Knight of Flame

by Scott Eder

  The old man had to change his mind.

  * * *

  Fired up from the meeting, Dev prowled the hall looking for an outlet. He hoped Dronor would cross his path so he could give him a pre-mission pummeling. It wouldn’t be too bad, just enough to shut his smug mouth up. But no luck.

  Dev made it to his quarters unmolested, blocked out the rest of the world and fired up the forge. Pounding out his frustration on some innocent metal seemed like a good idea. It didn’t matter what he made, so long as the creation made a lot of noise and allowed him to swing a heavy hammer.

  With a thought, he called the lava. A whuff of scalded air escaped before the molten core bubbled out of the well and filled the trough. He grabbed a few chunks of Quinsteele and tossed them into the churning inferno.

  I promised I would protect Wren.

  He bare-handed a glowing lump of metal and tossed it onto the anvil. Grabbing it with the tongs, he took up his hammer and struck the first blow. The blacksmith’s song reverberated off the stone walls. Finding his rhythm, he lost himself in his craft.

  The act of creation, of shaping and molding, burned away his anger and cleared his mind.

  Ping. Ping.

  This restriction wasn’t Wren’s fault. It was mine. I didn’t listen.

  Ping. Ping.

  I was out of control. Out of balance.

  Ping. Ping.

  This must be shocking admission week. Last night I accepted the fact that I wasn’t a demon after only seven hundred years.

  Ping. Ping.

  The Wren betrayal thing only took me a couple of days. I must be getting better at this.

  The sarcasm made him smile. He fitted a sharp-edged chisel to the flattened metal and, with a few expertly placed blows, cut it into half-inch thick strips then set them aside. Like a machine, he did the same with the other two lumps of softened Quinsteele until he had a dozen strips in a neat pile.

  Grabbing the lot, he chucked them into the lava to heat up for stage two. Some landed flat while others jutted out of the smoking orange mass.

  Magnus will keep her out of trouble. She’s his little sister, too.

  Dev plucked one of the metal flats from the heat and checked its flexibility. Judging it acceptable, he laid it down and, choosing a lighter hammer, banged out the leaf-shaped blade. He worked through the others quickly. Years of training and practice combined with a clear head prevented any mistakes or false hits. Within an hour, a pile of rough throwing knives lay stacked before him. The blades thin and curved, the handles slightly thicker with an uncut flat circle at the base.

  But there was something missing. For Wren, they needed more, something different, unique. Calling the fire, he pushed the responding energy to his hands and they burst into flame. A smaller measure of heat was needed to finish the job. He pinched the blade between his fingers to taper the edge then filed it to razor-like precision as it cooled. Using this first one as a prototype, he reversed the knife and focused on the circle at the end.

  Something special.

  A picture formed in his mind—short thin beak, dense feathers, ferocious eyes. He rubbed the circle at the end of the handle between his thumb and index finger enough to soften the surface and memorize its texture and contour. Satisfied and focused, he worked a diamond-tipped engraving tool to shape the head, its sharp beak pointed down. The eyes came next, the outline gouged deep to stand out. And last, the feathers. Delicate cuts and twists of the tool scored the metal while he fed it a trickle of heat to keep it malleable.

  Wren deserved his best work. She deserved perfection. The blade delivered, but the bird…not so much. It was the best he could do. He twined a double layer of gold thread around the handle to finish the piece.

  He inspected the completed knife one final time—keen edged, detailed, perfectly balanced.

  One down, eleven more to go. Dev smiled and got down to work on his peace offering.

  Chapter 35

  A NEAT STACK OF JEANS, T-SHIRTS, SOCKS and underwear waited for Cassidy when she returned to her room. Apparently, the clothes fairy made deliveries. Nothing said comfort more than a worn pair of Levis and a loose cotton T. Ooh, except for the pair of old-school Nike’s with the light blue swoosh gracing the floor next to the bed. Sweet.

  She had clean clothes, but could really do with a shower. Glistening was a good thing, a noble sign of hard work, but that sweat lodge Dev lived in was a bit over the top.

