The Tales of Miriela: Shadowborn

Chapter 3: Odwin

The sun was hotter than usual. It beat down on Odwin's face like a mallet to steel. That was all he knew, after all. At fifteen years of age, Odwin was among the youngest of the men in the Grounds, the rest of who were between eighteen and twenty-five. But knew how to out work them all, and that was what had kept him alive.

The smoldering furnace felt unnecessary, as the stinging rays from above seemed to bend the steel on their own. Like a young calf's legs, the metal wobbled on the anvil as Odwin worked.

His arm rose, and his arm fell, and each time he perfectly struck the sword. Sweat trickled down his face, following the peculiar shape of his jagged nose, and pooling around his eyes. Every so often, a bead of sweat would fall, and meet the anvil with a serpent's hiss. But no stinging sweat, or blistering heat was reason to stop working. There were consequences to that, and his jagged nose was all the reminder Odwin needed.

It was three, maybe four days ago, the days all seemed to blend. Recollection of the day itself had already mostly faded, probably for the best. His mind seemed unable or unwilling to store memories that ended with a strike to the face. All Odwin could seem to remember was the sound of Kadrin Redford's heavy voice, the sight of a closed fist, and the loud crack of bone.

Odwin had seen it happen to the others as well. Kadrin Redford was in charge of the forge at the Grounds, he was an Overseer. There were other Overseers who worked under him, to keep the work from slowing, but none were as evil as Redford.

But a simple beating was far from the worst of things. Odwin had seen the others die in the heat of the day, from lack of food, or water, or sleep. Maybe some of them had lost the will to live. Some were sold to other Overseers, sent away from the forge, and to other areas of the Grounds. But through all of the change, Odwin still remained, right where he had been, so long as he could remember. He was a talented smith and the Overseers knew it. Odwin could produce as many shields, long blades, great swords, and arrows as any of the others. And with The Realm's constant need for production of weaponry, Odwin was needed.

Mirela lay in ruins after the Great War had ended, years ago. The country's kingdoms could not return to strength, for the wages of war had taken too hard a toil. That is, all kingdoms besides one, Ferenor. Ferenor had thrived, and became the source of life for all kingdoms of The Realm. In their weakened state, the kingdoms of Miriela had little choice but to bend the knee to Kline Wullmont, the first King of Miriela. The Realm had been united, and the five kingdoms desperately tried to rebuild.

The Magee children taken from the Balen Hall many years ago, were brought to Ferenor, where they were raised South of the city's walls. It was called the Grounds, a training area where the young men were trained to fight. But over the years, the training became less, and the work became more. Eventually, the young boys found themselves not training at all. Instead they were worked as slaves, to produce export material for Ferenor, in hopes to rebuild the cities of The Realm.

It was Odwin's world. The Grounds were all he had ever known. There was no family, no parents that he knew of, only the Grounds of Ferenor, and the Overseers who ruled it. He slept, he rose, he worked. A craftsman trained to forge weaponry and armor, Odwin often wondered about the war he was crafting swords for. Where was it? There was often talk from the Overseers about the Eastern army, who had invaded during the Great War, but they had never returned. Still, Odwin did as he was told, he listened well. Yet certain days proved difficult for even him to survive.

Odwin continued to work through the heat of the day until the sun finally fell. The chill of night began to dry the sweat from his chaliced hands, and brought solace to his aching arms. The bell rang and with it the day's work had ended.