The waif hides in the corner of the smithy, feeling the heat of the forge, hearing the clang of the hammer in the hands of Grunnock Mul, the master blacksmith. Grunnock smiles at her and beckons with a meaty finger, she draws closer and watches tentatively. He is kind Grunnock, some say he is too kind, welcoming all manner of homeless children into his forge to steal and make mischief. But she does not believe he is too kind, she believes he is just kind enough. She smiles.

She watches as he hammers away at the iron, as he makes casts and moulds, as he works the bellows and plunges hot metal into steaming water. And then she finds herself doing those things, slowly she learns, she and all the other apprentices, taken off the streets, learning the trade of the master blacksmith.

They are not as skilled as Grunnock, they say no one is, but each one learns a different part of his trade, horseshoes, bars, furniture, weapons. All of them masters of their particular craft, but the waif is the most skilled of them all, she makes armour.

Buric scratched a piece of dust off his pauldron. He always hated it when Riley’s impeccable work was marred. He knew it was hopeless though, they had a long way to go on a long dusty road and the armour was doomed to become caked with dust and grime at some point. Riley looked up at him, riding his horse beside her, and raised her eyebrow. She knew he liked to keep her work clean but she honestly didn’t care, it wouldn’t rust, not for a long time, unless he treated it really terribly. He was an outlander Buric, a ranger before he became a knight. So he wasn’t used to having such expensive equipment.

They walked along the road, travelling with Lord Haron and his train to castle Elkring. The great King Ramon had called them all to muster his armies and put down some uprising in the south. So they had come as all good lords did. Buric was there because he was a knight, Riley was there because without her work knights tended to die.

Grunnock had passed away not two years ago and now all the knights of the realm were vying for her to make them armour. She had to refuse most of them, she was only one person and she could only work so fast, but still she had a backlog of over twenty knights to get to. She was just happy she’d been able to make armour for her friends like Buric before being swamped with all these demands from more important people.

“What do you know of King Ramon?” Buric asked her, still searching for blemishes on his armour.

“He’s a king,” Riley replied and Buric nodded sarcastically. “He has a forge he wants me to work in that probably isn’t as good as mine.”

“Ah of course, the most important quality of a king, the quality of his forge.”

“Well what was I supposed to say? He’s asking me here to help outfit an army, I couldn’t do that even with Grunnock’s help.”

“You’re not being asked to outfit an army, you’re being asked to help outfit an army, there are other armourers in the world too you know.”

Riley snorted. “Are there? Half the knights in the realm don’t seem to think so.”

“Knights are like that,” Buric said wisely. “Selfish greedy people, you can’t be an honourable knight unless you’re outfitted in the most honourable equipment obtained through potentially dishonourable means.”

Riley looked up at him, every bit a knight himself. He grinned down at her happily.

“Anyway,” he continued. “What I was getting at was King Ramon’s attitudes, his policies, what people say about him.”

“What do people say about him?”

“They say he’s too soft,” Buric continued, looking ahead. “They say a real king would have put down Lord Farro’s uprising months ago. And they say he’s too soft on his son.”

“Careful now, you keep talking like that people are likely to hear you.”

“Perhaps,” Buric grinned. “But perhaps people have already heard what I’m saying, from sources far more credible than me.”

“You are certainly not very credible,” Riley japed, but she was grimmer now. Ramon’s son was Prince Edric, the Knight of Tongues, and the horrible things he’d done to his enemies were infamous. She’d never met him before but knights high in nobility had a habit of running into her. She hoped she’d just be fixing a few suits of armour, joking with Buric, and then they could go home. It was much safer at home, and it was much easier to joke with Buric when she still had her tongue.

The great castle Elkring was a busy place. Tents and scaffolds were set up all around it and the city of Elkring stretched out below. Horses and people went this way and that and what grass had been there once had long been trampled into paths going in every direction. They made their way up to the castle itself and split up, Buric and the other knights going to see the king and Riley off to visit the forge. It was more impressive than she’d been expecting, sporting much more expensive equipment than she’d ever been able to afford at home, she supposed there were some benefits to working for the king. It was busy, extremely busy, filled with weaponsmiths and armourers from all across the land. She felt quite small and in the way at first, just like back in the early days in Grunnock’s smithy. But she’d soon grown out of that.

