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

Her voice took on a mocking impersonation, “What swords are you speaking of?” She punched a pillow across the room, where it landed on the spare bed. “Miserable little son of the Tetlin Witch!”

Moya stood with brows high and an amused smile on her lips as she stared at the pillow. “I like this side of you. Let’s see more of it in the future.”

“If there is one.”

Moya looked confused.

“A future,” Persephone clarified, then she turned her thoughts to next steps. After a while, she said, “In the morning, I’ll need you to stay behind with Arion.”

“Me? But I’m your Shield. I have to go with you.”

“I’ll need Roan and Brin to mark the sword, and I can’t risk leaving Arion alone…not here. It will be your responsibility to make sure everyone is on the ship and ready to sail by the time we get back. I’m counting on you for this. Don’t let me down.”

Moya nodded. “I won’t, but who will…you know…kill it?”

“I guess I’ll have to.” Persephone gathered the blanket from the bed and hugged it on her lap. She looked at the door and then over at Arion as she lay so very still. “Moya, I’m scared.”

“I know.”

“Are you scared?”

“I’m too stupid to be scared.”

“You’re not stupid, Moya.”

“I’m not smart.” She sat beside Persephone. Then Moya took one of Persephone’s hands and held it in both of hers. “I could never have done what you just did in there. If left to me, we’d be at the bottom of the sea right now.”

“All I did was lie.”

“But you did it so well! That was impressive. Even I believed you.” Moya laid her head on Persephone’s shoulder. “You’re the best chieftain Rhen has ever had.”

“If this doesn’t work, I might be the last.”

—

The next morning was clear and hot as Persephone, Roan, and Brin walked under escort up the long sloped road to Neith. Gronbach went with them this time, still dressed in armor. Persephone didn’t try to fight the guilty pleasure of watching Gronbach sweat under the blistering heat. By the time they reached the entrance, the Master Crafter was soaked.

He stopped at the gate, as did the escorts. None of the dwarfs were willing to enter with the dragon slayers, which was more than fine by Persephone.

As she, Brin, and Roan entered the cool interior of Neith, Persephone took further pleasure in knowing Gronbach would bake until she decided to return. No one rushed.

“Any trouble making the sword last night?” Persephone asked as soon as they were beyond the decorated wall and out of Gronbach’s hearing. For reasons known only to Roan, she had wrapped the weapon in a blanket, as if it were sacred. Perhaps it was.

Brin shook her head. “They asked what we wanted them to do. So I found the part I’d already figured out on the tablet and said a few things about heating iron in a charcoal furnace to melt out impurities that would settle to the bottom. The smiths already knew that, I guess. Then later on, I prattled on about folding layers of carbon and iron. I had no idea what it even meant, but they did. I don’t think I told them anything they didn’t already know. They had this system and just worked through it. After a while, they ignored us. I’d nod and say, ‘That’s right’ or ‘Good’ every once in a while. Don’t know if they even heard me.”

“It was amazing,” Roan muttered.

“Were you able to see everything, Roan?”

She nodded.

Of course, she did, Persephone thought. Sending Roan to the smith’s workshop was like sending a dog to a butcher’s house and wondering if the animal noticed the meat.

Before long, they came upon the dragon. She was lying down, but her head was up and looking at them. Persephone didn’t see the mystic. “Suri?”

The girl’s head popped up. She’d been lying on a blanket, her head resting on the side of the dragon, its long tail encircling them both. An absurd image, this wild, barefoot mystic with her ruddy cloak and tattooed body, lying snuggled up with a fearsome giant, all claws and scales, wings and teeth—a girl and her loyal companion.

“I was wondering if you’d return.”

“I told you I would be back. I’d never leave you behind.”

Suri smiled, a sad one, but a smile nonetheless.

“Suri, I need to talk to you about Minna—” Persephone started, but she was cut off by the mystic.

“She’s not Minna, not really.”

“No, she isn’t.”

Suri placed a hand to the dragon’s neck. “Still, I think there’s a part of her in there, something trapped inside. I can’t leave her here like this.”

“I don’t want you to.” Persephone looked at Roan and nodded.

Stepping forward, Roan laid the bundle down then unfolded the cloth, but never touched the sword. The blade was the most amazing thing Persephone had ever seen. The metal was brilliant silver, but around the edges where the shadows pooled, she saw a blue tint. The blade tapered elegantly, every line straight, and the handle was built out of the same metal, making Persephone believe it was all formed from one solid piece. Not nearly as decorated as Raithe’s sword, or even as stylish as any of the Galantians’, this was perfection through simplicity. In the same way musical accompaniment failed to add to, and often distracted from, a great singer, the Dherg had mastered their craft to such a level that any change would have been a flaw.

Roan pulled out a small bag and unrolled it. Inside were a tiny hammer and half a dozen little etching tools.

“I’ll need to know her name,” Brin said.

Suri nodded.

“Show me.” And the Keeper gave the mystic a piece of chalk.

Suri drew the symbols on the floor.

The three of them went to work etching the blade as Persephone and the dragon watched. Does she know? Balgargarath had appeared to understand when Moya shot the first arrow, but the dragon either didn’t understand or didn’t care. Her eyes were open but empty. Maybe that’s what Suri saw—the emptiness.

When they were done, Suri got on her knees and, using a glowstone, ran her fingers along the blade where the marks were etched. “It’s her real name. I called her Minna because that’s what a songbird was singing when I found her. I thought the bird was telling me her name. But that wasn’t her real name. This is.” She tapped on the blade. “This is what it looks like. I found it in the weave.” She wiped her face and began to shake. She got up and looked at the dragon. “I can’t believe I have to do this again. Can you leave us?”

“Suri, if you want, I can—”

Suri shook her head. “It has to be me.”

Persephone nodded.

Roan gathered up the tools and bag, and together the three of them started back toward the gate. As she walked away, Persephone looked back and saw the dragon watching Suri as she picked up the sword. For a moment, fear gripped her. What if she’s sensing her death? Will she attack?

Suri held the sword in her hands as if it equaled the weight of Elan. The dragon continued to watch the mystic, and then Persephone saw it. Just a glimpse, just a flash, but it was there. Those large forgiving eyes that were far too familiar even to Persephone. She felt her own tears crest, slip, and fall.