by Garth Nix
‘Do not be afraid for my brother,’ said Runnel, coming to hover next to him. ‘The smiths will do nothing to harm him.’
‘But what if he comes back … different?’ asked Odo, voicing deeper fears. ‘What if he remembers something important from the past that he has left undone and doesn’t want me to be his knight anymore?’
Eleanor crossed the room to punch his shoulder. ‘Don’t be such a lubberwort. You’re the one who woke him up, remember? He’d still be at the bottom of the Silverrun if it wasn’t for you. He’s not going to leave you behind just because he remembered a … I don’t know, a girlfriend or boyfriend or something. Do swords have girlfriends or boyfriends, Runnel?’
‘No,’ her sword said. ‘I t is not in our natures to associate solely with our own kind.’
‘There you go, then. You’re his knight, Sir Odo. He’s not going to leave you for anyone.’
‘I hope not,’ he said, with a feeling of relief that surprised him. Although Odo hadn’t wished to be a knight, he had learned to like the sense of accomplishment that came with it. He loved the satisfaction of doing a good day’s work, as he had in the mill. Now he had new work, and he wanted to do it well.
‘Hope for something more useful,’ Eleanor told him, ‘like a quick road to Winterset before the regent has her way.’
Hundred started to say something, but was drowned out by a sudden roar. All eyes turned to face the door, half expecting a monster to burst in, but the door remained firmly shut. The roar persisted for several seconds, then subsided to a deep hiss through which loud pounding sounds could be heard. Hammers, Eleanor thought – but hammers unlike any she had ever known – followed by a screech of metal on metal that made her ears ring.
‘It is the forge!’ cried Egda over the terrible sound.
‘What are they doing in there?’ bellowed Odo.
‘I do not know. Some things are secret even from kings!’
There was no point talking any longer. They lay or paced or polished their weapons, as their individual temperaments dictated, and waited for the din to subside.
When, with one last earsplitting screech, the forge finally fell silent, Odo took the pillow off his head and sat up. The smithy seemed to shudder in the sudden absence of noise. He caught Eleanor’s eye, hardly daring to breathe.
A thump at the door made them both jump. They were on their feet when it opened, eager for news of Biter’s fate.
It was Adelind. ‘Come, Sir Odo,’ she said, gesturing for him to follow.
Her expression was unreadable, which only made the butterflies in his stomach worse.
‘I want to come too,’ said Eleanor. ‘Odo’s my friend. He might … need me.’
‘And I ,’ said Runnel. ‘Biter may be something of a fool, but he is my brother.’
‘Very well,’ Adelind told them, ‘but no more. Swear that you will speak to no one of what you see.’
‘I swear,’ said Odo.
‘And I,’ Eleanor said.
Adelind turned and led them out of the room, into a section of the smithy they hadn’t visited before. Here too the ceilings were high and the spaces lit by blazing lamps or the occasional glowing stone, but the flagstone floor was appreciably older, with slabs bowed in the middle by the passage of many feet. The walls were stained black as though from blasts of fire and smoke. The only tapestries they saw were threadbare and partially burned. Apart from the roof high above, they saw no wood, and as elsewhere, no windows.
Adelind guided them to a workroom that was so hot Odo instantly broke into a heavy sweat. Benches lining the walls were stacked with what looked like large, dull grey trays in various semicircular shapes, many of them rather like kites, narrowing at one end to a near point. Bundles of long, curved sticks that might have been sled runners hung from the beams nearby. There was a powerful smell of charcoal and iron.
Biter lay on a broad stone table surrounded by Knucius and the apprentices. He wasn’t moving.
‘Is he … ?’ Odo had to stop to swallow. ‘I mean, did you … ?’
‘The nick is gone,’ said Knucius, and indeed there was no sign of it at all. The blade shone as though newly forged. Biter’s emerald gleamed, and even the small dents in his golden hilt had been polished away.
‘He looks … brand-new,’ said Runnel, with something approaching jealousy.
‘In many ways, he is,’ said the smith. ‘He has been washed in sweet oils, bathed in three fires, hammered by a master smith. This will profoundly alter a sword. Is it any wonder he has not woken yet?’
