“It’s too thin, Bran,” Dortham said kindly. “The plates you hammer out need to be thicker or they’ll crumple under a heavy blow. You’re just hammering too hard is all. It’s not strength that makes a smith good, but craftsmanship. Finesse. When you’re hammering out a plate, think of it as guiding the steel where it should be, not as hammering it flat.”

  Bran nodded. What father told us made sense. After more than a year of practice making hinges, nails, horseshoes and other things out of iron, father let us try our hand at making chainmail armor out of steel. Steel was a lot more expensive and durable than the base iron, and it was not to be wasted on an apprentice’s first attempt at smithing. Making chainmail was a lesson in patience, let me tell you. Each ring had to be locked shut, either welded or riveted, around four other loops. It was very tedious to make, and there were no shortcuts. Our first attempts were good ones, Dortham had said. Now both Bran and I were working on our first set of plate armor, and those suits were nearing completion. The armor had to be well fitted to the wearer, and we couldn’t make any guesses to see if it would work. We had to be sure it would fit before we made each piece. That was a trick, and it was something that needed to be measured well the first time. Measure twice, forge once, father always said.

  Bran put his piece back in the fire, intending to fold it over and try again. I looked over at Dortham as he was putting some finishing touches on the armor he intended to give Juleen when she had to report for military service two months from now. She didn’t know he was making it for her, but she probably guessed. All the young men in the family had to forge their own armor. It was a rite of passage in our family for an untold number of generations.

  For me, forging was very easy. I could almost feel how the metal was forming, and when no one was looking, I could hum like the Terrans did, heating up the steel without putting it in the fire. Sometimes I would do that when I didn’t feel like waiting for the steel to heat up again, and if I was in a hurry, it was even worth the pain of channeling the magic to do it. Recently I’d learned how to use that Terran magic to influence the steel itself during the shaping process. I could undo mistakes made by a bad strike, and I could form the metal I was working on without even striking it with my hammer. I learned to guide the steel with my hammer and magic long before Bran learned it the hard way. I didn’t think badly of him for not knowing how, but I just considered it to be something I was good at. I think Bran was a little jealous of my magical talents, but only in a little, deep, dark, corner of his mind. Normally, he was very supportive and happy to see the tricks I was learning, especially when I made the thing he was working on better. He knew I was doing it, and we both considered it “working together.” It was a brotherly thing to do.

  Another positive thing I learned about forging was how to set the steel in a very dense, hard, final setting without the normal hardening and quenching process. With my higher senses, I could make sure that each piece was alloyed and hardened evenly and didn’t have any weak spots. That’s the sort of thing that would keep the wearer of our armors alive and it was a priceless thing to know when it was you or your brother that would be wearing the armor.

  Movement to my side caught my eye, and I looked up to see Juleen and Elle walk through the smithy to go upstairs. It must be about dinner time, I thought. I worked quickly to finish the vambrace I was working on. A few minutes later Mira walked through the smithy to go upstairs with Bandit trailing behind. Mira was wearing the dark trousers, blouse and black leather vest she had started wearing a couple weeks ago when she left her apprenticeship. She told us all about the way she quit, and we almost passed out we laughed so hard. We’d heard the story from old Charl at the coal shop, too, and the details were nearly the same. As fast as rumors travelled in this town, Lorond would never live it down. Mira was a true hero.

  Sure enough, the call to dinner came down the stairs and we each put the finishing touches on whatever we were doing. Because I was finished first, I closed the smithy door and helped the others put up their tools. We all went up the stairs to the kitchen and washed ourselves off in the basin there. Dinner smelled really good. Seated around the table were Dortham, Nora, Darek, Juleen, Mira (with Bandit at her feet), Elle, Bran, me, Elric and Elric’s new wife, Samirah. She was really nice, and she was now in our circle of trust about my magical situation. Darek’s girlfriend, Bethan, still ate with her own family most of the time and was not eating with us today.

  We traded small talk while we ate, and we had a lot to smile about. Even Bandit seemed to be grinning, as if she could understand some of the jokes. I didn’t think raccoons were that smart, but what did I know? At the time, I had no idea of the truth of Bandit’s identity. She mostly minded her own business, dining on her own special little plate with the same food we ate. She sometimes dunked her food into the little dish of water right next to her plate before eating it.

