Eliza Sky And The Iron Smelter’s Devil

by Neil Willcox

in Issue 153, October 2024

Eliza Sky and the Iron Smelter’s Devil – Part 1

Eliza Sky and the Iron Smelter’s Devil – Part 2

An agreement in the light of PROVIDENCE in the Third Year of the Lord Regent of WHITLAND and the seventeenth year of the rule of the IRON EMPEROR XENODIUS XIV

Between Lady MAIA AURELIA MALLEOA, known as THE LODESTAR WARRIOR, a noblewoman of the ARGIVE clan, from beyond the IRON GATE

And Mistress ELIZA SKY, daughter of GARTON SKY, freeborn Cornlander, bearing a sword in the service of Lord WILD, under the reign of the Lord Regent of WHITLAND

As is known

That ELIZA SKY and the Lady AURELIA did come to blows on St Halston’s Day this year, a misunderstanding as the former was a duly authorised officer of the lord of the demesne and the latter on legitimate and urgent ARGIVE clan business;

That from an overabundance of caution due to Lady AURELIA’s mastery of magic over metal, ELIZA SKY did imprison said Lady in wooden fisherman’s huts on a remote island in a river, with not even a nail, and did keep her there for several days, guarded over by louts armed with staves and clubs;

That Lord WILD did attempt to send messages through the IRON GATES, seeking guidance from the IRONHEARTED realm, to ransom and return the Lady AURELIA to her kin.

That the message went astray, the rogue Magister FLAVIUS ISKANDER falsely presenting himself at the court of Lord WILD. Rather than treat properly he insulted his hosts, ELIZA SKY maintaining honour at a bout of fisticuffs.

Let then all these complaints and confusions be set aside and considered moot in return for all parties fulfilling the requirements of this agreement as written:

That Mistress ELIZA SKY shall return to Lady Aurelia her armour and other metal belongings taken from her. 

That Mistress ELIZA shall escort Lady AURELIA on her business in the domains of Lord WILD, providing a suitable mount, supplies and train, and endeavour to locate the child of her sister, brought here twenty years and more earlier. Making all arrangements that Lady Aurelia might travel without let or hinderance, and to prevent harm coming to her. To aid her in convincing the full-grown adult child, if living, to return with her to the realms of the IRONHEARTED. And then to escort the pair to a place where they might summon and pass through the Iron Gates.

That Lady AURELIA will hold blameless and unbeholden Mistress ELIZA SKY, Lord WILD and any who are bound to his Lordship through blood, fealty, employment, debts of money or of honour, or who are under his Lordship’s protection. This shall cover for any insult or hurt that has been put upon her Ladyship, not withstanding which an apology will be forthcoming for any new indignity.

That Lady AURELIA will look favourably upon any future correspondence from Lord WILD, his heirs and officers, and seek to discuss with his Lordship any future affairs she might undertake in his domain before embarking upon them.

SCRIBED and WITNESSED this day, Darkmoon Eve by JULIA INTANDLE, scholar and clerk, daughter of PRISCUS INTANDLE, Thaumaturger-in-Ordinary to the Lord Regent

Eliza Sky

M Aurelia Malleoa

****

How do you deal with a Lodestar Warrior, one with power over metal, the ability to take your sword from your hand and wield it against you? An Ironhearted who can make your armour too heavy to stand or use it to fling you about like a child’s toy? Eliza Sky had fought two, in each case giving up her sword to batter them to the ground.

She found this alternative, making an agreement, much to her preference.

The light dappled through the trees, bright yellow where sunbeams cut through, green where leaves shaded, brown and grey when occluded by the great trunks. The path was narrow, branches and vines reaching down to grab at the hats of riders. Single file, Eliza Sky decided not to stop the column and dismount, not until they found a clear spot. Push on through. Piper, her mount, seemed content to continue.

They had been delayed by horses going lame in the dark, one man left behind with the disabled mounts. The sun was well up when they reached Dawnhill Woods. Before they had plunged into the undergrowth she had seen clouds boiling up from the east. They would be soaked before this day was through, unless Lady Aurelia relented from her pace and they took shelter.

