Discovery

CHAPTER TWENTY

Hannah turned her back to the wagon and walked to the edge of the forest without looking back. When she was deep into the trees, and certain nobody could observe her, she let the tears for William flow, slowly and gently. Somebody had stabbed him while he slept.

Nobody had stabbed him in all his years, but the night she escaped someone had gone into his bedroom and put a knife in him. The timing could not be a coincidence. Somebody knew he helped her, and gave her his support. While there had been no mention of torture, she had no doubt that the killer had used the knife and demanded information about Hannah, and when William refused to provide it, the assassin killed him.

No, it could not be a coincidence. Those intent on killing her had closed in, and if she had stayed in the palace another night, it would have been her last. The cold anger had not ceased. If anything, it turned from cold to a revengeful flaming rage.

She now had priorities in her life. First, she would learn all that Sir James had spoken of, reading, writing, history, and court etiquette. But she would also learn the art of being a mage from her father and his writings and library, but that would come later. Before that, she would learn from the sorceress; the woman called Evelyn.

No, there was one other subject she needed to learn. Sir James had promised to teach her to fight. She had gold in her purse, along with a few silver coins. But one gold coin could buy a large building or a small farm with all the animals. She had five or six gold coins, at least. A single silver bought two good horses and was more than most men ever owned in their lifetimes. Her purse overflowed with them and hung heavy.

The day was growing late. She climbed a steep hill and found a small perch where she could watch the entire valley for anybody approaching. She had run out of tears long ago. She pulled the drawstrings on her purse and spilled coins onto her blanket. There were more than she thought.

She placed the smallest two silver coins into the bag she carried her food. If stopped by robbers or highwaymen, she decided to clutch the bag to her chest so hard they would have to rip her fingers loose, while she screamed there was nothing in the bag. If she screamed and wailed long enough, and fought hard enough, they would take the bag and find the silver and think that was all she had.

Or maybe not. She still needed a safe place to carry the larger silver coins and the gold. Instead of at her waist, as was the usual place to carry a purse, she moved it to the front of her baggy pants and let it hang inside there. She made a small hole in the front of the waistband to tie the purse to her pants and stood. It felt odd bouncing and swinging in front, but Hannah smiled at the thought that no highwayman was going to search a boy there.

She would give up a gold coin for a proper teacher, one who would teach her to not only defend herself, but also how to do damage to anyone attempting to harm her. When she returned to the King’s Palace, she needed to protect herself with confidence.

She slept on a little shelf on the hillside wrapped in a blanket without a fire. In the damp of the morning before the sun came up, she was walking parallel to the road again. She kept her eyes ahead but also listened. A flutter of birds would send her running, but she heard the songs they sang, and crickets chirped. The leaves rustled.

Later, in the distance, she heard the clang, clang, clang of a blacksmith hammering out a rhythm on his anvil. She remembered the knife Sir James gave her, and that she left in his apartment because it was not decent for a lady to wear such a knife with a dress.

The sounds of the blacksmith grew. She paused at the edge of a tiny village, no more than six buildings, two of them being barns for animals. At the rear of one barn had been built a second roof, that extended beyond the first. It was open on three sides. She had expected a huge, muscular man but found a short, squat man with thin arms. But he hammered the iron in a steady beat that displayed his strength more than flashy upper arms.

His body was streaked with soot, as were his clothes. She couldn’t tell if his hair was naturally black or just looked like it. His bare upper body glistened in the heat of the forge. The road went through the center of the hamlet, on the other side of the barn with the blacksmith. If Hannah approached him, she’d be protected from sight from others traveling on the road.

Before she could make up her mind, his head lifted, and he looked directly at her. Hannah stood still, but intuition told her he had seen her. Then, as if he’d made his mind up, he made a small gesture with his hand that told her to come closer.

She moved into the open but remained ready to spin and rush back into the forest. The short, strong man probably couldn’t begin to keep up with her, and that gave her the confidence to speak. “The road is dangerous. Do you have a small knife that will fit my hand?”

He turned and opened a cabinet. From inside, he lifted a tray and tilted it to show her it held knives. “You can’t see them from over there, but I have a few that may satisfy you.”

