The Elder Stones Saga Boxset: Books 1-3

by D. K. Holmberg

“Me?”

  “Your mentor thought you might need a blade and suggested I put in the smallest amount of lorcith I could. This is about as small a quantity as I’ve ever worked with.”

  “How much was it?”

  “No more than a strand of your mother’s hair.”

  He had thought he sensed a striation, but it would have been less than that. It would have been so negligible that it shouldn’t even be detected, and yet now that he was aware of it, he could feel it easily.

  Galen had wanted that for him?

  And here he had thought Galen didn’t want him to use his connection to lorcith. That hadn’t been the case at all. Galen had wanted him to learn to control it—not depend upon it, but be able to work with it.

  If he had a sword like this—and one that he could actually use—it was possible even the Forgers wouldn’t be able to overpower his connection.

  Haern went over to the quenching basin, carefully lifting the blade. It needed a hilt and a guard, and then it would be complete. He suspected there weren’t too many within the smith guild who could forge it any better, not out of the metal like this. Perhaps if it had been made entirely with lorcith, it could have been pushed and pulled into whatever shape was needed. He’d seen some of the sculptures his father had made and knew that with the right touch, there was incredible power to that connection, but using an actual forging technique, the techniques taught to generations of Lareth smiths, he thought his grandfather had done about as well as anyone could have.

  “How did you get the strand of lorcith within it?”

  “Carefully. Slowly. It required folding metal in a specific way. And then it required caution hammering it.”

  “I don’t know if even my father would have been able to do this.”

  “Your father is a skilled blacksmith, Haern. He was the guildlord for a time.”

  “He might have been the guildlord, but he also depended upon his connection to the metal.”

  His grandfather nodded. “That he did. There are some techniques us old ones still remember.”

  “You’re not that old.”

  “No? There are days I feel it. Most of the time it’s when my bones ache when the rain is coming, and occasionally it’s when I sleep wrong.” He laughed to himself. “I know I’m getting old when I wake up sore from sleep.”

  “What about working at the forge?”

  “Ah,” he said, waving his hand. “That’s never bothered me. My body has known that work my entire life. Ever since I was barely able to walk, I’ve been holding a hammer and working at a forge. No, this is more about the rest of me that’s breaking down. My ability to continue to hold a hammer, to beat at metal, hasn’t changed.”

  “It’s a beautiful blade.”

  “Good. I will be proud for you to take something of mine with you.”

  “I’m still learning to use a sword.”

  His grandfather watched him for a moment, finally setting his hammer down near the anvil. “I wish it weren’t necessary.”

  “Not you too.”

  “Not me with what?”

  “It seems more and more people are trying to convince me that it’s unnecessary for me to train the way I have been.”

  “I wouldn’t convince you of that at all. I think you need to continue your efforts. If anyone will be able to bring Rsiran back, it will be you.”

  “I’m not sure that’s true.”

  “Sometimes it takes having a person care about you to believe something is possible.”

  “Are you saying you believe I can do this?”

  “I wouldn’t have made you the sword if I didn’t believe it, but that’s not it. I’m saying that your belief in your father and the fact that he still lives is what is important. Others might think he’s gone, but you hold out hope. I share it with you, but I am in no condition to go after him.”

  “There are times when I’m not sure I’m in any condition to go after him.”

  “And yet, despite feeling that way, still you work. You train. You will attempt to do what you can. That is valuable.”

  Haern took a deep breath. Everything he’d been doing had been on behalf of his father, and though he didn’t know if he would succeed in finding him, he was determined to attempt it.

  “Are you going to help me sharpen it now?”

  “I thought you were making the sword for me.”

  “Don’t be like that,” his grandfather said.

  “Like what?”

  “Lazy. The hard work is done.”

  “I’ve sharpened a few blades in my day. I know the hard work isn’t done quite yet.”

  His grandfather smiled at him. He was a focused man, and his smile was barely more than a curve of his lips, but it spread to his eyes, making them twinkle. “Perhaps not, but as I’m an old man, I think having a young man like yourself doing some of the hard work is most appropriate, don’t you?”

  “Now you’re going to try to guilt me?”

  “Isn’t it working?”

  Haern chuckled, taking the blade over to the grinder. “Not entirely.”

  His grandfather pulled a stool out from the bench, taking a seat and watching him. “And yet, here you are. Doing the hard work.”

  “I thought you said this wasn’t the hard work.”

  “And you said you knew the hard work wasn’t done. Get to it. You’re going to need that blade in your studies, I think.”

  As Haern began to grind the blade, bringing it to a sharpened edge, he feared his grandfather was right. If it worked as his grandfather intended, maybe he could find a way to use small amounts of lorcith in his knives. Maybe he wouldn’t have to be dependent on his abilities, but could still have access to them.

  He glanced over at the forge. It meant he would need to get back to work. And it was the kind of work he thought his father would approve of.

