“Whatever you like, Dark Requiem,” Wei Longshen said. “Funny things, names. Tell me, is it just a coincidence? Singer. Requiem. Melody. There are a lot of sound-based lordly titles that have cropped up in your clan over the past few months.”
Of course he would notice that, Serrendil thought. But there was no helping it. Titles weren’t something you could change on a whim. If a demon’s title no longer aligned with their nature, they would feel compelled to change it. She herself had been known as the Pale Lady for so long, but her new identity as leader of her clan demanded another name. Dark for ink, and Requiem in memory of the dead.
“The Clockwork Clan was once known for its music and artifices,” Serrendil replied. “The names reflect that. We only resorted to mercenary work out of necessity.”
“It was only an observation,” Wei Longshen said. “No need to be so nervous around me. We are allies, not enemies.”
Serrendil shrugged. “I like to prepare for the worst, and I never dare hope for the best. My experiences in dealing with humans have been less than stellar.”
“Fair enough,” Wei Longshen replied with a nod.
The stage was set, and the crowd quieted. Silver Singer began taking out items from his bag of holding. He withdrew one chunk of metal after another and placed them on a workbench so heavy it might take a clan elder to move around.
“You’ll notice that the main ore is volcanic silver,” Serrendil said. “A very difficult metal to forge.”
“I’ve heard that even rune-gathering cultivators have trouble melting it without the right flame or furnace,” Wei Longshen said. “But it seems a peak initiate will force me to revise that assessment.”
“Think of it as an exception rather than a rule,” Serrendil said.
Silver Singer continued unloading, and soon, several dozen chunks of silver-black metal lay on the workbench. To the side lay a few other, smaller pieces of unrefined ore.
“Most smiths would have started with heating the forge,” Wei Longshen said.
“We are not most smiths,” Serrendil said, crossing her arms. The audience inched closer as Silver Singer raised his arms to show that he had nothing hidden up his sleeves. Indeed, he had taken off his shirt, revealing the healthy red-gold scales prevalent in the fire lineage of their clan.
He took his time, reveling in the attention for a full minute before walking over to the workbench. He didn’t go to the furnace but picked up one of the heavy pieces of silver-black metal on the table. He flicked it with a claw, and to everyone’s surprise, the metal began to elongate. Its shape warped and changed.
Wei Longshen’s eyes narrowed. “Your clan can shape metal without flame?”
The crowd echoed his sentiment. Silver Singer continued working, ignorant of the shock and awe, laser focused on his work. He shaped the silver-black metal until it was a long and thin bar, then took another piece and added it to the original one before continuing the shaping process. This continued until the dragon was left with a long, heavy brick. It would be impossible to lift for most. But he was a dragon, and… well, that was explanation enough.
Silver Singer ran his fingers along the bar. To an outside observer, it looked like he wasn’t doing anything. Serrendil knew from experience, however, that he was working with the structure inside the bar, changing and realigning it for the next part of the process. It took a good half hour for Silver Singer to finish, by which time the audience was positively bored. He then put the long silver-black bar on the table and grabbed one of the smaller chunks of raw ore. He flicked it with a claw, and to everyone’s surprise, he began to extract and chemically change the ore, leaving behind only impurities in the process.
“Impossible,” Wei Longshen said. “Those ores should take hours of hammering out. Intense flames.”
Serrendil shrugged. “What? Did you think our arts could be replicated so easily?” While this demonstration was mainly to show that dragon metals were not a component of the weapons created, their secondary objective was to show the humans that their art was exclusive to their clan. Hopefully, this would stop experimentation with dragon metals or at least slow it down, bringing the prices to reasonable levels.
After seeing the initial molding and the ore extraction process, the audience didn’t react as strongly to the remainder of the forging. Silver Singer added the flowing metal he retrieved from the ore chunks to the original rectangular piece, and the two dissimilar metals merged and alloyed. Following that, he began to bring out the weapon’s shape.