  “I heard some very disturbing rumors today while shopping at the market,” Samirah said after we’d all eaten. “It appears that some, ahem, street walkers have been disappearing from the lower city. I heard the constables talking about it. I heard it again from my friend, Mrs. Carver. The constables seemed very troubled.” Samirah had become our connection to the rumor mill. She heard about everything.

  “You know, I got a warning from some of the soldiers at the west gate yesterday, but didn’t think anything of it at the time,” Elle said. It seemed a lot of soldiers wanted to be in her good graces these days, I thought. She did look vulnerable when she did her running every morning. Bran looked disturbed, probably for more than one reason. “The sergeant told me I shouldn’t do my running alone for the time being, until whoever was taking women was caught.”

  “I could run with you if you like,” Bran inserted. “You know, for safety and all.”

  Elle cleared her throat and looked down for a moment. “That may be a good idea, Bran.”

  Inwardly, I cheered. Finally, Bran was making some headway, I thought.

  “I’ve noticed more men passed out in the gutters than there have been in the last couple years,” Mira said. “They’re completely helpless for most of the night. If those guys are just lying there undisturbed, then someone must be targeting women specifically.”

  “You’re out wandering the city at night by yourself?” Juleen asked. “You should be more careful!”

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Ah, they’ll never catch me. I’ve got skills,” Mira said with confidence. “No one even knows I’m there.” She seemed to sober up a little then. “You’re right about being careful, though. There’s a lot of skullduggery going on in this town of late, and a lot of it points back at Sivash Surekeel. He’s a dirty rat.”

  “What do you mean?” Dortham asked. “Sivash is on the Council of Elders, and he’s very highly regarded by Prince Kimorel.”

  “Sivash is responsible for the smuggling of narcotics into Stonekeep,” Mira asserted. “He runs it through his warehouses and trading caravans. He’s like the unofficial king of this city, he’s gotten so powerful. He does anything he wants, and all of it’s bad. Most people don’t even realize it.”

  “How do you know all this, Mira?” Nora asked.

  “Because I may or may not have maybe, possibly, been spying on his network of drug dealers for the last several years,” Mira sheepishly told us.

  “Whoa! You’re a spy?” I asked. I couldn’t help but smile. “That’s awesome!”

  The older people in the room were less enthusiastic. In fact, both Nora and Dortham gave me a hard look with thin lips. My grin disappeared immediately.

  “Do you have proof of Sivash’s activities?” Dortham asked.

  “Not directly, no. There were some letters from other Councilors, but no names were used. I took a logbook from his warehouse before it may have accidentally caught fire, but there were no specific substances named, and it was all in code. He’s really smart. He doesn’t put his name on anything, and there’s never a direct link back to him,” Mira said.

  “That warehouse burning down three years ago was your doing?” Elric asked.

  Mira shyly looked away. “Maybe.”

  “So, a crime boss got a beat down by a thirteen-year-old girl?” Bran asked. Bran and I thought that was hilarious, and we laughed out loud. Even Dortham and Nora smiled.

  “I guess you do have skills, Mira,” I said, still smiling. Mira smiled back, blushing a little. I sobered up a bit as I considered it. “But that means Bran and I beat the snot out of a crime lord’s son.”

  “From what I know about Sivash’s tenure on the Council, I can say that his family is not the forgiving sort, son,” Dortham said. “You can bet that they did nothing about it then because they want to remain undetected, but they may do something to hurt you eventually.”

  “One of many reasons it’s best to let the prince sort these things out,” Nora said cooly.

  “Has anyone seen Kromwell or his gang lately?” I asked.

  “I saw Bermin once a couple of weeks ago. He looked tired. And busy,” Mira said.

  “I saw Kromwell and Sethor watching me from an alley a few times,” Juleen said. “You know, they looked tired, too. And hateful. I kept walking as fast as I could. They give me the creeps.”

  “I haven’t seen them,” Elle said. “If I’m not in the bakery, I’m usually running, though.”

  Mira looked thoughtful. “Does anyone know if Kromwell, Lerg, Bermin, Sethor or Raynold are apprenticing anywhere?”

  No one had anything to say.

  “I haven’t heard anything about any of them apprenticing anywhere,” Samirah said.

  “I never see them in any of the militia patrols,” Elle said.

  “I wonder if they’re getting involved in the Surekeels’ business,” I said.