  15

  Haern

  The wind whipped around him, and Haern clutched his cloak around him tightly. There was a strange fragrance to the air that he didn’t recognize, though considering how far from home he had traveled, that wasn’t entirely surprising. He gripped the hilt of his sword. There wasn’t much in the way of decoration on the hilt, but that was the way he liked it. He had made it simply and designed for his grip in particular. His grandfather had helped him with that, ensuring he knew just how to fine-tune the grip so that it was specific for his hand. They had used the smallest amount of lorcith, little more than a grain of sand, embedding it into the end of the hilt. Surprisingly, doing that added a certain balance to the sword.

  He kept his focus on the blade, using his connection to lorcith to maintain it. Now that he was better connected to the lorcith within the blade, he found he could reach it easily and quickly.

  “What do you See?” Galen asked.

  He glanced over at the other man. They were crouched on a rooftop, and this time it was a firmer support, nothing like the thatched roof they had stood on before. This was slate, and while it was dry, there was still something almost slick about it. It was as if there was moisture in the air that clung to the slate, making it so that he would lose his footing if he weren’t careful.

  “I don’t See anything,” Haern said. They’d been sitting there motionless for the better part of an hour. Thoren had left them in this city to the east of Elaeavn with a promise to return at a specific time. If they weren’t there, he would return to Elaeavn, waiting before coming back later.

  They had only a few windows of opportunity before he stopped returning.

  In that way, Galen wanted to ensure that they didn’t put Thoren at risk, though Haern wasn’t sure whether this was the right plan.

  “I don’t either, which tells me that either there’s nothing here, or they don’t want us to detect anything.”

  “You think they know we’ve come?”

  “Have you made the mistake of bringing too much lorcith with you?”

  “Only the sword.”

  “Only the sword?”<
br />
  “I have a few filament coins as well, but you told me to bring those.”

  “Of course I did. We need to know whether it’s effective.”

  Haern was still surprised Galen was willing to attempt this. He had agreed to risk themselves, searching for an opportunity to confront some of the Forgers and test whether the threads of lorcith within both the sword and the coin, along with the two new knives Haern carried, would be effective against them.

  The real test would be up to Haern. Galen was here for support, and mostly to ensure he didn’t get in over his head.

  If this worked, Haern held out hope he could get back to his search, hunting the Forgers, looking for anything that would give him an idea about where they had taken his father. He was growing tired of sitting and waiting, tired of doing nothing, knowing his father suffered through his inactivity.

  That was, if he still lived.

  Haern tried to ignore that possibility. He might be one of the few who still believed his father lived. While he hadn’t spoken with his mother about it, he had grown increasingly certain that even she doubted Rsiran was alive. And if she gave up hope, there might not be any hope remaining for anyone.

  “Maybe we’ll be returning to the Aisl without testing this,” Haern said.

  “You’re disappointed.”

  “Of course I’m disappointed. I need to know if they’ll be able to use these against me or not.”

  It was more than that, though. He’d been training with the sword, working with his two swordmasters after Galen’s urging, and believed he’d gained in skill, but didn’t know with any certainty if he would be able to withstand an attack. He suspected he could handle the Forgers, especially if they weren’t able to pick up on the lorcith within his knives. That had been his downfall before. Always before they had known about the lorcith and the blades, and if he could hide the fact there was any metal within his weapons that he was able to control, then he might be able to overpower them.

  “I think you will get your opportunity.” Galen nodded down the street.

  Haern turned, noticing a flickering sort of movement.

  Sliding.

  That indicated a Forger. It had to.

  He followed the figure as they Slid along the street, moving off into the shadows.

  “I’m going to follow,” he said.

  “Be careful.”

  Haern grabbed a handful of the coins and pushed one of them away. When it landed softly on the ground, he used that to push off, soaring above the street. He sent another coin flying, pushing off on that as well. As he moved along the street, he drew the coins back to him. He refused to leave any behind, not wanting the Forgers to detect how he’d followed them. It was possible they wouldn’t know, but it was equally possible they would discern the way he used the coins, and with their connection to lorcith, they might be able to uncover how he had used them. He wouldn’t put it past them to study the technique, decide if it was something they could replicate, and find some way of stopping him.

  When he reached the end of the street where the Forger had disappeared, he rested on a nearby rooftop. He looked down, searching for movement along the street, but there was nothing.

  That wasn’t how he was going to detect the Forger. He needed to focus on lorcith.

  He strained, letting his awareness of the metal stretch out from him. There was no sense of lorcith anywhere else but with him.

  That wasn’t quite true. A trace amount existed down the street, back the direction he’d come. Galen must have taken one of his coins.

  Sneaky. Then again, with Galen holding on to one of his coins, Haern had a way of tracking him if anything happened to him. Not that anything was likely to happen to Galen. If anything, Haern would be the one captured.

  He waited, searching for movement, and after a while, he noticed a flickering farther down the street.

  Without pausing too long, he pushed off, soaring above the street. There came a steady thump with each coin as it sank into the ground when he pushed it, though he didn’t know if he could slow it while maintaining his momentum. The noise would hopefully be overlooked, especially as he wouldn’t be moving along the street itself but high above it.

