The guard sputtered, but he couldn’t seem to think of any counterargument. Anne held out her hand, and reluctantly the guard handed back her token.
“Very well, very well,” the guard said. “But if you see anyone who looks like… well, yourselves, and has… your names, and is on some illegal quest to kill the queen of the dragons, make sure you report them right away.”
Anne nodded. “Definitely.”
As the guard tucked the warrant back into his inner pocket, Penelope and Hiro started walking away before he could reconsider. But Anne paused and asked one last question: “You don’t know of a monastery on this tier, do you?”
The guard shook his head. “Nope, sorry.”
“Oh,” said Anne, feeling disappointed. For some reason, she had been sure his answer was going to be yes.
“There is the abbot, though, of course,” he said. “Lives on the other side of town.”
Anne perked up. “An abbot lives here?”
“Has for years.” He pointed down the street that ran through the center of the village. “Follow the main road into the forest for about thirty minutes until you come to a forge. Big one. Can’t miss it. Rumor has it she used to be a swordsmith or something, and a pretty good one, too, if even half the stories are true. But there’s not much call for that sort of thing around these parts. Mostly she makes useful bits and pieces for whoever needs them.”
“Thanks,” said Anne excitedly.
The guard nodded and walked away.
Anne turned back to the others, but before she could say anything, Hiro shook his head. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “But she can’t possibly be the same abbot who’s mentioned in The Adventurer’s Guide. She would have to be thousands of years old.”
“So?” said Anne. “Sassafras celebrated his thousand and first birthday just two months ago.”
“There’s a big difference between a thousand years and ten times that. Besides, how would Nana even know we were looking for an abbot?”
Anne remained undeterred. “Listen, the guide said someone called the Abbot of Swords forged the Three-Handed Sword, correct? And that the sword is an Old World artifact? It all adds up. And maybe Nana knew all along but wasn’t allowed to tell us. I mean, why else would she send us to this tier if it isn’t where we needed to go?”
“But the abbot would have to be as old as the Hierarchy itself,” Hiro protested. “How could anyone possibly live that long?”
“He does have a point, loath though I am to admit it,” said Penelope.
Anne grinned. “There’s only one way to find out.”
Anne, Penelope, and Hiro trudged through the knee-deep snow along the forest path until they came to the forge. It was a tall structure with a single large chimney puffing out a steady stream of smoke. There was a stone-walled hut with a thatched roof nearby, as well as several smaller sheds and a three-sided shelter packed with dried and split firewood. As they drew nearer, the air filled with the steady ring of hammer blows.
Someone had recently cleared all the snow from the yard between the forge and the other buildings. Once the trio reached the clearing, they walked easily to the large structure. The double doors in the front of the building were closed, no doubt to keep out the wind, but a side door had been propped open with a stick.
Anne stepped inside. As her eyes adjusted to the darker interior, she studied the room. A large furnace on the far side had a coal bin next to it. Rows of tools hung along the walls, and several chains hung from the ceiling, no doubt for lifting heavy objects.
A large anvil occupied the center of the room, and this proved to be the source of the ringing. A tall woman with pale white skin stood in front of the anvil, her long yellow-gold hair tied back with a leather cord. She wore a dirty leather apron, oversized leather gloves, and a pair of spectacles with dark lenses. In one hand she held a pair of tongs, and in the other a large hammer. She continued hitting the object held between the tongs with a steady rhythm, sending out a cascading shower of sparks with each blow.
As Anne raised her hand to knock on the doorframe, the smith suddenly stopped her hammering, cocked her head to one side, and spoke without turning to face them.
“Valerian, that’s no way to welcome guests,” she said.
Anne frowned. Had the smith been expecting a visitor and mistaken Anne for this other person? Anne was about to identify herself when out of the corner of her eye she noticed a movement.
It was the tip of a sword, pointing directly at her.
And the person holding the sword was the boy who had stolen her gauntlet.
