The Blacksmith's Arrow

The Blacksmith’s Arrow: Book 1 of the Trinity Trilogy

Prologue

         A scream echoed in Kerowyn’s mind. She was standing in a courtyard with people running everywhere, pushing and shoving. Yells and screaming battered at her young mind. Kerowyn whimpered as tears coursed down her cheeks. Someone ran past her, pushing her out of the way as they did. Kerowyn fell to the ground, frightened. Her heart pounded as she tried to see a familiar face. Legs rushed past, unheedful of the child huddled below them. A volley of flaming arrows flew over the wall into the courtyard, one landing mere inches from Kerowyn’s frightened form. A man slumped over a water trough, an arrow protruding from his back. Kerowyn’s eyes went wide as his clothes burst into flames. Arms went around Kerowyn from behind and a voice shouted from what seemed far away, “It’s not safe for you here, princess. You must come with me!” Rough hands pulled her to her feet. Turning she found Vance, her father’s fight master. Vance, who had always protected and watched over the girl. Putting her hand in his, he ran with her along the courtyard wall. He led her through an archway, down several passages turning this way and that, until Kerowyn had no idea where they were anymore. At last, they reached a darkened room dusty with ill use. Vance pulled Kerowyn roughly across the room, pulling back a tapestry to reveal a small cubby in the wall, just large enough for Kerowyn to curl up in. “Stay here until I come back. Don’t come out no matter what you hear.” With that, he turned and ran out of the room.

         Kerowyn scooted as far back into the space as she could. Dust hung in the air and spiderwebs caught on her face. She brushed them impatiently away. Straining her ears to hear, she attempted to piece together what was happening outside her hiding place. But try as she might, she couldn’t hear anything. The tapestry and the distance muffled everything beyond hearing. Kerowyn coughed from the dust. She put her hand on her heart and willed it to not beat so quickly. Closing her eyes, she remembered her mother’s voice telling her the secret to waiting. It was a game they would play as they waited for her father to come home from his latest foray against the bordermen. When waiting became too hard to bear, Kerowyn would climb into her mother’s lap and they would pass the time together. Counting, her mother had said. Counting makes it bearable. Lose yourself in the numbers.

         Kerowyn began to count in her head, forcing her mind to imagine each number forming, then giving way to the next. 1.. 2.. 3.. 4.. 5. A spider crawled over Kerowyn’s hand, but she paid it no mind. All her focus was bent on shaping the numbers in her mind. 53.. 54.. 55.. 56. On and on she counted, heedless of the time passing. 79.. 80.. 81.. 82.. 83.. Her world shrunk until there was nothing left but her and the numbers. She counted until she ran out of numbers. Her mind started to use letters. Kerowyn watched as her tutor scribed each letter in her mind, watching it form and hold its shape, then dissolve to make room for the next letter. After the letters, Kerowyn threaded her way through the numbers, starting once again from the beginning, dragging it out as much as she could. For hours she repeated the round, numbers followed by letters, letters by numbers, but still Vance did not appear. Still, nothing could be heard. Kerowyn leaned against the cold stone and shivered. Slowly, she drifted off to sleep.

         Kerowyn woke up and paniced, not realizing where she was. The darkness pressed in on her. And then she remembered. Vance had told her not to come out, but it had been so long. What if he had forgotten about her! She peeked out from behind the tapestry. No one was there. Kerowyn crawled out of the space. All her muscles revolted as she stretched them out. Nursing her bruises, Kerowyn walked slowly into the corridor and paused. Which way should she go? She couldn’t remember the way Vance had brought her. Pausing with indecision, she looked down the corridor in each direction. Left. I’ll go left. Down corridors she went, choosing at random which direction to go when she came to a crossroad. Still she heard and saw no one.

         Hours passed by as Kerowyn crouched in the tiny space. To her, it seemed as if she had always been there.

         Suddenly, the tapestry was yanked back and the light from a lantern was thrust in.

Kerowyn shrank back, the bright light hurting her eyes after spending so much time in the dark. She blinked back tears and squinted through the light to see it was only Vance. He held his finger to his lips and beckoned her out of the space. He allowed her to stretch her aching muscles briefly.