  The Forger turned, and this time, Haern was able to follow him. He reached a central square, with a three-story building rising nearby. There was more of a crowd here. From his position overhead, the sounds of the city drifted to his ears, and Haern knew he couldn’t hesitate.

  He dropped to the ground in front of the Forger.

  The man looked at him, cocking his head to the side. “What is—”

  Haern pushed on his knives, sending them streaking.

  It took more effort using his knives in this way than it did when they had more lorcith within them, but even with this faint amount of lorcith, he had control over them. It was enough.

  He felt resistance against the knives but pushed harder and overcame it, sending the knives stabbing into either shoulder of the Forger.

  The man cried out.

  Others on the street turned in his direction, and Haern darted forward, grabbing the Forger, dropping a coin, and pushing off.

  It carried them to the nearest rooftop. When he was there, he recovered the coin and threw the Forger back.

  “You made a mistake.”

  The Forger had a strange accent to his words. Brown eyes glowered, and he reached for the knives in his shoulders, wincing as he did. Haern didn’t give him the opportunity to grab them; he pushed him back, sending him staggering.

  “You and I are going to talk.”

  He tried to suppress the elation he felt. The filament of lorcith worked. The Forger had managed to slow the knives a little, but not much. If he could get the jump on them, maybe he could finally get information about his father. Maybe he could finally begin to actually find his father.

  “What sort of talk?” the Forger asked.

  Haern hated how calm he sounded. It was almost as if…

  Haern spun around, keeping his pressure on the knives, holding the Forger back against the roof, wondering if another Forger might come. They came in pairs and trios, so it was likely that he wasn’t alone.

  “Where’s your partner?”

  “Partner? What makes you think I have a partner?”

  Haern glanced back, glaring at him. “You always have partners.”

  “You know us so well as to know how we travel?”

  “Yes.”

  The Forger smiled darkly. “Interesting.”

  Pressure built within his mind, and almost too late, Haern slammed his mental barriers into place, locking onto the image of lorcith as his father had taught him.

  “You resemble him.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Him. Your father.”

  Haern turned his attention back to the Forger, trying to resist the urge to tremble. He had gotten into Haern’s thoughts.

  It was another mistake he’d made. Many of the Forgers were skilled Readers, having stolen that ability as well. It was much the same as what had happened with Lucy when she had been augmented with the metal.

  Even with his mental barriers in place, it was possible Haern wasn’t strong enough to withstand this Forger digging into his thoughts. Did the other Forger know he was here?

  Worse, could this Forger have sent out a call for help?

  The Forger stared at him.

  “Where is your other friend?”

  “Friend?”

  “You’re right. I doubt that you’re friends. Where is your other Forger?”

  The man grinned more widely. “You continue to make the mistake that we are all Forgers.”

  “Forger. Ai’thol. All of it is the same to me.”

  “And yet, it’s not all the same to me.”

  The Forger took a step toward him, and Haern pushed.

  There was a shimmer of movement. Haern quickly pulled on the knives, drawing them back at the same time as the Forger Slid away.

 
He breathed out heavily.

  Now they knew he was here.

  Worse, they would know he was using lorcith in a way they couldn’t detect, unless they believed he had control over another metal. That was possible. His father had power over other metals, while Haern didn’t have that same connection—yet.

  Using one of the coins, he pushed off, making his way back to the street, heading toward Galen. As he did, he realized the sense of the other man was absent.

  Could something have happened to Galen?

  Galen was far too skilled for anything to have befallen him. He would have been ready, prepared in a way that even Haern was not, and he would have managed to avoid any sort of attack.

  What Haern needed to do was find where Galen had gone.

  He reached the rooftop where he’d left Galen. There was no sign of the man.

  With the lorcith coin, he could draw upon that connection and search for him, but he would need to work quickly. Galen didn’t have any way of traveling, and it was too soon for Thoren to have returned for them. Unless something had happened to Galen, he wouldn’t be all that far.

  Haern focused on the sense of lorcith.

  First he pushed away the sense of the sword, then the knives, and finally the coins he had on him. It left him with an emptiness.

  He listened.

  If the lorcith coin was anywhere nearby, he would be able to find it.

  There was something at the far end of the city.

  It was faint, and Haern wasn’t even sure if he was detecting it correctly or not, but as it was the only thing he could pick up on, he had to search.

  Pushing off down the street, he made his way as quickly as possible, recovering the coins as he went. He kept a certain height as he traveled, trying to stay high overhead, not wanting to be seen by anyone on the street below. The only thing that might be spotted would be the coin as he recovered it, drawing it back to him, but that was a chance he was willing to take. It was late enough the streets were mostly empty, and anyone who might be out here was likely half intoxicated, so they would question what they saw anyway.

  As he neared, he slowed, focusing on the sense of lorcith, searching to see if it was the coin he’d created.