‘But he will, won’t he?’ asked Eleanor.
‘I believe so.’ Knucius motioned them closer. ‘Calling to him may hasten his return. That is the reason I brought you here.’
Eleanor could see the sense in that. It reminded her of the time Farmer Gladwine was kicked in the head by Pudding and, despite all her father’s salves and balms, would only open his eyes when Mistress Nant offered him one of her legendary tarts.
Eleanor pressed through the apprentices and leaned over the sword. ‘Can you hear me, Biter? If you can, you’d better come back quickly. Sir Odo is forlorn without you. It’s all I can do to get him to eat, and you don’t want him to starve away to nothing, do you?’
Biter didn’t stir.
Runnel tried next. Slipping out of her scabbard, she flew above the table, so her hilt pointed down towards Biter’s.
‘Little brother, awake. You have slept long enough. I f you’re not careful, the eels will get you again!’
Biter shivered minutely. The rattling sound of his blade on the stone gave them momentary hope, but he quickly fell still and did not move again.
Finally, Odo moved forward with a heavy heart, for what if Biter failed to wake no matter what he said? Sir Odo would be swordless in a world where knights were sorely needed.
‘Biter, please wake up. The regent is taking over the kingdom and we must get Egda to Winterset so he can stop her. We can’t do it without you. Everything started with you, remember? I wouldn’t be here if we hadn’t found you in the river. You can’t leave us now.’
‘Not just when it’s getting interesting,’ added Eleanor. ‘You’ll miss out on all the fighting!’
Biter lay still and heavy on the stone slab, as though none of them had spoken.
‘I am sorry,’ said Knucius. ‘I believe he will awaken, but perhaps not in time. I can provide one of our ordinary swords for you, if that would serve your purpose. A pallask, perhaps, or a more elegant rapier?’
‘Wait,’ Odo said, still thinking of Biter’s long resting place at the bottom of Dragonfoot Hole. ‘There’s one thing we haven’t tried.’
Reaching across the table, he ran the pad of his thumb down Biter’s exceedingly sharp edge. Instantly, his skin parted and blood began to drip onto the stone.
Wincing, he raised the hand and squeezed his bleeding finger so crimson drops fell onto the repaired blade, running down the gutter just as they had when Odo had woken him the first time.
‘Flee, Sir Nerian! Flee! I will save you!’
With that sudden cry, Biter swept up and off the slab. Smith, apprentices, Odo and Eleanor dived for the floor as the sword slashed and stabbed empty air overhead as though fighting an invisible opponent. Biter recoiled from powerful blows in return. Sparks flew. He seemed to make ground, but then suddenly, propelled by nothing anyone could see, he flew across the room, ricocheted off the wall, and fell to the floor with a clatter and a ghastly cry.
‘Nooo-ooo!!’
Then all was still, and Odo, simultaneously hoping and fearing that the sword had lapsed back into sleep, crept closer to pat Biter’s sharkskin grip.
‘Don’t be afraid, Biter,’ he said. ‘You’re safe.’
‘Sir Odo?’ said the sword, as though waking from a powerful dream. ‘For a moment, I thought you were my former knight … returned from the dead.’
‘Do you remember him now?’ Eleanor asked. ‘Do you remember what happened to you?’
> ‘I did … but it is fading quickly.’ Biter stirred in Odo’s hand as though he might fly out again. ‘I see a terrible knight, clad entirely in black. She wields a terrible sword. We fight, Sir Nerian and I together. He is strong of heart, mighty of arm. I am fast. I t seems that we might defeat our foe, until … behind the black knight I see an even darker shape … a shadow that grows taller … and wider … No!’ cried the sword. ‘I can see no more. No more!’
‘It’s all right, Biter,’ Odo soothed. ‘You’re fixed now. You don’t have to remember any of this. It doesn’t matter any longer. The only thing I care about is that you’re back with us again.’
‘Your young knight speaks the truth,’ said Knucius. ‘Whatever you recall or don’t recall, it is unlikely to have any bearing now.’
