The Forgers Guild headquarters was more of a compound than a single building. A huge stone building dominated the yard. Vast wooden canopies supported by thick stilts surrounded the central hub. Beyond the canopies and before Grim was a wrought iron gate into leading to the complex beyond. The unwalled area opened the yard for viewing through the iron fence. However, the other half of the complex was barred from public view, likely to avoid prying eyes.
Hundreds of men worked in the open beneath the canopies, operating various pieces of forging equipment from anvils to iron blooms to the newer blast furnaces. Thick stacks of smoke rose into the air, darkening the fog. The ringing of hammers was deafening this close to the guild.
Ilyena yelled at Grim over the clanging. “Do I have to be here?”
Grim pretended not to hear her and walked up to the pair of guards at the gate.
“Who’re ye?” one of them asked.
“Grim Thorne. I’m here to requisition a suit of armor. The Earl sent me.”
One of the guards nodded. “Aye, we got word of ye. Yerself and the lady can go on in, but we prefer to keep visitors to a minimum. Trade secrets and all that shite.”
Grim nodded and turned to Edgar. “You good out here?”
The Captain’s temple throbbed. “I’ll be good when we’re far away from here.”
Grim nodded in agreement and turned back to the gate which the guards were already opening. Ilyena dismounted and handed her reins to a Thorne soldier. One of the mercenaries walked into the compound and the siblings followed in his wake down the cobblestone path.
On either side of the path, sweaty, tired looking men performed a variety of tasks beneath their shelters. Grim watched as a man pulled a white-hot ladle from a crucible forge with iron tongs. He poured the molten liquid from the ladle into the top of a long rectangular mold. Next to him, another man ground a steel file against a rough looking bronze sword.
Beyond that pair, a dozen more were hard at work drawing thin, heated strips of iron through draw plates and creating wire. A sweat-stained apprentice collected their work into a wheelbarrow and carted it inside the stone building. The guard followed the boy inside, holding the door open for Grim and Ilyena.
Grim stepped inside and found that the indoors wasn’t much different from the outside. The first floor seemed to consist solely of a single high-ceilinged room made entirely out of stone. Giant stone pillars supported the upper levels. Hundreds of men in the shabby clothes common to the Outwalls stood in lines alongside iron tables cutting wire, hammering it into rings and riveting it shut into sheets of mail. The sound was even worse within the confines of a building. Ilyena covered her ears with her hands while Grim grimaced at the sound. The guard they followed barely even seemed to notice. The man must have left his hearing by the wayside a long time ago.
As they were led along the edges of the work area Grim noticed a dramatic increase in the number of guards he saw. Few had bladed weapons like the one he followed but instead carried iron truncheons at their hips as they watched the ironmongers.
Wide iron arches were set into the walls far to the right and left. Through them, Grim could see into the east and west wings of the manufactory. What he glimpsed intrigued him. Iron gears buried in the ground seemed to turn of their own accord. The cogs of the gear levered massive hammers into the air which slammed into the iron bars held beneath them with tremendous force, over and over.
His gaping was soon cut short as the guard opened a door set into the wall leading to a stairwell. “Second floor,” he said.
Grim led his sister up the stairwell that was only slightly more comfortable than the one in the castle. He stepped onto the second-floor landing and opened the door. The sounds from below and outside were dulled but still made his ears ache. He emerged into a small stone room consisting solely of a reception desk. A pretty, bored looking girl stood behind it and perked up when Grim and Ilyena entered.
“Name?” she asked.
“Grim Thorne.”
She smiled as if that were the best news she’d heard all year, “This way please.”
Grim followed her through a door beside her desk.
“How on earth do you stand this racket every day?” Ilyena asked.
The girl looked over her shoulder. “When you don’t live in a castle, it’s amazing the things you can get used to.”
Grim smirked at the wide-eyed expression that extracted from his sister.
