And I don’t really see the point of sending someone out who has no true idea of what she’s doing, to draft a cursed and reluctant stranger into fighting for a cause that he doesn’t even believe in —”

  “You don’t have to believe it!” said Jelen. “You just have to work for me.”

  “Work for you? I don’t even know who you are! You’ve told me the identities of those who fight alongside you, such as they are. But you haven’t told me a thing about yourself. Am I supposed to believe in you and fight for you just because you tell me to? I wasn’t born yesterday, you know. For all I know, you could be a nobody, the last person on earth that I should pay any attention to — ”

  There was a draft and the door opened again. Someone tall and thick entered the kitchen and stopped short when he saw the newcomers.

  He fell to his knees. “Your Majesty!”

  “What?” said Thorn.

  “Oh, hells,” said Jelen.

  6

  Truth Will Out

  “Karyl,” said Irae patiently, pinching the bridge of her nose with her fingers, “how many times have we discussed that I am in disguise?”

  “I know that, my lady,” said Karyl, sounding injured. “I did assume that, since you weren’t

  actively trying to kill this fellow, that he must be who you went to find. Give me a little credit, at least, for that.”

  “Does she often actively try to kill people?” said Thorn, with an expression of bemused intrigue.

  At least, it looked like bemused intrigue to Irae. Thorn’s face was harder to read than she thought.

  “Not unless they’re making terrible scullery puns,” she said. “This is Jahan Karyl. He

  helped me to escape the castle, and has followed, and assisted me loya
lly ever since.”

  Thorn was tall, but Karyl was taller and also broad, and thick. But he looked down reverently at Thorn with surprisingly gentle eyes as though Thorn were their last and only hope.

  “You, sir,” he said, taking Thorn’s hand and pressing it in both of his, “are our last and only hope.”

  “I sincerely hope not,” said Thorn.

  Karyl was followed not long afterwards by Lully, who also had left her post — in the kitchens, in this instance — and followed Irae as she fled the castle.

  “Lillian,” she introduced herself to Thorn, giving him a brisk handshake. He looked aghast at the touch and tucked his hand into his cloak as soon as she let him go. “Most call me Lully. I don’t mind if you do, either, just don’t think it entitles you to take any liberties.”

  She turned her piercing gaze on the princess. Lully was on the smaller side, with ragged clothing and hair in two thick blonde plaits, and she had the air of wearing a permanent daisy chain; despite this, she looked far more upset than pleased to see Irae.

  “I did ask you not to go on your own,” she said reproachfully. “Why didn’t you take one of us to protect you?”

  Irae knew herself to be nearly two inches taller than Lully, and a great deal broader.

  “I told you, I didn’t need you for protection, not for this task. Your time was better used with Graic, feeling out the people.” She turned swiftly to Thorn, and explained, “Lully was originally from Deen, and she felt that there would be many sympathetic to my cause here. This scullery belongs to her family. You may think we were foolish to come to such a large town.”

  “I do, a bit.”

  “Well, now you know why. Tell me, Lully, what news?”

  Lully sighed, and set her basket down next to Graic, who immediately dug into it and began to remove packages wrapped in brown paper.

  “I went in disguise, as you asked,” said Lully, wiping dirt off her face with a clean cloth as she spoke. “No one thought twice about me, I suppose — a rebel queen is a romantic figure, and it was the easiest thing in the world to imagine that a silly young ragamuffin without two brain cells to rub together would have taken up the idea. But I’m afraid that my disguise worked against me as much as it worked for me. Certainly, people were not afraid to speak up in my hearing — but they were condescending, and frankly rude. In short, I don’t believe that Deen is the place in which to start your army.”

  Irae looked to Karyl, who gave a slow nod.

  “I’m afraid she’s right, Your Majesty. The people here are not as inspired by your story as we had hoped. Perhaps if we had gone a bit further away from the capital —”

  “We’re an entire week’s journey distant,” said Irae. “Where would you have me go? Elgoden?”

  Karyl and Lully exchanged glances. Irae knew she wasn’t going to like what they said before they said it.

  “It is a thought,” said Lully.

  “No,” said Irae sharply. “No, I will not turn to foreign powers to regain my throne. Not— not without first giving my own people a chance to show their loyalty. And —” she turned to Thorn, beseechingly, “—and not without seeing if we can take it back on our own.”

  Thorn appeared to come to the gradual and uncomfortable realization that everyone in the small room was looking at him. He shifted his weight from foot to foot and tugged at his hair.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I think that asking the king of Elgoden for help is not a bad idea,” than added, “without it really being a good one, either.”

  “It is an idea whose time has not yet come,” said Irae. “At any rate, we have a plan, and we will execute it. We should waste no time in moving forward.” She clapped a fist into the palm of her other hand. “We have another week to reach out to the people as we travel. Even if not all of them offer their support, we will garner what we can. Once we reach the edge of the capital city, we have an inside man who can get us over the walls of the castle. From there, we will have only to find a way to get through the guards — I will rely on you, of course, Karyl, with your knowledge of their patterns — and into the interior. From there it is a simple matter of conducting Thorn safely to the presence of my uncle the traitor, giving him a chance to Forge him — the result will be clear for all to see, and the absence of my uncle will give proof to any who continue to doubt. We will be in place already, and I will take over my rightful throne with a minimum of fuss and bloodshed.” She stopped and looked about her. Karyl and Lully were nodding seriously, clearly ready to act on her word. Graic continued to unwrap packages from the basket.

