Ferrin wasn’t sure who was speaking, his mind still fuzzy from the fall. He must have hit his head on the floor, because the room was spinning. He felt the weight of the door being lifted off his chest and a couple of strong arms hauling him to his feet. The spinning slowed, and everything came back into focus. He was surrounded by men in white uniforms.
His blood froze.
How had the Black Watch found him?
“Hold his arms and I’ll—”
Ferrin grabbed the dagger from the back of his pants and slammed it into the man’s chest. Before the guard hit the floor, he spun and opened the throat of the man on his left. With a quick snap, he kicked a third guard in the knee. Ferrin heard the snap, brittle, like stepping on a rotten branch. Pinon would have been proud, if he were still alive.
The man with the broken knee cried out and collapsed to the floor, giving Ferrin a small opening for escape. He darted forward. He needed to get to his smithy. There was precious little metal in the front room, but his shop would be a death trap to any who dared follow.
“Stop him!” someone shouted near the front door.
He ducked one of the guard’s cudgels. Odd, he thought. None of them were wearing swords. In fact, he couldn’t sense a single piece of metal on any of them.
He turned and deflected the next strike, slashing at the man with his dagger, forcing him back. The guard managed to get his club up in time, but not before Ferrin caught the man’s chin with his fist. The guard’s head snapped to the side and he dropped.
Ferrin lunged at the next white-robed assailant standing in his way. The man dodged and spun, forcing Ferrin to keep his blade on the move. The door to his smithy was only steps away. He cut the man’s arm just above his wrist, forcing the guard to drop the club. With the strength built from swinging a massive hammer for the last fifteen years, he lifted the man right off the ground and threw him into the closest guards.
Ferrin yanked the door to his shop open and released his magic. Finally! The burning flooded through him as he grabbed for the closest piece of metal he could find, a thin iron bar he had planned on turning into a length of chain. His fingers never made it completely around, as he was jerked off his feet and back into the house.
He landed hard on his back, nearly losing his breath. He twisted around and stabbed at the guard on his right, only to realize he was no longer holding his blade. He must have dropped it in the fall. Bodies piled on top of him, holding down his legs, arms, even his head. He couldn’t move. Ferrin could hear his teacher’s words as if he were standing there looking down at him in disgust: “Your weapon is your life. You lose it, you lose them both.”
The men dragged him away from the open door.
“Did we get him?” someone asked.
The guards parted and one of the men stepped over beside him. An insignia on the side of his arm indicated some kind of elevated rank within the Tower. His dark hair hung below his shoulder, and the thick goatee on his face did little to hide the arrogance of his smile. The hair hanging from his chin actually reminded Ferrin of a billy goat he’d played with as a child. It, too, seemed to have enjoyed the sound of its own voice.
“Boys, we have just captured ourselves an honest-to-goodness metallurgist. You know what that means.”
The men smiled, some nodded, some patted each other on the backs, some just seemed to enjoy the sight of him lying there in pain.
“An extra bag of gold coming our way.” The head guard, or Goat Face as Ferrin dubbed him, knelt beside Ferrin and took him in with good measure.
“The name’s Hatch, Captain Hatch, head of the finest group of fighters you’ll ever try to run from.” Goat Face grinned, apparently getting a kick out of his little joke. He probably told it to every new prisoner they managed to seize. “So, who do I have the pleasure of speaking with this fine evening?”
Ferrin returned the captain’s smile. “The name’s Ferrin, Smithy Ferrin, forger of the finest blade you’ll ever have the pleasure of being run through with.”
The captain’s smile vanished. “Who’s got the collar?”
One of the guards handed Goat Face some sort of thick metal ring, and he held it out for Ferrin to inspect. “Beautiful craftsmanship, don’t you think?”
Ferrin studied the collar. It was exquisite work. The metal was flawless, not a single scuff or scrape to be seen. The strange designs engraved around its outer shell could have only been accomplished by a master smith or someone like Ferrin. “Lovely,” he said. “What of it?”
“I believe it will look rather fetching around your neck, don’t you?”
The guards snickered.
Ferrin sneered. “What’s wrong? You can’t find a woman desperate enough to accept your jewelry?”
The guards snickered even louder but were quickly silenced with a single look from Goat Face.
“Put it on him.”
A shiver ran down his back as the cold steel connected with his neck. Ferrin could feel the metal, his magic coursing through it. It was strong, unlike any alloy he’d worked with before. It was also old, very old. He wasn’t sure how he knew that; he just did.
Ferrin’s magic came alive like he’d never felt before. Something about that collar was fueling his ability. He felt stronger. Whatever the collar was doing, it seemed to intensify his ability. Why had they chosen a metal collar? Stupid mistake. He was going to kill every last one of them.
As soon as the collar clicked into place, the guards released him and stepped back. Another mistake. These men weren’t very bright.
Ferrin dug deep, pulling the heat of his magic to the surface. He was going to enjoy this. “You’re going to wish you had never stepped foot in my home.” He grabbed the collar with both hands and yanked.
Nothing happened.
He yanked again. Nothing.
What is this? He could feel the metal in his hands. He could all but taste its essence. It should have split in two. He tried again but with the same result.
Goat Face leaned his head back and laughed, followed closely by the other members of his company who were close enough to see what was happening.
Ferrin looked at his hands. “What have you done to me?”
“Not so tough without your magic, are you?”
“What is this?” Ferrin felt around the cold ring of steel. “How did you—”
“It’s a durma collar. Created by the faeries thousands of years ago to capture and contain wielders.” He glanced at the loop of metal around Ferrin’s neck. “What matters is that you—and the rest of your kind—won’t be able to hurt anyone else again.”
“Hurt anyone else? What are you talking about? I’ve never hurt anyone.”
Hatch turned and looked at the two dead men lying behind the sofa. Three more were being carried out the door as he spoke.
Ferrin shrugged. “Well, what do you expect when you come bursting into my home in the middle of the night? Was I supposed to make you a pot of tea? Maybe cook you some breakfast?”
Hatch tugged on his goatee. “Some tea would actually be nice.”
Ferrin stared at the man. He couldn’t tell if he was being serious.
“Well, no matter. We don’t have time for tea, anyway. We have a long trip ahead of us.” The captain turned to one of his men. “Take his crystal and bring him along.”
Ferrin struggled against the men as they grabbed his arms and removed his transferal.
The guard in front held out the chain and smiled.
“I don’t need it to kill you,” he said, then kneed the man in the groin. The guard’s eyes opened as wide as his mouth and he dropped the chain.