Krea nodded, then shrugged, but Sorin never looked down to see her answer. Instead, he twisted the weapon in the sunlight, searching for just the right angle, and froze. “Mother of creation!” he whispered, peering up at the blade.
“What?” Krea asked. She slipped up next to him, but she still couldn’t see what he was staring at. “It doesn't look the same. I don't understand.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, it was gold. The sheath, the hilt, all of it. It had a dragon and stones.“ She reached up and touched the crossbar. “Right here was a dragon's mouth.”
As her fingers brushed the dagger, it shimmered. Like a snake shedding old skin, the dull gray steel melted away to reveal the golden wonder she remembered. The weapon was even more stunning in the light. Its gold glowed in the full light of day, and the black stones held fast by the dragon were smooth and flawless. The runes that had been barely visible in the waning light now shone out along the icy gray steel.
Sorin jumped and shoved the blade away from him, as if it were a chey. And not unlike the venomous snake, the blade seemed to slither slightly in his hand. But he didn’t drop it. His wood hand, bent with disturbing beauty, slowly twisted the knife in the air while he stared into its golden depths until he once again found just the right spot. He froze and stared. Krea had the feeling he no longer even saw the knife. He held the blade too still, and his face reflected fear more than awe.
All at once, he flipped the blade around so that it faced inward, the dragon’s tail spilling out of the top of his wooden fist. He grabbed Krea’s arm. Her heart nearly flopped out of her chest and twenty different thoughts rushed through her mind at once, not the least of which was that he was about to kill her. Sorin, however, seemed not to notice her panic as he lifted her arm up to the light as well and twisted it so that her new markings lined up with the blade. She stood on her toes, trying to reach that high, but Sorin didn’t notice a thing. In fact, Krea was fairly sure that, at that exact second, he wasn’t even aware her arm was attached to her body. She gave him a few seconds to come to his senses before jerking her arm away.
“What is wrong with you?” she demanded, backing away so she was out of reach. “Did those faeries leave you addled?”
Finally, Sorin looked at her. “This came from that noble in Ryth?” he asked again, incredulous. “The one who stopped us on the road?”
She nodded. “Well, in a way it did. It actually came from someone called Lady Carene, but she was giving it to that noble before I…found it.”
For a long moment, Sorin stared at her, the dagger still clutched at his side. “Did you see this?” he finally said, showing her the knife. “Did you see the symbol?”
Krea nodded. “I saw the letters, but I can't read them. They don’t look like the ones I learned.”
His confusion was evident as Sorin glanced back at the knife. It was as if he had only just now seen the row of runes running down the blade. He frowned again, turning back to Krea. “Not those symbols; this one,” he said, gesturing with the blade toward Krea’s arm.
Now it was Krea’s turn to frown. “Aye, I saw it. I was there when it was made, as you may recall.”
“No, no,” Sorin said, gesturing again with the knife. “The symbol of the goddess, the symbol of the promise, it is here in the stone. In the stone. Not on the stone, in the stone. The same symbol that is on your arm is formed inside this black stone.” Sorin reached over with his flesh hand to show her, and dropped the knife with a yelp. Blood steamed from a thin slash on his forefinger.
Krea looked down at the dagger, blade half buried in the ground. Crimson blood dripped from the dragon’s tail. She jumped back. The dragon’s tail wasn’t sharp. Certainly not sharp enough to cut Sorin. She glanced up at Sorin. His look of dismay told her he was thinking the same thing, but when she looked back to the dagger, the blood was gone. Only gleaming gold remained.
Krea knelt by the dagger for a moment. It didn’t move.
Oddly encouraged, she wrapped her hand around the carved dragon handle. Nothing happened. Following Sorin’s example, she held the blade in the air and twisted it until the light hit the top stone at just the right angle. Where the two stones clutched in the dragon’s claws were black as a tomb, the stone captured in its tail shimmered like water in moonlight. Barely visible against the dark backdrop was a tiny version of the symbols that ran halfway up her forearm. The miniature spiral followed by the three dots and finally the double line winked out from the stone’s center. The markings were so clearly defined she could see the swirls of the spiral and the runes scratched between the double lines.
