That night, Irema sat behind Alana under the torch’s fire and the tunnel’s gloomy pillars and tied her hair into tight braids. Kassius painted a new stave on her arms and legs, like ancient runes and symbols of planets and stars. Alana’s body ended up looking like a stellar map drawn with red ink. She covered herself with the blue overcoat, they said a prayer to Venus, and bid Irema farewell.

Alana climbed the ladder into the great and cold forest. “Blast!” Alana said, lantern in hand, as she pushed the hatch open and frowned at the falling snow.

“What is it?” Kassius asked, a few feet below her.

“It’s snowing again,” Alana said, pulling her body up and scrambling through the hatch.

“At least it’s not a snowstorm,” Kassius said, following her outside and extending his hand to capture minuscule snowflakes on his fur glove.

“It’s a bad sign,” Alana said, rolling her eyes, staring at her fur coat, now covered in melting white.

“Not bad in the least,” Kassius said.

“How so?”

“Well, I heard about these things, that fire and snow make stronger metal.”

Alana sighed.

“Let’s get going, my legs are freezing.”

Kassius nodded.

They started their march up toward the village with lantern in hand. After crossing the dark forest, they put out the light when they could see the village’s dim fires through the branches.

“We still have to walk up,” Alana said, peering through the bushes, as her old home towered like an abandoned beacon. A new, precarious roof had been constructed on top, too feeble to resist a serious snowstorm. She stopped, enthralled by the memories of pain. The last time she had been there she had seen her father’s arm on the ground. His legacy defeated. Now, entering her home, to reclaim it in a way, stirred her soul with rage and love.

“So, let’s go up,” Kassius said, waking her up from the trance.

Alana nodded and looked at the hill below. A pair of soldiers sat about a hundred yards below, reclining against the walls and chatting. They had to jump from the bushes and cross the road to the other side. They only had to wait for the right moment and pass unnoticed. The falling snow and the murmur of the wind could shield their steps from their foes.

“At the count of three,” Kassius said. “One, two…”

“Wait!” Alana said, lifting her hand. Kassius stared at her, confused. Silence surrounded them, until they could not hear anything but their breath and the murmur of falling snow.

“What is it?” Kassius whispered.

“Can you hear that?”

“What?”

“Now!” Alana whispered and jumped out of the foliage.

Kassius followed her closely. She ran up the hill and hid behind a wall. Kassius stopped by her. “Ala,” he whispered. “I can hear it.”

Alana shook her head. How could it be possible? She had thought she heard it in her mind only, like a distant memory or a window into the world of the deceased. It was the sound of hammer and anvil, of iron clashing together. Her heart was filled with yearning. She started running again. They soon reached the house and waited with their backs to the wall. Now, it was more than clear.

“Who’s hammering at this time?” Kassius whispered to her.

“Let’s find out,” she said.

She turned around and raised her head up and peered into the workshop. She saw a young man clumsily hammering a piece of iron. She clenched her fists.

“Who is it?” Kassius asked, hand on her shoulder.

“That boy,” Alana muttered through clenched teeth. “The apprentice. Oh, how I hate that guy!”

“I see,” Kassius said. “Is there a chance we can walk in and do the classic move?”

“You mean what we did to Felix?”

“Yes,” she said. “We can do it.”

“And then?” Kassius asked.

Alana swallowed.

“Well, we can knock him out.”

“Have you ever knocked anyone out? Either he may die, or we may just have to keep punching him until he does lose consciousness.”

“Then?” Alana raised an eyebrow.

“I say we just blindfold him and keep him on the side,” Kassius said.

“And then he will recognize my voice and tell everybody.”

“Alright,” Kassius said. “Let’s just get in, you get to work on the sword, and I keep an eye on him.”

“And we’ll have to come back to keep working on it for at least a couple of days. How do you plan to do that? It could even take us a week.”

“A week?” Kassius raised his voice. “How do you think we can do that, do you want to rent the workshop during the night or something?” he asked sarcastically.

“Fine. Fine. Let’s just get this over with.”

The loud clashes between iron and iron started again, and synchronized with it, Kassius opened the wooden door. They step inside the warm building and quietly closed the door behind their backs. Alana felt strangely welcome in her old house, but things had changed a bit. The images of the Bear God had disappeared. Alana noticed a wooden structure, and in it, she saw some of her father’s old weapons. A few cooking daggers, the tip of a lance he used back in the steppe, and the beautiful dragonblade. The old dragon armour was not hanging ornately on the ceiling like it did a few weeks before. It had been removed.

