The Darkest Revenge

by D. K. Holmberg

  “I’m not asking you to spoil any secrets.”

  “The only way I wouldn’t spoil those secrets is if I went myself.”

  Haern’s mother cocked her head to the side, studying him.

  “That’s what you would have me do?”

  “No,” Cael said. “You’re not leaving Elaeavn, and certainly not if the Forgers have decided it’s time for them to attack.”

  “That’s exactly the time he needs to leave Elaeavn.”

  Cael glared at Haern’s mother. “You don’t even know what you’re asking of him.”

  “I know Galen is capable of doing this. I could even have him Slide there and back, and it wouldn’t take long at all.”

  “You can’t Slide somewhere and simply find Carth,” Galen said softly.

  “Are you so scared of her?”

  “I’m not scared of her. I know enough to respect her.”

  “Then tell me where to go. I can get word to her, and—”

  Galen raised his hand, cutting his mother off. “You and I both know she won’t appear for you.” He looked over to Cael, and sadness tinged his eyes. “It won’t take long. I could do this and then return.”

  “You weren’t supposed to get pulled back into it.”

  “You pulled me back into it all those years ago.”

  She touched his face, running her fingers along his jawline. “I don’t want you to become that man again.”

  “I haven’t been that man for so long that I’m not sure I could be.”

  He turned back toward Haern’s mother, watching her for a moment. “I will help you with the first step. From there, you will need to go on your own.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. I’m not sure if this is even going to work. Carth can be fickle at the best of times, and I’ve heard so very little of her over the last few years that I wonder if she’s even still active.”

  Haern’s mother squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. “The Great Watcher knows I hope she is. Otherwise, we may not be able to find Rsiran.”

  10

  Haern

  The massive forge glowed brightly, the coals burning with enormous heat that filled the inside of the blacksmith. Haern stared at them, hesitant to get too close, having spent far too many days over the years near a forge just like this one. Often, it had been this exact forge. There was something about it that his grandfather found impressive, more so than the Lareth family forge that existed within the main part of the city.

  “Are you going to stand there, or do you intend to work with me?” His grandfather glanced over at him, a hint of a twinkle in his eyes. He held an enormous hammer in one hand, and Haern knew from experience how heavy that hammer was. With a hammer like that, they could flatten out lumps of metal in short order, something that his grandfather preferred to do manually rather than using his connection to lorcith.

  “You just want me here to force me to do the hard work,” Haern said, smiling at his grandfather. He stepped forward, taking the hammer from him, swinging it with one hand for a moment to get a sense of the weight once again. He didn’t spend nearly as much time working at the forge as he once had, and if it were up to him, he would avoid it, though once he was done with his planned mission, he would end up returning to the city, and most likely returning to the forge.

  The Lareth family had always been blacksmiths. The smithy within Elaeavn had been handed down from one generation of Lareth smith to the next, and he knew from his time with his father—however brief it might be—that his father envisioned a time when Haern would take over.

  If only he enjoyed the work more.

  The problem was that there wasn’t anything else for him to do. He might want to be outside of the city, and he might want to do something other than work as a blacksmith, but what?

  Perhaps if he had more Great Watcher-given abilities, he might be better equipped to take on other responsibilities, but as it was, with only enhanced eyesight, there really wasn’t much for him.

  Haern started hammering.

  He fell into the pattern, the steady pounding of metal on metal, the glowing lump of lorcith waiting for him, demanding that he shape it. Each time he pounded, he let himself push his frustration into it. Working at the forge had made him strong, but he still didn’t have his father’s strength. Or his grandfather’s, for that matter. Both of them had spent considerably more time working at the forge, hammering metal, and they had the physique to show for it.

  After a while, Haern set down the hammer, glancing over at his grandfather. He wiped an arm across his forehead, smearing the sweat that had quickly accumulated.

  “You’re going to need to acclimate to work a little bit better, Haern,” his grandfather said.

  Haern hesitated, debating how he would answer before deciding that smiling at his grandfather would be best. His grandfather didn’t need to know that he wanted nothing to do with the blacksmith. He probably already suspected.

  “Why don’t you just push on the lorcith?”

  His grandfather looked down at the lump of metal. It was beginning to cool, and he grabbed it with the tongs, bringing it back to the coals to heat it again. There was a particular way to heat lorcith, mostly to ensure that the metal got to the right temperature and didn’t get overheated. Lorcith could be temperamental, which was partly why he wondered why those who had a connection to the metal didn’t simply push and pull on it as his father did.

  “I’m not nearly as talented at that as your father. As much as I might want to, and let me tell you, the temptation is often there, something about hammering the metal connects you to it in a way that using your ability does not.” His grandfather looked up from the lorcith before smiling at him. “Besides, not all things need to be forged out of lorcith. What happens when you need to work with steel or iron or any of the other metals that we must know about?”

  Haern forced a smile. It was the same answer his father had given him all those years ago when he had asked, but just like then, Haern knew the counterargument. Most things within Elaeavn were made from lorcith. Not only was the metal plentiful, but there was value in using it, connecting to it, and those who could do so found it useful.

