Plague Arcanist (Frith Chronicles Book 4)

by Shami Stovall

  And it was a possible explanation now.

  This had come from Theasin’s personal lab, after all. It could be anything—perhaps even bones from the world serpent.

  “Do you think I can create a weapon out of these?” I asked. I held up the six bone fragments. “My sword was broken during the attack on Thronehold. I need a replacement.”

  “Do you know what they are, boy?” Jozé asked.

  I shook my head. “No. But if you can’t identify them, they must be something interesting.”

  “Really think about this. A part of being a good artificer is calculating what you’re trying to make. Mystical creatures that fight—like manticores—have magic suited for weapons. Mystical creatures that care for or heal others—like caladrius—would make terrible weapons. If you use bones from an unknown creature, you’re gambling. Your weapon might not be as useful as, say, a blade of flame, crafted from a blue phoenix.”

  “These are powerful, though.” I held them closer to my father. “Just touch one.”

  He exhaled and did as I asked. Then he ran a single finger along the length of one, his eyebrow knit. “Hm.”

  “Don’t you feel it?”

  “I feel nothing.”

  His statement shocked me. I figured, out of all the people on the airship, he would be able to sense the same thing I did. There was power in these bones—great power. Why didn’t anyone else see that?

  “I still want to use them,” I said. “I don’t know why, but they feel different to me.”

  “Give them here.”

  Hesitant, I handed over the six bone fragments. My father brought them close to the white-hot ingot in his other hand. The once-rectangular piece of steel was now a half-melted mess, threatening to drip onto the deck and start a fire. I almost wanted it to happen so I could tell Jozé I told you so, but he expertly held on to the molten steel, no damage to his palm or flesh.

  Phoenix arcanists were immune to fire, and it was amusing to watch the metal slide around his skin without hurting him.

  Jozé slowly placed a bone fragment into the steel.

  “Hey,” I barked.

  He shot me a stern glower. “It’ll be all right, boy.”

  His phoenix moved in close, her silver eyes on me. “Volke, don’t worry. This is common when forging magical weapons. The bone will become part of the metal, and once Jozé shapes it into a blade, you’ll be able to imbue it with knightmare magic.”

  I crossed my arms, my stomach grumbling. It had been a long while since I had eaten, and the shock from this morning—and the odd dreams from last night—still haunted my thoughts. I wasn’t entirely myself, so I stepped back and forced a calming breath.

  Jozé fed the rest of the bones into the steel. Once everything was mixed, he used both hands to pull the metal-like clay. The molten heat subsided faster than with normal metal—no doubt the temperature was controlled by my father’s magic—and he worked the steel much like an expert baker worked bread. He kneaded it and then folded it, and then smoothed it. When he wanted it to be solid, he removed heat, and when he wanted to mold it again, he heated it up.

  If we had been using an actual forge, this would’ve been days’ worth of work.

  “My arcanist.”

  I spotted Luthair slithering across the deck in his shadow form. Karna followed behind him, her eyes on the bright hot metal that Jozé tossed around in his hands.

  “What’re you two doing?” she asked.

  “Crafting a new weapon for the boy,” Jozé muttered through gritted teeth, his concentration narrowed on his task.

  I hadn’t noticed until then, but most of the crew was on deck, watching from afar. They stood near the railing or up on the quarterdeck, staring down. Whenever I glanced over, they looked away and feigned work, but they always went right back to watching once I turned away.

  Even Biyu stood with them, her giant book half-hiding her from my view. She wrote at a fearsome pace, and I wondered just how much detail she took down.

  Jozé took a couple of deep breaths as he lengthened the metal. Typically, metal was poured into a cast, but he managed to harden the hot steel fast enough to actually create a blade in his hands, no need for a mold. He had done it so quickly, and by turning the metal around to keep it from spilling, it almost looked like a performance. I considered it more art than blacksmithing.

  When he finally had the basic shape of a sword, he cooled the steel and then set the weapon down on the deck, tip first, so that the hilt rested against his gut.

  The blade I had before was considered a short sword—about two and a half feet in length—but the rough blade my father had created was four feet, which most considered to be a longsword.

  It wasn’t done, though. Everything was dull and just shaped in the form of a sword.

  The metal was blackish, no doubt tainted from the bones that had been fed to the molten steel.

  “That’s not the same kind of blade I had before,” I said.

  “The beauty of knightmare magic is that it creates lightweight weapons,” Jozé said, somewhat winded. “And I figured you could use a blade that could switch from one-handed to two-handed, if needed.”

  I had trained in sword-and-shield style, so the thought of fighting with a two-handed blade didn’t sit right. On the other hand, I no longer had my shield, and I didn’t know if I’d ever get it back. Perhaps my father was right.

  “Okay,” Jozé said. “Let me finish, and then you can do your thing.”

  He took a deep breath, picked up the rough blade, and then slid his fingers over the entire weapon, slowly shaping the last of the details.

  I would’ve said it was impossible for someone to use their hands to craft something straight, but I suspected his magic was somehow helping in the process. The metal seemed to do what he wanted, and when he pinched the edges of the blade, they sharpened and didn’t fold away.