THE ADVENTURER’S GUIDE TO CLANDESTINE OPERATIONS OFFERS THE FOLLOWING TIPS ON HOW TO PERFORM A SUCCESSFUL SNEAK ATTACK:
Step 1: Sneak up on someone.
Step 2: Attack.
The Abbot of Swords
Anne stood perfectly still.
The boy’s arm was shaking, and the tip of the sword waved erratically in front of her. A bead of sweat dripped down his forehead and into his eyes, and he quickly wiped it away with his free arm.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
Anne frowned. “What do you mean, what are we doing here? What are you doing here? And what’s the big idea, trying to steal my gauntlet? You might be a thief, but that doesn’t mean you can just go around stealing everything.”
The boy—Valerian, the smith had called him—shook the sword at her. “Go away! You’re going to ruin everything.”
Anne wavered in the doorway, pulse racing, unsure what to do. She certainly didn’t want to get stabbed, but she wasn’t about to leave. If that woman was the swordsmith they were looking for, then they needed her to find the sword. But if the boy was here and the smith knew him, which seemed to be the case, exactly whose side was she on?
“Why are you blocking the doorway?” asked Penelope behind Anne. She sidestepped past Anne and into the forge. Hiro followed. Valerian retreated several steps and waved the sword back and forth at all three of them.
“That’s why,” said Anne.
“Oh,” said Penelope. “Good reason.”
On the other side of the room, the smith dunked the tongs into a barrel of water, which hissed loudly as a great cloud of steam rose into the air.
“Put the sword away, Valerian,” said the smith, who still hadn’t turned toward them. She continued with her work, placing the object in the tongs on a nearby bench, seemingly unfazed by the appearance of a questing party or that the boy was threatening its members.
“But they’re trying to interfere,” said Valerian.
“As well they should,” said the smith. “I sent you to Saint Lupin’s in hopes that you would make some friends, not activate a pointless quest.”
The blade hovered menacingly, and it was starting to make her angry. First this boy, Valerian, stole her gauntlet, and now he was holding her at sword point? Just who did he think he was, anyway? She ignored the fact that she had done the same to him only yesterday.
From behind, she heard the soft rasp of Penelope’s sword being loosed from its sheath.
“It’s not pointless,” said Valerian. “Someone needs to stop the queen.”
The smith sighed. “Your intentions are noble, but good intentions alone rarely solve anything. Enough is enough. Put down the sword.” This time her tone sounded final and brooked no objection.
Valerian glowered at Anne, but he lowered his weapon as instructed. He slid it carefully into a sheath and hung it on an empty peg on the wall alongside dozens of other swords.
The smith laid the hammer and tongs on a long bench. She walked across the room next to where they were standing, removed her leather apron, and hung it on a wooden peg near the door. Her gloves she tucked into her belt. This close, it was apparent that her skin wasn’t merely white, but waxy and smooth like marble. As the smith walked past, she did not so much as glance in their direction, although with her spectacles still on it was difficult to tell.
“Come along” was a
ll she said.
The four children followed the smith across the yard to the small hut. Valerian walked well apart from the rest of them, which Anne found somewhat insulting. If anyone had reason to be wary, they did—and of him.
The smith muttered to herself as she walked, almost as though she were counting paces, and when she reached to open the door, she first touched the edge of the frame and then slid her hand over to the handle.
The inside of the hut was simple but immaculate. Six chairs were precisely arranged around a solid oak table. The shelves were lined with even rows of jars along with several stacks of plates and mugs. Herbs and dried plants hung from the rafters in bunches. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth.
“Please, seat yourselves,” said the smith, and everyone did—everyone, that is, except Valerian, who remained standing by the wall.
The smith walked over to a shelf and felt her way along until she reached a section of mugs. Only then did Anne realize that the smith couldn’t see. Anne watched as the smith carefully inspected each mug by touch, taking them down one at a time and setting them on the table.
“Valerian,” she said, “would you be so kind as to pour some tea for our guests?”