She took a few steps closer, careful to keep the large work table between them. “Let me see them.”

He held one up for display, but kept it in his hand instead of offering it to her. “Do you have a coin or something to trade? Or are you just wishing to look at a good knife?”

Hannah had already pulled the two silver coins from her bag and had them concealed in her palm. She fingered the smallest and held it up.

His eyes grew wary. “Are you planning on buying all the knives I have?”

“This is my only coin,” she lied as she slipped the other back into her bag.

He rubbed his beard and shrugged. “If you will trust me to hold your silver, I can cut it into slivers with my chisel if we make a deal.”

“And you will trust me to look at your knives while you do it.”

He selected three weapons, all of smaller size, and laid them on the table, two beside each other and one apart. “If I cut your coin into four equal pieces, you can own any two of these for one piece of silver.”

The two knives he had placed together were small, undecorated, yet looked utilitarian and of good quality. The blades curved slightly, especially near the tip, and the handles were wrapped with shrunk leather. The third knife clearly was different by more than its location. It was flat, the blade straight and sharp on both edges, and pointed at the tip. The bare handle appeared no thicker than the blade with no leather or decoration, a single continuous piece of blackened metal, a thing of beauty in its simplicity. “You placed two of them together. Why?”

“They are much the same knife, a favorite design that sells well. Your choice, as either will serve you for regular fare. But you mentioned the road being dangerous, and it is. Wear the last blade in a scabbard on your back, where you can reach it with either hand. It has one use only. Defense.”

“I like that. Do you have a scabbard?”

“It’s included in the price, but I will warn you. If your father or another come my way demanding the piece of silver back, he will find me determined to keep it. I do not perform business with children as a rule, but I think you may need a knife—and perhaps basic instruction in how to use it.”

Hannah considered his words and set aside his sharp, angry tone. The man treated her as a customer, not a child, and for that, she needed to respect his gruff manner. “All for the same price?”

“A fourth of your silver is too much to charge, but cutting it smaller isn’t practical. I will allow you to choose which of the four pieces to pay me.” He waited for her to nod her agreement, then continued, “Normally I’d melt the silver and only take from you the true value of the knives, but with the roads crawling with men searching for a girl about your age, and the rumor she is Royalty. I risk the ire of people searching for her if they find I helped her in any way.”

Hannah heard him stress the word, girl. “How did you know?”

“The stains on your skin around your hairline tell me you dyed your hair, and the cut is poor. I suggest you gather soot from the base of my forge and powder it around your hairline to hide the dye.”

“You are not interested in the reward?” Hannah asked, ready to sprint away if she didn’t like his answer. Moving closer to the blacksmith was not possible until he answered the question.

He shrugged. “Am I interested in a reward that would set me up with a larger house and prettier wife? The answer is, yes. But I am not interested in helping power-hungry people to kill a child.”

She placed the coin on the work table and selected the first of the curved knives. The workmanship was acceptable, if not the best. It did not compare to the knife Sir James had given her, but one that had been crafted by a master. She tested the edge with her thumb. While sharp, the knife lacked the balance and feel of the other. Still, it would do for cutting meat, whittling tinder, and other jobs.

The thin, black knife reminded her of the enchanted knife in her father’s drawer. While simple, it held a beauty in design. The blacksmith watched her move it from side to side, feel the sharpness of both edges, and the balance. The blade and handle felt the same weight, while other knives were blade-heavy. She raised her eyes to the blacksmith.

“For throwing.” He held out his hand, took the knife and flipped it to catch by the blade, then again to the handle. In a single movement, he threw to knife three steps to the log that held up the room of the shop, where it struck with a solid sound.

“I thought it was for stabbing.”

“Both. Throwing takes practice, and you only get one chance. If you miss, or the knife handle hits first, you need to run. Stabbing means you’ve let your opponent get too close.”

“You talk like a knight,” Hannah observed.

“Nope, but I was a weapons maker for the King’s army until I lost my foot.”

Hannah hadn’t noticed. The work table between them prevented her from seeing the carved piece of wood that replaced his left foot, and he didn’t favor it. He said, “If you’re satisfied with the knives, I’ll cut your coin.”

“Cut it. Are you going to show me more about fighting?”

