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

“Ten thousand?” Gronbach’s eyes widened. “Never going to happen.”

Persephone firmed her jaw and stared.

“I will offer you one hundred blades,” the dwarf said.

“A thousand,” Persephone demanded. “That’s nine thousand less than I came for.”

“Perhaps, but no less ridiculous a number. I can’t produce a thousand bronze blades. We don’t even have the resources. We couldn’t make that many if we wanted them ourselves.”

“What about that?” Arion asked, pointing to the gray metal he’d been playing with.

Gronbach looked down. “This? This is…” He hesitated, and then hid the piece in one of the drawers. “Nothing.”

“It’s the same metal your weapons are made of, yes?”

“That’s none of your business.”

Persephone got the point. “Of course, it’s the gray metal you use, so you must have stores of it. We want one thousand of those weapons.”

“One hundred bronze swords is my offer,” Gronbach said.

“Then you can take care of this giant yourselves. I can’t fight a war with a hundred weapons no matter what they are made from. Give me one thousand of the weapons like your people use, or give us leave to go,” Persephone said.

Gronbach tugged on his beard and looked to Frost, Flood, and Rain, who nodded encouragingly. “All right, fine. One thousand weapons, but you can’t tell the Fhrey where you got them. They’ll know they’re Belgriclungreian blades, but they don’t need to know I was the one to provide them. Is it a deal?”

“Agreed,” she said, standing up. “We will rid you of this giant, and you’ll give us one thousand gray-metal swords.”

“Giant?” Gronbach hesitated and stared at her. “You realize Balgargarath isn’t a giant.”

“They said…” She looked at Flood.

“Oh, he’s plenty big—so technically that’s true—but he’s not a Grenmorian.”

“What is he?” Arion asked.

“Balgargarath is a demon.”





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN


Choosing Swords and Shield




I have always worshipped heroes in stories. I had no idea I was surrounded by them.

—THE BOOK OF BRIN





Dawn approached, slipping in all but ignored, and Persephone found herself huddled on the bed in a small room across from another one of those amazing nine-pane windows, thinking about demons.

Now that they had hammered out an agreement, Gronbach had quietly arranged for them to stay in more appealing rooms than the cell. Hers wasn’t far from the one with the huge fireplace, and she felt that was part of its appeal to Gronbach. He seemed nervous about the possibility of them wandering the corridors and offered to have whatever they needed brought to their rooms. She hadn’t asked for anything—none of them had. Something warm to eat would have been nice, barley soup maybe, but that night she was just happy to have things settled. She hadn’t thought to ask about food until it was too late.

The window indicated that the room bordered the outer wall, and from the emptiness of the corridors and the quiet of the place, Persephone had the impression this portion of Caric had been emptied of its usual inhabitants. Perhaps it was because of them, because Gronbach didn’t want anyone to see the forbidden Rhunes and the hated Fhrey staying down the hall. Persephone preferred to believe Gronbach was hiding his criminal act as best he could and that there wasn’t some other reason that this area of the Dherg city had been evacuated.

Then you’ll be dead even if you’re not dragged off to Drumindor.

She wondered if Frost was merely being dramatic.

Three hundred of our bravest warriors gave their lives to trap it.

Learning that Balgargarath was a demon rather than a giant certainly gave her pause. Can Suri and Arion dispatch something that has taken so many lives? Having seen Arion and Gryndal face off, Persephone would bet on the Miralyith in a battle against twice as many Dherg. And of course, if Arion had doubts, surely she would have said something as they were being led out.

Persephone hadn’t slept. She had a room to herself, and while the bed was a little short, it was comfortable. Still, she had lain on top of the covers in the dark for hours, unwilling to disturb even the blankets. She didn’t feel welcomed, or wanted, and feared the worst. At any moment, the door could burst open, and she might be dragged away and thrown into the fires of Drumindor—whatever that was.

The land of the Dherg wasn’t at all what she’d expected. Because of their bright clothes and small stature, she’d anticipated a pleasant little world of pretty homes along a sleepy beach. This gray world of stone was neither charming nor bright.

She may have drifted off at one point or another. If so, the sleep was light, her consciousness skipping across slumber like a flat stone. Eventually, she sat up, pulled the top blanket off the bed, and wrapped it around herself to stave off the chill. She tugged the blanket to her neck and stared at the slowly brightening face of the window. Once more, her thoughts turned to demons.

Persephone didn’t know what a demon was, not really. She’d heard stories, but the tales were always vague on details. Evil and powerful were the two traits they seemed to have in common. Persephone imagined demons as lesser, malevolent gods, minor deities. They were the storms that destroyed the harvest, the cold that killed, and the sickness that brought fever to the dahl. There was a time when she’d believed that the brown bear known as Grin was a demon, but the beast turned out to be just a bear. Gronbach had called his demon Balgargarath, not a pleasant-sounding name.

The light from the window remained weak, just enough to cancel her reflection, but also enough to begin revealing the interior of her quarters. A small stool, the perfect size for a little man or woman, stood beside a desk similar to the one Gronbach used. The surface of this desk was clear of clutter but just as battered as the other. A device was mounted on one side. Made of metal, it had a pair of gaping jaws and a twisted piece that seemed designed to close the two halves together, squeezing anything placed between its teeth. A wide assortment of hammers was mounted on the wall behind the desk, dangling from pairs of wooden pegs.

Roan would love a place like this, Persephone thought, although she wouldn’t keep it as neat.

A tentative knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” she said apprehensively, not at all certain what she might be inviting.

To her relief, Brin crept inside. She was also bundled in a blanket, the end of which dragged behind. “Did I wake you?”

Persephone shook her head. “Hard to sleep.”

“I know.” The girl stood just inside the door, shifting her weight from bare foot to bare foot.

“C’mon.” Persephone scooted over and patted the mattress. “Up on the bed. That floor is freezing.”

Brin trotted over and jumped up, sitting on her legs. She threw the blanket open, and then closed again, wrapping it tightly about her as she settled in like a bird on a nest. “It’s still summer, isn’t it?”