The dragon molded the metal like a potter would clay. He made a blade so heavy that a Daoist could never lift it. It was a weapon fit for a demigod. And to everyone, the process looked simple and effortless. Only someone like Serrendil could know how taxing and costly it really was. Everyone had assumed that they worked dragon metals into their weapons. What they didn’t know—what they couldn’t know—was that they burned dragon metals within their bodies to do so.
“What a strange process,” Wei Longshen said as Silver Singer shaped. “I could swear I hear a hum in the air.”
Serrendil’s eyes narrowed. “I can’t hear it,” she lied.
“It reminds me of a tuning fork,” Wei Longshen said. “Or the sound of a bell.” A corner of his mouth raised as he looked at her. “That’s it, isn’t it? You use sound to affect the metal and coax it into changing shape.”
“Even if that were the case, I wouldn’t be stupid enough to tell you,” Serrendil said. In truth, it was a little more nuanced process. It would take one of her clansmen to replicate these sounds and cause the necessary resonance in the metal.
Wei Longshen shrugged. “We are not enemies. I am fully aware that it would take decades to even try imitating this. Remember, I’m a musician—I doubt anyone else in this hall could hear what I did. And what an old song it is—an ancient melody that took hundreds of thousands of years to perfect.”
“He’s almost finished,” Serrendil said, changing the topic. “The inscriptionists are about to lose their minds.” Inscriptionists were a subclass of spiritual blacksmiths that focused on runes and their application to metallic objects. They typically partnered with body refiners who couldn’t be bothered to learn more than basic metalworking, making it so people other than Dao Gods could craft weapons.
“I see no tools,” Wei Longshen said. Then his eye twitched when Silver Singer eschewed complicated tools and techniques and used his claw instead. The metal parted and readjusted as he carved a pattern into the blade. The runes were flowing and changing and couldn’t be replicated by the human smiths. They were demonic runes, an entirely different field of study.
Once he finished inscribing the runes, Silver Singer took out a jar of thick black liquid from his bag of holding and poured it liberally over the blade. It sucked up the syrup-like substance, and the runes glowed red hot. The blade caught fire, blasting the audience with a wave of heat. Meanwhile, the hilt remained perfectly cool and insulated.
“It’s a flame-burst enchantment,” Serrendil said. “Not as refined as a flame-manipulation enchantment but with more firepower. It’s ideal for a demigod whose strong suit isn’t finesse.”
“It’s heavy,” Wei Longshen agreed. “It’d take a peak demigod to wield it, despite the weight-manipulation enchantment.”
“Or a demon,” Serrendil said. “Though they’d probably prefer their own demon weapon.”
“And it’ll never lose its edge?” Wei Longshen asked.
Serrendil hesitated. “We advertise it that way, but in the fine print, you’ll see the full story. We can guarantee that nothing short of an early-rune-gathering blade will break it. Moreover, this blade won’t notch or bend. It will chip or shatter instead.”
“Well, I’m sold,” Wei Longshen said. “When can I put in an order?”
“As soon as we get the contract finalized,” Serrendil said. “I wanted to make sure you saw this before we signed anything.”
“Take your time,” Wei Longshen said. “Just know
that it might take a while for the back and forth. My clan has been busy of late.”
“You do know that naps exist, don’t you?” Serrendil said. She’d seen mortals as tired as he was before, but never cultivators. Having experienced decades of starvation, she considered herself a bit of an expert on the subject of fatigue.
“It’s just been that kind of week,” Wei Longshen said.
“So I’ve heard,” Serrendil said. “I mean this in the best way possible, but I hope our working relationship can be low-key.” Her informants had reported that money was oozing out of the Wei Clan, and many of their affiliates were breaking their oaths and reneging on their contracts.
Wei Longshen nodded wearily. “I understand.” He looked to the door, which opened, revealing an old man wearing Wei Clan robes.
“Clan business?” Serrendil asked.
“Unfortunately,” Wei Longshen said. “I’ll need to excuse myself. I’ll get you the updated contract documents as soon as possible.”