She had been through worse.

“If you have not been here, how do you know this is the place with the child?” asked Aurelia, her voice loud, overbearing the stamp of the horses and the rustling leaves.

“I do not know.” Julia Intandle spoke clearly, precisely, her voice breaking at the volume. “This is the most likely place. If we do not find them here then we shall devise a new plan.”

“So much for your promises.”

Julia cursed. Looking back Eliza saw her horse had run her face first into a mass of green. “If you want certainty then ask a priest,” she said sharply. “I am a mere scholar, the daughter of a magician. I can offer only probabilities.”

“Apology accepted,” said Lady Aurelia, causing Julia to bristle once more. “Tell me then, what makes this place likely.”

If there was one thing that Julia liked it was explaining how clever she was; if there was another it was reading. Eliza was the treasurer for her father’s company of soldiers. She knew well how a set of accounts could tell a story. So she had grasped Julia’s conclusion immediately.

Iron was the key. The Ironhearted had power over iron. How much power the child had – no child by now, even for the slow-aging elf-born – was unknown. Nevertheless, there might be a change in the use of iron where they were hidden. And there would be records.

The inhabitants of Dawnhill Woods were charcoal burners and pig herders. In winter and spring they cut branches from trees, leaving them to dry. Throughout the year they would pile up the wood, cover it with earth, then burn slowly for a week. At the end there would be a load of charcoal to be brought down to the river, put onto boats to be sold wherever it was wanted.

Lord Wild’s excisemen counted the loads of charcoal and assessed the tax on how much was brought down to the river. The same with the pigs that were fattened on mast, then driven to market in the autumn. And with other assorted goods, cut timber and nuts.

And for the last five years iron ingots.

They had always bought iron ore, smelted it, had their own smith to make their own tools. So Julia found out when she questioned the clerk. Why not when they had so much fuel of their own. But only enough for their own needs. Now the boat that took charcoal down to market returned with piles of iron ore. And enough iron ingots came with the charcoal to be counted, and dues raised on them by the bailiffs.

It seemed thin to Eliza. Julia had elaborated on her case. When questioned, it seemed the tax men had not entered the forest. They had been content to stay in their booths by the waterside and count boats, carts and barrows. The woodsmen paid up, so the tallymen felt no need to go into the wilds. Perhaps churchmen did, to collect tithes and tend to souls. Or perhaps they did not; Julia had not enquired at the chapel.

Iron ingots required molten iron, and for that a great furnace built by an iron master. No such craftsman would choose to live amongst the crude huts of the wood folk when they could work in a city and be wealthy.

“I found my sister’s body at Casterbook. If she had left the child with the woodsfolk for safekeeping… From here to the river, then upstream to where she was killed,” boomed Aurelia, and a startled flock of birds exploded from the bushes. “To try and draw off the pursuit, use the stones to return home. She might have done that, been interrupted where her body was found. Your scheme is… not implausible.”

Eliza’s squire Bess piped up. “Could you use your powers to forge iron milady? To make impenetrable armour, irresistible swords?”

How might you fight a Lodestar Warrior? With weapons out of the old tales, a sword of glass, armour of salt. Yet mastery over metal might defeat even such fabled artefacts.

Aurelia was silent for a moment and Bess began to apologise.

“I have not spent my time in the smithy,” said the Lodestar Warrior, cutting her off. “It is not a place thought appropriate for a knight.”

“An officer should know every detail of their troops’ equipment,” said Eliza, absent-mindedly. Pathfinder, sergeant of the file and escort to a noble, she was performing all three at once.

She scanned around. The path had widened. Branches had been cut to clear it, roots and stumps removed and the holes filled with gravel. The trees showed signs of pruning. At head height to a rider they sprouted, a spray of straight narrow branches pointing upwards. Pollarding. The harvested timber might be used for poles, scaffolding, fencing, tool handles, hurdles for various rural work. Lances and spear shafts too.