By the end of the day she was ordering apprentices around like she’d always been there and had even the most complicated apparatus figured out. They had a lot of metal to get through and she didn’t intend to waste any time.

That night she reunited with Buric and they exchanged stories of their first days in the castle. She told him all about the different machines and forges and all the progress they’d made on them while his eyes glazed over as she fell back on the technical terms of her trade. Then he told her of the king and his retinue and even described the Knight of Tongues. While they hadn’t spoken, Edric had been at the same table during their welcoming feast and Buric had felt uneasy just being that close to him. It was something in his face, he said, something evil and menacing. Riley laughed it off and made fun of his feeble attempts to describe him. How scary could he be? He was just a man. That was where she was wrong though, he wasn’t just a man, he was a prince, and princes have ways of conjuring up more men.

Riley spoke with Atarka, the head armourer of castle Elkring. He was an old man, far past his days of lifting a hammer himself, instead ordering his various apprentices to do it. He had known Grunnock well and shared with her many stories long past the point where she cared. She did respect his process though, he had plans and structures set up to see the whole army outfitted by the time the king wanted to march. He knew exactly where he needed everyone to work and exactly how much work needed to be done. So she set to that work with vigor. It wasn’t the same as working at her own forge of course, things were strange and different and cluttered with people. But she managed, she was the best armourer in the realm, so they said, she’d manage.

That night she found Buric again and once more they discussed their days happily. They didn’t get far though, there was a frenzied announcement that came down the ranks. Lord Farro’s host had been seen much closer to the castle than anyone thought possible. He was breathing down their necks and the army would have to be sent out much sooner than they’d originally thought.

“We won’t be ready,” Riley said to Buric, reminiscing on Atarka’s many plans.

“We’ll be ready enough,” he replied. “We outnumber them and even without the armour you’re producing we still have enough to outfit most of the troops.”

Riley nodded, she was glad she didn’t have to be that soldier who was left without armour.

They slept in the same tent due to the cramped conditions of the castle and Buric smiled at her from his bedroll. He always did this before he went off to battle, tried to cheer her up, pretend everything was fine.

“They had another feast today,” he said. “Some more lords turning up, you wonder where they get all the food from.”

“You and your feasts,” she replied, playing along with his game. “We get stale bread and water down in the forges if we’re lucky.”

“Ah you should have seen it,” he sighed happily. “Roast duck and gravy, parsnips and potatoes, and fresh bread straight from the kitchens to mop it all up. Delicious.”

She rolled her eyes. “You didn’t save me any?”

“Ah it would’ve been stale by the time it got to you. A waste really, better to eat it then.”

“Hmm yes, of course. You-”

Someone threw open the door of the tent and dark shapes swarmed in. Riley scrabbled toward the back of the tent while Buric leapt up and tackled one of the shapes. The shape was a man, and the man held a sword. Buric collapsed to the ground, bleeding everywhere. Riley screamed but no one heard and they’d grabbed her and smothered her scream before she realised what was going on. Riley was strong from working in the forge all day for much of her life, but these men were stronger and there were more of them. She struggled helplessly and watched Buric moan softly on the ground and clutch at his wound. At least he was alive, he better stay alive.

Someone walked in far too calmly for the situation and he lit a candle, casting light across the tent. Buric was cradling a cut across his chest and all the shapes were knights dressed mostly in black. She recognised the calm man although she’d never seen him before. Perhaps it was his manner, calm and collected, just the way a prince should be. Or perhaps it was his face, cold and foul and menacing, just like Buric had badly described. But most likely it was his armour, black and ornate and with desiccated tongues pinned all over it. Yes it was really the tongues she decided, they gave it away.

“Take their tongues,” Prince Edric said coldly and Riley panicked, struggling desperately against the men to no avail. All the little dreads she’d been feeling about the prince, the fanciful fears she thought were no more than niggling thoughts. They were all coming true and there was nothing she could do about it.