Serrendil excused herself and walked down to the main floor. The crowd was clearing beside the demonstration stage. Still, many remained to pester Silver Singer with questions. He answered many of them honestly, but others evasively, as he’d been instructed. When only the most persistent questioners remained, Serrendil stepped in and scared them off with a glare.
“I think that went well,” Silver Singer said. He flicked the blade on the workbench, and it let out a musical hum that only they could hear. “A few people made offers for the blade. I was tempted to sell it, but I held off since you told me it was reserved.”
“We owe it to the Wei Clan as part of our upcoming deal,” Serrendil said. “Let’s get out of here. People are gawking.”
“Agreed,” Silver Singer said.
They left the trade show and its crowd to meet up with Hershah, who had also been spectating from afar. The surly man had warmed up to her these past few months, if only because of her huge increase in power and the reversal of their clan’s fortunes. The huge bounty of dragon metals she’d brought back from her mission with the Kingfisher Guard had probably helped immensely. Thanks to her and Shneraz, not a single member of their clan was starving.
“Well? What did he say?” Hershah asked.
“Later,” Serrendil said. She led them down a few streets to a wine house she’d been frequenting. A very discreet wine house she’d vetted through some former contacts.
“Lady Dark Requiem,” said an attendant as they entered the place.
“We’d like a private room and three extra-tall drinks of the usual,” Serrendil said.
“Of course,” the attendant said with a bow.
She seated them in a room with proper chairs instead of the stupid mats humans liked to use in tea and wine houses, or the bare floors Monkey clansmen preferred. Their strong drinks were served in proper stone tankards that absorbed hints of whatever they were served in. These were only ever used for one type of drink.
Serrendil placed a black music box on the table before speaking. “We can talk now. Any sounds we make will not leave this room.”
“I take it from your pleasant mood that we succeeded?” Hershah said.
“He’ll agree to our proposed contract amendments,” Serrendil said. “Which is good. I’d hate to lose out on such a good client.”
“We’re losing out on good money for that cancelation clause,” Hershah said.
“But we’re gaining flexibility,” Serrendil replied. She looked to Silver Singer. “What? No opinion?”
Silver Singer raised his clawed hands. “I have no objections to anything the clan leader does. I’m just a metal singer. A poor craftsman who’s lucky enough to return to his craft after two centuries.
“If only more had survived,” Serrendil said. It wasn’t all Golden Dragons that were gifted with the power to manipulate metal like the two of them. That wasn’t to say this was the only talent their clan possessed. Dragon metals had opened up many options for them. “That Wei Longshen brat is onto us,” she continued. “He heard the sounds.”
“How is that even possible?” Hershah said in amazement.
“Anything is possible, and anything can be stolen,” Serrendil said. “In case you’ve forgotten, there are demons out there that can steal memories, karma, and form. I think it’s best if we continue to forge in private whenever possible.”
“Agreed,” Hershah said. “I hope the lack of flame won’t put downward pressure on our prices.”
“That’s doubtful,” Silver Singer said. “Despite us working without rest, there’s been no lack of demand for dragon-forged blades. Even blunt weapons like hammers are asked for, and those are the easiest to make.”
“We’re getting steady profits,” Hershah said with a nod. “Soon, we’ll be able to move out of the slums.” Serrendil shrugged noncommittally. “What?”
“It’s just so damn small,” Serrendil said, taking a drink out of her tankard.
“Small?” Hershah said. “We’re in a great position compared to three months ago. Our clan can cultivate, and our children don’t go hungry. Our clan elders can actually contribute instead of hibernating.”
“It’s still damn small,” Serrendil said. “It’s not enough, and you know it.”
“Is it ever enough?” Hershah asked. “We have money. We’re making things instead of fighting. We’re spilling sweat instead of blood for our clan.”
“For now,” Serrendil agreed. Both her elders frowned. “No matter how rich we get, we’re trapped in this city. We’re just gears in a larger artifice.”
“Some would argue we’re breaking free from that web,” Silver Singer said. “Our clan was dying. Now it’s growing. Several children are already on the way.”
