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

“Frost, how far do we have to go?” Persephone asked.

Frost and Flood looked at each other, asking questions with their eyes, to which they both shrugged and then turned to Rain.

“Depends,” Rain said. “Balgargarath doesn’t stay in one place. He’s looking for a way out.”

“We’ll go to where we first stumbled on him.” Frost spoke as if just then deciding.

“Smart thinking,” Flood said with a sneer. “Almost died doing that last time. We definitely ought to try it again.”

Frost glared at him. “You have a better idea?”

“Than dying? Living springs to mind.”

“Why are you always so obstinate? So against everything I say?”

“Obstinate? I’m not obstinate. But if I were, it would be because of you. When you’re not around, I’m a prince of a fellow.” Flood’s voice grew loud. “You bring out the worst in everyone. Take Rain, for instance. He was a law-abiding, trustworthy, and honest fellow. Now look at him. The lad is a criminal with no future other than a rematch with a demon. And really, what are the odds of us defying fate a second time? You ruin everything you get near.”

Somewhere in the shadows not governed by the gem’s glow, they heard a stone clack.

All heads turned.

“What’s that?” Moya asked in a whisper, her eyes peering into the dark.

No one answered for a while.

“Well?” Moya pressed, this time looking at the dwarfs.

Frost scowled. “How should I know? Animal probably. Like I was telling the mystic, after so many centuries, all manner of things have crawled in here…rats or a squirrel most likely.”

“Sounded bigger than a squirrel,” she accused, and picked up the shield she had laid down.

“What are you doing, Moya?” Persephone asked.

“I’m going to take a look.”

“Moya, I don’t—”

“How is anyone going to sleep? How can we get any rest without knowing what made that sound? I’m just going to go over there and look. If it’s rats, then great.”

“If not?”

Moya picked up her spear.

“How are you even going to see. It’s dark over there.”

Rain stepped over to the glowing gem, and with the slightest tap of his pick, he chipped off a shard. He presented it to Moya. The little disk was about the size and shape of a good skipping stone and glowed in his palm.

“If you cup it,” Rain said, “it’ll intensify the glow.”

Moya nodded, returned the shield to her back, and took the stone.

Persephone sighed and got to her feet while drawing her own sword. “Give me the light, and put your shield back on,” she said, and together the two walked in the direction of the sound—into the dark.

—

“Whatever it is, it should be scared now,” Moya whispered. “A Fhrey-trained warrior and the killer of the famed brown bear are on its path.”

Persephone didn’t respond, too frightened. She held no illusions about her prowess as a warrior. The tale of her battle with Grin the Brown was overblown. The exaggeration—a spark Raithe and Malcolm had ignited—had been retold by everyone until it eventually became a forest fire. They wanted to believe their chieftain was brave and capable. She wondered if Moya’s interest in learning martial arts had been born from Persephone’s own battle-warrior fame.

Maybe if Moya had been there and seen how pathetically I beat the trapped and choking bear with a shield while crying in terror, my new Shield wouldn’t be so eager to play swordswoman. Just thinking of that moment, of the blood and the claws, invited Persephone’s stomach to crawl into her throat.

She couldn’t remember what the shield had felt like, but the sword she carried now was heavy. Persephone wished it were smaller—and therefore lighter—while simultaneously wanting it longer and better able to hit things farther away.

Am I holding it too high? Too low? Should I have it out at all? Yes, I should definitely have it out.

She chastised herself for not watching Reglan closer when he drew a weapon, but what need was there for a woman to know the skills of a man?

And yet, here I am. Why didn’t I just send a Dherg? The thought plowed into her. Because I’m the chieftain—and either I really am or I’m just pretending.

The declaration sounded strong in her head, but another voice whispered: You’re being so-o-o-o stupid right now. It’s just pride. You’re going to get yourself, and maybe everyone else, killed because of your idiotic ego. You don’t have the fighting skills of a man, but you’re learning our faults fast enough.

The voice was familiar, and it came as a shock that it took so long to recognize—it was Reglan’s. Not really him, her husband never said anything even remotely similar. But in her head, she heard the same gruff bark he used during arguments when he was finally fed up and angry, his this-is-over-now tone.

Why am I hearing Reglan’s voice all of a sudden? Is it because we’re about to be reunited?

The two walked slowly. Despite her bravado, Moya was in no great hurry, and Persephone wondered if her friend was regretting her actions now that they were alone in the dark. To her credit, Moya walked out in front—a perfect Shield for her chieftain. Persephone held up the glowing stone, panning it back and forth, trying to light Moya’s way.

Tables and chairs came into view and appeared eerily normal. Something about everyday items of people long dead bothered her.

Did anyone actually die right here? Will we find bodies—bones?

Persephone was shifting the glow of the stone at the same instant that she heard Moya whisper, “There!”

The light revealed a small animal. They both stared in fascination. The size and shape of a rather large rat, it looked like it was covered in banded plates protecting everything, including the tail.

“Even their rats have armor,” Moya said. She let her shoulders relax and the butt of her spear rest on the ground. “So the dwarf was right. Just an animal.”

“But Moya, it’s dead.” Persephone lowered the light to show the dark pool of blood that looked black in the green glow. The head was mangled, as if chewed on.

“Lucky us, we don’t need to fight it. I’m not even sure where I would stab the thing.”

“Moya, it’s dead…recently dead. What killed it?”

“Probably fell, see?” Moya pointed up. “That was the sound we heard, this plated war-rat fell from up there. Most likely the only way to kill one of them.”

Apparently satisfied, Moya started walking back. Persephone wasn’t convinced.

How often do rats fall to their deaths?

She panned the light around, searching for would-be killers, but saw nothing. Looking up, she spotted the balcony Moya had indicated.

Maybe Moya’s right.

Then in that brief moment that felt oddly like a victory, she saw a shadow move. What had been nothing but darkness a moment before, shifted, and Persephone spied two glowing-red eyes. The thing was man-sized, but not a man—not human, not Fhrey, not Dherg, nor even a goblin. This was lithe and lanky, with limbs too long, a body oddly twisted, and those eyes!