  “Has my mother told you what I’m going to do?” Haern asked, grabbing the hammer again and lifting it, waiting for his grandfather to move the lump of lorcith off the coals and back onto the anvil.

  “You intend to go after your father.”

  Haern nodded.

  “I wonder if that is the wisest option, Haern.”

  Haern kept waiting for his grandfather to bring the metal back over to the anvil, but he didn’t. He left it there, watching Haern with a neutral expression.

  Not neutral. Concern etched the corners of his grandfather’s eyes. His face was wrinkled, and all the years working at the forge had given his skin a darkness, as if the coals had tanned him along with changing the metal.

  “He’s the only one who will know about how to remove the spikes from the Elder Trees.”

  “That’s not the reason that you intend to go after him.”

  Haern glanced at his grandfather, swinging the hammer for a moment. “Why would I want to go after him, then?”

  “The same reason all young men do something that involves their fathers. You’re looking for approval.”

  Haern turned away. “My father doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

  “If you believe that, then you haven’t been paying attention to him.”

  “I paid enough attention to know that all he cares about is chasing the Forgers.”

  “Because he views that as his way of keeping you safe. Protecting you. And your mother.”

  Haern glanced over his shoulder to see his grandfather lifting the lorcith off the coals, but he held it in place, rather than placing it back on the anvil. “Not the people of Elaeavn?”

  “I’ve seen your father do amazing things over the years. Everything he did then was for people he cared about
. Whether that was your mother or Brusus or his sister, everything was for them. Family matters most to him.”

  Haern grunted. “I only wish he helped me feel that way.”

  His grandfather watched him for a moment before taking the lorcith and setting it on the anvil. He nodded to Haern, who began to hammer. He worked quickly, beating at the metal with intensity. He thought about the times he had spent at the forge with his father, the lessons his father had taught him. Those lessons had mostly involved where to strike, how to angle the hammer, and how to use his whole body as he swung, not just his shoulders.

  If nothing else, his father had cared more about teaching him how to become a blacksmith than he had about being a father.

  Maybe his grandfather was right. Perhaps it was too dangerous for him to go. There were plenty of others who were fully capable of heading out of the city, but most of them were focused on trying to understand what had happened to the Elder Trees.

  No. If he didn’t do this, then his mother would try, and Haern wanted to ensure that she didn’t risk herself heading out of the city and going after his father. He wasn’t about to lose both of them.

  Besides, he could go with Galen, find word of this woman, and they would be safe. It wasn’t as if he were going after the Forgers himself. He was simply leaving the city and searching for word of his father.

  Haern continued to hammer, the pounding falling into a rhythm. Every so often he would pause, and his grandfather would turn the metal, a role that he’d once had himself.

  “What do you need me to make?” he asked his grandfather.

  “Let the metal speak to you.”

  “The metal doesn’t speak to me.”

  “No? And yet you can connect to it. I would say that it does speak to you, though you need to be wise enough to listen.”

  Haern smiled to himself. It wasn’t often that his grandfather admonished him in such a way, and he found that he didn’t mind. His grandfather cared very much for him, something he had made clear in the years Haern had worked alongside him.

  What did he want to make?

  It wasn’t that he expected the metal to speak to him the way it seemed to speak to his father—or his grandfather. Other members of the Smith Guild believed that the metal would call to them, that the shapes that they needed to make would be drawn out by the metal itself, but there were times when the person forging it needed to force a certain shape out of it. That made it difficult to trust that the metal would simply know what one wanted from it.

  When Haern had forged lorcith, he had always found it difficult. It was certainly harder to work with than steel. That was almost easy compared to lorcith. When he was first learning to forge, that had been his father’s preferred metal for him. It was more forgiving, something that he felt necessary for a young blacksmith.

  Haern continued to hammer. In his mind, he thought about what he was going to do, leaving the city and the risk that would be inherent in such a journey. He’d thought that if he ever left the city, it would be on different terms. He never would’ve expected to be hunting for his father, a man who could Slide, allowing him to travel anywhere in the world that he wanted to go. Not only a man who could Slide, but perhaps the greatest Slider who had ever lived.

  As he worked, the shape began to emerge.

  He was making a sword, though it was a simple blade, not nearly as complex as some of the swords he had seen his father make. He paused every so often as his grandfather turned the metal over, and Haern switched, choosing a lighter hammer for the finer detail work. Every so often, his grandfather would take the slowly elongating sword over to the coals, heating it, and then he would set it back on the anvil for Haern to work at.

  There was nothing beautiful about the blade. It would be functional, but then, it would be one that he had made.

  Haern had made weapons before. Most of the time, he preferred to make knives, mostly because he had seen his father doing the same. Knives seemed to be his father’s favorite thing to forge, and Haern knew that he used them as weapons when facing the Forgers. His father carried a sword, but it wasn’t only a lorcith blade. It was some alloy that Haern hadn’t learned yet. The blade itself was enormous, and he had no sense of lorcith from it the way he suspected his father did. His father needed only the slightest connection to lorcith in order to manipulate it, not like Haern or so many others of the Smith Guild.

