Chapter 1 - Part 8

He watched her walk down the hall, heard the ravings of the mithril-clad one, and then heard the ravings end with the casting of her light spell. He could not see her clearly, but he saw the light as a clear round dot.

What a good woman. I would like to be as generous as her. Of course it was impossible to be generous when one had nothing. Maybe I can acquire as much knowledge as she, and share my knowledge. I could be generous that way. Could I be a teacher? He engaged in a fancy of teaching a classroom full of gnomes – not that he could really picture what they looked like – trying to keep up with their inquisitive, curious nature.

The whisper of a tiny foot on the stone caught his attention, and his head whipped to the left, towards the alcove that Pienna had not walked towards. The alcove with the secret door. The homunculus was back, creeping out of its little hole.

“So, the one who would lead us, telling us that we are not mere machines – not just property, sends his property here to me,” The Iron Orphan stated sarcastically, knowing that the little construct could hear him. “Well, come here then. Perhaps we should introduce ourselves, since I have a name.”

“It has a name, too,” came the voice. The Iron Orphan jumped back, startled. The tall, adamantine-laced warforged with the garment on his back – cape, it’s a cape – stood before him, a field dropping around him. The Iron Orphan had neither seen nor heard this warforged approach. This was their third meeting, not counting the one where this ‘leader’ had addressed the entire group of warforged. “I named it.”

“Are you its parent?” The Iron Orphan asked sarcastically.

“Is that what you were discussing with the human female?” the leader asked, his voice slightly mocking.

“We discussed names,” The Iron Orphan told him levelly. He wondered how much this leader had been there for. The secret door made noise when it opened, but not when this ‘leader’ came by. He was not merely a warrior, he also had skills like what the humans called an artificer. Something had been done to his feet to conjure up a field of silence and invisibility when he wished. The Iron Orphan wondered how long this leader could maintain that field.

“This is Hilt,” the leader said, caressing the little homunculus as a human would caress a dog. “I named him yesterday, do you like the name?”

“It is serviceable,” was The Iron Orphan’s controlled response. He always felt like he was in a contest when he spoke to this one. They did not trust one another, not at all, but they talked often.

“I had not thought of ‘Orphan’, I like your creativity.”

“Thank you.”

“Have you thought more about what I have said?” the leader asked, glancing casually at the lit-up brick. The Iron Orphan knew that this leader always carried a torch or lantern on him.

“I have had little to do but think,” The Iron Orphan responded. “You know that. But what I told you last time still stands. I will not commit to a philosophy until I have examined several of them.”

“Yes,” the leader said. He reached into a bag at his belt and produced a pair of books. “I have brought you a gift. A dictionary and a book of poems. Perhaps you will find some philosophy here?” The books remained out of The Iron Orphan’s reach.

“Did you know that I had a source of light, or were you going to give me a lantern as well?” The Iron Orphan asked. He knew that this leader would not give him the books immediately, and perhaps not at all.

The leader chuckled softly and withdrew a small lamp. A spark caught on the taper, producing a steady flame. “Enough to read by, hm? I did not realize that the female would be so taken with you to provide you with more permanent illumination.”

So the offer of books was a serious one, not a ploy. “You plan ahead.”

“We are nothing without a plan. That is our rule, our law.”

How did he figure out so much about me already? They had spoken but briefly each time, but this warforged had an intuition about him that reminded The Iron Orphan of Pienna, albeit a dark and sinister form of Pienna. “Have you given yourself a name, or do you go by the number on your shoulder that you hide from everyone?”

“I have several names, what I think of myself is merely an extension of exigence,” the warforged purred. “I told you that I am simply a leader.”

“You do not lead me.”

“And therefore you stay behind those bars.”

“So do the ones down the hall, but several of them claim to follow you.”

“It is part of the plan. We cannot give ourselves away quite yet. Would you like these books?”

“Why give them to me if you know that I do not accept you as a leader?”

“Perhaps you will accept me as a leader. I value you, and I wish to assist your education.”

“Then assist.”

They stared at each other, and then the leader dropped one of the books. Carefully, without taking his eyes off of The Iron Orphan, the leader kicked the book across the floor. It slid between the bars and came to rest at The Iron Orphan’s feet. Despite himself, he looked down at the title. It was the poetry. He would have preferred the dictionary.

“So tell me, does this woman know about me?” the leader asked.

He was NOT here for the whole interview! “No. I do not wish to jeopardize what you are doing,” The Iron Orphan answered truthfully. “I do not know that I want to join, but I will not stop it.”

“You will not stop it, but you do not know it.”

“You have told me little, save that you want the warforged to be their own masters. I can agree with that. But you slew one of us so very quickly that day that we first met. I wonder how you can destroy one of us and still claim to want to free us.”

“I told you that I had no choice but to do what I did. The good of the many outweighed the damage to the one. I regretted it.”

“Your actions at the time – did not – imply a – show a – great deal of regret,” The Iron Orphan stammered, trying to find a smoother way of saying it. He did not want to directly challenge this warforged, not yet. He did not want this leader to consider him a threat.

“You are very intuitive,” the leader told him. “This is why I have taken an interest in you. You are intelligent and quick.”

Oh but you are a smooth one, not like most of us who stammer and bludgeon our way through interaction – including myself. “You have not answered my question.”

“Did you ask one?”

“I implied one,” The Iron Orphan said determinedly. He would not back down, not this time.

“I regretted it, but I could not show weakness. One slip can give us all away. That warforged was weak, it would have brought the fury of Cannith down on all of us.”

“Conveniently, it intimidated everyone in that room from challenging you as the ‘leader.’” If I was a human I would be sweating right now. A part of him wondered if gnomes sweated.

“Iron Orphan, you are right, but it isn’t like anyone has not benefited from chance before.” The leader toyed with the other book, and the homunculus started to jump up and down in excitement. “What can I say to assuage you about my intentions?”

“You cannot say anything, you can only do,” The Iron Orphan said to him. “Words alone will not move me, there are too many words for me to decide which words are law.”

“Hm, that must be why I brought this then,” the leader said, suddenly tossing the dictionary through the air. The Iron Orphan caught the book perfectly. “I hope that this is the beginning of something that I ‘did’, no?”

“You can do one more thing,” The Iron Orphan said, overly casually as he flipped through the dictionary.

“Oh?” The homunculus called Hilt started to gather up the lamp as the leader turned to go back through the secret door. A wave of its mater’s hand stopped it.

“You can quit sneaking up on me with your magic,” The Iron Orphan said. “That might make me trust you a little more.”

“And you, my dear Orphan, can stop trying to read my house designation number under my cape.”

The leader left, his feet clanging on the floor now that the silence effect had dropped. The homunculus bared its teeth at The Iron Orphan and quickly followed.

By the light of Pienna’s spell, The Iron Orphan began to read.