  The room Magnus had stashed her in was modest, but clean and functional. A small bed and dresser dominated one wall. Over on the other sat a small writing desk and hard wooden chair. Beyond that, in the far corner, a—

  What is that?

  The lines in the corner didn’t match up. From one angle, it looked perfectly fine, but from another it was off. She ran her hand along the wall and found the corner three feet sooner than she expected. It slid into another, smaller room.

  Cool.

  A small shelf built into the wall on her left held towels and a collection of toiletries. Further in, she noticed the slant to the floor. It angled down only a few inches to a squared off shelf with open slots cut throughout its surface. Above her head, the ceiling contained row upon row of small holes.

  So how do you turn this puppy on?

  No visible knobs or levers adorned the walls. As soon as she stepped under the holed ceiling, a deluge of clear warm water poured down. Cassidy yelped and jumped back. The downpour stopped.

  She looked down at the mass of ruined silk hanging heavy off her shoulders and shrugged. If it wasn’t dead before, it definitely was now.

  She shimmied out of the sodden mess, kicked off the limp wet slippers, and peeked around the corner. Seeing no one lurking about, she padded to the collection of new duds, grabbed a promising ensemble and headed back to the watery bliss in the other room.

  Half-way through her shower, a deep bass rhythm thrummed through the walls. The music continued to throb through the floor as she toweled off and dressed. The beat changed tempo, becoming more frantic.

  Another mystery.

  Cassidy left the growing comfort of her home away from home to find the source. At the end of her hall, she finally heard what she had been feeling, and put a name to it—bass guitar.

  Magnus. All the halls looked the same, but the music seemed to be louder to her right. She turned and followed the sound. Her instincts proved correct.

  The Earth Knight wore the guise of that wiry musician she’d first encountered in her backyard. His blond hair flipped in counterpoint to the bang of his head as he plucked a ferocious riff. She’d heard it before, buried in a song, but without the other instruments and vocals she couldn’t place it.

  Though his eyes were closed, he acknowledged her entrance with a dip of his guitar.

  An elaborate amp and speaker system filled an entire wall, and explained why the whole Cradle rocked out with him. An array of guitars propped up in stands stood next to a large desk crammed with stacks of sheet music. Posters of Magnus’s symphonic rock band, Light’s Keen Edge, papered the walls next to other greats such as Kamelot, Iron Maiden, and Mozart. Lutes, dulcimers and stringed instruments she’d only seen in movies stood among a vast collection filling the back of the room. A great feathered cloak of many colors draped the bed.

  Aside from the covered bed, the only seats were several giant beanbag chairs. Cassidy didn’t think Magnus would mind an audience so she picked the fluffiest one, which coincidentally occupied the space farthest from the pulsating subwoofer, and squished into its cool vinyl.

  Fingers dancing over the strings, Magnus opened his eyes and smiled at her. He dropped to his knees and finished with the opening riff from Queensrÿche’s “Jet City Woman.” As the last note faded, he raised his right arm, stuck out his tongue and flashed the heavy metal horns on his fingers.

  Cassidy laughed and clapped enthusiastically.

  “Thank you, Cradle. Good Night.” Magnus put the guitar in the open case behind him, powered down the so
und system and dropped into a beanbag chair next to her.

  “You’re awesome.” Cassidy admired musicians. She couldn’t play a lick, and to see an obvious master left her awestruck.

  He flipped his hair and assumed a superior, rocker attitude. “Would you like my autograph?”

  “I hope you don’t mind that I made myself at home.”

  Magnus waved her off. “Don’t be silly, you’re more than welcome. Would you like something to drink?”

  Her stomach grumbled loudly enough for Magnus to hear.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” Magnus placed his palm on the floor and spoke a single word, “Bob.” Turning to Cassidy, he asked, “What would you like?”

  “Whaddya got?”

  “Ask him.” He smirked and flicked his head toward the other side of the room.”

  “Ask who, whaaa-” Cassidy gaped at the patch of stone floor not five feet away that started to churn.

  Two stone hands, a little bigger than her own, reached up through the floor on spindly arms. Stone scraped and scrabbled against stone as fingers rooted for a handhold. With a solid grip, they eased the rest of a stubby body through the floor until a little rock man stood on blocky feet.

