A Glimmer on the Blade

by Rachel E. Baddorf

  It’s powerful stuff, but a small dose shouldn’t harm you. It carries a lot of magic, she explained. The Goddess would not harm her scion.

  Right, replied Anoni. She rolled her eyes and broke the connection. Relating this information to Yupendra got her a dark look and a lecture on safety practices used by novice level theomancers to keep such things from killing them. She tuned it out. Anoni was relieved to see Corin ride up with a discrete nod to Yupendra and he dropped back in the column.

  Now came the hard part. Corin was sitting straighter in the saddle, smiling for all the world to see, while Copelia was quiet, ankles and wrists lumpy with herbal-smelling bandages. Anoni had let the girl sit a while, not wanting to rock her in her recovery.

  “Good day, Corin,” Anoni said. Copelia didn’t look up from the road. It’s time I had a talk with both of you.”

  “Why do I have a bad feeling about this?” Corin muttered.

  “First of all, though you are both my friends...’” Anoni paused, trying to get the words right.

  Corin started, “I am?”

  “Shut up,” Anoni said. “This is a dangerous mission, even for professionals. Your actions here affect others.” She stared at Copelia when she said it. “Copelia, please try to control your temper. Your last outburst put us all in danger.” The girl curled in on herself, trying to stifle a sob.

  “Hey, leave her alone!” Corin said angrily.

  “I’m not done,” said Anoni as she shot a look of daggers at Corin. “That said, I am glad you are safe. I consider Vansainté my brother, and you as my little sister. I hope when this is over you can accept the truth about me.” Anoni swallowed convulsively. “I hope you’ll forgive me for lying to you.” She hadn’t realized how much she would hurt if she lost Copelia’s friendship.

  Anoni turned to Corin. “And you. Next time I station you somewhere in a battle, stay there. Diving into a battle is a very dangerous enterprise. You could have gotten an arrow in the back or something worse. You didn’t even have full armor on.”

  Corin just gaped at her, incredulous. “I saved your ass and this is how you thank me? What was I supposed to do? Leave you to be gutted by some burning Califf worshiper? You of all people believe in not playing by the rules. What a hypocrite you are.”

  Anoni couldn’t help herself; the laughter burst out of her. “If I played by the rules, I would have died in the Daro Wastes or even let Markham have me. I guess I’m not the best role model for military obedience.”

  “Or lawful obedience,” he muttered acidly.

  “Well yes, after all that, I am an infamous Ozuk-bandit,” she admitted with a smile.

  “Is that what the glowing was?” Copelia asked timidly.

  “Uh, yes. Your brother and I, and the Dragons, are also the bandits,” Anoni said distractedly. “We needed a way to fund the resistance and hit back against the Shaisos without facing reprisals. That reminds me.” Anoni reached into her shirt and pulled off a moonpearl necklace. It was identical to the one she had given Corin. “Here. Put this on. Just in case you feel the need to run off again, I can talk you out of it.” Copelia gave her a puzzled look, but put the necklace on.

  Anoni paused long enough in conversation to contact Vansainté.

  Talk to your sister. She needs to hear from you, instructed Anoni.

  From the sudden look of shock on Copelia’s face, Vansainté did. Anoni turned her attention back to Corin, letting the siblings’ conversation go on outside her attention. Corin was watching Copelia like maybe she was having an attack of some sort.

  “She’s talking with Vansainté,” she explained. “I don’t mean that I’m not thankful that you came into the battle. I just want you to remember that it was your first battle and it was extremely dangerous.”

  “Like you wouldn’t have done it,” he said sarcastically, not budging an inch. “You think only you get to do selfless things.”

  She stared him down, trying to make the point. While she was serious about the danger, the conversation was getting away from her. Her scolding was fast approaching the playful banter she had with the Dragons and she couldn’t figure out why. She tried again with “You need to stop gloating. You’re not going admit it may have been ill-advised to go into battle unprepared, are you?”

  “Nope,” he replied with a smug smile.