The hall she led them down was also unadorned stone with torches lighting the way every dozen or so paces. Many of the doors on either side were open and Grim could see dozens of scribes sifting through sheaves of parchment and making notes. Most of all, he noticed the small wax plugs in their ears. Grim grumbled under his breath. He wasn’t about to bring that to the attention of his sister.
The girl they followed stopped outside a large double door and knocked. A muffled “Come in,” sounded from the other side. She pulled the door open and gestured for them to enter. They walked inside. The room beyond the door was made of the same utilitarian stone but was furnished with some of the most beautiful weaponry Grim had ever seen. Intricate designs ran along the blades of the swords. A series of axes resembled the moon in various stages of waxing. Spears with tips of gold were crossed under shields better painted more than most portraits. A large bronze desk, etched to resemble wood, dominated the center of the room.
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The grandeur stood at odds with the man leaning back in his chair behind the desk, resting his feet on a chipped, rusty anvil. He wore an old linen shirt that was more grey than white and had been stitched back together several times. One sleeve was folded and pinned to the shoulder where his left arm was missing. The scuffs on the boots atop the anvil betrayed their heavy usage.
His eyes flicked across the piece of parchment in his hand, not so much as looking up while they entered. Grim didn’t mind. He was content to gawk at the ostentatious display of craftsmanship. After a moment, the man put the parchment on the desk and cleared his throat. “Ah Grim, welcome. Sorry to make you wait, I was almost done going over that damned expense report.” He rose to his feet and walked around the desk. Grim met him halfway and they clasped arms.
“Master Renfield at your service.”
Grim’s eyes widened. He knew the name. Miles Renfield was the Guildmaster of the Forgers.
Renfield turned to Ilyena and fell into a deep bow. “Lady Ilyena, a surprise and a pleasure.”
Ilyena held out her hand and Renfield kissed her ring before rising. He turned his gaze back to Grim. “I saw you looking around. See anything you like? Everything is for sale.”
Grim let his eyes drift across the walls covered in weapons that more resembled art than the tools they were. “It all seems very- impractical.”
Renfield chuckled. “Ah. You got me hopes up when I saw your eyes wandering. Some fops who get brought up here shell out good money for a pretty weapon.”
Ilyena stepped forward. “Speaking of fops, why did you make us walk through that god-awful racket and why on the name of God would you keep your office right above it? I can still feel my teeth shaking.”
“That god-awful racket you hear is the sound of money. I can’t think of anything more soothing. Besides, after so many years at a forge, it’s comforting to hear. I may not be a smith anymore because of me arm but I’ll be damned before I turn me back on the art. The same way a commander should be close to the battle, a guild master should be close to his work.”
Grim shrugged. “Whatever makes you happy. Can we get the sizing done?”
Renfield snorted. “You think daddy doesn’t already have half a dozen servants who know your dimensions?” Grim blinked in surprise. “That’s not why you’re here.”
Grim glanced at Ilyena. She shrugged.
“Come and find out,” Renfield said, walking past Grim to the door.
Ilyena sighed and followed him, leaving Grim no choice but to join them.
As Renfield approached the stairwell, Ilyena groaned. “Must we go back down there?”
“Only when you leave. We’re going further down.”
He opened the door and led them down the stairs, walking past the door to the first floor and descending beneath the earth. The walls quickly shifted from quarried stone to rough rock resembling something you would find in a mine shaft. The stairwell dead-ended in a small room with a huge vault-like door similar in appearance to the one at the castle. A small hammer hung from a nail on the wall next to the door.
Renfield grabbed the hammer and smacked it on the door one, twice, three times, and then once more.
A responding clang came from the other side.
Renfield reached into his pocket, pulled out a key and stuck it in the door. As he twisted it, the lock opened with a clank. He waited a moment, making no move to open the door. A second clank sounded from the other side of the door. Then it began to open outwards. Grim stepped back as the heavy door swung wide.