  “I believe you were going to ask ‘what?’“ Magnus said. “That, Ms. Sinclair, is Bob. He’s a homunculus, an elemental being, and lives in the stone of this room. Think of him like a house elf from Harry Potter only without the bondage and clothes fetish. The care and upkeep of this room and its occupant are his responsibility. He’ll get us what we need.”

  Cassidy, too stunned to speak, gawked at the improbable creature. No more than three feet tall, Bob stood with his stone knuckles resting against the ground and regarded Magnus out of dime-sized, sapphire eyes. Aside from the sparkling gems, and shallow groove for a mouth, his head and face were flat and featureless—a solid slab of rock.

  “Hey, Bob.” Magnus held his fist out to the little guy.

  The groove on Bob’s face turned up in a smile and his right eye twinkled. Quick, agile steps carried him over to Magnus for a knuckle touch.

  “Bob, this is Cassidy. She’s a new friend.” From out of the corner of his mouth, Magnus whispered to Cassidy, “Hold out your fist and say hello.”

  Cassidy held out her fist. “Hi, Bob, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Cassidy put on her best unthreatening smile, like she did when meeting a new puppy, and felt silly. She resisted the urge to whistle and cluck her tongue to get him to come over. The tiny stone man was adorable and she didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

  Wait…does it-he have feelings?

  Bob looked her way, his mouth-groove a leveled line across his block. Cassidy couldn’t tell if he was checking out her fist or her face or what, but she felt the assessing weight of that precious stare. It went on and on. Bob staring at her, she holding out her fist with that inane grin stamped across her lips.

  Geez Louise. Stillman didn’t check me out this long and he runs the place.

  With no warning, Bob smiled and tottered over to her for their first knuckle bump. She expected his skin to be hard and cold, like a brick, but he was just the opposite—warm and smooth. He hit her soft, tentative, as if he realized she was different than Magnus. When their hands touched, she picked up a sense of agelessness. Or maybe a deep wisdom, she couldn’t tell. She knew it was vastly different than anything she’d sensed before. Based on that touch, she believed things would have gone horribly wrong if the little guy hadn’t accepted her.

  Bob crawled into her lap with the grace of a capuchin monkey, all long arms and nimble strength, and made himself at home. The little bugger was heavy, maybe forty pounds or more.

  “Looks like you made a new friend.” Magnus grinned from ear to ear, evidently quite pleased with Bob’s assessment.

  Bob grasped Cassidy’s arm and pulled it around his blocky torso. She didn’t know what to make of it, but let him do as he pleased.

  “Yo, Magnus, have you see—” Dev popped his head into Magnus’s room. “Oh, hey Cassidy.”

  Cassidy waved and Dev didn’t stumble or retreat. She didn’t need to touch him to sense a new peace within him. It shone about his eyes and in the set of his face. Something major had changed.

  “What’s up?” Magnus asked and Dev lugged the rest of himself into the room.

  “Is that Bob in your lap?” Dev squatted next to her and put his knuckles out. “What’s shakin’, buddy? Have you seen Jester?”

  Bob tapped his knuckles.

  “Please tell him I miss him and would like him to come home. Okay?”

  Bob gave Dev a thumbs-up.

  “I need to catch Wren before you guys head out. Have you seen her?” He stood up and switched the bundle he held from one hand to the next. “We need to talk.”

  “It’s about time,” Magnus scolded. “You’ve been an ass and put that poor girl through hell.”

  Dev had the good sense to blush. “Anyway, Wren?”

  “Try the gym. You know she throws when she’s nervous.”

  “Right. Thanks.” Dev left with a wave and a crisp turn.

  Bob played with Cassidy’s hair, rolling it between two of his thick, round fingers. In the silence left by Dev’s interruption, Cassidy’s gut sang out, making Bob look down.

  “So…” She laughed as the little guy poked her belly. “What’s for lunch?”

  Chapter 36

  IN THE GYM, WREN MEASURED THE distance between the two knives in the center of the target with her little finger.