  Only Thorn seemed to still be having issues, fidgeting uncomfortably.

  “Is this the set plan?” he faltered, “or is there any room for diversion?”

  “Why would we need to set up a diversion?” said Karyl, brow wrinkling.

  “No, no — that’s not quite what I mean.”

  “What is the problem?” said Irae, with a sigh.

  “Well,” said Thorn, “I don’t want to be too direct and rude about this, but has it struck you that this whole thing is... rather extremely naive and foolish?” He glanced up swiftly, caught the look on Irae’s face, and went on, “I mean to say, the bones of it are good, of course, but the meat is quite possibly rancid. Your uncle didn’t take over the throne on his own, did he? He had advisors and other people who must have been complicit.”

  “Misled, and when not misled, corrupt,” said Irae.

  “Misled or corrupt it doesn’t really matter,” said Thorn. “They’re still bodies who must be overcome. I only mean to suggest that this is more complex than you represent.”

  “What’s complex about it?” said Lully. “Infiltrate the castle, turn her uncle the traitor into a spiky milkplant, and put the queen on her throne where she belongs. It’s fairly simple.”

  “But her uncle is not the only traitor, is what I’m trying to get at. Are you prepared to turn all the traitors into spiky milkplants?”

  “Yes,” said Irae, simply. “I truly believe that many of the advisors — some of whom I have known for my entire life, who watched me grow and advised my father — are only misled.” Thorn made a soft little snorting sound, but she continued. “And if they are not,” she said, “then they must pay the consequences.”

  Thorn folded his arms.

  “And who is to make them pay?” he said. “You?”

  “No,” said Irae. “You.”

  He stood still for a long moment, chewing on his lip, and then seemed to reach a decision.

  “I still think this is not the best plan we could come up with,” he said, “but there are bigger problems afoot.”

  Irae groaned, Karyl shook his head, and Lully threw her hands in the air. Graic looked down at her foot.

  “But if you really don’t want to hear them —”

  “Of course we need to hear them. Out with it, man!” said Karyl.

  Thorn spoke deliberately, looking upwards and not meeting the gaze of any.

  “I am Forged,” he said. “What you want to happen, I can make happen. Except.”

  Irae stepped towards him. “Except,” she repeated, warningly.

  Thorn shook his head rapidly, like a dog with water in his ear. “It won’t last,” he said, all in a rush. “It cannot last. If they see, as you say, that I have turned your uncle into a spiky milkplant, or something along those lines, that’s all well and good. I can turn the entirety of the castle into spiky milkplants, as long as they hold still for long enough. That’s neither here nor there. But if any are loyal to him, they will be just as familiar with the way that my powers work as you are. They will know that, in seven years, the king —” He glanced down long enough to catch their expressions and backpedaled. “Your uncle, the traitor,” he amended, “will simply return to himself. You’ve said yourself that he is immortal. He can’t be killed, no matter what form he takes. Your enemies will simply bide their time, or worse, they will prevent you from reclaiming the throne, and hold it in his
name, in his honor, until he returns to himself.”

  “You could always Forge him again, in seven years,” said Lully.

  “He could,” said Karyl, “if he still lives by that point.”

  Irae tapped on her teeth with a fingernail. “He’s right. This is a problem. Seven years may not be long enough. This will never work.”

  Thorn’s gaze drifted down from the ceiling and caught hers. He raised his eyebrows, and what looked like the beginning of a smile lurked around the corner of his mouth. For a moment he looked quite young and lighthearted. It was out of place enough that it gave her the shivers.

  “Thank you,” he said, “for seeing things my way.”

  “Fortunately,” she went on, determinedly, “I know what we can do about it.”

  “You do?”

  “I do. We both do.”

  “Oh, dear,” muttered Thorn, drifting his gaze away from hers once more.

  She clasped her hands behind her back, and began to pace, as she had seen her father do when contemplating whether or not to start a war. She wasn’t sure about the efficacy of it, but it did seem to relieve the feelings somewhat.

  “The Anvil of the Soul,” she said. “The town crier was shouting about it as we went past his street corner.”

  “Yes,” Karyl agreed, “I heard him as well.”

  “But he was crying that the Anvil had been stolen from the castle,” objected Lully. “We can’t very well use it if it’s been stolen.”

  “Very true,” said Thorn, nodding deeply. “That puts an end to that, then.”

  “Unless you know where it might have gone.” Lully gave Irae a decidedly calculating glance. “I don’t suppose our fearless leader had anything to do with its disappearance?”

  “Unfortunately not,” said Irae, still pacing, and sparing her a smile, “but that doesn’t mean I can’t do anything about the problem. The Anvil that my father kept in Castle Balfour is not the only one in existence, after all.”

  “Possibly not,” said Karyl, “but it is the only one that I’ve ever heard of, for a certainty. I don’t know much about them. I was on guard duty over Castle Balfour’s Anvil, for a few months, but as it was never used, I can’t tell you much about it. But what I’ve heard is that they are nearly the stuff of legends.”