Chapter Text
“Get up or I’ll come and get you up, you slugabed!” he shouted toward the house, feeling terribly fond all of a sudden. He could well imagine Anne was just whispering gentle “Henry” to wake her son, and he was not going to stand for that. It wasn’t even morning anymore, seriously. He shook his head and returned to his work, looking at the sword with pride. He still had it in him.
He could feel Henry lingering behind his back, maybe thinking better of actually coming to help him in fear of getting an earful. He hid his snicker and turned around.
“Well, you’re up!” he noted. “That’s a start.” Henry just grinned stupidly at him, because that’s what he did. Whether he knew it worked on his parents or he did it unconsciously, Martin didn’t know. “Anyway, we have a lot of work to do today. I’m finishing the sword for Sir Radzig and I need your help. First, as I am running out of charcoal, I’ll need you to run to the market and buy a bag from the charcoal burner.”
“Right,” Henry replied. “I’ll need some money then.”
“That’s the other thing,” Martin shrugged and looked over his shoulder, narrowing his eyes at his neighbour’s house. “Kunesh still owes me for an axe, a hammer, and the nails I sold him a month ago, not to mention his debt from before. Go and tell him to pay up at least for the axe and hammer and then use the money to buy the charcoal.”
“Well, that’ll be fun,” Henry sighed melodramatically. His shoulders slumped, he was probably imagining himself running around the house while Kunesh with an axe was following him. That man was never a ray of sunshine but since his wife had left, he became one hell of an asshole.
“You’re a big lad now,” Martin smirked at the boy, giving his bandaged hand a significant glance. “I’m sure you can manage. And if not, tell him that next time I’ll come myself and personally use that hammer to bang those nails into his arse.”
Henry seemed to lighten up at that. Another image entered his head and he started grinning again. “He’ll be happy to hear it, I’m sure. Anything else?”
“Yes, actually. The Chamberlain at the castle has the cross-guard for the sword. I need you to pick it up. And another thing. I know you’ll be going into the tavern to see that girl of yours anyway, so you can as well take some ale with you on your way back. But do make sure it’s still cool from the cellar when you get back.”
“Got it,” Henry said and went on his way. It was unusually hot today, for a man working since early morning more than just a little unpleasant. Birds were chirping happily in the trees, the clouds nowhere to be seen, only a small occasional breeze of fresh air to cool the blacksmith and shuffle the leaves of the linden tree behind his house. He hoped Henry would be back soon enough so they could finish the damn sword and have the rest of the day free. His back hurt and that wasn’t really helping.
Anne came to him, a soft smile on her lips, a bowl full of water in her hands.
“You should have some rest, husband,” she said and put the bowl down on the bench. “How’s your back?”
“I’ll show you how’s my back in the evening,” he huffed but took the water to cool his hands.
“It might be too late in the evening,” she winked at him and laughed at the face he pulled. “Have you told him?” she asked suddenly.
“What? About the hand?” he shrugged. “I’ll have some words with him later when he’s back. I needed him for the errands, not to run off and sulk somewhere where he can’t help me.”
“But what are you going to tell him? He doesn’t seem to listen. He understands, but he doesn’t listen.” She grew more anxious with every word. Martin sighed and sat down on the bench next to her.
“Anne, he’s just playing with wooden swords. You can’t get seriously injured with that. Even though it can hurt like hell, I admit.”
“I don’t really care about the wooden swords, Martin,” she argued. “But that he seems to be enjoying it too much for my liking. When wooden swords are not enough for him, then what? I don’t... I don’t want him to become a soldier or...” she snapped her mouth shut and looked away.
“Or something worse,” Martin added, taking her smaller hands in his. He never wanted to fight for a living, to kill people for somebody else just to have something to eat for a day or two. He didn’t choose that life but he did what he had to do back in his young days. He’d never been as happy as now, settled in a small village with a forgery and a beautiful wife and... a son that was taking too long, honestly. He kissed Anne’s knuckles and smiled at her, showing her that he didn’t take such words to heart. He understood. Anne was just like him in this, absolutely no sense for adventure. It was just as frustrating for him as for her to see that Henry took that part of personality from somebody else. He had many qualities to choose from, but that wouldn’t be him, really.