Footpaths or game trails split off regularly. The outer edges of the woods had looked wild, primeval, the dark forest of legend. These woods were inhabited, well-travelled, maintained. As deliberate, as farmed as any field. 

With an unwelcoming hedge on the border. People feared the wild wood, and were right to do so, it concealed powers older than man. Eliza Sky thought she misliked this lying wood more, hiding purpose from the outside world.

With the path more open Aurelia moved up beside Eliza, Piper looking curiously at the other horse until reminded to pay attention to the footing. “I had not thought that the women of this world were warriors. Yet here you are, and your companions too. Is this a habit of your Cornland parents? Do you follow your mother?”

Eliza mustered her thoughts. “If I had remained in the Cornlands… well. Man and woman live together in matrimony yet should events alter them to man and man the partnership is dissolved. My parents’ marriage ended, as happens when circumstances change in the Cornlands. Had I gone to my Grandmother’s hall, joined the Maske family, I could not combine gown and sword as I do. Upon occasion. There it is one or the other.”

She wore her riding habit of heavy brown wool over two layers, grey linen and unbleached cotton. It went poorly with her thick black swordbelt. Bess had on helm and heavy jerkin of her fighting gear. At some point she would remind her that it was merely an aspect, one she might put on or take off as she willed – or as necessity or Providence demanded. Not today, when they might yet find opposition in these woods.

“So this is not the custom of the Cornlands. Nor that of the Whitlands where we find ourselves. From whence comes it?”

Eliza considered this question. “The split between my parents was complicated, with land and rights and cattle involved. The ownership was uncertain. Like a cat with two fish others took advantage. An old-fashioned cattle raid. My father Garton killed a reaver. A scion of the Humbles, the leading family of Humbledown Shire. With a feud brewing the dispute was solved simply. The Maskes took land and cattle and rights. Garton took cash and horses, hired on some men who wished to see the world. With his daughter – myself – in train as page we took ship for the East and joined a company of soldiers, spent the next years at war. The Whitlanders accept our barbarian habits as useful in a mercenary.”

“War takes necessity and makes it a habit. Brings forth violence from within.” Aurelia turned her head, looking about. Since they had given back her armour it had remained on, only taking off her helm for the ride. Her face was streaked, hair escaping from a knot. Yet Eliza could feel the authority boiling off her like fog, elegant straight edges of her face commanding attention. The sheer force of life that could intoxicate those who gazed upon her preternatural beauty.

Eliza reminded herself she had fought this woman and won, taken her prisoner. The agreement they had made was tentative. She had given up any question of ransom or prize to offer trust. That did not make her a friend. She would be wise to keep a distance.

Lady Aurelia pulled up her horse suddenly, causing Julia to curse from behind. Eliza stopped her mount, looking about. The forest was darker, clouds moving in. The air smelt closer.

“Up ahead. Iron. And someone… works on it. An Ironhearted!” Aurelia spurred her horse, who complained, then cantered forward.

It was Eliza’s turn to curse. “Damnation’s Eyes!” Piper wanted to follow, so she let him. What order to give? Bess had already kicked her horse into motion, and Julia after her. Unless she said otherwise the whole file would charge down the path. Even if she ordered them to stop they might follow. “Single file! Ware the flanks!” That might just slow them down, stop them overreacting.

The space between the trees got wider, darker as Piper pulled strongly forward. Darker and more oppressive. If anything the canopy of leaves was thicker, she could not see a hint of sky.

She was taken by surprise when Aurelia ahead burst out into the clearing, ruddy light coming up from below, black smoke belching, the horse rearing then crabbing sideways. Eliza herself frantically tried to stop, hoping that Bess and Julia had left a sensible gap.

How do you defeat an Ironhearted, one who has power over metal? You don’t of course, you stop and talk and work things out. Avoid the fight entirely. Come to an agreement.

And if they don’t want to talk?

The clearing was like a scene from the underworld, the dark shores of Damnation. Around the edges figures ran, scattering, crying out, seeking shelter in the shadowed huts. Before them were great piles, of dull red rocks, of wood, and of black charcoal. And earth and other substances that Eliza had no time to identify.

