After they had washed and eaten properly, they left home. It was a charming little stone house with a thatched roof in the center of the kingdom.
The front door was modestly covered with hinges. And when it was opened, the sunlight lit up a living room where a quaint little wooden console held various objects. The crossbeams of the ceilings were open in the purest Arcadian tradition; the window embrasures were carved from genuine walnut burl; the walls were covered with mosaics depicting the map of the two kingdoms.
In the middle of the living room was a large solid oak table on a red wool rug; a small velvet sofa faced the fireplace hearth that made the winter days less rigorous. At the back of the room, one door opened onto Baris's bedroom and another onto Riga's. Thus, one was surprised at the state of this small dwelling inhabited by men, as the care taken in its arrangement was remarkable. But in reality, it had once belonged to an architect in charge of refurbishing the royal fountains.
However, maintenance did not seem to be a significant concern for the two men. Indeed, dust accumulated on the furniture, dishes slept in the sink, and mice were frequent visitors... But overall, this little house was a comfortable place to rest. Rest, indeed, was something Baris needed after his long days of labor at the blacksmith shop.
The blacksmith shop was a small portion of a building within the royal palace grounds where only the employees, the royal guard soldiers, and Queen Andora's guests could move freely. The rest of the kingdom was prohibited access and stay within its ramparts. To guarantee the safety of the palace, hundreds of guards patrolled around the high walls, and even more protected the great gate. For some time now, numerous soldiers had joined Andora's army. Some lived within the palace, while others would leave to spend the night with their families. Among all these men, no one was allowed to reveal the reason for their enlistment. Each was required to master martial arts, at least handle the sword, sometimes the spear, and other throwing weapons. The frequent use of their weapons required impeccable maintenance. Thus, everyone who passed through the palace knew the castle's blacksmith.
Baris mechanically repeated the same movements every day. The deafening sound of the hammer on the anvil had made him partially deaf in one ear. The shop was filled with a sweltering heat made even more unbearable by the long summer days. Even though a light breeze sometimes arose, making the chains hanging on the wall jingle, Baris still felt as if he was working in a furnace. The stifling heat was compounded by the darkness of a bottomless well, from which only the infernal light of the furnace gave a spark of life to the soot-covered walls. This oppressive environment constantly gave him headaches, and he often stopped in his work to sit in the shade of the numerous cryptomerias surrounding the foundry. There, he would take the opportunity to quench his thirst quietly, with only the sound from the treetops. And with a single glance, he sadly considered the conditions in which he worked.
The only ray of sunlight in his grim working day was at the top of the tower adjoining the castle, which he had to climb every day. The place was actually a storage area where the charcoal that allowed him to fuel his fire was stored. Oh! He could well have done without this extra effort, but in fact, at the top, he had the chance to admire the kingdom of Arcadia through one of the arrow slits. He himself had requested that the fuel be stored here. From there, he could make out the castle walls of King Ragan, he could see the top of the war memorial erected in the Market Square, and the rolling hills of the Secular Park. And every day, he repeated their names, pointing with his finger and smiling like a child. However, this brief moment of respite was like the flash in the pan that the homeless would share to warm themselves: it lasted only an instant. As soon as the charcoal was loaded on his back, he had to return immediately to the shop.
And today, like every other day, he had to bend the red iron, pound it, polish the sharp blades, he had... had to endure this insignificant life, waiting for the providential arrival of the Grim Reaper.
Every day, after his day of labor, Baris went to the inn of his friend Aruma. It was a large building with stone walls and a thatched roof. The interior was bright and hosted a hundred customers of all origins every day: there were humans as well as ogres and dwarves. The back of the inn was reserved for card games and target games, while the rest of the large hall welcomed those who wanted to chat over a drink. Customers seated four or more around wooden tables laughed, yelled, jostled, sang in a warm atmosphere as the establishment was always full.
Baris, sitting at the bar, quenched his thirst while sharing his feelings about the kingdom and its evolution with his friend Aruma, a chubby dwarf with an always affable air.
"It can't go on like this," he declared, "something has to be done."
"What can you do?" Aruma asked, putting away the glasses he was drying on a shelf. "The power is in her hands. Talking like that, you're exposing yourself to great risks..."
"Yes, but if this continues, tomorrow it could be you, or me, or even one of our sons. We should at least try to talk to her, ask her why all these arrests and murders. She has changed..."
"Who will listen to a blacksmith?" Aruma said, chuckling. "If you were to die tomorrow, you would be immediately replaced by your son! What an irony, isn't it?"
"It's been almost a year. After living in fear of the thugs from the Golden Quarter, people now fear the queen's henchmen. It has to stop!"
"You're just a blacksmith, remember!"
Baris wasn't listening. His eyes glazed over, he thought about the scene he had witnessed two days before. His young apprentice blacksmith had been arrested without any reason. He hadn't been able to intervene, and since then he had heard nothing more from him. Every day dead bodies were found in the narrow alleys of the kingdom, unexplained deaths that were readily attributed to the queen.