“He says he doesn’t think it’s wrong to want to be able to defend himself. I would agree but I don’t really think he means just defending himself when he’s talking about it. That’s just a trick to get me to agree with him,” she complained. “He will listen to you. I mean, I keep talking about having a simple life with simple pleasures, settling here with Bianca and having a family of his own, then taking the trade after you... it sounds so perfect, why doesn’t he see it? How can somebody dream of anything else but a life in peace where you don’t have to worry about your loved ones, where you don’t have to see blood every day, where you can sleep at night and talk to God without shame?” she took a deep breath to calm herself. “Nothing is forcing him into that life,” she added, squeezed his rough fingers and then placed a small kiss on his blackened cheek. “I’ll be forever grateful it’s thanks to you.”
He watched her leave back into the house, thinking about his next words to his son. It was one thing to defend himself, who could have anything against that? But Henry was just... too interested. Martin would have taken the boy and taught him to hold a sword, to use it properly if he knew that his son wouldn’t abuse that skill. But he could see that Henry would be only happy to leave everything behind just so he could travel more and fight more. He wouldn’t live long enough for Martin to retire. He just didn’t want that life for his child. He didn’t want that pain for his wife. He didn’t want to live long enough to bury his son.
“About time!” he shouted when Henry came close enough to hear him. Only after a proper look did Martin stop in his tracks. “What the hell happened to you?” he asked when Henry shuffled closer, a victorious spark in his blue eyes. His face was full of bruises that would become blue and yellow in a few hours, there was blood in his hair and on his temple, he looked as if some horse ran him over, then came back and ran him over once again, then sat on him and stayed like that.
“Let’s say,” Henry began, setting all the things he was sent for down on the bench, “that our good neighbour Kunesh was really happy to hear what I had to say.” And he grinned again because that was really all he ever did in situations like these. Martin thanked the God that Anne left soon enough to miss this as she would probably go and take the unpaid hammer to bang those nails into Kunesh’s arse for real. That woman could kill with kindness but she was a right mother hen when it came to her family.
And he was not better, he realized. He took the boy by the shoulders and sat him down on the bench so Anne wouldn’t see them from the house. Look at that, he thought while cleaning the wounds with the water Anne had brought earlier, wooden sword left him with a small scratch, and our dear neighbour left him almost unrecognizable. It really wouldn’t hurt to teach him a thing or two. Since his best argument had been always “you don’t need to defend yourself in the village” so far, he had to find something better now. Stupid Kunesh was going to get his ass kicked very soon. Beating his son and destroying his arguments in the process? Seriously.
After cleaning the fresh scratches Henry almost looked like a human being again. Martin said quiet farewell to early retirement and thought that perhaps he should keep Henry in the forgery until the sunset so Anne would notice the bruises next morning. Martin would be already done with Kunesh and his debts by that time so she could hang the bastard from the nearest tree for all he cared. He reached for the cross-guard, but stopped before he could touch it.
“Henry – if Kunesh beat you up instead of paying the debt, how did you pay for the charcoal? Heavens protect you if...”
“Nah, something better than that. I took the axe he didn’t want to pay for and he probably thought I was going to kill him. So he not only let me go but ran away as well. I sold the axe. I didn’t really steal anything. If you don’t count the axe... but that’s not really stealing, he didn’t pay for it, right?”
Martin only sighed and rubbed his forehead.
“Alright, let’s see what kind of job the master in Sasau did for us.” He took the guard of the sword and brought it closer to his face so he could take a proper look. He smiled. “Now that’s what I call craftsmanship,” he admired the piece, turning it over. He felt Henry behind his back, coming to stand right beside him and tilting his head so he could see the inscription.
“What does it say?” he asked.
“Damned if I know,” Martin said and narrowed his eyes at the small letters. “I don’t think it’s Czech. Latin, maybe? Sir Radzig ordered it.”
They worked in silence for a while, both focusing on their own work. Henry was filing the hilt of the sword down with a knife so it would sit well in the hand, while Martin was preparing the guard. Henry was the first to break the silence.
