Age of Swords

by Michael J. Sullivan

  “Is that all?”

  “No. We’ll require safe passage back to Tirre. A ship with a good crew and irrefutable orders to transport us safely.”

  Gronbach pursed his lips and thought a moment. “The Calder Noll is scheduled to leave for Vernes soon, isn’t it?”

  “At dusk tomorrow.” The answer came from behind Persephone.

  “Will that do?” Gronbach asked.

  “I also want them.” She pointed at Frost, Flood, and Rain, who were still being held. Rain had a dwarf on each arm and one with a hold around his neck.

  This caught Gronbach by surprise. He shifted his gaze between the three dwarfs and Persephone with a puzzled look. “Why do you want them?”

  “Do you really care? And if you give them to me…sending them into exile…we’ll leave this place. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

  “What about the swords you wanted? Aren’t you going to ask for them too?”

  Persephone shook her head. “No. You won’t give them to me. Even if I threatened to lay waste to all of Caric with the dragon. It’s not a matter of stubbornness. It’s fear. And I can’t persuade you with one threat when you see the alternative as worse. You’re afraid the Fhrey will learn that you gave us weapons. And they terrify you more than a dragon in your house.”

  “The elves nearly erased us,” Gronbach said. “They wanted to; they still do. Our only hope is to give them no cause.”

  Persephone nodded. “I’ve heard that argument before.”

  Rain spat on the floor and said something to Gronbach that made the mayor scowl.

  “Do we have a deal?” Persephone asked.

  “How will you get rid of this dragon?” Gronbach asked.

  “The same way we got rid of Balgargarath. And in case you have any ideas about going back on your word again, you’ll face worse than a dragon. Betray me again, and I’ll wipe out all of Caric. You can kill the few of us, but if you do, you’ll sign the death warrant of every single person here. Understand?”

  Gronbach nodded. “So you say.”

  “Now, we will require one thing. To destroy the dragon, we’ll need a sword.”

  “I’m told this one has her own sword.” Gronbach pointed at Moya.

  “True, but to slay the dragon we need a special sword. It will have to be made. Show him the tablets, Brin.”

  The girl was still being held and couldn’t move.

  “Let them go,” Gronbach ordered with a frustrated groan.

  Brin looked to Persephone.

  “Show him,” she said.

  Brin had used her breckon mor to make a sling for several of the Old One’s tablets. She unwrapped them and laid them out for Gronbach to see.

  “We found these in the Agave,” Persephone explained. “On these stones are markings that tell how to make the sword that can kill these monsters. Brin and Roan will need access to metal and tools to forge such a sword.”

  Brin’s brows rose in shock, but thankfully she held her tongue.

  Equally fortunate, Gronbach wasn’t looking and didn’t notice. “These stones say how to forge a magic sword?”

  “Yes,” Persephone said with an even tone and a blank face.

  “What about the sword you used to destroy Balgargarath? Where is it?”

  Persephone had expected the question. “Consumed along with the demon.”

  “I see.” Gronbach peered at the tablet Brin held. His pink tongue licked his lower lip, causing the hair below to bristle upward. “Very well. You will give us this stone, and my smiths will forge the needed sword.”

  Persephone was prepared for this, too. “It will do you no good. You can’t decipher it.”

  “But I doubt”—Gronbach peered across the room—“this girl, Breen, and the other woman can wield a hammer well enough to forge a sword.”

  “Her name is Brin.”

  “I don’t care what her name is. She’s nothing more than a child, and she can’t swing a hammer!”

  Persephone forced herself to wait before replying. She wanted to give the appearance that she was thinking the proposition over. Finally, just as Gronbach began to frown with impatience, she nodded. “You’re right. Roan and Brin will work with your smiths to create the sword.”

  “Yes, that could be arranged.”

  “Good,” Persephone said. “Tonight the sword will be made, and in the morning, we will return to Neith and destroy the dragon. Once it is dead, all of us, including Frost, Flood, and Rain, will board the ship and leave. Agreed?”

  Gronbach hesitated.

