They accepted him and let him take over the smithy. The four orphaned sons of the smith were only half-trained. They needed a teacher. The village needed a blacksmith. Nobody could fault the man, but nobody was entirely happy with him, either.
Merrigan did not believe in coincidences. Chances were the new smith had arranged for the death of the old one and came in to take his place. Probably by magic. That was just the way the world worked, according to Leffisand and Nanny Tulip.
The elderly, she had discovered by this time, were easily ignored. Merrigan settled under an apple tree where she could see and hear the activity at the smithy. Before the morning was half-gone, she was enraged at how the man ordered the four boys around, as if they were slaves. If she was right, he was a fraud, stealing their inheritance. Just like her kingdom had been stolen from her. She had to bite her tongue not to shout a command to stop, whenever he slapped the boys with the heavy leather gloves used for handling the hammer and tongs. Or when he swung a bar of red-hot iron perilously close to one boy who didn't respond fast enough to suit him.
"Hello, Merrigan."
She stiffened at the sound of that damp, warty-sounding voice. It couldn't possibly be—could it? She looked down, bracing herself, and nearly didn't see the tiny, brownish frog sitting on a pillow of moss only a few steps away from her. Thank goodness, it wasn't Veridian, prince of frogs.
"What do you want?" She started to slide away, then stopped herself. She refused to admit that the sight of a frog, especially a talking frog, made her distinctly uncomfortable.
"Why are you scowling at those poor boys? Are they too noisy for you? Too dirty? Too ragged?"
"Not them." She could have bitten her tongue, to be caught conversing with a frog. What had conversing with Veridian in her mother's secret garden ever done for her? "Their uncle. I'm sure he's stolen the smithy and their inheritance. There's just something about him I don't like."
"Well, there's some hope for you yet." The frog let out a croaky chuckle. "You're right, he did steal it. He's selling the boys as slaves, at the fair in Blintytown tomorrow. I heard him promising them to a one-eyed man who stopped here three days ago."
"You have to do something. That's unfair. This is their home, not his."
"What can I do? Besides, you're the only person here who can hear me."
"What can I do?" she echoed, only half-heartedly mocking him. "I'm a stranger. People may be kind to the elderly and frail, but they don't listen to them. Especially not strangers. I'm quite tired of being laughed at and called mad."
"Forewarned is forearmed." He hopped away while Merrigan tried to decide if she should kick him, or even risk warts by picking him up and flinging him away.
She fumed, chewing on his words, until the blacksmith walked away at noontime to get his meal. The boys were left to tend the forge, and he left nothing for them to eat. That just added fuel to the fire inside her. Ordinarily, Merrigan believed in letting peasants cheat and trick and steal from each other and reduce their numbers so their betters didn't have to look after them. However, those boys looked so helpless, and so young, and there was just something appealing about them, under their dirt and bruises. Forewarned? Would it be enough to warn them?
The baker's girl came around the smithy from the back way, with a basket covered in cheesecloth. Her furtive look gave Merrigan a good hint of what she was doing. She wasn't surprised at all when the girl whistled softly and stayed in the shadows of the trees, close to where Merrigan sat. The boys came running and she quickly handed them bread with thick slabs of cheese, and an apple each. They thanked her with much nicer manners than Merrigan would have credited them, and she blushed prettily and turned to leave. Then she saw Merrigan sitting only a dozen or so steps away.
"Oh, Granny, I'm sorry. If I had known ..." She looked back over her shoulder at the boys, who had emptied her basket.
The youngest looked up and his gaze met Merrigan's. She shivered and lost her breath for a moment. Was that tingle in her fingertips a sign of some majjian nearby, watching? Of course, it would be the youngest who looked at her, looked at the remaining bread and cheese and the apple in his hand, and moved away from his brothers. Why was it always the youngest chosen for magical tasks and help? More important, why wasn't she granted such protection and help, since she was the youngest daughter of the King of Avylyn?
Chapter Two
Merrigan was hungry enough, she wanted to take all the bread and cheese and apple he offered her, but what if there was some majjian watching? She wanted to gain a few sympathy points. She refused the apple, telling him a growing boy needed something in his belly. What he had offered her was more than enough. Even though it wasn't. Then she told him what the frog had told her.
"Oh, I believe it." The baker's daughter looked in all directions, as if she feared the false blacksmith would come upon them at any moment. "No one likes him. The entire village knows how he treats you and your brothers, but what can they do? If he's your uncle, he has authority over you and the forge."
"We can tell the magistrate and the judge and the king's soldiers, when we go to the fair," the boy