“Yes, Abbot,” said Valerian. He moved over to the fireplace, removed the kettle hanging there, and filled each of the mugs with a steaming green liquid. The smell of mint filled the room, and Penelope gratefully cupped her hands around the warm mug and took a drink. Hiro was more cautious, as was Anne, and they did not drink right away.
Anne had noticed the way Valerian had addressed the smith. “Is it true, then?” she asked. “Are you the Abbot of Swords?”
The smith brought out a loaf of bread from a nearby cupboard and began slicing. “I’m afraid there hasn’t been an Abbot of Swords in quite some time. The monastery closed years ago.”
“But didn’t he just call you an abbot?”
“He does that whenever he’s unhappy with me. Usually he calls me Mother. My name is Emmanuelle.” She offered Anne and her friends a thick slice of bread. Penelope immediately took a huge bite.
“I’m Anne,” said Anne. “The other members of our questing party are Penelope and Hiro.”
“Nice to meet you all.”
“Did you forge the Three-Handed Sword?” Penelope blurted out.
Emmanuelle laughed. “I’m old, young lady, but I’m not that old.”
“Do you know the sword’s location, though?” asked Anne.
Emmanuelle held up a hand. “Before we get too tangled up in swords, perhaps we should make sure this quest of yours is actually what everyone seems to think it is. Otherwise, we’re all making a big fuss over nothing. Set your gauntlet on the table, please.” The smith felt her way over to the empty chair next to Anne and sat down.
Anne hesitated. It had already occurred to her that this woman might have sent her son to steal the gauntlet and the medallion in the first place, even if it didn’t sound like it.
Sensing Anne’s reluctance, Emmanuelle said, “I only wish to confirm the medallion is authentic. But if it would put you more at ease, you may feel free to have one of your friends fetch a sword from the forge and hold it over me, in case I try anything. Might I suggest the one in the black sheath? It’s heavier, but better for thrusting.”
“Sorry,” said Anne. “I wasn’t trying to be rude, but we haven’t had the best of luck meeting people on quests.”
“Understood,” said Emmanuelle. “In fact, I applaud your wariness, especially under the circumstances. You did, however, come to me, and you are free to leave whenever you choose. We will proceed or not, according to your wishes.”
The woman’s forthrightness put Anne somewhat more at ease. Trusting her instincts that Nana wouldn’t have knowingly sent them to anyone dangerous, Anne placed her gauntlet-hand on the table. The smith ran her fingers over the surface, pressing and pulling every half inch or so and testing the seams.
“Such craftsmanship,” she murmured.
After giving the gauntlet a thorough examination, Emmanuelle traced her fingers slowly across the surface of the medallion. After a few minutes, she stopped and shook her head.
“Oh, Valerian, why couldn’t you have left well enough alone?” she said.
Valerian stood rigidly in the corner and stared at the floor.
Finally, Emmanuelle released the gauntlet and rested her hands in her lap. “Well, it’s definitely the real thing.”
“It’s also active,” said Anne.
“Yeah,” said Penelope. “And your boy Valerian here is working with a group of knights that are trying to mess with the quest.”
“They’re called the Copper Knights,” said Valerian. “And I’m not working with them. I control them. They do what I say—or at least, they used to.”
“What do you mean?” asked Anne.
He glared at her. “They left. They said after what happened at the library, they didn’t need me anymore. It was supposed to be my quest, but then you came along and stole it. They were supposed to act as my antagonists, not yours.”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Emmanuelle. “The queen can only be killed by the sword, and it is well hidden. Trust me on that. Not even Valerian knows its whereabouts.”
Anne studied Valerian, and as he continued to avoid her gaze, she said, “I’m not entirely sure that’s true.”
Emmanuelle put down her cup. “Valerian, surely you didn’t…”
Valerian raised his chin defiantly. “That’s right. I discovered its location among your notes, and I told the Copper Knights. As far as I’m concerned, the queen deserves everything that’s coming to her.” He flung open the door and stormed out of the hut.