In front of Aurelia’s desperately panicking horse was a clay kiln, and from it poured yellow fluid, sticky like honey. Eliza could feel the heat from it even here.

Beside it stood a shadowy man, long dark hair and beard streaming from his bright-eyed angular face. His swine-hide coat was scarred and scorched. He raised heavy gauntleted hands and cried out. “Get you gone devil spawn!”

“I am Aurelia of the Argives, Lodestar Warrior, Ironhearted Nobleborn of the Second Degree,” she began, and Eliza knew that this was the wrong introduction. By birth the man might be a scion of the Lodestar Lords, who declared themselves thus. But not one by training.

He threw his hands and the horse lifted, iron shoes, toppling tumbling. Aurelia kicked free, spinning in the air, falling softly, unnaturally, to the earth.

Magery, thought Eliza, and slipped from her saddle before Piper was taken from under her, moving aside before the following horses came on to her.

She understood. Not a noble who stands up and fights to the front, clear lines in daylight. A fugitive, kept hidden by a secretive folk. Who would rather hide, lie, conceal themselves. When cornered, strike hard, brutally, without warning.

Like a barbarian. Like a mercenary.

“Listen to me,” said Aurelia, commanding again, demanding. It would not work.

“My lady! Stop!” Eliza called out. “Parley. We mean no harm!” They ignored her.

A purple halo ran around Aurelia, sparks spilling off her armour. She staggered back one step then two. Eliza felt her sword and knife dragging at her belt, the only iron on her. How do you defeat an Ironhearted, one with power over metal? Not with iron or steel.

The air was greasy, horses screamed and behind her people cursed. Eliza did not draw her sword, not yet. She walked softly around to the left, circling the clearing. Carefully, calmly. I am not a threat she thought. I am no threat. Ignore me.

Sparks flew from the metal pouring slowly out. Down a trough, then out to the sides into ingots, like troops moving from file into squares. Sparks from the hilt of her sword that she kept her hand away from, gloved though it was. Sparks from Aurelia’s armour, dancing through her hair.

She stood upright, the purple halo expanding outside her, a bubble of spitting ribbons. She gestured back at the man standing by the furnace. He fell. Dragged down by iron rings and studs, by iron bands around his boots and gloves.

How do you defeat an Ironhearted, one who has power over metal? The Lodestar Lords have their own, orthodox answer. Bring your own Ironheart to counter them.

He had lived here, amongst the charcoal burners of the Dawnshill Woods, growing into his powers. Learning to use them to smelt iron, to manipulate it to his will. Having to teach himself, never knowing that there were others like him, others who had the same power.

Never sparring, never being taught to fight like Lady Aurelia had.

Never learning restraint, or when to surrender.

Thunder rumbled overhead as the sky darkened. The man was propelled to his feet, iron spitting and glowing, hands outstretched, mouth open, yelling. The molten iron shook, droplets rising, then falling redly.

He was as distracted as he was likely to be, but Eliza was not close enough, not far enough around the flank to attack unseen. She needed to go further.

Her stealthy walk kept her from the attention of the man. It did little to discourage panicking horses. Seeing a gap away from the strange and frightening fire and people, they headed for it. Eliza had to jump away, into the doorway of a hut as several riderless beasts charged past, followed by one still mounted, the rider fruitlessly pulling at the reins.

Her shelter was occupied; arms reached out to grab at her, trying to wrestle her to the ground. Taken by surprise she screamed, turning, trying to draw her blade. No room as she was dragged inside.

There was no space for them to drop her, at least two of them scrabbling in the cramped space. The floor was congested, she could not get her footing.

They wanted her down. No need to make it easy. She let her arm relax, and when the woodsman holding it staggered, pulling, she slammed her knee up into his belly, sending him away. The other was a foot shorter than Eliza, two quick punches discouraged them. One final push knocked them down, let her escape.