         “Come, we must go! Now, be silent and quick,” he admonished as he took her hand. Leading her down the corrider past many hallways and doors, he hurried. Kerowyn couldn’t hear any sounds around her. Every turn looked the same down in these parts of the castle. Cold stone hewn into bricks, mortared together. On the bare walls hung no decorations, nothing to distinquish one wall from another. Finally, they came to the end of the corrider, apparently at a dead end, decorated with a single frayed and faded tapestry. Vance pulled it aside to reveal a door. Reaching inside his pocket, he pulled out a key and unlocked the door. The hinges squeaked from disuse and the door scraped along the stones of the floor as he pulled it open. Vance pushed Kerowyn inside and pulled the door tightly shut behind them, locking it from the other side. The air smelled musty and damp as Kerowyn found them at the head of a flight of circular stairs. Vance’s lantern cast strange shadows on the walls as they decended. She lost count of how many steps there were as they continued to spiral down into the earth.

         At the bottom was another door. Again Vance unlocked it and led the way through. Kerowyn stepped out into the cold chill of early morning, just before the sun appears. Mist swirled around her feet. She realized suddenly they were standing at the edge of the lake that surrounded half of the castle. She shivered and not for the first time, wished she had her cloak wrapped around her. Seeing her shiver, Vance unclasped his cloak and wrapped it around her small slender shoulders. It dwarfed her childish frame. Kerowyn burrowed into it, pulling it close around her. Vance turned and moved to the edge of the water, pulling on a rope which moored a tiny boat to the edge. Motioning for Kerowyn, he stepped into the boat and held it steady as she joined him. Sitting on the bottom of the boat, she drew the hood of the cloak up for warmth. Vance untied the boat and rowed them out into the lake, the mist hiding enveloping them into obscurity.






Chapter 1

         Jaren grunted as brushed the hair out of his eyes. Things had been progressing very well at the shop. Lately, he had been commissioned for almost more work than he could handle, with the promise of more if his work continued to be commendable. Straightening, he looked around the shop. It had expanded twice since he took over when his old master left the business to him. His apprentice, Urin, hauled in a fresh supply of iron to work with, depositing it in the barrel by the forge and hurried out to get some fresh water. Soon Urin would be ready for a blacksmith shop of his own and could marry his sweetheart from the village. They had been as much as promised since Jaren took him as his apprentice. Today, Jaren thought, he’d put Urin to work on a new project…yes, a set of chains would be a good exercise for him. Jaren smiled, satisfied. Urin stayed out of the way and was sometimes so quiet Jaren forgot he was even there, but he worked hard and learned quickly. He was an apprentice any master would be glad of. Jaren selected a finished chain and on the smaller anvil he had set up for his apprentice to use. Urin would have it replicated by the end of the day.

         Well, time to start on the signpost for the inn, he thought. Jaren strided to the back wall and surveyed the selection of hammers that hung there.
Deliberating just half a breath, he selected one of the smaller ones. He would work on the hinges this morning. Banking the forge, he coaxed it to a fiery swelter. Pulling a chunk of iron from the scrap barrel with tongs, he thrust it into the fire, watching until it reached an almost auburn hue. Pulling it out he hammered, working the metal flat. Clang, clang, clang. His hammer echoed through the shop, signaling the village that the blacksmith’s day had begun. On and on he worked, settling into the comforting familiar rhythm. Heat, hammer, and quench, heat, hammer, quench. On and on the cycle went. Sweat pored down his face as he exerted his strength bending the iron to his will. Slowly the metal morphed into what Jaren had in mind, something usable. This was what made smithing magical to him, something he had discovered early in his apprenticeship; the ability to take a hunk of metal, something completely unusable, and bend it, hammer it, coax it, force it to create something new, something useful. In essence, to shape the world into what he wanted it to be. In a world where livelihood depended on good weather for crops, trade routes for supplies, taxes levied by a lord, such power was inestimable.

         The neigh of a horse in the yard snapped Jaren out of his revere. Quenching the half formed hinge, he wiped the sweat from him face and stepped out to see what business would bring him. He recognized the dappled farm horse immediately.

         “He didn’t throw another shoe, did he, Gavin? You’re going to give me a bad reputation if I can’t even make horseshoes that will stay on a week.” Jaren scowled at the young man who held the gelding’s head.

         “Well, if I did harm your reputation, perhaps then Da and I could drive away enough business to have our cart wheels finished before market in Runtin,” Gavin shot back. Jaren raised an eyebrow then laughed.