Emmanuelle bowed her head. Anne, Penelope, and Hiro remained silent, not knowing what to say.
After several minutes, Emmanuelle spoke. “I will take you to the sword,” she said. “But only so we can move it to a more secure location.”
“We need the sword as a gift for the queen,” said Anne. “I have something I need to ask her.”
“I’m afraid those are my terms.”
Anne looked to her friends. Penelope seemed dissatisfied but said nothing. Hiro nodded readily in agreement. Anne would be saddened not to be able to ask her question, but saving the dragon queen and preventing a war were more important.
“Okay,” said Anne. “It’s a deal.”
“Good. In that case, you’ll need this.” Emmanuelle took a small card from her shirt pocket and placed it on the table.
Penelope picked up the card and read it out loud. “‘Wise Old Woman.’ What’s this for?”
“As I’m sure you know, it’s illegal for anyone to interfere with an active quest,” said Emmanuelle. “But if you accept me as your mentor, we should be fine.”
“Should be?” said Hiro, looking alarmed.
“And what about Valerian?” asked Anne.
“I think it best if we keep him with us,” said Emmanuelle. “I’ll have a talk with him about the knights. He’s actually a very sweet boy. He’s just having some difficulty accepting that life doesn’t always work out the way we want it to.”
“So where’s the sword?” Penelope asked eagerly.
“Not quite so fast,” said Emmanuelle. “First, we need to travel to my old monastery.”
“But don’t we need to get to the sword as quickly as possible?” asked Anne.
“Yes, but if we want to retrieve it, I’m going to need my eyes.”
Anne shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “Er, did you say your ‘eyes’?”
Emmanuelle removed her spectacles. Behind them, her eye sockets were two empty black pits. “As strange as it sounds, my eyes are the quickest means of getting to the sword,” she said. She replaced the spectacles and took another sip of tea. “You might have noticed my… condition.” She rolled back the sleeve of her shirt to display a long white marble arm. “I was once flesh and blood like you, but now I’m turning to stone.”
“What happened?
” asked Penelope.
Emmanuelle sighed. “It’s a long story, and there is little point in dredging up the past.”
“The dragon queen was involved, though, right?” said Anne.
“Yes. She and I had a… difference of opinion on a personal matter. This was the punishment she inflicted upon me for daring to challenge her. I wouldn’t mind so much if it were just me, but it’s been tough on Valerian. People are uncomfortable spending too much time around me, fearing my curse could somehow pass to them. It’s left us relatively isolated out here in the forest.” She shook her head. “Children shouldn’t have to suffer because of the actions of their parents.”
Anne noticed Penelope stiffen in her seat.
“What does any of that have to do with your eyes?” asked Hiro.
Emmanuelle smiled grimly. “The transformation cannot be stopped. Eventually, I will turn into an unmoving statue, leaving me vulnerable. It therefore seemed prudent to ensure the safety of my eyes before I fully succumbed, to make certain no one could take them and use them to obtain the sword. Removing them myself seemed the best option.”
Hiro gasped. “You took out your own eyes?”
“Yes, after they turned completely to stone. It’s not like they were doing me any good at that point anyway.”
“But why—”
Emmanuelle stood. “No more questions. We need to get moving.”
She led them back outside and away from the main yard. They tromped through the knee-deep snow beyond the forge to a small ramshackle shed they hadn’t seen before. Valerian was nowhere in sight.
“I’ll need a hand with these,” said Emmanuelle, touching a set of sliding double doors. “It’s been a long time since I’ve bothered with anything in here, and I expect the doors are stuck fast.”
Anne and Hiro took one side, and Emmanuelle and Hiro took the other. Anne grabbed the door handle and pulled with all her might. For a long moment, it didn’t seem like the doors were going to budge. But then slowly, with great squeals of protest, they began to move. Anne dug her feet into the ground and pulled with every ounce of strength she could muster. Finally, after several minutes of intense labor, the doors opened fully.
The Adventurer's Guide to Dragons (and Why They Keep Biting Me) Page 7