“Who could do this?” she asked, trying for a better look, but as she brought the stone closer to her eyes, the light was blocked and the symbols disappeared. “I have never seen a craftsman with this skill.” Of course, coming from her, that statement didn’t hold much weight. Any artisan of such skill would surely find a better market for his or her wares than Trasdaak.
Sorin shook his head. “Nor have I. It just doesn’t make sense, though. This is…” He glanced over as Dane made his way up the hill to join them and took the dagger back from Krea, this time being careful to keep it in his fae hand. “This is a treasure the equal of which does not exist. Why would it be trusted to a family of such low stature? And the idiot child of that family, no less? How could he possibly allow someone like you to steal it?”
Krea scowled at him and started to object, but he had lapsed into his own thoughts again.
“And most importantly, why were they content to have lost it?” All at once, he grabbed Krea’s shoulder. “Krea, tell me how you came by this dagger.”
Krea jumped. Dane stood just to Sorin’s right mouthing the word lie behind his back, but she didn’t see the point in it. This magic knife changed shape. If anyone needed to know the true story, it was a man who had a fae-wood hand. “I was just riding up the road, taking a look around while I waited for you, but I wasn’t looking to get into trouble or anything. I wasn’t even looking for a mark.”
Sorin waved his hand. “Just get to the point.”
At his side, Dane pointed at Sorin and made as if to choke himself. He thrashed his head about for a second, finally flopping his tongue out before pointing at her.
Krea ignored him and continued. “So, there was this noble, the one you spoke to, and he was meeting with someone named Lady Carene in the alley behind the chandler's cottage. One of them said it was meant for the master, so I hid around the corner and listened. The arrogant noble tried to grab the blade out of a box and it burned him or something, because he dropped the box. I saw something made of gold, and when the lady walked off, I took it.”
“She just walked away and left a golden dagger lying in the dirt?”
“No. A guard came up and she didn't want him to see it, so she led him away. The noble had left to get a bag, he said, so it was alone. If I hadn't taken it, someone else would have. And I didn’t actually see what it was until we got here.”
Dane nodded his agreement, clearly approving of her actions. Sorin, on the other hand, was less impressed. He regarded her suspiciously, turned the knife over in his hands yet again, and sighed. “Where is the box?”
“I left it there. I put a rock in it so it would still be heavy. I don't think the noble knows the blade is missing.”
“Did they see you? Did they have any idea you were there?”
Krea cocked her eyebrow at him and waited. She started to comment on his lack of appreciation for her skills, but the whole incident with the captain flashed through her memory and she thought better of it. “It was a clean lift,” she said finally. “It was so easy, it was like a gift. Like the bag. It was meant for me.”
“You keep saying that.”
“The goddess has a wicked sense of humor, right?” Before Sorin could comment, she pressed forward. “Do you think they were talking about the same master as the proth?”
“I does,” Dane added. He leaned forward t
o peer at the blade, but kept a careful distance.
“I don’t know,” Sorin answered. “But I’m not looking forward to finding out.” He handed Krea the blade. “Keep it well hidden, do you understand me? Wrap it in a tunic or something.”
At his words, the dagger blurred back to the dull steel blade it had been when she first saw Sorin with it. Krea dropped it on the ground and jumped backward. “How does it do that?” she asked no one in particular.
“I told you it was magic,” Dane said.
“Well, why won't you touch it?” she asked.
“’Cause it don't want me to. It only likes you.”
Krea and Sorin both stared at Dane. “Really?” Krea asked.
“It's like I said. Some things what you don't think can talk do.”
With renewed reverence, Krea picked up the dull, dingy sheath from the rock and rubbed the dust off it before bending down to where the blade stuck in the dirt for the second time. “You’re hiding, aren't you?” she whispered to it, hoping it didn’t answer. “No one would look twice at you. Aren’t you a smart dagger?”
