Deglan had spent four miserable months in the fortifications atop Bwenyth Tor, tending to comrades, stitching wounds, staunching blood, removing limbs and burying friends as the goblins launched attack after attack at the defenses. They had fought, they had starved, but they had held and given as good as they got. When Two-Keg brought the word that the Forge Born were coming, Deglan waited for them to arrive with all the rest. Waited to die. It seemed that death had finally reached him.

“To it then, you blighted metal bastard! You rusted, mindless goblin puppet!” He scooped up a clod of mud and reared his arm back to throw in a feeble, final act of defiance.

“I was asked to bring you.”

The face had no visible mouth and Deglan was startled when it spoke. The voice that issued from the thing was slow and deeper than distant thunder. Each word hesitated into the next, grinding out unaccompanied by movement or mannerism, the sound threatening to fade to a halt at any moment. Deglan’s arm hung in the air behind him, the clump of mud still in his fist. He was perplexed, afraid, tired and very angry.

“Kill me now, you walking anvil! I’ll not be a prisoner to goblins!” He threw the clod as an afterthought. It did not have the distance and came apart in the air, dirty chunks scattering into the air between them. There was a long silence. Deglan’s agitated breath expelled in vapor, while the Forge Born stared through him in mute judgment. Finally it spoke.

“The goblins march south…for now.” The last two words lowered greatly in pitch as they slowed to a ponderous crawl. “We go north.” Then it turned and began walking in the declared direction without ensuring that Deglan followed. In stillness, the thing was unsettling, but a shiver ran unbidden up Deglan’s spine when he saw it in motion. Its metal legs carried it with steady, determined strides towards the river, its pace and direction set and sure.

“The world is mad,” Deglan said as he watched the Forge Born walk away. “And I am its king.” He set off after his guide.

One thing was for certain, it was not Unwound. At least not yet. All of their kind was built for destruction, but this one still had control of its faculties. After the Rebellion, the Forge Born were a common sight, but Deglan had done his best to stay well away from them. It had not been difficult. Despite the King’s decree that they be granted mercy, there were few willing to endure their presence. The more vicious of the fomori tribes ignored the Court’s laws and began hunting them, but it was a dangerous endeavor and many of the would-be predators fell prey to their quarry. For even with a heart, the Forge Born were dangerous.