‘There is one thing,’ Biter told them in a steadier voice. ‘I remember the name of the sword I fought – the sword that killed Sir Nerian, I can only assume. That sword’s name was Tredan Falconstone. Perhaps you know of him, Master Smith? I f you can tell me that he has been lost or melted into slag, I will rest easier.’
Knucius’s ruddy face lost some of its colour.
‘I do know this sword,’ he said. ‘I know him very well. The smith who prenticed me was charged with erasing a similar injury to yours, a nick in the Falconstone’s edge, but one that had grown worse with use over many years. My master knew the sword by reputation and attempted to melt him in the forge, but her ruse was discovered before she could complete the task. Still glowing orange with heat, Falconstone slew my master and escaped along with his knight – an equally damaged and dangerous individual. I have never seen either since, but I have heard of both, although they have changed their names. The sword is called the Butcher Blade of Winterset now, and his knight is Lord Deor, Chief Regulator of the realm, and the regent’s right-hand man.’
‘Winterset, you say?’ Biter’s emerald gleamed brilliantly in the firelight.
‘Yes, your destination.’ Knucius nodded. ‘But be wary, should you encounter the Falconstone. My master, before she died, was able to wrest free the black opal that adorned his hilt. I smashed that stone myself, hoping this might end the sword’s grim intelligence, but all I achieved was to rob him of his voice – an act that appears to have driven him to even greater cruelty and malice. No sword that I know of, anywhere in the world, is more dangerous.’
With that grim pronouncement, he crossed to one of the shelves lining the walls, took down four of the kiteshaped plates, and handed them to his guests. Odo and Eleanor realised that what they held were actually shields, shields that looked like leather but were metallic to the touch, and incredibly light. They were big enough to shield Eleanor from throat to knee, and Odo from throat to thigh.
‘Take these,’ said Knucius. ‘You will need them if you encounter Falconstone. They were made from single dragon scales and will turn even the most deadly of blades.’
Dragon scales? Eleanor examined her new shield in wonder. What were dragon scales doing in a smithy?
Odo was asking himself similar questions. Did that mean the tusklike shapes lining the walls were dragon claws, or even teeth?
‘Thank you, Master Smith,’ said Biter on their behalf. ‘We will find the Falconstone and end his butchery.’
‘Your true quest is to stop the regent,’ Knucius reminded the sword firmly.
‘One will likely demand the other,’ said Runnel.
‘Indeed.’ The smith wiped his hands on his apron. ‘Return to your liege now and rest. You leave in the morning. I have arranged a sailing barge to take you to Winterset, ultimately along the Hyrst. You will arrive before nightfall.’
He clapped his hands and the apprentices filed from the room. Eleanor and Odo followed Adelind back to their quarters, where they put a light bandage on Odo’s thumb and relayed the events that had occurred.
‘I remember Lord Deor,’ Egda said. ‘But the one I knew must be dead by now, and the title inherited by a cousin or some other relative, since he had no children. Or perhaps the regent simply chose to grant a stranger the title, rewarding them for their services. Or to secure those services.’
‘And those of the Falconstone,’ said Hundred.
‘Yes, it would not be the first time a sword ruled its knight, rather than the other way around.’
‘Impossible!’ said Eleanor, nudging Odo. ‘I can’t imagine it.’
Odo wasn’t in the mood for jokes. The following night they might be in Winterset, and Biter was bent on a rematch with the sword that had notched him. Odo could tell from Biter’s brooding silence that it was all he thought about. And if they survived that encounter, they would still have the regent to deal with. She sounded dangerous enough without a sword.
‘Don’t worry, Biter,’ he said. ‘We’ll do everything we can to set things right for you. And if you remember anything else, you’ll let us know?’
‘Thank you, Sir Odo. Yes, I will. I still do not know how I ended up in the river for so long.’
‘At least you know now that Sir Nerian didn’t cast you aside,’ said Runnel. ‘That is one fear you can put to rest.’
‘But I could not save him,’ Biter said with some bitterness. ‘Surely he would have prevailed against any ordinary knight!’
There was no reassurance to be had on that part. Sometimes knights died, as Runnel knew well. She had lost three in a row. Eleanor could only hope that the runs of bad luck for both swords would end now.
