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

How can nine of us bring back enough swords to supply an army of thousands? No, not nine, only six. Frost, Flood, and Rain won’t be coming. Why would they?

Across the dark, rolling swells mixed with gray rain, the world ahead didn’t appear inviting. Lightning flashed, branching zigzags shone brightly, and for an instant, all the world was exposed. In that corpse-white pallor, Persephone saw a glimpse of the impossible. A rocky coast of soaring cliffs was actually a carved city. Stone towers, stone peaks, stone arches, all encased within a wall many stories high. But as monumental as the city appeared, even from that distance, she saw something hidden in the shadows behind. In that flash, Persephone spotted the hazy suggestion of monoliths too straight, too symmetrical to be mountains but too colossal to be anything else.

This is a land of dwarfs?

Thunder boomed overhead; below, waves burst white against breakwaters. A fence of blades topped the city’s walls. At the corners, stone gargoyles vomited rain into the sea. Not a friendly place. Not a welcoming town. That wall is a battlement, a fortress, a relic of an ancient age, a time before men when Dherg and Fhrey made war upon one another. Witnessing the enormity, the stark power and militant strength of the Dherg, Persephone was dumbfounded.

These people lost the war?

She felt her heart sink. If that’s so, what chance does Rhulyn have?

Persephone turned to look at the dark, empty sea behind them. And how will we get home? The dwarfs traded metal shirts for passage. What do we have to trade? Persephone squeezed the rope harder than necessary.

The sail was down and the Dherg rowed to the dock at the base of the city. Oars went up, and with hollow bumps, bangs, and curses the ship was drawn in and secured. The side of the vessel bumped against a row of barrels lashed to the dock, causing everyone to stagger. Thrown ropes were lashed to bollards securing the ship, and the wooden gangway was extended across the breach.

“C’mon,” Frost told them, and led the way over the heaving plank bridge. Flood and Rain followed closely behind.

Persephone gathered the rest and sent Moya across first. Persephone came last, counting heads to make certain they all got off safely. The long plank bounced with their passage.

“Roan!” Persephone shouted.

Captivated by the walls, the woman had been looking up and not watching where she was going. Luckily, she froze at the shout. One more step and she would have fallen into the harbor. Persephone glared, and Roan sheepishly bowed her head and centered herself on the plank.

The whole line of women had stopped, each of them looking back.

“Honestly!” was all Moya said before resuming their trek.

Reaching solid ground, Persephone allowed herself a quick look up. The stone wall of the city rose so straight and high that she had to throw her head all the way back to see the top. This was higher than the walls of Alon Rhist, and the towers looked to be things of dreams. No, she thought, dreams aren’t built of dark stone crowned by toothy spires. This is a home for nightmares.

They stood clustered on a dock of many moorings, hidden within a maze of a dozen ugly block buildings surrounded by crates and sacks.

“So this is Neith?” Persephone said.

“No,” Frost replied. “This is Caric, the port city. Neith is behind.”

“Behind?” Brin asked. “That is a mountain, isn’t it?”

Frost revealed a rare smile. “What you saw was only the entrance to the great city. Neith lies inside.” He said the last word as if it held special meaning. “Stay together now. Flood, watch the rear, and make sure they don’t wander. Threaten anyone who comes too close.”

“Why would—” Persephone began to ask.

“All right then, let’s get moving,” Frost shouted, marching them between the buildings. “Single file. Stay to the right! Stay to the right!”

The reason for this last order became apparent as teams of dwarfs with empty carts rumbled by at an alarming speed.

“Carts!” Roan exclaimed.

The first cart pusher rushed past without looking at them. The second one glanced over, and Persephone heard a gasp. The third dwarf stopped and stared in shock.

“Quickly now!” Frost ordered and began to run.

They all trotted to keep pace and soon they came to a pair of lancet-arched doors. Frost pulled them open to reveal a long colonnade: a gallery of pillars and corbels running deep into the cliff. The shadowy interior was a treasure trove of brown sacks, bright pine crates, and two-wheeled carts. Everything was illuminated by the same sort of green glow Persephone remembered from the rols.

Frost led them at a fast walk past sheaves of wheat, barley, and rye to a stone stair. Up they went without a word. Persephone and Flood continued bringing up the rear, keeping an eye on the rest. Everyone shivered in the chilled air, dripping from the wet.

At least we’re out of the wind. I can thank Mari for that. Persephone felt a need to focus on the positive, lest she give in to panic. Something wasn’t right. She didn’t like how the dwarf with the cart had gawked, or how fast Frost was leading them. Running was never a good sign.

Pausing on a landing just past another set of doors, Minna took the opportunity to shake water out of her fur. This gave Persephone the same idea and she gathered back her hair and twisted the wet out. Flood, whose beard was running a constant drip, rushed to close and bolt the doors behind them. Once he had, Frost began the climb once more.

Moya glanced back at the bolted door and then at Persephone with a concerned look. All Persephone could do was shrug.

Roan was back to her wide-eyed fascination, staring at—and at least on one occasion touching—the illuminating gemstones mounted to the walls. Arion staggered forward, one hand covering her mouth, her skin still the color of snow. Brin’s eyelids hung heavy with fatigue. Suri scowled at the walls, like she always did.

Together they climbed up past a room filled with large wooden crates, then one of barrels. When they reached a new landing, again they stopped to brace the adjoining door.

“Why are you barring the doors?” Persephone asked.

Flood looked at her with irritation. “No time to explain. We’re in a hurry.”

“Why is that?”

Flood looked to Frost, who smiled unconvincingly and added, “Like he said, no time to explain. Let’s go!”

Climbing the stairs at such a brisk pace had burned away the chill. By the time they reached the top, no one was shivering, and Persephone felt downright hot. They passed through another set of doors, this time into a large hall with several adjoining corridors. Wooden benches and small tables formed gathering places in the corners. Long banners hung from the ceiling, looking just as large as the sail on their ship, but brightly colored in green and gold. Persephone had seen such colors of dyed cloth in Alon Rhist, but had no idea how they were created.

Frost held out a hand, silently blocking them from entering the hall. A moment later Persephone heard the echo of hard heels on stone. They waited for them to pass.