  “You’re not invincible you know,” said Anoni. Is it just that I respect he had the courage to finally fight? Or am I just...flirting? Anoni bit the inside of her cheek, trying to decide which was the better answer.

  “Neither are you,” he said.

  Anoni sighed and said, “Then I guess we’ll have to get you some armor. I think we have some extras in the supply wagon...and step up your training.”

  “I think you will,” he said, like a cat who has feathers in his teeth.

  That night the Dragons camped early in deference to the injured. The day after, they reached the crossroads to find Nekobashi and Tevix camped with a large carcass dressed and ready to cook. After a long enough look to tell it most certainly was not a deer, with a thought to the stories of the strange mutated beasts of the Safiro Wilds, Anoni sent Yupendra over to investigate it while the rest of them pitched the tents they had left in the wagon. Copelia collapsed thankfully into the wagon on a hastily made up pallet as Anoni filled the two men in. It was good to have all her men together again, she thought, as they settled back into familiar camp duties and past times. The men didn’t seem to be bothered that marines had been sent against a free city outside the Empire in the unclaimed Safiro Wilds, or that they had a sun priest with them. Anoni, however, was up long into the night pondering what it might mean.

  CHAPTER 12

  Port Crane, Tahoi River Below Lake Tormescu

  Ammon

  Brother Ammon climbed down the gangplank of the fishing vessel Matsuri and onto the teeming river docks. He took a deep breath for what seemed like the first time since he snuck into the Ankathinos mine. The catch was being hauled down the gangplank as well, and he did his best to get out of the way. The fishermen were big men, not given to bathing, and so inured to the smell of dead fish and rotting lake weed that they had looked at him strangely when he asked about it. The fishermen had been taciturn, but not unkind. Their elderly captain had accepted Ammon’s passage from Erolia for a fee, with an extra gratuity for discretion. Ammon didn’t wave goodbye as he walked away from the ship. Incognito, he hadn’t had to spread peace and good cheer for the temple’s image. It had been a relief.

  He had been lucky. The docks were already busy with gossip about a man the miners were hunting when he found the Matsuri’s gnarled captain in a common room. The captain had listened to his story about needing to go to Port Crane to help an ailing cousin, looked him straight in the eye, spat on the ground, and replied, “Just don’t bullshit me, son. You got coin or not?”

  He had sold his horse and found passage to cut travel time; what was a good three weeks by land, would only take about two-thirds the time by boat. The Califf weapon weighed heavy in his pack, bundled under his robes and hair tonic. He had sent a warning message by pigeon to the Sybil Alcyenne, but couldn’t be specific in case the message went astray. Hopefully, the bird would be nearly to Aquillion by now. The Matsuri was only a lake fisher, and Brother Ammon’s next step was to ride the Tahoi River down into Aquillion. There were many ships taking goods south to the capital; some were carrying wool from the mountain sheep, others gold work from the smithies in Erolia, or even a few with exotics from across the Border Wall. There were simple poling crafts, some sailing ships and some electrics still working, bobbing along at their moorings. He quickly studied them, and passed on, looking for something, but he was not sure what.

  There were marines about and they were probably searching ships sailing downstream. He followed the dock in that direction, to the less hale-and-hearty ships. A slender ship that looked like it had been patched many times before, with numerous rivets and scratches covering it, caught his eye. It wa
s an electric ship painted bright greens, yellows, and blues, with bright limpid blue fabric panels jutting at angles from the mast, like umbrellas caught in the act of propagating like toadstools after a rainstorm. It was a sun-tech ship, which ran off electricity made when sunlight fell on the blue panels. He could see three of the crew, one brightly dressed black woman and two men, lounging on the deck as a frustrated man covered in engine oil tried to solder something in the tech where the panels’ wires fed into the ship.

  At the bottom of the gangplank, he paused. There was a puff of smoke and an explosion of cursing from the techman. The two men, in scarlet and gold leggings, exchanged an uncomfortable glance at the outburst. They were both bulging with muscles.

  “Ahoy,” Ammon called. “Permission to come aboard?”