“But are we not homeless?” Serrendil asked, quieting both men. “We no longer have our mountains. Though we have reserves of dragon metals, we can no longer obtain them from our ancestral lands. Instead of trading blood to feed our families, we trade skill and sweat. Our new fetters are trade and wealth.
“We are not free. We’re not masters of our fate. We’re on the slow road to ruin, and that won’t stop unless we jump off it. We are a broken blade of rusted metal that’s no longer worth anything. Why sharpen and fix a thing that needs to be melted and recast?”
They sat a while, sipping at their tankards, saying nothing. She’d spoken harsh words, but she knew they were needed. She’d learned the hard way never to be satisfied with your current situation. Continuous improvement was key. That applied doubly so to herself, who owed so much for the damages she’d done. She worked every day to hammer out her imperfections and atone for the sins she’d committed.
“Then what do you propose, Matriarch?” Hershah asked.
“I don’t know,” Serrendil whispered. “But what I do know is that I was born with black scales for a reason. The plane itself is saying that we must change to survive what’s coming. Otherwise, we’ll end up just like the Inkwell Clan. The Star-Eye Clan is in the same situation we once were, and the Iridescent Clan is slowly being folded into human society. They’re in danger too, even if they don’t know it.”
“When will you leave?” Hershah asked. It was a question she’d been dreading, but one a long time coming.
“Shneraz will be breaking through to peak initiation soon,” Serrendil said. “When he does, he’ll stay behind and protect the clan while I journey for an answer. There’s a way out of this mess. We just have to look for it.”
“Must you leave so soon?” Silver Singer asked. “We’re just getting our footing.”
“We can’t waste time, Karril,” Serrendil said. “Clear Sky’s challenge is coming up. Win or lose, the relationship between demons and the Brightmark Kingdom will change. We need to be ready before it’s too late.”
Hershah bowed his head in deference, and so did Karril. Her grandmother, Vereniz, would agree as well. It was only Shneraz who wouldn’t be happy about her leaving, but that was tough luck. It wasn’t the males who chose th
eir females, but the other way around.
“To our success,” Serrendil said, holding up her mug.
“To our clan’s rebirth,” Hershah said. They drained their mugs. “Another round!” he shouted. “This one’s on me.”
Chapter 17: A Taste for Mayhem
“This is the life,” Huxian said to Bifang as he led her by the hand through the press of demons. Smoke and sweat assaulted their nostrils as they pushed and shoved their way forward.
“I smell… I smell…” Bifang said.
“Hold your breath,” Huxian said. He used his awesome powers over space and time to seek out the source of the irritant. Not far away, someone was eating a sandwich with way too much pepper on it. Huxian used a covert application of Space-Time Devouring to rip it out of the demon’s hands. Only then did Bifang’s urge to sneeze subside. “You need to be careful. Remember your training.”
She nodded bravely.
It was night out, and they were in one of the three entertainment districts on the fifth floor of Shimmerwing. Smoke assailed their senses. Light blinded their eyes. That last one was the result of the massive crystal pillar that pierced through the middle of the spire, and the transmission globes that caught and projected light into every inch of open space.
“Where are we going this time, Brother Huxian?” Bifang asked excitedly. “The sandwich place again? The slapstick show?”
“Boring,” Huxian said. “What’s the point of going to a new city if you don’t explore?”
“But we haven’t explored in over a week,” Bifang said with a pout. “Especially not since your big brother upset that scary elder.”
“Hey! I’m the big brother, not him,” Huxian said, sticking a thumb to his chest. “Besides, it’s not because of her that we haven’t been exploring. Not exactly.”
“I’ve been here for five years, and I think I’ve seen everything on the first four floors,” Bifang muttered. “Why don’t we go higher?”
Shimmerwing was small compared to most cities. It was built like a nine-layer cake, the smallest at the top, and the largest at the bottom. While everyone could technically access every level, there were certain rules that needed to be followed. Rules like proving your worth, which might involve dueling or other shows of power.
Claddings of Light : Book 12 of Painting the Mists Page 27