  “I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Mira said. “I think I’ll look into it. They’re dumb enough to leave evidence behind, and Kromwell’s exactly the kind of idiot that would brag about it in public.”

  “Be careful, dear,” mother said. “If Sivash is as dangerous as you think, spying on him could get you killed. None of us would want that.”

  “Especially me,” Mira said with a wink. “Don’t worry. I’m always careful.”

  -----

  Sivash, Kromwell and Raynold climbed the stairs from the basement as their flock began their usual post-ceremonial debauchery. Sivash let them have their fun as long as they were serving him. When the door closed behind Raynold, Sivash stopped in the hallway. He was wearing his dark red plate armor, so Kromwell and Raynold had to stop quickly lest they be stabbed by one of the many spikes.

  “How many minions do we have now?” Sivash asked Raynold.

  “Around two hundred, Lord Surekeel,” Raynold replied.

  “We need ten times that number,” Sivash said thoughtfully. “Do you think you can raise freshly killed corpses in the midst of battle?”

  Raynold thought carefully before answering. “I don’t think I can yet, Lord Surekeel. In time, I think I will, but it takes too much concentration to do it with men battling around me.”

  “At least it was an honest answer. It’s something we may have to work on, my boy. If we can work things so that our forces grow stronger through the course of a battle, then we can begin conflict with fewer numbers and have greater results. We could be unstoppable.”

  “I’ll try harder, sir.”

  The three of them began moving down the hallway again. When they came to the doorway to the sitting room, all three stopped in their tracks. Kromwell’s mother was sprawled on the floor face down with one hand still clutching a golden goblet, its contents splashed across the expensive carpet. She was not breathing. Kromwell ran to her side and rolled her over onto her back. Nystara’s eyes were rolled back into her head, showing only the whites, and her lips were darker than usual.

  “Mother!” Kromwell cried out, clutching hold of her shoulders and shaking her slightly. Nystara’s head rolled back limply. She was dead.

  Sivash looked at the silver tray on the table by the sofa, where a small pouch rested with a tiny amount of powder spilling from it. He nodded grimly.

  “She took too much,” Sivash said.

  Kromwell looked up at his father with a wide-eyed, shocked expression. “What?”

  “She took too much of the Kingsdust. Isn’t it obvious?” Sivash said coldly, pointing a gauntleted hand where she lay.

  Kromwell looked back at his mother and broke down crying. This continued for a few moments as Sivash looked on with at first a derisive sneer, then with a furrowed brow and growing contempt. Raynold shifted from foot to foot with discomfort at the emotional display, but his face was blank. Sivash crossed his arms as he regarded his son. The shriek of the spikes on other parts of the plate armor grabbed Kromwell’s attention. He looked up at his father and quickly stood when he saw Sivash’s dark expression aimed at him.

  “Are you done?” Sivash asked coldly.

  “Y-yes, father,” Kromwell said, rubbing his wet nose on his shirt sleeve.

  “Good. We can’t have a funeral now, because we can’t risk having guests. Raynold, have you mastered the preservation of corpses, by chance?” Sivash asked.

  “Not yet, sir,” Raynold said, considering. “How long do you need to delay the funeral?”

  “About another month or two. Do you have something in mind?”

  “Well, sir, my parents, um, died a few weeks ago, and I, um, animated their bodies to fool the neighbors. With the windows closed, no one can smell them, and a little movement now and then is all a passerby needs to see to suspect nothing is amiss,” Raynold said.

  Sivash considered Raynold’s words with a hard stare. Considering the demonic visor Sivash stared through, Raynold looked a bit unnerved. “And it worked? No one came to the door to inquire of their health?”

  “My parents were not the most welcoming of people. No one misses them.”

  “Well, to hell with it. We can’t risk discovery now that we are so close,” Sivash said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Reanimate her body and put her upstairs somewhere. Her reading room would be sufficient.”

  Kromwell was standing there with a stupefied expression on his red-eyed face when Sivash turned his gaze back to his son. “Compose yourself, boy. Have I taught you nothing?”

  Kromwell straightened himself up as Raynold cast his dark spells on the body of his mother. The corpse stood up at Raynold’s command, her dead eyes staring blankly forward.

  “It was past time I got a new one anyway,” Sivash said to himself as he strode from the room.