A burly man in a smith’s apron grinned at them from the other side. “Master,” he said with a nod.
“Good morning Karl. Go ahead and keep the door open. This shouldn’t take too long.”
“Yes sir.”
Grim grew a little nervous as Renfield led them further down the corridor. If the Earl hadn’t asked him to bring Ilyena he might have wondered if he were about to die. Nevertheless, he found himself thumbing the axe at his side.
Doors made of wrought iron bars began to appear on either side of the corridor. Each had an inscription next to them that was a permutation of ones and zeros. In the distance, Grim could hear running water and the sound of machinery. What the hell? Even Ilyena looked curious about what they were approaching.
Grim glanced through the bars of the doors as they passed. One room appeared to simply be a forest of spears standing straight in their racks. The next was filled with dozens of crates leaving him wondering what was inside. Another room had rows and rows of axes lined up on wooden racks. The one after that, swords.
“What is all this?” Grim asked.
“Storage.”
Grim fought the urge to smack the man with the haft of his axe. “And why do you have an entire armory in storage?”
“Your father commissioned it years ago, but never came to pick it up.” Renfield shrugged. “He pays the storage fee.”
Grim frowned at the dozens of rooms. “Why?”
Renfield stayed silent a long moment. “It’s not my place to speculate. I’m just an old smith.”
Grim didn’t bother to continue questioning him. The sound of running water grew louder. It sounded almost as if he were on the banks of a river. Then the left side of the corridor fell away. Grim’s eyes widened as he took in the cavern, the swift current of water running through it and the twelve grand waterwheels spinning in a line. The thick planks of the wheels interlocked with the large iron gears he had glimpsed upstairs. They kept the gears turning at a steady pace and he could hear the giant hammers above clanging in time. Thick, stone pillars lined the underground river. The waterwheels were riveted into the pillars which held both them and the high ceiling up.
Ilyeana looked up at the high wheels. “Wow.”
Grim nodded in agreement, unable to find better words to describe it.
When they stopped walking Renfield turned around. “I’d ask you both to not talk about this widely.” He turned to look at the apparatus. “We call them trip hammers because the hammer up there keeps falling on its face over and over. But that’s not why we’re here so quit gawking.”
Ilyena glanced at Renfield a moment. She turned back to the water. “Where does it come from?” she asked, looking to where it seemed to gurgle straight out of a stone wall.
“It branches off the Bleakcreek, tunnels into one of the hills, flows under the city and empties under the castle.” He chuckled. “We were expanding our storage down here and the miners damn near shat themselves when they found it.”
Grim noticed a net peeking out of the water near the side of the cavern where the river emerged. A barrel bobbed up and down, snared by the net. “What’s that for?” Grim asked, nodding toward it.
Renfield glanced where he was looking. “Ah. Debris sometimes gets sucked in from upriver on the Bleakcreek. The nets just there to keep the wheels safe. They’re a right bitch to fix.”
Grim could only imagine. “Alright, lead on.”
Renfield continued down the corridor. Branching halls began to appear, making Grim wonder how large this place was. It had to take up at least as much space as the complex above them. Renfield turned down one of the side passages and stopped at the third door. He pulled out the key he used to unlock the vault. Grim’s eyes widened as he pulled the tip of the key and it clicked. Renfield then glanced at the inscription next to the door and began rotating the six teeth of the key. He looked from the key to the inscription, grunted in satisfaction and unlocked the door.
The gate swung open on greased hinges. Grim walked around the corner into the room and froze. The room was far smaller than the rest. Only one object stood in the center, torchlight reflecting off the burnished steel. He stared at the suit of armor with the Briar etched into its breastplate.
“How?” he whispered. It had only been a day since he’d received the Briar.
Renfield walked close to the suit. “It’s been sitting here for the past two years. The very first one the Earl commissioned.
Grim swallowed the lump in his throat, struggling to find the words. There were none.