Alana tiptoed through the small alley and peered into the workshop. There, she saw Fabyan with his back toward the door, his hair black and unruly, gloves and hammer in one hand, and the other holding the iron holder, as a fiery piece of iron lie over the anvil.

Alana and Kassius repeated the procedure, advancing one on each side, one step at the time, she had the scarf in hand, ready to gag him and gain control of him.

Fabyan kept hammering. It seemed to cause him pain, and he lowered his arm and then rotated his elbow and sighed. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

Alana paused for a moment, as the noise of the anvil was not hiding them anymore.

As Fabyan turned, he recoiled in horror, stepping back and holding onto the hammer.

“You!” he screamed, holding the hammer threateningly.

“Yes, me!” Alana said, quickly unsheathing her black dagger.

“You’re the traitor!” Fabyan said, lifting his hammer higher.

“No, you are!” Alana said, the dagger pointed toward him.

“How am I the traitor? Now, drop your knife or I’ll scream, and soldiers will come through the door,” Fabyan yelled, his features showed fear and angst.

“You won’t do that,” Alana stepped forward, and Fabyan had nowhere to go, as a step behind would be too close to the furnace.

“Oh, believe me I will,” Fabyan said.

“Well, I will puncture your entrails before you can say a word. And if you do. Be ready to die for your beloved Empire. Bleed to death for it.”

“No, you won’t threaten me.”

“Or...” Alana lifted his hands. “Decide.”

“No, no, no!”

Alana jumped forward and pushed the knife to the boy’s neck. Fabyan dropped the hammer and it bounced on the stone floor.

“Or we can reach an agreement,” Alana said into his hairy ears.

“No agreements with traitors,” he grumbled.

“Traitor?” Alana whispered. “I’m not your neighbour. They killed my father. Does it feel good on your conscience? We were so good to you. He…” Alana pressed the knife harder, threatening to cut his throat. Fabyan gasped, and a drop of blood slid over his neck. “He was so good to you that he would teach you instead of his only daughter. His only daughter. Even though you’re stupid and have no talent, he would try his best.”

“I… I...” Fabyan started to breathe like a tired dog.

“Now, you could repay us. We won’t hurt you. But...”

“Alana!” Kassius yelled behind her. “Make him swear.”

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Fine. We are giving you a chance,” Alana whispered in his ear. “Do you swear an oath not to turn us in, and we will let you live.”

“I...”

“Do you respect anything in this world? Swear it on your mother.”

Fabyan swallowed. “I swear on my mother’s honour that...” He blinked. “That I’m not.”

“That you’re not going to turn us in.”

“That I’m not going to turn you in,” he repeated.

Alana looked at Kassius in the eye. He nodded, and she put the knife down.

“What do you want?” Fabyan asked.

“I need to make a sword.”

“Make? Just take one and go!” he put his hands on the anvil. The red hot iron was still on the side with the pincers attached. “Leave me alone.”

“No, it’s not that simple. I need to make one.”

“Make?” Fabyan shook his head. “How can you make a sword?”

“I’m better than you, and you know it!”

“Don’t be...”

“And why are you hammering that iron so late in the night?” she asked him.

“Because,” he turned his back. “I’m in charge. I have to produce something because they’re coming for inspection tomorrow.”

“Inspection?”

“What do you think?” he turned toward her, distress in his voice. “They’ve come. The governor himself. I think he ordered the attack. He’s come with his people.

“He did what?”

Alana raised her head. A sudden pulse of hatred entered her soul.

“He ordered the attack on the village,” Fabyan repeated.

“I see.” Alana grasped the dagger firmly. Suddenly, her holding it took a new meaning. She wished she could dig that dagger through the man’s heart. “Now,” she looked straight at Fabyan. “How is your production going?”

“As you see, very slow.”

“We’ll help you with this and… I will make my own. Alright? Do you have enough wood to keep the furnace up through the night?”

“I do.”

Fabyan took a deep breath.

“Fine,” Alana lifted her chin. It was time to work. “Kassius, would you mind finding a nice piece of iron to use? From that pile over there.” She pointed at a wooden chest with many bits and pieces in it.

“What’s a good piece?” Kassius asked.

“I will do that. Then you help this guy with the hammer. Just hit it to make it even and flat. Fabyan will tell you how to do it.”

“Fine,” Kassius muttered.

Alana approached the chest and knelt to remove the pieces.