“Father, why did you leave Prague?” Martin raised his head at the words but didn’t answer. “Who ever heard of a master swordsmith making horseshoes in a village?” Martin only chuckled at that.
“I had my reasons, Hal,” he replied after a while. It wasn’t the first time he got this question, and it wasn’t the first time he gave this answer. “And here I have your mother and you – why would I want any other life?” He never told his son the truth, always making sure that rumours only said that the master swordsmith had gotten into an argument with a noble in Prague and left to avoid any complications with running his trade. He was the one who’d spread the rumour in the first place, but that was years ago. Nobody knew where did they get that information and nobody really cared after such a long time. Henry, as always, let it go. He knew he wouldn’t get more.
After trying out the sword and its swing, Martin finally felt satisfied.
“We did a fine job,” he exclaimed, stepping back. It was ages ago he held a sword he'd made with his own hands.
“I would expect nothing less from such a renowned swordsmith,” he heard. Martin held back a groan. They’ve got a visit.
Henry took a step back so they would stand side by side, and he bowed to their liege lord, startled at his presence. Martin came to his lord, bowing and handing the sword over.
“Those days are gone, Sir,” he replied. Radzig only hummed at that, looking the sword over. He seemed as impressed as everybody else.
“You haven’t lost your skills though,” he remarked. Then he tried it out just like Martin had, and, seemingly satisfied, handed the sword over to Henry with a question nobody expected: “Would you like to try it?” And of course the stupid boy brightened up at that, and he reached for the weapon, excited like a child. Martin was proud of his skills of holding back his groans.
“Sir,” he reached his hand as if to stop Henry from taking the sword and accidentally killing everyone, “what good is a sword to a commoner...?” Because Radzig really had some nerve to come here and make his prepared speech for Henry’s life-choices even harder. Radzig knew how Anne felt about violence. Radzig also knew how Martin felt about violence. That should be enough since he also knew that Martin could go back on his word when needed. He glared at his lord, but the man ignored him. The bastard knew what he would see.
“Let him try it,” Radzig stopped him, still holding the sword. Henry seemed surprised, but always one to go for it, he took the weapon. He knew he was getting an earful either way, so he might as well make it worth it. The boy even had the nerve to grin at him, as always. Martin glared even harder.
Henry was terrible, as was expected. He knew some moves now, but the real thing was so much heavier than the wooden sword he got used to. Radzig only smiled at him, in a way he never smiled at anyone else. Martin often wondered if it was so obvious only to him.
“You still have a lot to learn,” Radzig said, always a diplomat. Martin almost rolled his eyes. Then the noble finally looked at Martin, with a look the blacksmith couldn’t quite decipher. Too serious for such a light moment, he would say. The stranger behind Radzig’s back didn’t even move all this time. “Ask your father to show you how – he knows what he’s about.”
These were the times Martin wanted to forget his promise to not be violent unless absolutely necessary. He couldn’t get away with strangling a lord, could he? Radzig took the sword back from Henry, while Martin took a few seconds for a deep breath.
“Learning his trade will serve him better in life...” he almost growled. “Sir.” It could have been an insult all the same.
“Perhaps,” Radzig replied, making a show of looking at the sword from another angle. “But who knows,” he continued, his voice slow and somewhat dreamy, “what the future holds for each of us.” Then he tried to swing it once more. “I see that you almost have it finished.”
Martin jumped at the chance to leave this behind them as soon as possible.
“It just needs a polish,” he nodded and motioned toward his son, “Then Henry will bring it to you.”
“Excellent. Fine work, very fine,” Radzig said, while the stranger behind him finally moved closer to them. The nobleman, probably sensing the movement, spoke louder for the man’s sake: “A sword such as this will bring honour to its bearer. What say you, Sir Istvan?” Then he handed it over to the man, who took it as if he’d been waiting for the opportunity.
“True, Sir Radzig,” he replied, his voice like honey and silk, and Martin didn’t like it at all. “If I’d had its like back in Nicopolis, things would have worked out differently.” He then laid the sword on his left palm, as if studying the balance of the weapon. All of them but Henry knew he actually used it to aim at Martin. And the blacksmith felt just like he would feel if an archer took an aim at his heart. “How odd to find such an accomplished swordsmith working in a place like this.”