It hurt when they cut her tongue from her, but she barely felt it, barely felt the blood as it filled her mouth. She was numb with dread and fear and the horror that she would never talk again. They did it to Buric too and she watched them, he was pale from bloodloss and barely seemed to realise what was going on. She idly thought that she would tell him all about it later but then she remembered she’d have no way of doing that. Tears stung her eyes and she looked on numbly.

Then Edric was there, right in front of her face, smiling a thin smile. “You will help me,” he said. “You will forge for me new armour, armour that I will wear into battle against Lord Farro. If you don’t your friend will die.” He shrugged. “Simple as that.”

It was difficult to keep from crying, but she managed it. She couldn’t glare at him though, she wasn’t strong enough for that and that just made her tears sting more.

Lord Haron, the patron of both Buric and Riley, did nothing. He was afraid of Edric and the power and influence he wielded over his father. Further he knew it wasn’t wise to start feuds during war. That just tended to end up with more people killed, so he kept quiet and continued on as normal.

This left Buric and Riley and on their own, watched over by Edric’s black knights. Buric lay in a bed recovering from his wound and Riley spent every moment she could looking after him, often they’d try to talk to each other before remembering that they couldn’t do that anymore. She’d never learnt to read and he had not the strength to write, so they sat in silence every moment they got. But they did not get many moments. Pulled away from her work on outfitting the army Riley was turned toward a new project. Armour for the Knight of Tongues.

It was difficult work that much was sure. She couldn’t order the apprentices around and the specifications she’d been given were exact. It was the tongues that hurt most, there had to be spaces for them to be attached which was difficult already but as she was doing it the thought that one of those tongues would be hers kept surfacing in her mind. But she pushed back those thoughts and worked anyway, she could lose herself in her work if it could save her and Buric. She hoped it would save her and Buric. Did the Knight of Tongues ever let people go?

Prince Edric sat in his favourite chair while a barber combed through his black hair, nimbly trimming off the pieces that refused to fall into line. There was a knock on the door and one of his knights called his name.

“Come in,” he said.

“It’s the blacksmith girl sir,” the knight said once he’d come in. “She keeps gesturing at her measures and at your symbols. We think she wants to measure you.”

“She already has my measurements,” Edric said thoughtfully.

“We told her that, she wasn’t deterred. She apparently wants to measure you herself.”

Edric narrowed his brows. “Well I suppose she knows her craft best. I will see her soon.”

Riley detested being so close to the prince but she measured him anyway. She’d never measured someone so exactly before, but this was one of a kind armour where any error could spell death for her and Buric. So she forced herself through it, checking and double checking and moving him about despite her loathing. When she was done she walked off without giving him any indication she was done, if he was going to take out her tongue he didn’t deserve to hear what she had to say anyway. Shame really, she had some really clever remarks that would be excellent insults in hindsight.

The armour was completed only a day before the army was due to ride out to meet Lord Farro and Riley insisted she be the one to put it on the prince, she wasn’t having anyone else messing with her masterpiece. For masterpiece it was, possibly the greatest armour she had ever designed, each piece fit snugly with its neighbours and moved snugly as well. Having such exact measurements had allowed her to stray much closer to a perfect fit than she’d usually permit herself. And fit it did, sliding flawlessly onto the prince’s clothes, wrapping around him, a second skin made of steel, with each surface riddled with hooks upon which to hang tongues. She slid the helmet over his head, fastened it on and then stepped back, she didn’t watch the tongues being attached, she didn’t want to guess which one might be hers.

Edric rode into the battle feeling his armour riding with him. It was truly the best armour he’d ever worn, the girl had probably exceeded her reputation. It was heavy, as was all armour, but it fit so snugly he would have almost been able to forget it otherwise. It weathered blows and deflected arrows. He was a capable warrior but in the armour he felt invincible, he moved through the battle easily, laying waste to the enemy and leaving their corpses in his wake. He felt it tighten somewhat as he moved, as though it still wasn’t snug enough, as though it had to become truly part of him for his great battle. It was somewhat uncomfortable but it became even easier to move as what little loose parts slid smoothly onto his skin. He relished the feeling, he was unstoppable.