         “Good to see you, old friend. Bring him in and I’ll fit him with another shoe immediately.” Jaren wiped his hands on his apron as he held the door. “Any new gossip in the village?” Gavin was always a good source of gossip and loved to spread the news.

         Jaren secured the horse’s head in the crossleads, scratching the gelding’s nose. Easy and complacent, it was a wonder that the horse threw shoes at all, but it happened constantly. Turning to his stock of horseshoes, he set to picking out one that would be a close fit.

         “Did you hear that Evan’s well dried up? Nobody can figure out why and typical Evan, he is blaming his neighbor’s wife, Tess. He is calling her a witch and a sorceress.” Gavin rolled his eyes. “Just because she accepted Seth’s suit instead of his, he has decided she’s to blame for all his problems.”

         Jaren picked a shoe out of the pile. Running his hand down the gelding’s fetlock, he coaxed the horse to pick up its hoof so that Jaren could judge the shoe’s fit. “You’re a bit complacent about the trials of misspent love. Not every man is as lucky as you were with your Sophie. And to be fair, Evan has had a horrible stroke of bad luck lately to no fault of his own. He can hardly be blamed for pointing fingers, even if those fingers are pointing in the wrong direction. Ahh, just a bit too small.” Jaren set down the horse’s hoof and went to select a slightly bigger shoe.

         “Aye, no man has the equal of my Sophie. She’s still as sweet as before we were married and lends a hardy hand to the work around the farm. And her baked bread! There are great advantages to marrying the baker’s daughter.

         Sam’s daughter is looking for a husband, and word is that she has her eyes set on you. Not that one can blame her. You are easily the best match in the village with a successful blacksmith shop, youth on your side, and all your teeth. And it would make good business sense for you to marry the carpenter’s daughter. After all, you do have a lot of dealings with the man.”

         Jaren laughed. “I’ll marry when I’m good and ready to marry and not a day before then.”

         “But when will that be? There are men much younger and much poorer that have made matches before you. There’s nothing in your way.”

         Jaren shrugged and said nothing. Finally finding the shoe he wanted, he examined the gelding’s hoof once more. Gavin watched him in silence.

         “She’s dead, Jaren. She’s been dead for four years now. You’re not the only one who lost someone they loved to illness. Speak for the Sam’s daughter and get yourself a real home.”

         Jaren strode to the forge abruptly. His back to Gavin, he worked the bellows forcefully. The forge came alive and licked at the opening with eager tongues. Jaren heated up the horseshoe and started to work it with the hammer. Gavin stood watching him, hearing nothing but the clanging of metal on metal. Sparks flew from where Jaren struck the shoe. Gavin sighed and left the blacksmith shop. Jaren continued to work, pounding hot emotion into something he could handle cool. Tirelessly he worked, bending and shaping the horseshoe. Quenching the final product in water, he bent over the anvil. Quietly, almost silently, he spoke.

         “She was my home.”



         Jaren stepped out of the blacksmith shop. The light was beginning to dim as the sun disappeared behind the ridge of mountains in the distance. He lead the newly shoed gelding out into the yard and latched the shop door behind him. He had not finished as much work as he had wanted to today. Maybe a drink at the pub would help him get his mind off Jennica. At the very least, the buzz of conversation and ale would drive any serious thoughts out of his head. But first he had to drop off the gelding. Down the road Jaren strode, the gelding trotting to keep pace. Its ears pricked at the idea of being back in its own paddock and feed, however meager they were. The brisk walk started to clear Jaren’s thoughts. He breathed deeply of the crisp air, letting his eyes glance where they would, not looking at anything in particular. He arrived at Gavin’s home, knocking on the door. Out bustled Sophie, her hands dripping soap.

         “Oh, I’m glad you brought the horse back. Gavin will be disappointed he missed you but he’s not back from the fields yet. If you just tie him to the fence,” she said, nodding to the gelding, “I’ll have Da take him around back. And I’ll send Gavin round with payment in the morning.”