Radzig looked over at Martin. And even though Martin didn’t really see his expression, too angry to look away from Istvan’s stare, he thought he finally understood. The fact that the always diplomatic and tactful liege lord didn’t manage to hide his frown, was speaking volumes. He tried to get in front of Martin, and Istvan, seeing the gesture for what it was, aimed his attention at his host again. “A man of his talent would have no problem making a fortune in Prague or Vienna.”
Martin gritted his teeth. Surely nobody would notice if he strangled two lords today?
“You’re right,” Radzig admitted. “It’s a very long,” he looked over at Martin, giving him a smile that looked almost painful, “and peculiar story.”
And that was it. Istvan looked them both over. Martin glared at the stranger even harder. He knew what he could do with only his look if he wanted. Istvan seemed to be more amused than anything else, though.
“I’d be glad to listen to it over a cup of wine, but duty calls... and I must leave.” That sounded too good to be true. “Here you are,” Istvan continued and gave the sword back to Martin. Not a wise move, Martin snickered for himself but managed to give the stranger a small bow of his head.
Then, because Istvan probably wanted to die, he turned to Henry of all people, and he motioned more to Radzig than Martin. “Learn from your father. He truly is a master of his craft.” Not only did he know, but he decided to be a dick about it.
Radzig finally saw a way out. “I’m sure our paths will cross again,” he said with a hand on Istvan’s back as he led him back to the horses.
Martin came over to his son and didn’t miss the way Henry got smaller somehow, regretting the whole situation came to an end. He just lost a man who was willing to stand on his side in this endless argument he had with his parents.
Radzig turned to them once more before he left.
“Once it’s ready, send your son up to me with it,” he called after them. “Good work, Martin,” he added with a smile and a look that, once again, didn’t really make sense to Martin.
After the nobles took their leave, Henry turned to him with a grin. “A long, peculiar history?”
And even now Martin held back the groan fighting its way out of his throat. “That was a long time ago. I might tell you about it sometime, but not today.” He didn’t even need to turn around to know that Hal slumped his shoulders in defeat once more, always so curious about his father’s past. Now that somebody else addressed it, he felt braver about his questions. And his hopes got crushed once again. So he tried something else.
“Will you teach me how to use it, like Sir Radzig said?” he asked but his heart wasn’t really in it.
“Why?” Martin replied. Maybe he was being petty now. He still didn’t get to drink the ale and it sure as hell wasn’t cold now.
“Well, it could come in useful. Maybe I’ll travel a bit before settling down,” Henry said, trying to sound decisive and firm. It only took Martin to turn around and look at him. Hal averted his gaze and bowed his head to look at his shoes instead. Then, as if he needed that moment to find his lost courage, he looked up again. “I’d like to know more than the tavern on the green and the forge.”
“Huh,” Martin said, because where his son had this annoying habit of grinning at nothing and no one, Martin had this. “You know the trouble with an adventurous life, son? It can end before it gets started. I might teach you how to handle a sword and then someone will shoot you with a crossbow as soon as you set foot outside the house.” Those were actually Anne’s words and he felt a little silly repeating them, but better to sound like a paranoid parent than somebody with a history of witnessing (or causing) such unfortunate ends.
“You talk as if you’ve seen it happen.” Henry might sound like a brat annoyed at his father’s stubbornness, but Martin saw the trap.
“A man my age has seen a lot. Being a blacksmith might bring no glory, but it has its benefits – like keeping your head on your shoulders.” Well, at least now he could sound like himself. He couldn’t count the times where he almost lost his head, be it in a fight or by law. “I want to end my days in Skalitz, here beneath the linden tree, and by your mother’s side.”
And that was really all that mattered.
“Well, so do I,” Henry blurted out, growing more and more frustrated. “One day. But first I’d like to see the world, meet new people...”
“Meet them or beat them?” Martin asked, hearing the amusement finding its way into his voice. He knew what would follow and didn’t he just adore the moments he could tease the kid just for the hell of it. As expected, Henry groaned.