  “If you’d rather, Suri can tell the dragon to lay waste to Caric.”

  Gronbach wasn’t moved by this and continued to stare at her. Persephone held his glare, refusing to blink, to shift, to show any weakness. This was a battle of wills. Buying from the Dherg traders in Vernes was always a battle of offers and demands, but this time the stakes were beyond high.

  “Well?” she asked after several moments had passed.

  “Assuming there is indeed a dragon, I will agree on one condition.” He looked back at Brin. “You must hand over the tablets you stole.”

  “What? No!” Brin said.

  “They’re from our mountain. They belong to us.”

  “But…but,” Brin began in disbelief, “you can’t even understand them. What good are they to—”

  “Those tablets are part of our heritage. They belong here. There’s no deal without them.”

  “Fine,” Persephone said.

  “Seph!” Brin shouted.

  “I said fine!”

  “You’re an evil little dwarf,” Brin seethed.

  “They are our treasure, not yours. And I’m a Belgriclungreian, not a dwarf, nor a Dherg, and no more evil than anyone else.”

  “Yes you are,” Brin said, “and I’ll make certain everyone knows it.”

  Gronbach looked puzzled.

  “I’m the Keeper of Dahl Rhen, and your treachery will be passed down to all the Keepers and everyone who comes after me. You’ll be reviled throughout the world by future generations as the very face of evil.”

  At that, Gronbach laughed. “Little girl, the history of the Belgriclungreians is long, longer than the existence of the Rhunes, and will continue well after the Rhunes are wiped out by the Fhrey. No one will remember what you say about me or anyone else.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” Brin said. “I’m going to write it down.”

  —

  “What are you doing, Seph?” Moya asked the moment they were alone.

  They had been escorted to the room where Arion lay on one of three beds. Then Roan and Brin were taken to the smiths to make the sword. Roan appeared more puzzled than frightened, and Brin promised to explain things to her. After the two left, Moya and Persephone were sealed in. She had no idea where Frost, Flood, and Rain were. That didn’t bother her too much. Gronbach wouldn’t kill them, but he would want to question them in private—probe for holes. She just hoped they didn’t say anything stupid.

  “Seph, Brin and Roan don’t know how to forge a magic sword!”

  “Keep your voice down.” Persephone pulled Moya away from the door. “They don’t need to know.”

  Moya’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t understand.”

  “Look, I want Roan in there when the dwarfs make the sword, so she can see how it’s done. Brin will mark down all the details. The smiths won’t even know what she’s doing. They’ll think it’s magic or something, just like Flood did…part of the sword’s enchantment.”

  “But Seph, you promised to destroy Minna.”

  “It’s not Minna, and you know it.”

  “I do, sure, but I’m not the one you have to convince, am I?”

  Persephone sighed and ran her hands through her hair. “One thing at a time, Moya. One thing at a time, okay? For the love of the Grand Mother, I’m doing my best to keep us alive!”

  Persephone fell onto one of the vacant beds. “I hate that little bearded bastard! I’d like to strangle him with
his own whiskers! We nearly died down there!”

  Her voice took on a mocking impersonation, “What swords are you speaking of?” She punched a pillow across the room, where it landed on the spare bed. “Miserable little son of the Tetlin Witch!”

  Moya stood with brows high and an amused smile on her lips as she stared at the pillow. “I like this side of you. Let’s see more of it in the future.”

  “If there is one.”

  Moya looked confused.

  “A future,” Persephone clarified, then she turned her thoughts to next steps. After a while, she said, “In the morning, I’ll need you to stay behind with Arion.”

  “Me? But I’m your Shield. I have to go with you.”

  “I’ll need Roan and Brin to mark the sword, and I can’t risk leaving Arion alone…not here. It will be your responsibility to make sure everyone is on the ship and ready to sail by the time we get back. I’m counting on you for this. Don’t let me down.”

  Moya nodded. “I won’t, but who will…you know…kill it?”

