Chapter 4: The Armourer
By morning, I'd already forged five blades.
Brandon made the hilts, the cross-guards, and the pommels while grumbling like the work offended him.
When Rowanda came to check on my progress, I laid the swords out for her with my best innocent smile.
"Here are the swords you requested, my lady."
Rowanda stared at them.
All five were the same length, clean and balanced. Not fancy, but honest work. Work that cut.
Her eyebrows rose.
"How did you…?" she muttered. "These are better than the royal swords."
Then she turned on Brandon like he'd committed a crime.
"You. Did you make these?"
Brandon didn't even pretend. "Only the handles, your majesty. The rest… the boy made from scratch."
Rowanda looked back at me.
Her eyes were strange.
One blue.
One green.
"Okay then," she said. "What's your name, boy?"
I met her gaze. "Leno."
Rowanda's smile returned, slow and sharp.
"Welcome to Ilana, Leno. You're my armourer now. You make swords for me and my men only. Do you understand?"
My throat tightened.
"Yes, ma'am." I forced myself to ask the question anyway. "But… is this Ilana or Hekhenden?"
Rowanda waved a hand like I was slow. "The city is Ilana. The country is Hekhenden. Now get to work."
I tried to sound helpful, because helpful people live longer.
"I can also make knives, armour, and spears," I said, grinning. "I'm pretty skilled."
"I ordered swords," she snapped. "Not spears and knives."
Then she left, taking her men with her.
Even the one she'd left to guard me.
That night, I tried to escape south.
I made it a hundred feet outside the city before the cold hit me like a wall. My feet went numb so fast I thought they'd snap off. My breath turned into pain.
I turned around.
I went back.