Outside was a swirling maelstrom as iron objects flew, circling around the clearing, diving towards Aurelia or the Ironheart man, being deflected away to then swing back. Eliza paused, trying to work out a path through. Perhaps she’d do better returning to the hut. The two inside were much less dangerous than this. Let the two Ironhearted exhaust each other and she would pick up the pieces.

She dismissed the thought.

She glanced back, trying to make out the file of soldiers she’d brought, to maintain the dignity of their procession, to deal with any bandits, toll collectors or other riff-raff who might impede. They’d formed up at the entrance to the clearing, some dragging wounded, others holding shields over the others, a couple trying to take pieces of metal armour off. Providence and Blind Saints. She should have thought of that herself.

Closer were two figures, one hunched down, the other covering both of the pair with a shield. Stepping forward, deflecting a spinning skewer. Bess, coming forward to her mistress, protecting Julia who followed. Eliza was about to yell at them, to stop perhaps, or to come forward to the shelter of the hut, or maybe to back off.

The man screamed and Aurelia joined him. Purple danced across the iron, a trickle still coming from the furnace. It had overflowed the trough.

No, it was rising up, the two Ironhearted wrestling for control of the molten metal.

Heat belched from the iron, drying Eliza’s eyes. She lifted her hand to protect her face. The red glow lightened, the metal turning yellow, flames licking up and down. A great snake of a stalk, and from it the ingots, waving as though in a storm. The whole holding together, the thin sprues thickening, the blunt ends sharpening.

Aurelia was shouting now, words in High Ferrin, useless, the man would not have learned even the scraps that Eliza had. The heart of the iron. The devil possessed. Something about forsaken and reckless.

With a snap the highest piece of iron became a great ball. Black pits opened. They scanned about, turning. Eliza felt a shiver as they passed over her despite the furnace heat that continued to well.

Eyes.

The ingots became limbs, claws, the creature a many-armed snake. It opened a mouth and roared, flames licking out and around it’s muzzle. It lurched forward, swiping at Aurelia. She flung up an armoured hand, purple glow surrounding it. A claw slammed down, almost striking her, cutting into the halo, her feet slithering backwards.

This was getting out of hand.

“Julia,” she barked, motioning towards the other women. “Bess, bring her.”

Bess looked up, ducked a fragment, adjusted her grip on the shield. With her other hand she twisted the yoke of Julia’s tunic. Then she heaved the other woman up and they ran.

A very good squire, strong, resourceful, obedient. She deserved better. She belonged in a ballad. She would have to make do with this Providence-forsaken hell-battle.

Eliza pulled them to the side of the hut, covered from one side at least. “Can you break the spell?” she cried into Julia’s ear.

“It’s not…” Julia’s insistence on providing details warred with circumstance and Eliza’s ruddy mask of a face; explanation lost. “I don’t know. I will have to try… I need time.”

“Then I will seize you that time. Bess. Your shawl.” She took it before her squire could move, wrapping it around her face, leaving just a slit for the eyes under her own headscarf. “You protect Mistress Intandle. No matter what comes.”

“I should be with you mistress.”

No time to argue. “No matter what comes!”

She drew her sword and flung herself forward.

The heat was terrifying, she could feel it through her layers. She stared too long at the iron beast and could see red spots in her eyes. They faded as she blinked, tears blurring, the iron glittering, the man glowing, the swinehide dark, his face sweating. Her vision cleared and she could make out every hair on his head, each of them outlined in purple magelight.

His concentration was total, his mouth open in a snarl, his eyes burning with reflected yellow of molten iron.

Eliza ducked a chunk of black metal and circled. Out of his line of sight. He seemed to have no awareness of his situation.

Her belt pulled at her. She fumbled with the buckle, still moving as iron fragments tried to batter her. She lost her grip on the sword.

The belt came loose and she flung it ahead. The man blinked, flicked his eyes sideways.

Then back again as the creature advanced, fire blazing up from crude, heavy feet.

