Age of Swords (The Legends of the First Empire #2)

Brin arrived seconds later, materializing out of the dark into the halo of the ghostly green light emanating from Persephone’s hand. “What’s wrong? What—”

“The name!” Suri shouted at her. “You have to mark down the name.”

“What name?” Brin asked, her eyes growing in horror as she looked at the mystic. “Suri, what happened? Where…where did all that blood come from?”

“Not mine. Not my blood,” Suri said in a shuddering voice, that barely sounded like her.

The mystic was shaking all over, her head jerking, her breathing a staccato series of sucks.

Boom!

The chamber shook and everyone except Suri jumped. Tiny bits of stone fell to the ground, sounding like a sprinkling of rain.

“Brin.” Suri crowded the young girl, until the mystic stood near enough to touch noses. Even so, her voice was loud, a borderline cry. “I need the name of Balgargarath on a sword.”

“On a sword?” Brin asked, flustered and frightened. She glanced at Persephone in desperation. “I…I don’t know how to write Balgargarath.”

“Not Balgargarath! The thing’s real name, the one on the tablet. Just copy it. Copy it!” Suri pointed toward the stack of tablets. “Repeat what you see on the tablet onto a sword. Just do it! Do it! Do it!”

The mystic went on screaming do it, over and over, her blood-covered hands out in front of her, fingers fanned as she shook them.

Brin looked scared to death.

“Suri, stop!” Persephone ordered. She gave a quick glance at the two beasts battling near the front of the cave. They were still going at it. “Tell us why? What does it matter? And where did the dragon come from?”

Suri began making and unmaking fists in rapid succession. She tried to speak, but nothing came out.

“Suri!” Persephone grabbed her by the shoulders. “Calm down! Calm down. Just tell us what happened.”

“I made the dragon.” Suri spoke in very deliberate words, as if summoning each one was a great task. “I used the weave from the table. When I did, I found it had to have a name. All things have names. That’s the secret. It’s the seam, the point that binds and unbinds. Balgargarath has a name and Brin knows what it is. The Old One carved it into the tablet. It’s part of the binding.”

Suri was a bundle of nervous energy. She couldn’t stand still. She was rising on her toes then dropping back to her heels. “If I had only known. If I’d realized the seam could be torn open. Then I wouldn’t have…I wouldn’t have…No, no, if I hadn’t I wouldn’t have learned the truth. I wouldn’t know the importance of the name, and what it can do.”

“Suri, you’re not making any sense—”

“It’s the seam. The seam! Don’t you see!” Suri shouted at all of them in frustration. “The…the…the knot in a weave. The point that keeps it together. That keeps it from unraveling. If you stab Balgargarath with its name, it’ll cease to exist!”

“It will kill him?”

“Yes! Yes! Yes!”

Moya turned the handle of her sword in a remarkably sophisticated spin. She held the pommel to Brin. “Put it on my blade. I’ll do it.”

From the door, they heard a screech and then another roar. Persephone looked over, but the behemoths had moved into shadow.

“She’s not going to win.” Suri sobbed. The tracks of her tears made clean lines on her blood-splattered cheeks. “You have to hurry.”

“How can I mark a sword?” Brin asked, frantically, looking to all of them for an answer.

“Scratch into it,” Moya said.

“With what?”

“I don’t know.” Moya looked at the dwarfs. “You have tools, don’t you? Metal tools?”

Frost was shaking his head. “The blades you were given are too hard. Scraping into it would take”—he looked over toward the sounds of fighting—“longer than we likely have. And that is if we had etching tools, which we don’t.” He looked around him. “Nothing in here is likely to mar those blades.”

The quiet figure of Roan inched over. She was coming out of the darkness to join them. No one wanted to be alone while the dragon and Balgargarath fought.

“Does it have to be a sword?” Roan asked barely above a whisper.

“Yes! It needs to enter Balgargarath’s body.”

“But does it have to be a sword? Could it be something else with the name on it?”

“It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. The name is all that’s important. Just the name…it has to penetrate…it has to get inside.”

“What are you thinking, Roan?” Moya asked.

“My little spears are made of wood. It’d be easier to mark on them.”

“Will they work?” Persephone asked, bending slightly to stare deep into Roan’s frightened eyes. “Did you fix them? Will they work now?”

Roan nodded. “Yes. I think so. Maybe.”

“Which is it, Roan?” Moya shouted, making the girl jump.

“Calm down, Moya!” Persephone snapped.

“They…they…they should,” Roan said. “I put feathers on two of them, but I haven’t tested either. Haven’t really had a chance.”

“So you have no idea?” Moya stamped her foot.

“Moya, be quiet,” Persephone told her through clenched teeth.

Persephone stepped closer to Roan, being careful not to touch her, but close enough that she filled the girl’s vision. “Look at me, Roan. Look into my eyes. Do you think they will work? The way you have them now. The way they are right now. Do you believe they will work?”

Roan thought a moment, then said, “Yes.”

Persephone turned away. “Good enough for me.”

“How do I do it?” Brin asked. “How do I mark on a spear?”

“You could paint it with the blood Suri’s dripping,” Moya said.

At first, Persephone thought Moya was making a horrible joke, but one look at Moya’s face showed she was quite serious.

Still, Suri shook her head violently. “Can’t. It will smear. Has to stay perfect all the way in.”

Another cry came from the front of the chamber. The boom that followed was close, and Persephone aimed the glowstone to reveal the dragon on its back not far from the center of the room. The dragon had lost ground and nearly landed on Arion, who still lay in the same place despite the giants’ continued battle.

“Moya.” Persephone handed her the glowstone. “Take Frost, Flood, and Rain and get Arion out of there. Move her near the table. Roan, devise a way for Brin to make permanent marks on the shaft of one of your little spears. Carve or burn the name, whatever it takes. Brin, you have the other glowing shard, use it to find the tablet with the name.”

Everyone raced to their tasks—all except Persephone and Suri.

The mystic was down on her knees by then. She had her hands over her face, spreading more blood without care or notice. She rocked forward and back, sobbing.

“Suri?” Persephone spoke softly as she took the mystic’s hands in hers. “Suri, what happened. Whose blood is that?”

“I killed her,” Suri said. “I killed her. I killed her. I loved her and I killed her. Arion said it was the only way to reach the deep chords, and it was, and it did.”