  As he continued to work, his grandfather stepped back, letting Haern do the rest of it. Working by himself was a little bit slower, as he had to pause to turn the metal himself. But then, now that he had reached this point in the crafting of the blade, he didn’t need to turn the metal as often, and the only thing that would be helpful would be to have his grandfather carry the blade over to the coals.

  His arms were sore, throbbing from the effort, and he started to slow down. His grandfather stepped forward, shaking his head.

  “You can’t stop now, Haern.”

  “I know.”

  At this point, the forging had to continue until it was complete. If he stopped too soon, the metal would set and take its final shape. With lorcith, the timing was critical, and he had long ago learned that he needed to be efficient with the final stages. That was part of the reason it was so difficult to work with.

  There wasn’t much more he needed to do, and Haern now took a much lighter touch. The blade dimpled a little bit, and he tried to smooth it out, and failed.

  His grandfather stepped forward, grabbing the hammer from his hands, and he began to tap at the metal, changing the angle of the slope just a little bit.

  “A little softer touch here. The shape is good, Haern. You’ve been doing well.”

  He should be doing better. With all the time he had spent working at the forge, growing up around it, he should be far more skilled. Then again, his grandfather had to know how disinterested he was in mastering such skills.

  Now Haern took a step back, letting his grandfather do the finishing work. He practically caressed the heated metal, using the hammer to slide along the surface, forming the edge. Eventually, a grinder would be necessary to put the final edge on the blade, but with the right touch—something Haern often failed to employ—it wouldn’t take much to complete. He had seen his father forge a blade with just his hammer, and the end result was incredibly sharp, even without using his connection to lorcith.

  When his grandfather brought the blade over to the quenching bucket, he held it for a long moment. “You did well. You need to spend a little bit more time with me before we apprentice you to someone else. You know there is only so much you can learn from your father. Apprenticing with another blacksmith is a tradition as old as our trade. Your father might be the exception, but even he had some experience working with other blacksmiths who taught him quite a bit.”

  Haern turned his attention to the coals, anything but look at his grandfather. He had no interest in being apprenticed to anyone else. They would expect far more out of him than his grandfather had. For that matter, his grandfather had allowed him to be on his own, to spend as much time as he wanted doing things other than blacksmithing, and if he were apprenticed to someone else, that would most certainly change.

  “Aren’t I a little bit old to be apprenticed?”

  His grandfather replaced the hammer on the pegs on the wall. “A little, but considering who your father is, I would imagine that any member of the Smith Guild would be thrilled to take you on.”

  That was what Haern had to look forward to when he returned. He would have to be apprenticed to someone else, forced to serve as a blacksmith, spending his days in front of a forge, hammering steadily.

  Worse, he suspected his father would approve. So would his mother, but that was because she thought he needed more structure.

  “Who would you apprentice me to?”

  “Normally that wouldn’t be my decision, but seeing as how your father isn’t here, I would be the one to decide.”

  “And how would you decide?”<
br />
  “Eventually, you would be asked to work with each of the various blacksmiths, Haern. That’s how knowledge is shared. Then again, that’s not until you reach journeyman status. And you are skilled enough as you are, but you don’t have nearly the talent of even the youngest journeyman.”

  Haern tried to hide his disappointment, but his grandfather knew him well, and Haern suspected that he knew exactly how he felt. To hide it, he grabbed the sword from the quenching bucket, pulling the blade out and looking at it. The blade needed to be honed, and he needed to wrap leathers around the hilt, but it would be serviceable.

  It was about the best he could say for the sword he had created. It certainly wasn’t a near work of art like the sword his father made, but serviceable was still fine.

  And if he didn’t learn how to connect to lorcith well enough, it might be all he ever was when it came to blacksmithing. What sort of life would he have then? If there were dozens of blacksmiths more skilled than him, where would that leave him?

  “Why don’t you tamp the coals and clean up the shop?”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I need to visit with your mother.”

  As his grandfather left, Haern couldn’t help but feel a sense of loss. If his grandfather was already going to speak to his mother, it meant that he was plotting to place Haern into an apprenticeship. That was absolutely not what he wanted, and if his grandfather suggested it, he knew how his mother would react. She would do anything for his grandfather.

  It didn’t take him long to put out the coals, saving those he could while quenching the rest. He swept the shop, making sure that all the tools were back in place. That was one of the earliest lessons he had learned, and he had learned it quite well. He might not be much of a blacksmith, but he certainly could clean with the best of them.

  When he was done, he stepped back out of the blacksmith shop, looking around the clearing. It was late in the day, and the sun had shifted, sending bands of shadows streaking through the trees so that they danced on the forest floor as if they were a thing alive. Wind pulled at the upper branches, causing them to sway. His gaze drifted to the trunks of the Elder Trees, and he couldn’t take his eyes off of the strange barbs that penetrated them.