  He made both sides deadly—some blades could have just one sharp edge, but the double edge allowed for more versatility when fighting. Then he smoothed the hilt and added a guard. It seemed to take a lot out of him, though. His breathing became heavier the longer he worked.

  When he was done, the longsword looked ready for combat, even if it was still a little rough.

  “Don’t worry about how it looks now,” he said after a deep breath. “Once you imbue your knightmare magic into it, the sword will take on a slightly different appearance. It’ll never dull, and it won’t weigh as much as it does now.”

  Jozé wrapped the hilt with leather and then burned it into place. He handed me the weapon, pommel first.

  I took it with both hands. Although I hadn’t worked with swords for long, I knew to check for the balance—a point where the weapon’s weight is equally distributed to each end. If there was too much weight on the hilt, my strikes would be slow and clunky. If there was too much weight at the tip, it’d take me longer to recover from each strike.

  To my surprise, the sword had a fantastic balance, centered about three inches up the blade. My father had done that with just his hands and magic? It impressed me, though I didn’t know how to articulate that without sounding childish.

  Jozé withdrew two star shards from his pocket and handed them over.

  “I need more,” I said.

  “How many more?”

  “I need to make this an artifact.”

  Luthair moved around my feet, Karna gave me an odd glance, and my father snorted back a laugh.

  “You don’t need to, boy,” Jozé said. “Besides, you didn’t even know what those bones were, so you might be wasting star shards on something trivial.”

  “You don’t understand. The villains I intend to fight are… they’re…”

  I closed my eyes, remembering the attack on Thronehold. During the commotion, the villains of the Second Ascension had unleashed something I had never seen before. It was a type of dust made from nullstone—anti-magic rocks that prevented arcanists from using their abilities. The dust had broken
down trinkets, disintegrating them. That was how I had lost my sword. But it didn’t break artifacts. The dust hadn’t been able to harm my shield.

  If I was going to face the Second Ascension again, I had to be ready.

  “There’s a group of madmen who know how to destroy trinkets,” I said as I opened my eyes and stared at my father. “They do so with ease. If I can cure myself, then they’re the ones I’ll be fighting next. I can’t afford to make dozens of weak magical items just to practice. I need to make sure this weapon will hold up when things get dire.”

  Jozé ran a hand through his black hair. “Star shards aren’t cheap.”

  “I understand.”

  “They’re finite. You don’t mine them, you can’t create them—they fall from the sky at random points, no one knows when. They’re rare, you get it? Hard to come by.”

  I nodded.

  “You still want to?” Jozé asked, one eyebrow raised.

  Karna shot him a glower. “You should let him try.”

  He replied with a long sigh.

  “I already sold that crown,” Karna retorted. “We have money to pay the crew for a few months. And if you need more star shards for your work, you know Captain Devlin will get them for you.”

  Perhaps my father thought I couldn’t handle creating an artifact, and he was afraid I would waste the shards. But I knew I could. I already had, even if I hadn’t done it with any sort of finesse. Now that I knew the basics of item creation, and Luthair was with me, I could get it right.

  Jozé reached into his pocket and withdrew eight more star shards. He handed them over, his expression hardened into an unreadable neutral.

  “You’ll have to let the weapon take as much magic as it needs from you,” he said. “Don’t let go until you feel the draining sensation stop. And focus on one star shard at a time—it helps, trust me.”

  Again, I nodded.

  With a shaky breath, I set the longsword on the deck of the airship and then knelt next to it. The eyes of the crew weighed on me as I set the ten star shards on the blade. I hadn’t anticipated this being a show, but their presence didn’t unnerve me.

  What would Zaxis do in this situation? He would probably give everyone a speech about how amazing he was—about how glorious his weapon would be—maybe even give them a bow and utter a few more thank-yous.

  I smiled to myself.

  Atty would probably just make her weapon perfect the first time, no theatrics at all.

  I touched the weapon and shook the thoughts from my head. Now wasn’t the time.

  “My arcanist,” Luthair said. “Let me help.”

  I touched the shadows on the deck. “Okay.”

  He formed up around me and merged with my being. Although I was plague-ridden, as long as we weren’t injured in this form, it seemed it wouldn’t pass to him.

  His shadowy plate armor engulfed me in a cold sensation of power, and it felt pleasant after standing in the desert sun. Together, we placed a gauntleted hand on the weapon and poured our combined magic into it.

  The sensation was familiar. Just like with the shield, the longsword wanted an intense amount of magic. The star shards sank into the blade, taking my essence with them, imbuing the weapon with knightmare powers. Every second that went by drained more from me. Then it started to burn, like when I used my second-bonded magic too intensely. I gritted my teeth and continued.

  My whole body trembled.

  The weapon wanted so much.

  It was like having all my breath stolen, and every time I tried to inhale, I received a mouthful of water. Worse and worse it became, but Jozé said not to let go. I continued, fearing I might pass out. At least I had knelt on the deck. If I had been standing, I would’ve surely toppled over.

  It’s almost done, Luthair said telepathically, straight to my mind.

  I refused to fail and let the sword take the very last of my strength.

  Only then did it seem satisfied.

  I released the weapon and gulped down air.