At her compliment, the stones that decorated the real sheath peeked through the rusty camouflage and glinted at her. Krea nearly dropped the sheath, too. When she looked back at it the stones were gone, and only the smears of rust remained.
“It don't want to go in no bag,” Dane said.
Krea looked at it again. It was a bit too long for her, but goddess knew it could not be safer than attached to her hip. It would be a talented thief indeed who could lift from her. “Can I just wear it, Sorin? It will be safer on me than on the saddle.”
After a pause, Sorin nodded.
Krea slipped off the knife she had taken earlier and ran her belt through the sheath loop. It hung halfway down her thigh, but it wasn't uncomfortable. She made sure the dead man’s knife was wiped clean and handed it to Dane. “Here,” she said, holding out the knife. “But you have to keep telling me if the dagger says anything else.”
He grinned up at her and took the leather-sheathed knife, giving it due reverence as he did. It was, after all, an excellent knife. Far better than the one she had lost in Trasdaak, and even better than the one she had lifted from the first trader sent to kill her. She was reminded again how unbearably cute he was as he surveyed his prize, apparently satisfied with his payment. That was good. Cute or not, she didn’t need an elemental wizard, no matter his age, mad at her.
###
This time as they picked their way through the forest, Sorin bordered on chatty. He relayed stories about some of his many adventures through the Nayli. He laughed about a time he and Tormismir had gotten into a fight and his link had dumped him off over a small lake that lay a day’s ride ahead. To get him back, Sorin had pretended to be attacked by a kelpie, and Tormismir had nearly broken a wing diving into the water to save him. As the stories continued, the pained expressions on Sorin’s face when he mentioned his lost link were fewer and lasted for only a few minutes rather than the rest of the day.
He also took the time to share some of the many treasures of the Nayli. He pointed out the herbs that grew in every direction and explained their uses. Chamomile, mint, wort, all familiar, but there were others. Sorin pointed out the long ivy vines that stretched along the forest floor like a living rug. “See how they are working their way up that birch?” he asked. Krea and Dane both nodded. He then pointed to a huge elm. The ivy skirted a wide circle around the tree, leaving the ground around its base bare except for the leaf litter and twigs that covered most of the forest floor. “Why doesn’t the ivy grow on the elm?” Sorin asked.
Krea thought for a moment. What would keep the ivy at bay? Ivy grew where it wanted. An idea started forming, but Dane spoke up before she could get it out. “I bet ya anything there’s a faerie what lives in that tree.”
Krea scowled, but Sorin smiled at him and nodded his approval. “Tree spirits are fierce protectors of their trees. Damage a tree with a dria living in it, and you have trouble you don’t want.”
“Is that what them girls was what comed out of that tree last night?” Dane asked, again stealing her words.
“Aye. Tree nymphs called drias. I was fortunate. I knew the hawthorn was possessed by drias, but I didn’t realize it housed a coven. One nymph could have seen me through the night, but she could not have sustained enough energy to heal me.”
“So you knew there would be creatures climbing out of the tree and crawling all over your body, and it didn’t occur to you to tell someone?”
Sorin just shrugged. “I was a little preoccupied, as you may recall. The whole breathing and staying upright business was becoming quite the challenge.”
“How did you know they was there?” Dane asked, leaning around Krea to better see the elm.
Krea reined Caldir around a fallen log and almost elbowed Dane in the head. He shoved her arm away with an oath, and she punched him in the leg. Before he could retaliate, Caldir jumped sideways and both riders nearly fell off. When they finally managed to regain their seating, Sorin was staring at them with one eyebrow raised and not even a trace of a smile. “I could feel them,” he finally answered. “And, I saw that the hawthorn was well cared for and well protected. It was also in a perfect location, close to the water, but not too close and far enough away from the bigger trees to not get tangled in their roots.”
“That’s why you cleared the clutter out of the creek and watered the trees,” Krea said. “You were letting the faeries know you are a friend of the forest.”