  “I guess I’ll have to.” Persephone gathered the blanket from the bed and hugged it on her lap. She looked at the door and then over at Arion as she lay so very still. “Moya, I’m scared.”

  “I know.”

  “Are you scared?”

  “I’m too stupid to be scared.”

  “You’re not stupid, Moya.”

  “I’m not smart.” She sat beside Persephone. Then Moya took one of Persephone’s hands and held it in both of hers. “I could never have done what you just did in there. If left to me, we’d be at the bottom of the sea right now.”

  “All I did was lie.”

  “But you did it so well! That was impressive. Even I believed you.” Moya laid her head on Persephone’s shoulder. “You’re the best chieftain Rhen has ever had.”

  “If this doesn’t work, I might be the last.”

  —

  The next morning was clear and hot as Persephone, Roan, and Brin walked under escort up the long sloped road to Neith. Gronbach went with them this time, still dressed in armor. Persephone didn’t try to fight the guilty pleasure of watching Gronbach sweat under the blistering heat. By the time they reached the entrance, the Master Crafter was soaked.

  He stopped at the gate, as did the escorts. None of the dwarfs were willing to enter with the dragon slayers, which was more than fine by Persephone.

  As she, Brin, and Roan entered the cool interior of Neith, Persephone took further pleasure in knowing Gronbach would bake until she decided to return. No one rushed.

  “Any trouble making the sword last night?” Persephone asked as soon as they were beyond the decorated wall and out of Gronbach’s hearing. For reasons known only to Roan, she had wrapped the weapon in a blanket, as if it were sacred. Perhaps it was.

  Brin shook her head. “They asked what we wanted them to do. So I found the part I’d already figured out on the tablet and said a few things about heating iron in a charcoal furnace to melt out impurities that would settle to the bottom. The smiths already knew that, I guess. Then later on, I prattled on about folding layers of carbon and iron. I had no idea what it even meant, but they did. I don’t think I told them anything they didn’t already know. They had this system and just worked through it. After a while, they ignored us. I’d nod and say, ‘That’s right’ or ‘Good’ every once in a while. Don’t know if they even heard me.”

  “It was amazing,” Roan muttered.

  “Were you able to see everything, Roan?”

  She nodded.

  Of course, she did, Persephone thought. Sending Roan to the smith’s workshop was like sending a dog to a butcher’s house and wondering if the animal noticed the meat.

  Before long, they came upon the dragon. She was lying down, but her head was up and looking at them. Persephone didn’t see the mystic. “Suri?”

  The girl’s head popped up. She’d been lying on a blanket, her head resting on the side of the dragon, its long tail encircling them both. An absurd image, this wild, barefoot mystic with her ruddy cloak and tattooed body, lying snuggled up with a fearsome giant, all claws and scales, wings and teeth—a girl and her loyal companion.

  “I was wondering if you’d return.”

  “I told you I would be back. I’d never leave you behind.”

  Suri smiled, a sad one, but a smile nonetheless.

  “Suri, I need to talk to you about Minna—” Persephone started, but she was cut off by the mystic.

  “She’s not Minna, not really.”

  “No, she isn’t.”

  Suri placed a hand to the dragon’s neck. “Still, I think there’s a part of her in there, something trapped inside. I can’t leave her here like this.”

  “I don’t want you to.” Persephone looked at Roan and nodded.

  Stepping forward, Roan laid the bundle down then unfolded the cloth, but never touched the sword. The blade was the most amazing thing Persephone had ever seen. The metal was brilliant silver, but around the edges where the shadows pooled, she saw a blue tint. The blade tapered elegantly, every line straight, and the handle was built out of the same metal, making Persephone believe it was all formed from one solid piece. Not nearly as decorated as Raithe’s sword, or even as stylish as any of the Galantians’, this was perfection through simplicity. In the same way musical accompaniment failed to add to, and often distracted from, a great singer, the Dherg had mastered their craft to such a level that any change would have been a flaw.

  Roan pulled out a small bag and unrolled it. Inside were a tiny hammer and half a dozen little etching tools.

  “I’ll need to know her name,” Brin said.

