The Maiden of Moonfane Forge

“Moonfane Forge has been attacked and razed!”

The habitual call was lifted over the waking markets of Thornsway town. The delegation to the king from Moonfane Forge had arrived here late in the night and stolen what little sleep they could. Now, they would spend a day imparting their dire news to the local populace, and beg their aid, before moving on. The town was the largest inland habitation they would pass through before reaching their ultimate destination, the King’s Capital City in the south. Thornsway was an important trading hub in the kingdom of Kaldura, a waypoint that linked the various trade regions of the kingdom to one another. Crops and livestock from the inland holds arrived here from the east, while fish and foreign goods came directly from the coastal towns to the west. Moonfane Forge sent many of its silverworks and yak’s hair textiles here. Likewise, ideas, innovations, and proclamations arrived from the capital, to be disseminated throughout the kingdom.

Ennric had been to Thornsway a handful of times in his life, and it seemed bigger and noisier to him with every visit. He dreaded the inevitable bustle of the capital, a city that dwarfed Thornsway.

Standing beside his cart on the edge of the market, he grunted and raised the little mirror in his left hand. He was able to move his busted arm better now, but it still pained him, and still needed to rest in a sling most of the time. With his able arm, he brought his razor up and scraped the gray whiskers from his chin with careful strokes. He’d never much cared for shaving his face clean daily as some men did, but if he was going to look presentable for an audience with the king, he’d best get used to it now. He concentrated on his face and the earnest task of shaving, letting the words Purcell shouted out to merchants and marketgoers alike filter past his ears. Over the days of trekking down the King’s Road, through little villages and towns, his retinue of survivors from Moonfane Forge had developed a system for taking shifts imploring the locals for help. Purcell was getting better at it; she no longer muttered to her feet. It had taken Ennric a few days, but he’d tutored her to speak loudly and, if not yet with full confidence, at least with assertion. He wondered not for the first time how she could have been an effective town guardswoman when she seemed to have so much trouble speaking to a crowd. Perhaps she’d been one of those types who did her speaking with her truncheon.

A small crowd was gathering now, most of them apparently more interested in gawking at the valuable Moonfane Forge yaks tethered to their wagons than in hearing what Purcell had to beg of them. Just as many people passed by without a second glance. In the other towns Ennric and his people had stopped through thus far, they had convinced some folk of varying trades—or no trades at all—to make the trek up to Moonfane Forge to bolster its workers, with promises of advantageous pay and trade to come once the town was back on its feet. But it was fewer folk than Ennric had hoped to convince, and much fewer than it would take to see Moonfane Forge rebuilt and resuscitated. As if that wasn’t discouraging enough, almost as many of his own people had peeled off from the caravan to stay behind and start their lives over again in one or other of the little villages, as if Moonfane Forge were a lost cause unworthy of the effort of rebuilding.

Well, he had expected that, had he not? Some townsfolk had made no bones about joining his company solely with the intent of abandoning the ransacked Moonfane Forge and settling in whichever new place caught their fancy along the way. Still, it was frustrating to see how easily some people gave Moonfane Forge up for lost. And the lack of willing replacements they met along the way only added to that frustration.

The capital, and the king’s good graces, would be their only hope if things kept on like this. Ennric didn’t doubt the king would see the wisdom of aiding Moonfane Forge, even if only to ensure the supply of its valuable commodities would not dry up. But how high of a priority would he give them? How much coin, how many workers, how many soldiers would he see fit to send? How long would it take? Could he also send riders out to aid Vetch? Surely, no king would tolerate such an attack happening in one of his holds. Would someone in the palace be able to identify the raven-haired mage who had stolen Marigold, or have an idea of where she and the fighters she commanded fled to? These were the questions that plagued Ennric’s mind day in and day out.

He finished scraping his face and put his shaving implements away. The cart jostled as Purcell finished her spiel and stepped down from its seat where she had been standing. Another of their people took her place and took up their plea for aid. The beseeching words were just one voice drowned out in a din of hawkers and barkers and hagglers.

“They want the coin now and I don’t know what to tell them,” Purcell said at his elbow.

Ennric dabbed his finger at a spot where he’d nicked his cheek, nodded resignedly. “They’re all going to keep asking that. We’d best get used to it and have answers prepared.”

“But we don’t have enough coin anymore. And they don’t want to go on our promises alone.”

Again, Ennric nodded. They’d had this discussion before. It was like they sought only to confirm it with one another with each new habitation they visited. He faulted himself for spending their limited coin too freely in the early days of their mission. Few people saw relocating to a partially destroyed town to help rebuild it as appealing, at least until solid coin was clinking into their open palms. Ennric had authorized what he’d had to in order to get people to agree. It was in that way their resources had rapidly dwindled. Unsurprisingly, not even the promise of greater returns down the line was securing many volunteers, not in the way that a handful of silver on the spot could.

“Bag o’ coins on the dinner table.” He muttered the saying to himself. People wanted something they could clasp in hand now, not something they must wait until later for. He couldn’t blame them. To Purcell, he said, “Just make them the promises. Future pay, trading agreements, land, anything Moonfane Forge has at its disposal.”

“I don’t feel right promising people things we don’t know we can deliver.”

“Then you’d be the first town guard to feel that way,” he said before he could stop himself. Purcell looked at him with a face like a sad puppy dog’s. “Look,” he said gruffly. “We have a task here before us, do we not? There are livelihoods at stake back home.”

“People have been asking for yaks of their own, if they make the move.”

That gave Ennric pause. Ostensibly, the animals they had brought along were also for the purpose of trade and payment in exchange for work and aid. At least, most of the animals were—goats, horses, and mules could be spared. Moonfane Forge’s yaks, however, were guarded jealously. Such prized beasts were rarely sold or traded even within Moonfane Forge, let alone to outsiders. Those that they had brought with them were, by unspoken agreement, reserved for the king himself, as tribute to ensure his favor.

Ennric weighed his words for a moment, lowered his voice. “Make whatever promises it takes, Purcell, and let the others know to do the same. Until you see greed shining in people’s eyes at the prospect of helping us. Moonfane Forge’s survival might very well depend on it.”