"Boy," Marek whispered, his voice low and somewhat scared. "Where did you get this?"
Elian did not hesitate to respond.
"I found it," though he lied, keeping the truth hidden for his and his father's sake.
Even if he trusted Marek, he believed less people knowing a secret would bring less trouble.
But Marek knew better to believe such fine steel was found just lying about, and no less on the grounds of such a village.
"Don't lie to me." He said. "This is Royal Guard steel. And not just any guard—the ones who served the previous king. The once known knight order they called the 'Iron Lions'."
Elian looked with fascinating eyes. It sounded grand. The Iron Lion knight order… they must've been great, but… how did Marek manage to recognize a steel that was used by a disbanded knight order?
He was curious.
But that question was never answered.
Marek shoved the piece back into Elian's hand like it was a hot coal. "If the men in the platinum armor see you with this, they'll kill you, boy. They'll kill everyone in this village looking for the man who owns the rest of the set."
This made Elian's breath hitch.
Marek narrowed his eyes as he thought hard. What if they had already caught wind of this steel and that was why they were here?
It was already so unusual for a single platinum knight to be in this backwater village that had nothing but its rowdy energy, but there were over six of them. And they weren't just passing by either.
"Get out of here, Elian," Marek said, his voice waning as he turned back to his anvil but did not pick up his hammer. "And throw that thing in the river. Forget you ever saw it."
Elian felt a chill run down his back. Throw it away? He couldn't. He needed to return it to his father's study before he found out he took it.
He came here for information but he was left feeling more confused. For his father to have the full set of something so grand, did that mean he was once a knight? Someone important? His breath hitched once more.
"Thank you," Elian said as he bowed his head.
Nevertheless, he had found a very important piece.
Marek looked at the boy's back as he left. What kind of trouble was brewing in this once so quiet village?
Elian left the blacksmith's shop with his head spinning.
'Iron Lions.' The name felt heavy, like the metal in his coat, pressed to his chest. If Thorne was one of them, then everything about their life—the tavern, the chores, the 'normal' life—was just a lie. Probably a mask to hide something important. A glorious past.
But then, why did he give that up?
He walked down the dirt path, barely noticing where he was going as his mind was a mess of questions.
Why would a knight hide in a place like this? Why was he being raised to chop wood and serve ale if his father was a legend? And his mother—who was she? Was she someone of importance as well?
His father claimed she had died during his birth. How much of that was true?
Elian was so busy looking at the ground and thinking that he didn't notice the three horses tied up outside his father's tavern.
And they weren't just any horses. They had the same expensive saddles as the knights from yesterday.
And then, thud!
Elian hit something, as if walking right into a stone wall. The impact knocked him back, and he stumbled, his heels catching on a rut in the road and he fell on his butt.
One of them, the one he had knocked into, looked down at him with a scowl.
"Watch where you're going, brat," he growled with a rough voice.
Elian looked up and froze.
The knight loomed over him, his platinum armor dull under the grey morning sky. The man looked irritated, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
Elian was so completely out of it that he didn't notice the shoulderplate had fallen out of his coat.
It was only when the knight behind the one looming over him pointed it out, did he remember he had something sort of 'forbidden' on him. Well, it wasn't on him anymore as it was on the floor.
And worse of all, the fabric it was wrapped in had loosened.
"Isn't that a shoulder plate? What's that doing here?"
Elian froze.
The irritation on the knight's face vanished, replaced by a cold, sharp interest. He stepped forward, pushing Elian aside with the sole of his boot, and reached down for it.
"No!" Elian wanted to stop him and grab the piece first but the knight smacked him back with the arm guard of his armor.
Then, he picked up the piece of armor.
He turned it over in his gauntleted hand, his thumb tracing the specific engravings of the crest Marek had just been shaking over.
"This design," the knight said, his voice dropping in low suspicion. He looked back at Elian, narrowing his eyes at him. "There's only one place this comes from. And it hasn't been seen in fourteen years."
Elian's throat went dry. He tried to reach for it, but the knight stepped back, towering over him.
"Where did a tavern rat get the plate of a Dead Lion?" the knight demanded, reaching out to grab Elian's collar.
Elian's mind raced. Part of him wanted to explain, scream that it belonged to his father, someone they should fear. But then he remembered the look in Thorne's eyes the previous day—the way he had tried so hard to drive them away and stay hidden.
How much he hissed and clicked his tongue at the thought of these men.
And how his eyes shook, as if an impending danger was upon them.
He gulped.
If these men knew the truth, they wouldn't bow just because his father might've been someone great in the past. He was most certain that they would pull their swords.
He looked at the knight's mean face and the hand gripping the sword hilt.
"Speak up," the knight growled, his grip tightening on the hilt. "Before I open your throat to see if the answer is hiding in there."
It definitely looked like he would slice Elian's throat open if he stayed quiet for any longer but what to do?
The young boy had no reason to answer.
If these guys were true knights then they wouldn't be able to kill a child out in the open. And especially… his eyes wandered to the front of the tavern that was just a few steps away… not in front of his father's shop.
Elian didn't answer the knights. He took a sharp breath and tried to run. He tried to dive past the knight's leg, betting on his small size and nimble feet to get him through and into the tavern where his father was.
But unfortunately, he wasn't fast enough.
As soon as he moved, the knight's heavy boot swung out. It caught Elian square in the chest, sending him flying backward.
Thinking he could outrun a skilled knight… he was a fool.
He tumbled over, his body hitting the flat yet painful ground with painful thuds and then landed in a pool of mud with a grunt, air knocked out of his lungs.
"Look at you, trying to play a fast one on us," the knight said, walking slowly towards him. He looked down at Elian like he was a bug under his boot. "You must have a death wish."
Elian gasped for air, his ribs burning, his heart giving out in frantic hard thuds. He looked up, his vision blurry over the surface, barely able to make out the knight's full figure.
The knight reached down and grabbed a handful of Elian's hair, forcing his head back.
"I'll ask one more time, 'boy'," the knight hissed. "Where is the man who owns this armor?"