  Karna knelt beside me. She touched her fingers to the shadow-plate on my shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  I tried to nod, but it probably looked like I was dizzy.

  It took my father a bit of effort to kneel down, thanks to his bad leg. He touched the longsword and gingerly scooped it into his hands. The blade was the same shadowy metal as my armor, dark and filled with an inner void. The sharp edge gleamed when Jozé turned the weapon over.

  “It’s lightweight,” he said. “Just as I predicted. This would fetch a nice price. Knightmare magic is so rare. There’s only one talented knightmare artificer I know, and she works with the Steel Thorn Inquisitors.”

  Karna narrowed her eyes. “Are you going to have him create weapons for your patrons now?”

  “Maybe.” Jozé chuckled. “We would make a decent living.” Then he brought his attention to me. “What’re you going to name your new blade?”

  “Name it?” I rasped, my voice a combination of my own and Luthair’s.

  “Of course. This isn’t some ordinary trinket. You made an artifact, remember? It deserves a name.”

  All the greatest heroes in the storybooks had weapons with names. What had Ruma named his pistol? In my fatigued state, I had forgotten. I remembered liking it, though.

  I thought about names while I regained my strength. Something to do with justice. Something to do with the arcanists of old. Something to do with defeating evil or saving the innocent. There were so many possibilities.

  A sword is used to fell the wicked, Luthair said to me. Its name should instill fear in those who revel in their sins.

  What would Illia name it? Something practical. Something unique.

  What would Zaxis name it? I half-laughed to myself imagining all the over-the-top names he would concoct.

  What about Hexa? Perhaps something blunt—like Devastator. That sounded like her.

  Once recovered, at least a little, I forced myself to stand. Luthair was right, and I knew what I wanted to name it.

  Luthair unmerged with me and then kept me steady with a hand on my shoulder.

  “Retribution,” I said. “I’ll name the sword Retribution.”

  My father lifted both eyebrows and replied with a slow nod. “I see.” He placed his palm on the blade closest to the hilt and then dragged it up. He emblazoned letters across the shadow, bone, and steel.

  RETRIBUTION

  A slight ember remained in the lettering, keeping the name alight, even after he took his hand away. Then he handed me the longsword.

  “That’s a fine name,” he said. “Let’s hope it lives up to it.”

  21

  Biyu At The Bazaar

  I had never trained with a sword that felt so effortless. Even Mathis’s old blade—crafted with knightmare magic and a behemoth fang—didn’t slice through the air like Retribution did. I spent the rest of the day going through my standard training routines, getting myself used to the extra length of my new weapon. Although it was longer, it was still light enough to wield with one hand. The hilt was long, allowing for an easy transition to two hands, just as my father had said.

  It would take time to master, but this was a superior sword.

  The crew of the Sun Chaser watched for a while, and I didn’t mind. It was better than them fearing me.

  And I hadn’t noticed it at first, but apparently my father had “signed” the sword with a bird symbol on the hilt. It was his trademark—all the weapons he forged had it. Crafting guilds always had unique marks, but I had never met an individual who had a specific design. I thought it interesting, and I wondered how many of my father’s weapons were out in the world.

  The city bells chimed. I continued training regardless of the drop in temperature. One of the deckhands brought me some jerky, and while I thought it was closer to dirt than edible food, I gobbled it down.

  As the sun set, Jozé returned to the deck of the ship. He carried a scabbard—the same kind of sheath he kept his flame sword i
nside of—and he limped over to my side.

  “Here,” he said as he handed it to me. “It should be the right size for your new blade.”

  “Do I need it?” I asked. Hadn’t he said the longsword would never dull? I took the heavy scabbard. It weighed twice as much as Retribution, perhaps more.

  “It’s lined with nullstone,” he said. “When your blade is sheathed, others won’t be able to detect its magical nature. Trust me. It’s always good to have the element of surprise.”

  Nullstone intrigued me. It had so many useful applications, but at the same time, it was a terrible substance that restricted magic. Having a nullstone scabbard could potentially have more than one function in combat.

  “If my scabbard is lined in nullstone, I won’t be able to take the sword with me when I shadow-step,” I said.

  Jozé smiled. “Hey, now. You’re talking to a master arcanist. Nullstone can be altered with magic—it can be attuned to certain magics, block out specific magics, and even make trinkets, believe it or not. It’s just… difficult. And costly. Nullstone requires almost twice as many star shards to craft it into something.”

  I didn’t know much about nullstone, but I knew my father spoke the truth. Thronehold castle had been protected with a nullstone aura that was attuned to sovereign dragon magic, and the villains within the Second Ascension had created decay dust out of nullstone—a vile cloud that destroyed trinkets.

  “So I need to attune this?” I asked as I examined the scabbard.

  “It won’t be difficult. I’ve done it a few times.”

  An icy breath on my neck alerted me to Fain’s presence before he whispered, “Volke, do you have a moment?”

  I didn’t know why he had decided to speak with me while invisible, but I opted to humor him. I held the scabbard close. “Thank you for this,” I said to Jozé. “I appreciate it.” I stepped around him, and the chill of Fain’s presence stayed with me as I headed for the stairs.