“So...” she said, as she removed a straight rod that seemed to be of fine steel. “Perfect!”

“No,” Fabyan said. “That’s the only twisted steel piece we have.”

“But I can’t use iron.”

“What’s wrong with iron?”

“Steel is better.”

“Ala, they didn’t have iron back then.”

“When back then, how do you know?”

“Books.”

“You and your books. Go on, hammer that iron bar.”

As Alana pawed through pieces of gold and iron, she came across a remarkable piece. It was a small plate shaped like an arch, it had a small sunflower engraving.

“Oh, sweet Venus, I had not seen this one before.”

She lifted it carefully. The sunflower handmade pores representing the seeds, and the petals were designed with small incisions that made them pop and look like the real deal. Around it were designs of trees and hard Latin letters engraved in them.

“What caught your attention like that?” Kassius said, clumsily hitting the piece as Fabyan stretched his own arm.

“It’s a golden ornament my father made. It’s really pretty. I think it’s a piece to adorn the crosshead of a ceremonial sword or something.”

She sighed and looked at it. One thing with iron, it required skill but also strength. But she felt incapable of creating something as beautiful in gold. If only she had been trained instead of that boy.

“Let me see it,” Kassius said.

“Yes,” she stood up. “There’s something written.”

“Oh, that one,” Fabyan said. “He never told you?”

“What? No. My father?”

“Yes.”

“Careful,” she said, handing it to Kassius with both hands.

He stared and it and immediately closed his eyes.

“Alana.”

“What? Kassius, why are you crying?”

“It has your name written on it.”

“Oh,” she muttered, as if a knife had pierced her lungs and shortened her breath. Kassius returned it swiftly. She stared at it, it seemed like her father’s love and skill had forged that image, that illusion. Its radiance reflected love. Was that the special project he was working on?

She pressed it against her chest and felt a tear slip down her cheek.

“Let’s get to work,” she said, her voice cut through by the pain. “Kassius, help him. I will make the Sword of Ares.”

She knelt next to the chest once again and noticed something familiar. She reached for it at the bottom of the chest and pulled it out.

“What?” she stood up immediately. “What is the meaning of this?” She turned around and faced Fabyan with a frown.

“Sorry, I had to use it!”

Alana stared at what was now a partial dragon armour. Half of it was gone, and a big part of it deformed from heat.

“I am sorry!” Fabyan said. “I needed steel!”

Alana felt as if the imaginary stabs in her back multiplied. But no, she had been through things a million times worse. She stared at what the armor had been and realized the metal was of the best quality and pure. She could melt the scaly armor, merge it into one, and use it to make the sword. Yes, an honourable end for her father’s defaced armour.

Without a word, she removed her cloak, revealing the strange sigils on her body, and placed the cloak on the furnace. She put the rest of the armor in the furnace and pressed the pedal to increase the heat and watched as it lightened to red. She got to work immediately, removing it with the pincers, first twisting it, then hammering the long piece, thinning out the side to make it ready to be put inside. Then, she hammered it again, flattening it until her arm felt like it was about to fall off.

After hours of hammering, the shape was almost ideal. The twists inside had been flattened, and soon, she would put it outside in the dew to cool off. Then, Alana decided to prepare the handle and crucible. For the crucible, she selected from a bunch of small iron pieces. After heating them, she shaped them like an arch and then passed it through the fitting.

Kassius and Fabyan worked on their own swords on the bigger anvil. Kassius was obviously not experienced at such an art, the hammering and the shaping was sloppy, and he routinely complained about the pain in his shoulders. However, his work would prove invaluable after Fabyan’s corrections.

They concentrated so much on their work that the sunlight started shining through the curtains. Then, Alana’s stomach turned inside her, and she glanced at Kassius in panic.

“Kasha, let’s get out of here.”

He nodded, his face pale and his eyes wide open.

Alana opened the curtains slightly and peered out. Cold frost covered the ground and the bushes below. She recoiled in fear as she saw soldiers already patrolling the streets. She let go of the curtain and stepped back.

“We’ve got to get out quickly,” she said.

Fabyan looked at them.

“Yes. Thanks for the help, at least we have five swords cooling off now. Now it will be easier.”

“We may come back tonight,” she said.

“Tonight? I need to get some sleep!” Fabyan complained.

“Well sleep now,” Alana suggested dryly.

“They won’t let me. Need to keep working.”

“Come on. We also need to come here tonight.”

“Come tomorrow night. Give me a break today and then we’ll continue.”

