Richard Ford - Lord of Ashes

And who else would stop him if not Waylian Grimm?

The city had burned for almost a week. Seth watched the smoke rising beyond the eastern horizon, slowly fading as the days went by until there was nothing left but a clear blue winter sky. No one would ever have known the siege of Steelhaven had even happened.

But Seth knew.

He had wept for those poor souls lost to the Khurtas. Said prayers to Arlor for the heroes that defended the city so valiantly. And the queen … his queen …

What would befall them now she was gone? Now the line of the Mastragalls, which had united the provinces in the first place, was gone? Already there were rumblings from Braega and Stelmorn. Talk of the union of Free States collapsing. That would mean war, Seth knew beyond doubt. Nobles would vie for power and the men and women under their yoke would suffer for it.

Seth could only be thankful he was in a trade that would be much sought after in the months and years to come. He might be old but he was still firm in the arm, and the fire in his forge hadn’t gone out in thirty some years.

He had been a blacksmith all his life, and his father before him. He had a daughter of his own but she had left many years before, yearning for a life less harsh than the one he could provide for her. He didn’t blame her for that, and since Seth’s wife passed he had been content to work his forge alone.

The old man glanced through the window of his small cottage, once again thankful for the pane of glass, the only one in his home, that kept out the winter cold. His forge sat across the Great East Road from the cottage and beyond that was the Midral Sea. How much work would he be called upon to perform within its confines in the coming time of strife? How many shoes would he hammer to hooves, how many swords would he sharpen in the coming years of conflict? The thought almost made him hear the ringing of hammer on steel in his head.

Or was it only in his head?

Seth frowned, stepping closer to the window, straining his failing ears. Another ring, dull but still unmistakable. Seth opened his front door, taking a step outside into the crisp air, feeling the crunch of morning frost beneath his boot. He paused, wondering if his ears were deceiving him, but no. There it was again, the clank of metal coming from his forge.

He reached back inside his cottage, grabbing the axe that sat beside his door. As he quickly made his way across the road, his heart began to thump the harder, his grip tightening on the wooden handle. He’d only ever chopped wood with this axe, never in his life had he had reason to raise a weapon in anger, but he’d bloody well do it if need be. Seth might be getting on in years but he was still fit, still able to look after what was his.

Another clang of metal echoed within the forge as he reached the door, this time accompanied by a muffled curse. Seth reached for the handle of the door and noticed that his hand was shaking. For a brief moment he tried to tell himself it was because of the morning cold, but the old man had never been one to lie to himself. He knew he was scared. Better to admit it than try and pretend he had ever been a brave man.

The door swung open silently. Seth felt the last of the forge’s heat blow in his face as he did so. Embers still burned in the fire, casting a dull glow within the building. As quietly as he could, Seth stepped inside, grasping the axe with two hands. He peered through the gloom, staring across the forge towards his anvil.

A gaunt figure stood beside it, Seth’s hammer gripped in his hand. In the other he held a chisel, pointing it awkwardly at the chains that bound his wrists. Vainly the figure tried to strike the head of the chisel, but the chains that restrained him made it almost impossible. The best he could do was tap weakly, but not so weak that the sound did not echo around the small room.

The figure cursed, and Seth could see raw and livid welts around those manacled wrists as though they had been bound in irons for weeks.

‘For fuck’s sake,’ sighed the bedraggled intruder, lifting his head forlornly.

Beneath a tangle of dark hair and wispy beard, Seth saw a young face, handsome yet marred by care. One eye was covered by a makeshift patch; a piece of cloth torn from his filthy robe. Blood had run and dried beneath the patch, staining the young man’s cheek with black.

‘What are you doing there?’ demanded Seth, though it was obvious for all to see what the youth was doing.

With another sigh, the intruder looked across the forge at Seth. Then slowly, as though Seth were some kind of old friend, he smiled.

It was a cold smile, a smile of death. Seth could feel it right in his heart. At that moment he knew this boy was dangerous, but despite his fear, despite the shaking in his knees and the cold dread that seeped into his bones, Seth knew he couldn’t run.

‘I appear to be making a fool of myself with these chains, Seth,’ said the lad.

It took two heartbeats before Seth realised there was no way the young man could have known his name.

‘How did you-’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said, shaking his head as though already tired with their whole conversation. ‘All that matters is I need these chains gone. And you’re going to help me get rid of them.’

Despite his fear, Seth tightened his grip on the axe. He wasn’t about to be ordered about in his own forge. Whoever this lad was he couldn’t just expect Seth to do his bidding. Besides, someone had put those chains on him for a reason. Seth would be foolish to take them off without so much as a ‘by your leave’.

‘I … I’ll do as I damn well please,’ said Seth. ‘I’m the one with the bloody axe.’

The lad sighed again. ‘Indeed you are, Seth. But that’s not the only weapon in the room.’ Seth glanced at the hammer in the lad’s hand, but he knew that wasn’t what he meant. There was something not right about this boy and Seth knew he had to be wary — his life might well depend on it. ‘Knowledge is as powerful a weapon as any blade. And I have knowledge, Seth. I know about your daughter in Fleetholme. I know about her children, Dorry and Karl. I know how they’ll all die. I know their last words.’

Seth felt the forge grow colder as the lad spoke. It chilled him to his very soul. He felt his fingers freeze as they gripped that axe and he knew it would never do him any good. It was obvious now — this boy was doom. For the first time Seth wished he’d been a much more pious man. He could only hope Arlor was watching over him.

‘Don’t hurt them,’ he said. He knew it was pitiful and stupid. That he had no bargaining power here, but he had to say it all the same.

The lad smiled again. ‘Get me out of these, Seth,’ he said, laying the hammer and chisel down on the anvil.

Seth felt the axe drop from his grip. He hadn’t made a conscious decision to let it go, but still it fell from his numb fingers. He walked forward, feeling a cold tear trace a line down his cheek. As he picked up the hammer and chisel he felt the sudden wrongness of what he was doing — as though he had a brief opportunity to do something good, do something right for the Free States, for the world. If he took the hammer and smashed this boy’s head to offal he would save countless lives and if he died in the process it would all be worth it.

Instead, Seth braced the edge of one cuff against his anvil. It was secured by a double bolt at the rim. Seth raised his hammer and struck one clear, then again to remove the other. The iron fell from one of the lad’s wrists and with another smile — that cold, dead smile — he placed his other cuff on the anvil. Two more strokes, two more bolts, and the boy was free.

He stared at his ruined wrists for some moments, as though breathing in his new-found freedom. All Seth could do was stand there with the tools of his trade in his hands, knowing it was probably the last time he would ever use them.