Eliza took the chance, flew forward ignoring every blow, and leaped at the man. He stayed in place, the iron in his clothes making him immovable. She kept hold and hit him in the side of the head, hard enough that she could feel the pain in her knuckles even through the gloves.

For an instant his body relaxed, held up by the iron. Then he was hurled away, the powers released, metal falling or flying.

He was dragged from Eliza’s hands. She turned in relief to watch the creature, thinking it would slump back into a puddle.

It shivered, rolls of iron traversing the skin, then in a flash reached out. Aurelia screamed.

The creature was pushing forward, under strain, the limbs unable to advance against the Lodestar Mage’s power. The iron was still molten, and from the rear substance was rolling to the front, slowly, slowly pushing forward, a fraction of an inch with each wave.

It was no longer under the control of the Ironheart man, if ever it had been. And Aurelia was no longer shouting words, just screams.

She’d face a living man, aye, or a warbeast, that was what the contract with Lord Wild was for. Fight a wizard if she had to, and even a Lodestar Warrior who swept away iron weapons and armour. This though was a very devil from the Halls Of Damnation, shunned by Providence, moving metal that could melt flesh at the touch, and how might a mortal woman fight that when an Ironhearted was being burned by inches? It was too much.

A new voice rose from behind her, the sound strong though cracked. Higher in pitch than Julia’s usual voice, when she played the man. A chant, almost a prayer, the words strange, the syllables unpleasant to hear. Discontinuous, the rhythm a broken one, the sounds jarring.

Julia insisted she was a scholar, an assistant, a magician’s daughter, a student of the theory of magic and no more than that, no sorceress. Still, when necessity drives, any woman might attempt a spell and Providence knew necessity had the whiphand at this hour.

The creature turned its head and hissed, long and hard, like a giant teakettle. Eyes, black ovals seeking her out. Focussing on the hut where Julia crouched, paraphernalia scattered at her feet, shouting from behind Bess’s stout body.

In a flash of flame several claws came together, striking forward, losing substance, just reaching out to touch Aurelia’s breastplate. The Lodestar Warrior concentrated, the purple haze sparking, pushing it. The metal beast outweighed her many times, and she lost her footing, sliding away, crashing to the ground. The creature left her in the dirt, turning on the magic being worked.

This went beyond mercenary contract. Her friend, her squire. She saw the sword on the ground, swept it up. As the creature stamped forward she screamed out a battlecry. “Humbledown and the Whitestone!”

The creature was uninterested. Could metal harm metal? She looked down at the man she had struck. Flesh could harm flesh. It was worth the attempt.

She screamed again, louder, mouth wide enough to feel the heat down her throat. She felt ice-cold though, no berserker rage to sustain her, no fury to drive her forward. This was something she had to do, had to force herself to do.

She trotted up to it, feeling the heat through all the layers, struck sideways, trying to sever the thing’s body between the claws.

The sword penetrated nearly an inch, then stopped. She tried to pull it free, but it was stuck. Both hands on the hilt, she heaved, trying to rip the iron devil apart.

Providence did not favour her. Her sword began to glow, stuck fast, not moving, even as flames licked across it. The iron beast turned on her, pulling her round, her weight nothing compared to it.

No matter which way it turned she kept a grip, it could not spin fast enough to dislodge her. The glow of the blade was moving slowly towards her hands and she had to dance carefully as she was amongst the clay-lined trenches the molten iron had risen from.

The ingot-feet shuddered. The great claws turned in on themselves. The round back of the head began to grow a beak. Black dots appeared, forming themselves into eyes.

The iron creature was reversing itself to reach her.

She twisted, putting her weight onto the handle, the heat scorching her hands through the gloves, shawl coming loose to allow the blaze onto her face, trying to drag the creature down. Flames licked over her, dissipating briefly, leaving scorch marks on her gown. The monster bent, perhaps at her levering, perhaps reaching to attack her.

Over the sound of burning iron and her own bellows Julia’s voice reached a crescendo. She had given as much as she could for her friend, as much time as she could wrench from the monster.