“We don’t have much time!” Alana grabbed her coat and put it on, pulling the hood down.

“Ah… I forgot to ask you,” Fabyan said.

“What?” Alana asked, uninterested.

“Do you know anything about that boy they’re going to execute?”

“What boy?” she shook her head. Those words together, boy and execution, sounded terrible.

“The mute.”

“What?” Alana’s heart jumped in horror. She paused. That had to be a mistake. Kassius was as pale as a ghost. He swallowed and remained with his mouth open.

Suddenly, they heard a bang on the door. Alana and Kassius stared at each other, both pale and with heavy hearts.

“Who is that?” Kassius whispered.

“Quick. Hide,” Fabyan said. Alana reacted and rushed to the back room, where she used to sleep. The two small mattresses were still there, but now a pile of metal objects covered her old cozy bed.

She quickly knelt and hid underneath. She peered outside, planning to invite Kassius to hide with her, but she realized they would probably not fit.

Even more, her shadow was still visible from underneath.

“I will hide behind the wall,” Kassius whispered and stood with his back next to the entrance.

The banging on the main door grew louder.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Fabyan said.

Alana tried to hide under the bed, pressing her shoulders against the cold walls, and still trying to make sense of what she had just heard. Tor captured? Executed?

And the door opened.

“Good morning, sires,” Fabyan said. “Please come in. I have been waiting for you.”

“Forgive us for coming this early,” said a deep voice. Also with an accent from the capital.

“My workshop is at your service.”

“Alright,” the voice said, and he wiped his boots on the carpet. Then, the man stepped inside, and Alana realized there was someone else with him. “My name is Cladius Duodecimus, Senator and part of the Commission for New Tharcia, and this is Governor Larius.”

“Nice to see you again, my lords,” Fabyan said.

“Do not call us lords, young man. You will soon be like us. We are equals,” responded the governor.

Meanwhile, Alana was perplexed. The man who had ordered the murder of her village was standing a few feet from her. And what should she do? She imagined grabbing her knife, declaring justice, and attacking. Yes, facing him.

“So, let us see how the production is going,” Cladius said, as the group moved into the workshop.

“Yes, sire, as you see, we have been preparing these swords, already made with their fittings and all. These are cooling off.”

“All by yourself?” Cladius asked.

“Yes. In a way. Well, I have received help as well.”

“Help from whom?” Larius bluntly asked.

“Help from…”

Alana unsheathed her dagger slowly, making sure no one could hear, and she held it tightly. She caught Kassius’ glance. He shook his head.

“Not bad,” Cladius said. “But you will need more people in order to produce it. For now, however, this is the usual work of a blacksmith, but how about the renowned bronze and gold crafts?”

“I will start as soon as this batch of iron is done.”

“Understood,” the deep-voiced invader said.

“So a week, at most,” Fabyan clarified.

“We plan on staying for two weeks,” that Cladius fellow said. “Hope your progress is as quick and efficient when it comes to gold and bronze.”

“I’ll do my best, sire.”

“And what could we do about the slaves?” It was the voice of the other man. That had to be Larius. It was a bit higher than his companion’s, and flamboyant, yet masculine. “May we meet the ones who are working so hard to bring about this work.”

“I beg your pardon?” Fabyan asked, startled.

“Yes, Fabyan. Are they shy? We overheard them from outside.”

“No, good sir, they...”

“Good morning, good men,” Kassius said, and Alana felt her soul was escaping from her body as he stepped into the main workshop.

“Good morning,” the other three muttered.

“And who are you? You are not from here, are you?” the governor asked.

“Nay, good sire, I’m a slave born in the Land of the Hares, west of the Empire,” he said with a lisp.

“Oh, from Iberia? What are you doing so far in the East?”

“He…” Fabyan cleared his throat.

“I have served Master Fabyan’s house for ever. My family has, my Lord. So, I have come to assist my master.”

“I see,” Cladius said. “Then, keep up the good work.”

“What about the other one?” Larius asked.

“The other what?” Cladius asked.

“The woman,” Larius’ voice was suspicious.

“What woman?” Both Fabyan and Kassius asked.

“There was a woman.”

The three of them looked at Fabyan, who stood with his hands back and his head down.

He shook his head.

“Come on, young Fabyan. Let us meet this woman,” the governor insisted.

“I smell something. If you excuse me, young man, I’m sure there’s a woman in here.” The governor pushed his way across the two and entered the dormitory.