“Meet! Do you have to keep going on about it?”
“Then you’ve no need to learn swordplay. Violence isn’t the answer to everything. You might win a fight with it, but you’ll never win an argument. Remember, if you want to convince someone that they’re wrong, try using your mouth and not your fists,” Martin replied, feeling the smile he could no longer hold back spreading on his face.
He looked at the ugly bruises from Kunesh and remembered Radzig’s unexpected and rather uncalled for request, but he was feeling rather tired from all of this. He just wanted to finish the damn sword, keep his wife away from Henry’s blue face and kick his dear neighbour’s ass. Maybe he would stop by at the castle and ask the stupid lord what was that all about...
But then, because it was such a beautiful day and Martin was cursed, a messenger on a horse came and he seemed in a hurry. And that was never a good sign.
The sound of the horn. The bells. A scream. On the hill right in front of them, an army waited for its master’s orders. Silence. Another blow of the warhorn, then the rain of arrows.
Martin saw this so many times, but never from this side. His wife in the village, his child by his side. That was... something entirely else. He took the boy by his shoulders.
“Listen to me, Hal! And listen carefully.” It took him a few seconds to focus on his father’s voice when there were villagers screaming in the background. “Take the sword, go into the house and grab anything else important from the trunk. Go to the castle. Hurry!”
“What about you?” Henry blurted out, terrified, watching his father taking another sword, an older one.
“Your mother is in the village. I’ll fetch her and we’ll follow right behind.”
“I’ll go with you!” the boy choked on his words, holding back tears. He didn’t believe him. And Martin couldn’t really blame him.
“No!” he shouted. “You’ll do what I say, right now! Give the sword to Sir Radzig. If anything happens, he’ll take care of you. He owes me.”
Was that really the last thing he wanted his son to hear from him? An empty promise of his parents’ return and a possible goodbye.
Henry finally nodded, god bless him. Martin watched him running into the house, just to make sure he really would do what he’d told him to do, or maybe look at him once more time before... before something terrible happened, he didn’t know. Then he turned around and ran into the village, with a sword he promised to never use again.
The gate was no obstacle for the horses, the guards no worthy opponents for the army that burst in. His friends, traders, the children, the women, all of them fell to the blade or an arrow, everything was happening at once. He slew the first attacker, then another, then a few more, all of them surprised he knew how to hold a sword. He could do so much more with it, they had no idea. He kept scanning the area for a familiar face, that beautiful and innocent face that deserved only happiness and peace. Then he heard the scream. Screams were good, screams came from people who were still alive.
A man was dragging Anne through the mud, holding her hair in an iron grip. Martin took him down with one swing to the back. Another one was coming after his wife. He cut his arm off and the soldier fell to the ground. Before the man could realize he just lost a limb, Martin ran the sword through his neck, then turned around and slashed another attacker from behind. A few seconds more. Good, good. He took Anne by her arm, dragging her up to her feet and running toward the castle.
One attacker tried to take Anne from him so he yanked her by the arm hard enough to send her back on the ground. Two men down, another one, and another. A few seconds and a few metres between them and the castle. Anne couldn’t catch her breath, she took his hand and let him pull her back on her wobbly feet. They managed to run a few metres more.
Then he heard the thudding of horses’ hooves in the mud and knew they were damned. He pulled Anne closer and shouted at her to go ahead. She cried and begged him to do what, he had no idea. Instead of attracting more men to himself, he stood almost alone in the yard. They went their ways to avoid him. Maybe they got annoyed somebody held his ground, or maybe they found his effort amusing, but they went around him to get to other villagers who didn’t get to the castle in time. They burst into the tavern and to the butcher’s house, burning everything down, cutting everyone down.
Anne was running toward the gate. Good. He turned back just in time to see a man he hoped he would never see again come in, in full armor and on a horse no less.
Martin felt calmer then he had just a few moments before. He held the sword down, knowing he had no way of getting out of this. Nobody was attacking him anymore, all men scattered around and plundering and forcing the women who were left behind. Then he heard another scream. The girl Henry liked – Bianca. And – no. No. No.