It lashed at her, slow enough for her to let go the sword, to rear back, one leg folding, the other extending, her balance good as she ducked, back straight. She could feel it push past, the char of the headscarf, her hair stiffening underneath. It lifted one foot and she pushed herself up and away.

A sound echoed around the clearing, like the High Ferrin word for “stop,” if it had been spoken from a raw throat, then echoed across a thousand brass mirrors. Powerful enough to break Eliza’s balance and send her sprawling on the torn up baked clay floor. Loud enough to leave her ears ringing. Strong enough to stun her mind to blessed silence, no longer grasping for another desperate stratagem to keep herself alive for one more instant.

Above her the iron creature dulled to black, wobbled slightly. Eliza watched it. It began to tip.

Her senses screamed at her and she awkwardly crawled, the iron falling, and she was just clipped, the claw tearing her skirt, the sheer weight of the thing knocking her leg under her to fall flat on her face.

“Mistress Eliza!” A hand grabbed at her shoulder, and she felt agony. Her arms had tried to pull an iron monster of several hundredweight, she had been burned by fire, cut by flying iron fragments.

“Providence’s bitch! What in the name of hell?”

Bess gasped in relief. “Mistress, you’re not dead. You fought that devil and lived!”

She got her feet under her, and with Bess’s help stood. The iron creature was covered in frost; now the clouds opened and rain began to wash it off. Eliza looked over to where Julia knelt, head down. Eliza blinked and saw she was gathering her equipment.

“Aye, I lived. And so we have work to do. Bind that man. Bind him and blindfold him and take him…” Take him where? “Take him into the forest away from this iron.”

****

It was a long damp afternoon. Eliza Sky had spent it trying to push against the obstinate friction of other people’s incapacity. First insisting to Bess that she must help Lady Aurelia drag the man into the forest, a good quarter mile, and there guard him with Julia. The girl claimed that she must assist Eliza, dress her wounds, run her errands and oh, how much she would have liked this.

How do you prevent an Ironhearted, with power over metal, from killing you all when he wakes up? You take him away from all metal. You place another Ironhearted to guard him. And you have her tell him where he is from, why he can do these things, and what he is heir too.

Eliza had rounded up her troops, split them into those who were injured and those who were not. Found where some of the charcoal burners were hiding and forced them to find supplies, water, firewood, food and drink, to tend the wounded. There was some talk of a woodswitch that she ignored; burns and cuts she could doctor herself, she had experience at that, and better her than some mushroom-addled smoky hag.

Finding the horses was next. She had found Piper and half a dozen more down the path and was taking them in hand when they were spooked. Sergeant Brak and his party had come from the castle, following their trail.

This at least simplified everything. She ruthlessly put him in charge. Care for the wounded. Question the charcoal burners. Set up a camp. Picket the horses they had, find the ones they did not.

She took a sword from one of the wounded, thought about it, put it back. Took up a green wood staff instead.

“Guy, they called him,” said Julia softly. “Gaius Aurelius Malleolus her ladyship says.” They watched where the Lady Aurelia sat next to him on a log, speaking quietly. Bess stood a close but respectful distance, a staff of her own in hand. Close enough to be sheltered from the rain by the same tree.

“That was a mighty spell you cast Julia. Worthy of a great magician.”

Julia looked at Eliza, fingers fussing over the torn and burned gown partially covered by a rain cape. “I have no commission, no permission to perform magic. Yet the law is such that dismantling a work… no, perhaps grounding, or returning the power of the art to the aether…”

“Indeed, to any other soul I would simply say you disrupted the magic. But between us…”

“Disrupted, yes. A good word. You are most welcome. I would not have been able to, ah, prise apart the currents if I had not time to comprehend them. And to do that you had to face that devil.”

“I had hoped to attack it from the rear… ah no. As you were willing to stand and work your… disruption then I could do no less.” Eliza breathed in as Julia found a long, shallow cut.

“When you ran out to attack Guy and then the creature, I knew I must break the magic or die trying.” She laughed quietly. “Quite the pair, each propelling the other to feats of daring.”