After breaking their fast the next morning, Knucius and the apprentices took their visitors down a series of winding ramps deep into the earth. At the bottom, Eleanor and Odo were amazed to find a wharf carved from the stone, alongside which rushed an underground river, moving so quickly it was flecked with foam. Moored at the wharf was a barge with elegant orange sails, furled, onto which they loaded their armour and a small amount of supplies donated by the smithy. Its sole crew member, introduced as Captain Gnasset, welcomed them aboard with a grunt and gestured for them to stay out of the way. Vragi untied the mooring ropes and the other apprentices pushed the barge away from the dock while they said farewells over the echoing roar of the river and gave their thanks. But for the help of Knucius and his apprentices, they might have fallen into the hands of the regent, or much worse.
‘Come back and visit one day!’ Adelind called to Eleanor as the barge wallowed away. ‘It gets lonely here.’
‘I don’t even know where “here” is,’ said Eleanor. They hadn’t once seen the outside of the smithy.
‘Just send Runnel into the Groanwood to find us. She’ll show you the way.’
‘Will you shoot me with a dart again if I do?’ asked Odo, still grumpy about that.
‘Only for fun.’ Adelind grinned and waved, then followed Knucius and the rest of the apprentices back up the ramp.
Eleanor waved back, then turned to look over the barge, staying well clear of Captain Gnasset, who stood at the stern, tiller in one hand. The long, flat-bottomed boat was called Photine and there was a cabin towards the stern for passengers, the deck at the front dedicated to cargo. It was stacked with boxes and barrels and sacks, covered with tarpaulins and roped down. No one would think it anything but a trader on a regular voyage down the river.
Photine was slow to get going, but once the current had her in its grip, she soon got up to a speed something akin to a slow walk. Gnasset rarely broke what appeared to be a vow of silence, at one point directing them gruffly to use poles to fend the barge off. The underground river ran through an artificial passage that had suffered several rockslides, and the way ahead was lit only by a lantern hanging from Photine’s snub-nosed prow. After several close calls, Odo was glad to see daylight ahead, then a diamond-shaped exit from the tunnel.
They rushed out of a mountainside on a raging swell of water that carried them rapidly under a thick canopy of trees. Branches met and tangled overhead like grasping fingers, hiding the sky above from view – along with any chance of seeing the secret underground river
to the smithy.
With a rattle and snap, the mainsail rose and filled, Gnasset hauling on the halyard from her steering post at the stern. The barge was rigged to be sailed alone, and judging from her rare speech and general lack of interest in the others, Gnasset liked it that way. Probably the smiths had chosen the most reticent bargee they could find, one who would have no trouble keeping their secrets.
‘This river is the Hyrst,’ said Egda, filling his lungs. ‘I have not smelled its fresh, cool scent for too long. My friends, now at last I truly feel as though we are coming home!’
Eleanor resisted the impulse to tell him that Winterset wasn’t home for them, but a far-off place they had only heard about in stories. Still, she too felt excitement rising at the thought that they would soon stand where knights of old had been dubbed and had duelled each other, where heroes had lived and died, where wars had begun and ended. Her mother had passed through here, on the way to the battle that had earned her both honour and an honourable ending. Time would tell what fate had in store for Eleanor and Odo, but at least they were going somewhere important.
Odo measured the space between the cargo on the forward deck. There was a narrow lane between boxes, perfect for more knife practice, where they could stay hidden as well.
‘Bored already, Sir Odo?’ Hundred grinned as she tossed them each a blade.
Eleanor remembered all of Hundred’s weapons laid out in the smithy. ‘Why ninety-nine weapons,’ she asked, ‘not a round hundred, since that’s what you’re called? Have you lost one?’
‘Never. They only counted ninety-nine.’
‘You mean there’s one they didn’t find?’
‘In a sense. There is one nobody can ever take from me.’
‘Short of killing you,’ said Egda.
‘No one’s managed that yet, my liege.’
‘The day is young.’ Egda smiled to himself as he turned in to the cabin, leaving the hatch open so he could hear the knifeplay of the young knights and the rush of river water from Photine’s passage with equal clarity.