  An inch apart this time. I was aiming for a quarter. Must be the nerves. Need to do better. She plucked the slim blades from the wall, counted out ten paces across the floor of the gym and turned.

  Paces. I’ve been hanging out with these old geezers too long. Fifty feet. That’s my mark. Not paces, feet.

  “Quarter inch this time.” Eyes on the target, she grabbed the knife, blew out her breath and threw. Dead center.

  Okay. Same throw. Aim. Blow. Rel—

  “Miss!”

  The knife hit wide, still in the center, but off her mark by two inches.

  She spun to the door, mouth poised to ream. “What the—oh, Dev. Cassidy’s not here and no, I have not seen her.” Not you. Not now.

  “I taught you better than that.” Dev plucked the knives from the target and slapped them against his palm as he strolled over. “I remember when you could scrape the metal your throws were so close.”

  Wren frowned. Does he have to mock me like this right before a mission? One that he won’t be going on.

  Dev tossed the practice throwers in the bin and approached, head down, new leather harness slung across his shoulder.

  This can’t be good. Wren’s stomach sank, like it did on the Tower of Terror when the seat dropped out. Her emotions were in free fall and she was unsure if Dev would pull the cord on her parachute or let her drop like a rock.

  Sad eyes met hers. He looked vulnerable like this. Without saying a word, he took her hand. He placed two knives across her palm and closed her fingers around them.

  “Try these.” His voice was low, soft, tender.

  Wren opened her hand. The crystal light reflected off the newly minted blades. She admired the artistry, traced a calloused finger over the rough carving at the bottom. Is it a dog? Ice cream cone? They were heavier than she was used to, but perfectly balanced and crafted to fly true.

  “They’re beautiful.” She stroked the tightly wound gold threading. “But I don’t deserve them.” Please, Dev. Don’t do this.

  “Yes, you do.” Dev handed her the leather harness with the rest of the knives stuffed into the loops. “Do you like the Wren at the bottom?”

  Ohhhhh. She looked again, flipped the handle up. Now I see the bird. That’s a beak?

  “It’s beautiful, but…”

  “Wren, I’m sorry.” He brushed her cheek. “For so many things.”

  She waited for him to continue, watching him struggle for the right words, and held her breath.

>   “I was out of control and you had the courage to do what needed to be done.” He smiled ruefully. “I wouldn’t have taken it from anyone else. Would have kicked their ass, but not you.”

  “Why, because I’m a girl?” Wren couldn’t stop herself.

  “No. Because I trust you. I respect the young woman you’ve blossomed into. I’m proud of you, Wren. And I take great pride in knowing that I had a hand in that.”

  “You big ass. I tried to warn you.”

  “I know.” He wrapped her in a hug and squeezed tight. “I know.”

  “I thought you hated me.” Her words came out all wet and whiny. Stupid, leaky girl.

  “I could never hate you. You’re my little sister. I love you.” His voice was husky as he rested his chin on her head. “That may not be exactly what you wanted to hear, but it’s the truth.”

  Well duh. But no real surprise either. I guess I’ll take what I can get. “I love you, too.”

  “We good?” Dev stepped back.

  Wren nodded, but wasn’t ready to meet his eyes. She didn’t want him to see her disappointment.

  “Good. Wipe that snot away and throw the knives. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  “Dev.” Wren snorted.

  “What’s the matter? Afraid you won’t hit the target?”

  Wren wiped her eyes and nose on her arm with an exaggerated slurp.

  “Yuck”

  “Shut up.” She took her position, and hit the target dead center.

  “Better.”

  All her focus on the target, everything else in the room drifted into the background. Sighting along the path of the first throw, she blew out a breath and held. She wanted it as close as possible to the first knife, wanted to scrape the metal.

  Smooth, controlled, her arm whipped forward. The knife sank hilt deep, scraping the blade of the first knife and nipping the golden thread.

  Yes!

  “That’ll do.”

  Wren beamed, collected her knives and jammed them into the empty slots of her vest.

  “I better get ready.”

  “Right, right. You go ahead. I’m going to hang out for a few, maybe work off some energy.”