  The slender, pretty black woman dressed in a conglomeration of layers of pink cloth that both flowed and revealed as she moved, stood up, her short springy curls waving in the breeze. “Our last show was yesterday. I’m sorry.”

  “So you’re performers?” He had thought so. “I would like to speak to your captain about a bit of business,” said Brother Ammon.

  She glanced back at the cursing techman. “I don’t think it’s a good time.”

  “I can help with that,” offered Brother Ammon.

  The cursing cut off and a greasy head popped out from between the panels. “You know ships?”

  “Ah no. But I’m a sunsmith. Can we talk about this down below?” asked Brother Ammon.

  Wiping his hands on a rag, the techman jumped down. He was a short man, almost a dwarf, with a pair of goggles perched on his disheveled head. He held out a hand.

  “Captain and Ringmaster Beachum of the player ship Blue Raven.”

  Ammon shook his hand. “Call me Ammon.”

  “Come on down,” Beachum opened a hatch and they went inside. The bridge was cluttered with papers and trinkets, making it almost impossible to see the dials. “You know old tech?”

  “I need a ride into Aquillion...without having to deal with the marines. I’ll get your systems running in exchange,” bartered Brother Ammon.

  Beachum raised an eyebrow. “We’re a player ship. We do a matinee and a night show at each stop.”

  “I can supplement the income if you forgo your matinees and only play when we stop for the night,” said Brother Ammon as he jingled a small bag of coins in his pocket. Beachum hesitated and Ammon took a chance, adding, “You won’t find another sunsmith around here, not with the marines looking for them.”

  Beachum threw his hands up. “All right, all right! You get the old girl going, we’ll take you there.” He held out his hand and they shook on it. The woman in pink, who introduced herself as Telycia, led Ammon into the hold since there were no extra berths. He left his pack on a box and got out his tools. He didn’t always have them with him, but his knowledge of old tech had gotten him out of tough situations before. Rolling up his sleeves, Brother Ammon climbed up the wheelhouse and in between the panels. Looking at a snarl of wire, he knew he would be there for a while.

  ***

  North Road, Safiro Wilds

  Corin

  Corin plunked himself down next to Vansainté on a log the next day during their lunch meal. Their party had dismounted beside a stream to let the horses rest and drink. He offered the Dragon another chunk of bread to accompany the hard sausage and cheese they were eating. Vansainté muttered a thank you around a mouthful. “I have a question, Vansainté.” Corin shot a glance down to the stream where Anoni was letting her horse drink, her copper hair ablaze in the sunlight, held back in a long ponytail that trailed down her back. She wore a tailored green shirt and brown trousers.

  “And?” Vansainté broke through his distraction.

  “I am trying to get to know Anoni, the real her,” said Corin.

  “Underneath the secrets and the...other layers of secrets?” joked Vansainté.

  Corin gave him a lopsided grin. “Exactly. How...”

  “Ask her about her daggers,” Vansainté suggested.

  Corin raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Swords are not really my thing. I don’t need another lecture or more yelling.”

  Vansainté smiled. “Trust me.”

  “All right,” Corin said doubtfully. He waited until they were back on the horses, and rode up beside her at the front of the party. “Hello,” he said lamely. “I was wondering about your daggers. Where did you get them?”

  Anoni looked surprised. “It’s a long story.”

  Corin shrugged, feigning indifference. “We have what, another week, before we make Asteri? I’m listening.”

  She unthreaded the long daggers in their sheathes from her belt and handed one to him. “How much do you know about blades?”

  “Not much,” Corin admitted as he took it. The blade was about a foot and a half long, in a red lacquered wooden sheath with gold inlay. Carefully, he drew it. It was slender, slightly curved blade with a faint woodgrain-like pattern to the steel and a wavy white sheen down the blade. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

  “It is said Ardmore Miliarnes was the leader of the people from the moon. In their domed cities, they carried no weapons but knives and those only very rarely. The older, mechanical weapons were dangerous to even have around up there. When Ardmore lead the moon people in their ship back to the earth they brought these with them. They found Ozuk everywhere, and these slender fast blades were not enough to fight them off. My sword, and yours, are hybrids made from old eastern and old western methods. They get the woodgrain pattern from the steel being folded during the forging process. They needed something with two cutting blades that was heavier for hacking, rather than slashing. They also needed bigger and heavier sword guards, because Ozuk are fast even when you have a sword in them, and they could easily reach up the blade.” Anoni paused in her storytelling and touched the hilt on her sword.