  Suri nodded.

  “Show me.” And the Keeper gave the mystic a piece of chalk.

  Suri drew the symbols on the floor.

  The three of them went to work etching the blade as Persephone and the dragon watched. Does she know? Balgargarath had appeared to understand when Moya shot the first arrow, but the dragon either didn’t understand or didn’t care. Her eyes were open but empty. Maybe that’s what Suri saw—the emptiness.

  When they were done, Suri got on her knees and, using a glowstone, ran her fingers along the blade where the marks were etched. “It’s her real name. I called her Minna because that’s what a songbird was singing when I found her. I thought the bird was telling me her name. But that wasn’t her real name. This is.” She tapped on the blade. “This is what it looks like. I found it in the weave.” She wiped her face and began to shake. She got up and looked at the dragon. “I can’t believe I have to do this again. Can you leave us?”

  “Suri, if you want, I can—”

  Suri shook her head. “It has to be me.”

  Persephone nodded.

  Roan gathered up the tools and bag, and together the three of them started back toward the gate. As she walked away, Persephone looked back and saw the dragon watching Suri as she picked up the sword. For a moment, fear gripped her. What if she’s sensing her death? Will she attack?

  Suri held the sword in her hands as if it equaled the weight of Elan. The dragon continued to watch the mystic, and then Persephone saw it. Just a glimpse, just a flash, but it was there. Those large forgiving eyes that were far too familiar even to Persephone. She felt her own tears crest, slip, and fall.

  “Minna.” They heard Suri’s soft, fracturing voice. “Minna…remember the time we came home and found Tura lying in the garden…”

  Persephone led Roan and Brin back outside to where Gronbach waited with his soldiers. He looked at them suspiciously. “Is it done?”

  “Almost,” Persephone said.

  The release of power threw the great gates of Neith back to their full reach, as if they were nothing more than a pair of bedroom doors.

  A cloud of dust blocked out the sun for a moment, at least for those near the entrance. Everyone stared at the opening, waiting. Several minutes passed, and just when Persephone was about to go in to make sure Suri was okay, the mystic walked out.
She was covered in a fine powder of dust, except on her cheeks where rivulets glistened untouched. Sobbing, Suri clutched the blade to her chest with both hands.

  Gronbach stared at the mystic in disbelief. He glanced at his soldiers, then back at Suri as if not quite able to accept what he was seeing. Suri didn’t fit anyone’s expectation of a dragon slayer. He gestured to one of his men, who ran inside to verify that the dragon wasn’t there. It didn’t take long for him to return and nod.

  Then Gronbach gestured, spoke something in the Dherg language, and once more Persephone found herself restrained by the little dwarfs.

  “Are you really such a fool?” she shouted at him. “We’ve killed Balgargarath and a dragon. And you still aren’t honoring your word?”

  Gronbach chuckled. “You’re the foolish one. If I lied before, what makes you think I wouldn’t again? It’s best you die, as you are obviously too stupid to live.” Noticing the sword Suri held, he added, “And I see you lied about the magic sword being consumed.”

  He focused on the blade with greedy eyes and held out his hand. “Give it to me.”

  Suri looked at Gronbach, as if noticing him for the first time. “It has her name on it.” She tilted the blade so he could see the markings.

  “I don’t care whose name is on the thing, little girl. It’s mine.”

  “But it has her name on it,” Suri repeated, louder this time.

  Gronbach rolled his eyes. “She’s simple, is she?” He shook his head and reached out, grabbing hold of the pommel as Suri clutched the blade even tighter. As they struggled in their tug-of-war, the ground began to shake.

  A giant slab of rock, one of the pair that formed the gates of Neith, slipped free and fell, exploding in a burst of dust. The towers of Esbol Berg began to shudder and teeter. Stones slipped free of their ancient moorings, and a giant block the size of a roundhouse plummeted, crashing down the hillside.

  Gronbach let go.

  The moment he released the sword the shaking stopped.

  He looked at the place where the stone had crashed and then up at the towers.