He hefted a chisel and placed the coin on his anvil. A single swing of his hammer splits the coin into two pieces. “Hold the curved knife to defend yourself.”

She picked it up and imagined an attacker as she set her stance.

“No,” he said, adjusting half the coin to strike it again. “Turn the knife over so the sharp edge is up. Swing it from side to side.”

“I want to stab him.”

The blacksmith split the half coin with another blow. “You want to slice, not stab. If you stab, that means you’re close enough to be grabbed, thrown to the ground and stomped. Slicing keeps your opponent at a distance until you can run.”

“Same with the other knife?”

He split the second half and scooped the four pieces into his hand and returned to the work table. “The other knife is your surprise. It stays hidden. The edge will cut bindings if someone ties you, the point will stab an opponent who comes too close, and you have a single chance to throw it.”

“You said you’d teach me,” she said, selecting the largest of the four pieces and sliding it closer to him while gathering the other three and placing them in her bag.

He pulled a drawer open and selected a scabbard from among many. Glancing at her waist, he pulled a belt and cut it to size. He threaded the scabbard to the belt and looped it around her. Cinching the belt, helped hold up her pants.

Silently, he pulled another scabbard and held it up. It was stiff leather with soft thongs hanging from each side. He carried it to her. “Turn around and remove your shirt.”

She did, and he looped the first thong over her shoulder and tied it to the bottom of the scabbard, then repeated it for the other side. “Pull your shirt back on and let me see how it sits.”

With the shirt on, the unfamiliar feel of the knife sitting between her shoulder blades felt odd and awkward at the same time. She worked her shoulders a few times until the sheath felt comfortable.

“Good,” he said. “The top of the hilt is below the neckline, and I can’t even see the knife. Now, reach over your shoulder and pull it free.” She reached, and he seized her fingers as she grabbed the knife. “No, don’t wrap your hand around the hilt. Pull it out with the tips of your fingers—like you’re going to throw it. You don’t want to waste time readjusting it when you have to throw.”

She pulled the knife with her fingertips, and he guided her hand to a throwing position with minimum movement. As the blade came free, her hand was as high as the top of her head, as far back as her ear. He said, “Good. Now replace it and do it again. Pull it exactly the same, but this time, when the blade comes free, throw at that post.”

Hannah struggled to fit it back into the scabbard, then dropped her arms to her sides and relaxed. In one movement she reached for the knife, pulled it free . . . and dropped it on the ground.

“You expected it to work the first time?” he growled in response to her embarrassment.

She replaced the knife and tried again. The knife smacked against the post, blade down, and fell. Hannah left it in the dirt. “What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing. When you throw, the knife will spin the same amount each time. Take a small step back and try again.”

She marked her spot with a foot, making a line in the sand. The knife struck tip first but turned up too far for it to stick. She retrieved it and moved another half step back. It stuck for a second, then fell.

He nodded. “You're too nice to that attacker. If you’re going to slow or stop him, you’d better throw harder. And take one more step back because the blade will spin faster.”

Hannah replaced the knife in the scabbard and pretended the post was one of the three men fighting over pennies who chased her the day before. She reached her hand behind her head, drew the knife from the scabbard and threw, all in one motion, quick as a snake striking. The blade hit the post point first and quivered.

“That’ll do,” the blacksmith said, smiling for the first time. “That is as good as I’ve seen most warriors do, and you’re still learning. Look at the distance between you and the post. That’s what you have to memorize. A skilled fighter might have three different distances, but you need one. Nothing fancy. Get the right distance and throw for the chest. Then run.”

“You keep saying to run.”

“You only have one knife to throw. Once you do, you’re weaponless, and your opponent is going to be very angry. Run. Get away.”

“Why are you teaching me this?”

“I teach all my buyers how to use what I make.”

Hannah looked at her black knife in the post and the smirk on the face of the blacksmith. “No, you don’t. Not like this.”

“Will you ever return this way?”

“Yes,” she told him solemnly.

“Would you mind stopping by here and telling me what you’ve been up to?”

She stuck out her hand to shake his. “I always enjoy talking with my friends.”

“So, we’re friends, now?” The smirk evolved into a genuine smile.

“We are.”