Stupid woman!
“Anne!” he screamed, his throat painfully raw from the smoke in the air. Anne, trying to protect the young girl from another soldier, fell to the ground, unmoving. The soldier ran her through once more, then Bianca, annoyed he didn’t get what he wanted. Martin wanted to run to them and gut the bastard, but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t scream either, his voice leaving him. There were only Anne and the growing puddle of her blood under her lifeless body.
Then, even when he thought it wasn’t possible, it became worse. In the corner of his eye, he saw something green and red, watching, frozen and unable to move. He found his voice again.
“No! Get out of here, you fool! Get out of here RIGHT NOW!” he screamed once again, looking away from his beloved wife. Markvart saw what he wanted to see, standing in the gate and watching until now, trying to figure out why the blacksmith fought an already lost battle. Martin began to run toward the gate, knowing he couldn’t help Anne in any way. “RUN!” he shouted again, tears pricking in his eyes. Henry couldn’t look away from his mother’s body. Martin had seen so many men die just for this exact reason, freezing in the middle of the battlefield. Come on. Come on.
Then he heard the horse running after him and he stopped abruptly, turned sharply on his heels and he steeled himself for an attack. But the man wasn’t going for him. The horse was running faster and faster and Martin got ready to strike the animal down.
Markvart almost ran him over. Although Martin knew that was exactly what the German wanted him to do, his survival instinct forced him to throw himself on the ground and roll out of the way. Henry finally realized what was happening. Too late.
The German slashed at him with his sword. He didn’t miss. Dark red coloured the green shirt, a long gash running from the boy’s collar bone to his belly.
“NO, god no, no, please!” Martin ran to them, the distance wasn’t getting any smaller and Markvart was already on his feet, standing above Henry, waiting, watching Martin tripping over himself.
“Please,” Henry gasped, trying to get away from under the sword. “Please don’t,” he begged, choking on his blood and tears. The wound was bleeding heavily. Serious enough to make him unable to escape, not enough to kill him instantly.
“This is between you and me, you son of a bitch!” Martin screamed once more, and Markvart only smirked. Then he looked down, thoughtfully, and pushed the blade into Henry’s stomach. A scream tore out of Henry’s throat, a guttural sound unlike any sound a human should make.
The world should have stopped at that moment. It should have ended.
A rain of arrows fell on the yard, killing a handful of the attackers. The guards in the castle were trying to help in a small meaningless way, waiting for their deaths. Markvart turned around, surprised by the attack. Then he got on his horse again and ran back to the front gate of the village. He didn’t try to hurt the blacksmith in any way. Martin didn’t try to get him off the horse.
He fell on his knees by his son’s side and took the boy into his arms. Henry whimpered in pain, trembling hands trying to reach for his father.
“Dad,” he choked, blood coming from his mouth. Martin didn’t say anything. Ignoring all the cries and protests, he took the boy over his shoulder and started for the castle, leaving his beautiful wife behind. He couldn’t feel a thing.
The villagers were huddling together in the courtyard, some of them crying and trying to find their loved ones. Some men were held by their wives in iron grips to prevent them from trying to fight. Some villagers were on their back, injured people who were taken into safety but were not expected to live long. He recognized all the faces but couldn’t really remember who were they supposed to be. He stumbled into the castle, the cold stone suddenly too close to his knees.
He caught Henry’s head just before it hit the ground. From the looks of it, Henry was crying silent tears all the way to the castle, not having enough strength to scream anymore. His whole body was shaking violently, his hands gripping Martin’s shirt.
“I tried to tell him,” Henry suddenly pulled him closer, gritting his teeth.
“I am so sorry,” Martin heard himself say. “I am sorry.” He wanted to scold him for not running to the castle. He knew he shouldn’t. He had no idea what to say. Only seconds left, they both knew that. So he just held his son and waited.
“Dad,” the boy mumbled, with his eyes closed now, his grip on Martin’s shirt loosening. “Dad,” he breathed out again, and Martin looked at him with a small “huh” because that’s what he always did. That was their game. And Henry grinned at him. Because that’s what he always did.