  “Anyway, these long daggers were over the fireplace in my father’s apartments in the palace. They were my mother’s, from before their marriage. I didn’t know much about my mother; she died in the Sawgrass Plague. But when I was exiled, my father gave them to me for protection. He said that was what she would have wanted.”

  Corin very carefully sheathed the dagger. A memento of a dead mother...

  “It wasn’t until I reached Oruno that I found out what they really meant. When I was evaluated to be taken on as a student, I dropped my disguise and told the masters that I wanted to train. I showed them what I knew with my daggers. They were reluctant. But they examined the blades and asked me questions for hours. At the end of the day, I was a student—what they call a ‘cateicumen’ of the Warcollege.”

  “So what did they mean?” asked Corin.

  “The masters have been angry at the Imperium ever since the emperor took possession of the Teha land and commanded they only forge swords for them. What I didn’t know is that the masters have an extensive archive of the Teha families and the swords they have made. The masters do anything they can to buy Teha swords and some are smuggled out of the mountains to the Warcollege every year. I happened to see their archives and was reading when I came across a name.” She unsheathed her dagger and looked down the blade. “Ariamae Mizrahi. My mother was a maker of Tehana steel.” She sheathed it again. “If you took the hilts off and read the tang—” Anoni stopped talking when she noticed he looked puzzled. She explained, “It’s the blank metal end of the sword with the rivet hole where they attach the hilt. If you read the tang of these blades, you find my mother’s name, the date she made them, and an inscription. ‘Shingane, my daughter’ on the one, and ‘Tamahagane, my son’ on the other.”

  He leaned closer to study the blade again, fascinated. “What...?”

  “Shingane is the old name for the soft steel at the center of the blade. Tamahagane is the block of raw material used to make swords. I don’t know if she expected me to have a brother, but I am all the daughters of her house, and all the sons too, so I wear them both,” s
he said sadly.

  “They say the Teha see the future in the light that reflects off their blades when they forge them. Maybe she knew you would need them,” Corin offered.

  “I like to think so,” said Anoni as she studied the sheath, mind clearly elsewhere.

  “Anoni...” He groped for the right words, handing back the blade. “Your mother made formidable steel indeed.”

  “Thank you.” She blushed lightly and cleared her throat, putting the daggers back on her belt.

  They rode in companionable silence into the afternoon. Corin thought about how a young woman from the Teha mountains twenty years and more ago might have seen the path of her daughter. Had she seen the outcome of the quest? Had she seen Corin, under this imposter’s skin reunited with a girl who’d been his first friend? Was he always meant to find her again?

  ***

  North Road, Safiro Wilds

  Anoni

  Anoni’s mind drifted as she rode. The Dragons were reunited again, and back on track with the quest and the inevitable imperial coronation and wedding. She gave Corin a sidelong glance. He looked good in a blue shirt that matched his eyes. He was watching the strange Safiro birds pass overhead with badly concealed wonder. The birds had long, trailing bottle-green feathers and small beaks. They seemed to swim through the air like fish in a bowl. They were beautiful, if not a little eerie. Suddenly she didn’t feel so depressed about the prince’s marriage. When she was thirteen she’d entertained dreams of marrying the prince. She had imagined it. But she had never had a hope of it happening. She’d known that, deep down, it didn’t matter how much she had loved him. She was a commoner. Legally, he was allowed to choose anyone he wanted, but historically, it was usually a Highlord’s daughter who was chosen at the Coronation Ball. It stung that she had been so naïve, and it stung even more that when it came down to it, she just couldn’t let her feelings for him go. She couldn’t sit back while people plotted his death. As Red Dragon she would have a front row seat to watching the prince pick some idiot with perfect hair.