However, that day was special, and he was brought out of his daydreams by cries that were heard outside.
"But I swear to you! I'm not lying! A man is tasked to kill the queen! I tell you..."
"Shut up, old man!"
"Argh!"
Fights were common in Genib; one might even say it was a national sport, a tradition deeply rooted in the country, but never, never had anyone heard someone threaten the queen. For everyone knew, both in the kingdom of Arcadia and in her own kingdom, that she was not just a queen but also a powerful witch.
All the patrons of the inn, after stopping their conversations, looked at each other in amazement:
Someone wants to kill the queen! they thought.
They all rushed out of the inn as one to see an old man dressed in rags blackened by dirt who was being beaten out by two soldiers of the royal guard.
"Stop! Please! I tell you, the man who is supposed to kill the queen is in this inn, he comes here regularly. I've seen him with my own eyes!" cried the bloodied old man, turning his gaze to the onlookers gathered in front of the inn. "Ah? Ah! It's him..." he said, pointing his finger at the crowd.
"Yes, it's him, I'm sure, I recognize him, it's him. I... Aaargh!"
"Shut up, damn it!" shouted one of the furious soldiers, plunging his sword into the poor man's back.
The soldier, a bloated fellow adorned with a ridiculous mustache, his eyes bulging, sheathed his weapon after wiping it on the rags of the poor old man. The inn's patrons were terrified, not by his unjust death, but because he had pointed at Baris before dying. They all knew him so well that they turned towards him, slowly. They stared at him with unrestrained surprise and admiration.
Incredible! they thought. Baris wants to rid us of Andora! How kind of him to do this for us!
The Arcadians might hate the Genibians, but they disliked the sovereign of their kingdom no less. For nearly a year, criticisms had been flying about her in friendly circles. They said she was unpredictable, eccentric, unable to manage either her troops or her crops. Many residents were hungry while she repressed grievances by force.
Baris was also stunned. The soldier then turned towards the crowd, his gaze furious. He stomped towards the swarm of onlookers grumbling, followed by his accomplice. Seeing the soldiers heading towards them at a brisk pace, the patrons quickly moved away from the blacksmith. Indeed, they had no desire to be involved in a story that didn't concern them and could cost them their lives. For the past year, a state of emergency had been declared and the soldiers of the royal guard had the power of life and death over the inhabitants of Genib while they were strictly forbidden to carry or possess any weapons. So, only Riga remained by his father's side.
Baris, for his part, far from panicking, didn't move and didn't even bat an eye. On the contrary, he stood up straighter. At one point, it even seemed as if an irresistible aura was emanating from his body. The two soldiers were not physically impressive, but they were armed. As the irritated thug drew his sword from its sheath again, the onlookers stepped back in fear. Riga took refuge behind his father who still wasn't moving. Worse, he seemed to challenge the soldiers by frowning and tilting his head slightly back.
"So you're the madman who wants to kill the queen!" shouted the soldier, brandishing his sword; a horrible scar that bisected his cheek twitched as he spoke.
"What do you intend to do?" Baris asked calmly. "Why brandish your weapon?"
"I am ordered to eliminate all enemies of the queen," replied the guard.
"And what makes you think I'm an enemy of the queen?"
"The old man pointed at you; he said that you intended to kill our beloved sovereign. You understand that if a perfect stranger wants her life, it's my duty to intervene."
"A perfect stranger? Precisely! Do you even know who you're talking to, you idiot? Well, know that I'm just like you at the service of the queen: I'm the royal blacksmith!"
What a ridiculous statement! thought Baris. How can one boast about being a blacksmith?
Even the patrons at the bar, most of them heavily intoxicated, wanted to laugh. Yet, at these words, the soldier seemed somewhat confused but quickly regained his speech:
"Ah! Yes! I recognize you, that's true."
"With his son the gnome!" interrupted the other soldier, chuckling.
"But that's not a reason!" snapped the first soldier. "There are traitors everywhere!"
"Fine," said Baris. "Very well. Then kill me and see for yourself."
"Hum! You're just a blacksmith while I am..."
"There are thousands of soldiers like you serving the queen," Baris declared in a commanding tone. (He was trying to convince the soldier that his own life was worth more than his.) "But she has only one blacksmith. If I die, who will polish your weapon? Who will repair it? Go ahead, kill me, but you can be sure that your head will fly within an hour."
The soldier was taken aback and didn't know what to say. He stammered:
"Uh... you... yes, that's it, but I'm watching you and your son the gnome! We'll meet again! We'll meet again!"
The two thugs returned laughing as if nothing had happened, not without giving one last kick to the old man lying on the ground. Baris was about to pounce on the big talker before Riga grabbed his sleeve. He shook his head as if to signal to his father that it wasn't worth it. Baris finally agreed. Fortunately, the soldiers didn't notice the vindictive intentions of the blacksmith because it would have been an excellent pretext to kill him.
"Yes," he muttered, "and when we meet again, it will be the day of your death..."