A tall knight in a tattered cloak rode up to meet him, someone with no colours or standard. A nobody Edric would end beneath his blade. But the nobody was fast, too fast, and too strong. Blows came down faster than Edric could answer, faster than he could think. He swung and swung and every swing hit only air while he was assailed from all sides. But the armour held, that beautiful armour. The man couldn’t have pierced it if he’d had the Knight of Tongues in chains, try as he might. Then the nobody’s sword found the visor and snuck into his helmet. Edric panicked and jerked away but he needn’t have worried. The visor was barred and the blade caught in the bars. When he jerked back the sword was jerked from the man’s hand and spun across the battlefield. Edric roared in triumph and reared his noble horse up, he swung his sword across the defenseless man. He fell and Edric rode over him in the dust, on to greater enemies.

The day ended in victory for the king and Prince Edric rode back triumphant, his knights carrying many new tongues to add to his collection. As he rode back his helmet became somewhat hot and uncomfortable, being as tight as it was. He felt around for the clasp but it was so smooth and flawless there didn’t seem to be one. There was something though, a latch or a bolt or something, but he didn’t know what it was and decided he’d let someone else remove it when they returned, best not to look the fool in front of his soldiers being unable to remove his own helmet.

The guard was dead, skewered through the neck by a dagger. The knight and the smith girl were gone, it seemed the knight had been a lot healthier than any of them had realised. Edric sent off a tracker to find them and sat down, beckoning a squire over to remove his armour.

“It was a magnificent battle,” he spoke idly as the squire scrabbled at his helmet. “Someday you’ll be in one. You never truly feel alive until you hold someone else’s life in your hands. Have you ever held someone else’s life in your hands boy?”

“Um... Well...”

“What’s taking you so long? Take the helmet off damn you, I can barely breathe in this thing.”

“Um... It doesn’t.... There’s no...”

“There’s no what?”

“There’s no clasp, or latch, or anything. It’s broken off... I think...”

“Broken...?” Edric felt around his helmet at the latch thing he’d found before, it didn’t seem to move very much.

“Fetch Atarka,” he’ll know what to do.” The squire rushed away. Edric snorted, perhaps her reputation hadn’t been so perfect after all, she’d made a faulty latch. He’d have to teach her what it meant to make mistakes when his life was involved.

Atarka arrived, old and wrinkled but still with the powerful build of his youth when he’d been able to hammer out armour with the best of them. He examined the helmet and made some curious noises, somewhere between surprise and annoyance. Then he began to inspect the rest of the armour. Edric tried to ask what he was doing but he shushed him and kept looking. The prince began to grow annoyed.

“I am your prince. Get me out of this armour immediately or I will-”

“I cannot take your armour off Prince Edric,” Atarka said with not quite enough sadness in his voice. “I have never seen armour like this before, it... It is not made to come off.”

“What?” Edric began to feel something he rarely felt, fear. “But it was put on.”

“Yes and I have some idea of how it was put on but I think it was done with bolts, bolts that were made to break in battle so they could not be undone.”

“But... but... surely you can do something!”

“I’m afraid anything I could do would involve fire or hammers, all of which would likely be incredibly harmful to you. The helmet especially, I do not think I could take that off without killing you.”

“Well then find me a better armourer!” Edric leapt to his feet and grabbed Atarka by the throat with both hands. Atarka grabbed Edric’s arms and pulled them off angrily. The prince was strong but he was tired from battle and the smith was angry now. But he still spoke with calm.

“There is only one better armourer and from what your squire told me she has recently escaped. I suggest you find her before...”

“Before what?”

“Well I don’t know but I doubt being stuck in that armour forever will be healthy. How will you eat anything for example?”

Edric’s heart began to beat faster. He still had his own tongue and many more but even with all of them he could not speak.

He’d been a ranger once, had Buric, he’d lived among the hills and the mountains keeping them free of bandits and vagabonds. So when they ran away they would not be found. Riley walked along beside him, through the trees and rocks. They didn’t speak of course, they couldn’t. She thought that was just as well, then she might be tempted to tell him what she’d done and she didn’t know what he’d think of her then. So they walked in silence and she smiled, not at her freedom but at Edric’s imprisonment. There was no way out of that armour, not even she could take it off. She walked away and left him to die in his own sweat and filth and hunger. She smiled.