“Stripped is the skin of a sisterless woman. If we are to wait here, perhaps we should sit.”

Julia put away the tablet she had previously been writing on and pulled Eliza down onto her sitting log. The rain had stopped, the water still dripping through the leaves here and there. Eliza sat facing the others. Julia insisted on inspecting a wound, then taking off boot and stocking to clean it. Eliza looked away then saw Lady Aurelia approaching.

“Do not get up,” she said, though Eliza had neither intention nor ability with her ankle clasped by Julia. “I think… no. You have fulfilled your promises, and more, beyond what I might have asked.” She shook her head, droplets flicking away. “You tried to stop the fight, then won it for me. I saw Gaius as a lost Ironheart, an untutored Lodestar mage, one without skill or will of his own. I should have known. To have lived so many years, he would be a woodsman, grown into an iron master of this style. Powerful and wild. To unleash the life within molten iron.”

“It seems hazardous.”

Aurelia frowned at Julia’s comment. Yet she was indebted and it would be churlish to ignore her. “It is not a standard technique. Those taught it are first instructed in the methods of containment, command and dismissal. As I conceive is your method with your own art.”

Julia looked up from the cloth, letting it fall clear. Eliza looked down at her calf. Another scar, inevitable. Even if Julia removed all the soot and iron it would mark her skin.

“I have something more important to speak on. It seems there are enemies on both sides of the Iron Gate. You have told me of those from the court of Lord Wild who wish us ill. And factions amongst the Lodestar Lords, who hunted my sister and nephew before, and still do. Who would dispute his inheritance.”

Eliza Sky looked at the man, Guy the charcoal burner and iron master, Gaius Aurelius Malleous Lodestar Mage, Elfborn noble. He sat there brooding, the darkness of his hair and face, shadows gathering around his mouth and brow. As he turned to glare she thought for a moment that his eyes flared purple.

“I cannot dispute your words my lady.” Which left some practical questions. Would they be safe back at the castle? Lord Wild had sanctioned this expedition, to negotiate with Lady Aurelia, to release her. The heralds from the Lodestar Lords had been chancers, low fellows, seeking their own advantage and holding others in contempt, to the extent of insulting Eliza Sky and his Lordship himself.

If Lord Wild publicly offered her guest right then she would be protected – from mundane plots. What was to stop a company of Ironhearted from tearing the castle apart?

Lady Aurelia had other ideas. “I shall have to return through the Iron Gate. Present Gaius at court. Somehow make him presentable. He has not a word of a civilised tongue.” She raised her voice a little. “You have upheld our agreement and more, as I said, as I declare. Yet there is more, more that I must request. You are an honourable woman who offers service for payment. So it is that I wish to hire you. I shall need an escort when I return to the court of the Lodestar Lords. What say you?”

Eliza thought on this. Julia laughed, causing all to stare at her, Guy and Bess as well. “Oh my. My apologies Lady Aurelia. But how fantastic an idea is that. Eliza Sky At The Court Of The Iron Emperor. Though, ah, not without risk.”

Lady Aurelia cocked her head, losing just a touch of her elf superiority, looking almost like a woman to share a drink with, if perhaps not a jest. “Risk, aye. Though is that not your business Mistress Sky?”

Eliza thought a little longer. “Aye, risk is my business. And My Lady, it seems to me that those who would oppose you have caused me some harm. It would please me to confound their schemes.” She raised one hand before the Lodestar Warrior could speak. “Yes, risk, and also business. So before I answer I have another question. Precisely how large a reward might I expect for this contract?”

©October 2024, Neil Willcox

Neil Willcox was born within a stone’s throw of one of the largest steelworks in Europe, assuming you can throw a stone a mile and a half. He now lives in South East England and amongst other things is a swords and sorcery scribe, pantun poet and jack of all trades. Recent publications include poems in  Voidspace and  Corvid Queen, and short fiction in Roi Fainéant and  Misery Tourism. His Eliza Sky stories have appeared previously in Swords and Sorcery Magazine.