         “Good day to you, then,” Gavin replied. He tied the horse securely and headed back down the road. But as he walked, he started to walk more slowly, taking in the beauty of the landscape. It was good, fertile land that the village sat on. Crops were being readied for harvesting everywhere he looked. Some fields had already been started on. For the most part, the villagers had little to complain of. Weather had been fair with barely a hard winter in many a year. All the signs pointed to another good year. Jaren stopped and leaned on a fence watching as the last light disappeared behind the mountains. Streaks of red and orange lit up the sky, then bursts of purple and dark blue. The colors changed and flowed, and gradually dulled until darkness swept over the land below. Jaren watched, mesmerized at the wonder of it all. One by one stars twinkled into existence, smiling down at him like old friends. A deep contentment with the world and his place in it swept over him. Jauntily, he pushed away from the fence and headed to the pub.



         The men sat huddled around a single fire, eagerly awaiting the meal of rabbit being cooked on the spit. Two of them cast dice and became increasingly raucous but the third ignored them and stared into the fire, completely unaware of eyes watching him. Hidden within the trees, Kerowyn huddled further into her cloak, glad for the moonless night. It gave her better cover and allowed her to be closer to the men. One of their horses neighed softly and pawed the ground, but none of the men paid any attention to it. Now, if only she could figure out who they were after. She had been following them for days now, picking up bits of conversation here and there. However, all she had figured out so far was that their lord had sent them to eliminate a threat to him and was willing to compensate greatly to whomever carried out the orders. The reward was too much for Kerowyn to dismiss. 500 gold marks. It was more than these men could earn in a lifetime. Why would Lord Seripth pay so much? These men would have done his bidding at a much lower price. Who was this man that he was that important to a Lord? What kind of threat could he be? Kerowyn closed her eyes, clearing her head of all the questions. The last thing she needed was to have her guard down and to be captured by the very men she was tracking. She shivered, thinking of what had attracted her attention to these men in the first place. Riding through the countryside, she had heard screams and seen a tower of smoke. Arriving as quickly as she could, Kerowyn was able to help put out the flames, but not soon enough. A farmer’s hovel and all his fields burned to the ground simply because he refused to answer any of their questions. She had given what aid she could but with the farmer’s livelihood gone, it was doubtful they would be able to last the winter. These were men of no morality and Kerowyn was determined to avenge the farmer and any others they had destroyed. But first, she needed to know what they were searching after. If he was that important to Lord Seripth, it was well worth Kerowyn’s time to search him out and offer him protection, or at least find out what threat he posed. After all, she mused, any foe of Seripth’s is a friend of mine. Leaning her chin on her knees, she continued to watch.



         An owl hooted in the distance, nudging Kerowyn back to awareness. Stifling a yawn, she glanced up through the trees to a break in the cover. Narrowing her eyes she judged the travel of the stars, letting out a little sigh of relief as she realized she had only dozed for a few moments. Kerowyn shifted her weight and peered through the darkness towards the dying fire. All the men had fallen asleep, whether on their own or with the aid of their flasks, she wasn’t sure. Waiting to make sure she wouldn’t be noticed, Kerowyn silently crept away through the trees.

         Careful to avoid stepping on any branches that might snap and give her away, she threaded back to her own campsite. A horse snorted as she entered the clearing. Striding to it, she patted his neck. “We were right, Jesner, those men are after someone.” A nose pressed against Kerowyn, nostrils whuffing, searching for her jerkin pocket. “Oh, all right, if you must, but you’re going to get fat and lazy and where will that leave me then, hmmm?” Kerowyn pushed the horse playfully away, then gave him a lump of sugar she had tried to hide from him. “Now, hush now and let me get some sleep.”

         Picking up her pack from the ground next to Jesner, she pulled out her bedroll and spread it out on the other side of the clearing. Snuggling down on it with her cloak pulled close around her, Kerowyn felt the pull of sleep weigh upon her. Just an hour or two, that’s all, she thought. No more than that…



         Jaren stamped his feet and blew on his fingers as he walked to the pub. The nights were getting almost too chilled to walk around without heavy winter clothing. Spying the cheery light of the pub windows up ahead, he picked up his pace. Smiling wryly to himself, he noticed that there were quite a few others who had shared his thinking. It would be a packed night.

         Stepping into the pub he maneuvered his way past several of the townsfolk, looking for a place to sit down. He finally found one in the corner, almost hidden from view. Nell, the barman’s wife, spied him and bustled over to him, bringing an ale.

         “Will you be having supper as well?,” she asked, not taking her eyes off the busy barroom.