Now Sorin’s approving gaze fell on Krea and she smiled.
As they wound through the trees and thick underbrush, he showed them the signs of the animals that he watched for, some to avoid and others to follow. For the first time since leaving Trasdaak, Krea figured out how Sorin always managed to find his way through the thick woods. He followed animal trails that had been completely invisible to her. The intricate network of paths that crisscrossed the forest was amazing, now that she knew what to look for. They cut through everywhere. Where one ended, another picked up.
Dane too paid close attention. As Sorin pointed out a plant or tree, Dane acted as if he were seeing it for the first time in his life. He noted every detail Sorin shared, occasionally snatching leaves from trees and plants as they went by and constantly asking questions.
Sorin showed them the clusters of dark berries dangling from a spindly little elder tree and warned them away from falling for such a ruse. The berries were large and purple with a tiny dusting of silver on the skin. They begged to be picked, but as Sorin pointed out, it was far too early in the season for elderberries, and that was the only bunch on the tree.
“That tree is infected with beetle gnomes,” he explained, pausing a safe distance away.
Dane leaned around Krea, clenching at her tunic to stay on. “Where?”
After a moment, Sorin shook his head. “I was hoping they’d come out, but see those holes in the tree’s bark? And the generally sickly look of it? Beetle gnomes are small, grubby, carnivorous little animals that live just under the surface in shallow tunnels.” He pointed to a little trench running near the tree. “You can see where that one collapsed. They usually feed on small animals that get too close to the tree, like birds trying for one of the berries, but a large gnome colony is capable of taking down a human.”
“That tree don’t like them gnomes,” Dane said after nearly staring a hole in the bark. He had been concentrating so hard on the shrubby little tree he nearly fell off the horse, despite his handhold.
“That’s because the gnomes steal from it. They usually burrow into a tree that has a nymph living in it. The nymph is trapped by the gnomes and is often forced to produce fruit, sapping the tree’s energy to do it in exchange for being set free. Most of the time, the nymph and the tree eventually die.” Sorin started them moving again. “That tree won’t make it another season unless something happens that drives the gnomes out.”
Krea glanced back at the tree.
It did look ill. “That’s horrible!” she said. “Why don’t you save the tree?”
“Save the tree?” Sorin asked without turning around. “How do you want me to do that?”
“Go throw a sunball or something and run the gnomes out.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” Sorin explained with a chuckle. “Taking sides will get you killed in the Nayli. Besides, like everything else, the gnomes serve their purpose.”
“What is it?” Dane asked.
Sorin twisted around in his saddle. “What is their purpose?” he clarified.
Dane nodded.
“They pick off the weak trees. You didn’t see any gnomes around that elm back there, and you won’t. A strong tree will usually house a strong faerie, and that tree spirit will terrorize the gnomes until they move. It’s the sick trees that get targeted and eventually destroyed.”
“So I bet them gnomes woulda stayed away from that hawthorn you was sleeping under last night,” Dane said.
“You’re not lying! The coven living in that tree could wipe out a colony of gnomes without even turning a leaf.”
“What do you mean?” Krea asked.
Dane raised his arm up to let the leaves of an overhead branch run through his finger, and in return the branch dumped a load of leaf litter on their heads. It was not the first time he had done it, and Krea was tired of digging tiny twigs out of her chemise.
“Would you stop doing that!” she demanded, slapping leaves and sticks out of her hair. “Just keep your hands to yourself, okay?” When Dane didn’t answer, she tried a new tack. “That’s where pulks go to poop, you know. Up there in the trees. If you keep knocking the branches around, you will get pulk poop on you. You might actually knock off a pulk who was doing its duties, and if you do, it’ll be real mad. It’ll probably eat you.”
Dane snorted. “Pulks don’t poop in no trees,” he assured her in an eerily low voice.
“How do you know?” she argued, but something about the way he had said it made her wary.
Hand and Talon (World of Kyrni Book 1) Page 26