         “Aye, the food here’s much better than my own cooking,” Jaren replied. He often took supper at the tavern when he had the time and felt like having company around. Nell bustled off again, an all business flounce of her skirts in her wake.

         Sipping his ale, Jaren looked around the tavern. Most of the village men were here, as well as many of the younger women. He hoped Sam’s daughter wasn’t among the crowd. She’s a sweet girl, he mused, but he wasn’t looking for a wife. A man in the corner caught his attention as he removed a fiddle from some cloth wrappings. Ahh, there’ll be music tonight. The mood became increasingly boustrous as the fiddler started to play. Soon, tables were pushed out of the way as some of the villagers began to dance. Nell brought his dinner, a hunk of bread and broth to dip it in, along with vegetables. Jaren took no notice of anything else as he gulped down his dinner.

         As he was mopping the last of the broth up with the bread, a loud angry voice made him look up. It was Evan, barely sober enough to stand. Ale sloshed out of his mug as he took another chug.

         “I tell ye, as sure as I am, she’s a witch!,” he proclaimed. “I saw her the other day, and what do you know, she was standing at my well, muttering and moving her hands. She cursed my well, I tell ye!”

         He was getting more and more listeners as the barroom quieted. Jaren let out a low whistle under his breath. If anyone took Evan seriously, Tess could be in very serious trouble. Pushing his plate away, Jaren stood up. He walked calmly up to Evan and touched him on the elbow. “Now Evan, don’t you think you’ve had enough to drink for one night?”

         Evan turned and glared at him. “Oh, don’t like me calling that woman a witch, do you? What, does she have you under her spell too? You and that Bran she married.” His voice got louder each sentence. That’s it…she’s put him under a spell…” He paused and hiccupped.

         “Evan, you know she’s not a witch. This is no way to talk about your neighbor’s wife,” Jaren replied calmly and took him by the elbow. “Why don’t we get you home.”

         Evan jerked his arm away and pushed Jaren in the chest. “You’ll take me no where! I’m not going anywhere with that witch’s whelp!”

         A circle of people had formed around the pair, watching eagerly for a fight. Jaren was determined not to give it to them. He gripped Evan firmly by the shoulder and manhandled him towards the door. But before he could get to it, a couple of Evan’s cronies stepped in the way.

         “Now, that’s not a nice way to treat him. So why don’t you let him go and get back to your own business,” the center one of them called silkily.

         “He’s drunk and a nuisance and I’m taking him home to cool off,” Jaren replied, starting to get angry. He pushed the men out of his way. One of the men put out his foot and tripped Jaren. Caught off balance, he let go of Evan and stumbled into a post. Turning he lashed out at the man who had tripped him, launching his fist into the man’s jaw. He crumpled to the floor, unconscious. The other two men launched themselves on Jaren, sending him crashing to the floor. Jaren’s head smacked on the floor, causing him to see sparks. One of the men straddled him and grabbed him around the neck, trying to strangle him. The other man climbed to his feet and stomped on Jaren in the groin. Jaren groaned and curled up defensively, clawing the man off his throat. Getting to his knees, he struggled to get back up. A stool smashed across his back. Jaren lashed out at the closest guy. His fist connected with the guy’s knee with a loud crack and the man crashed to the floor moaning and holding his knee. Jaren got to his feet and turned to face the last guy, but he and Evan were nowhere to be seen. Jaren winced as he made his way back to the corner seat. Everyone cleared the way for him to go through the crowd. Jaren sank into his seat and motioned for Nell to bring him another ale. Tonight was just not his night.



         Kerowyn stirred to consciousness to feel the warm heat of a crackling fire. Smiling she relished the warmth and let it spread through her body. As she continued to wake up, a niggling thought kept trying to catch her attention, but the lull of the fire proved too appealing. She yawned and started to stretch, only to find she couldn’t move her arms or her legs. Kerowyn’s eyes snapped open as she jerked wide awake. She was bound hand and foot laying in the dirt by a campfire. One of the Seriph’s men nudged her in the side with his foot and laughed. “Aye, she’s awake now. What should we do with her, captain?,” he addressed one of the other men, neither of whom she could see.

         “Leave her be for now. We’ll deal with her later.”


Chapter Two

         One of the men returned to the campfire and tossed a bundle to the Captain. Kerowyn recognized