by E. A. Copen
I frowned at the broken crystal in his hand. When he found out, Old Jim was going to be furious. It took him weeks to craft them into something useable, and each one was a special order someone put in at his shop. The magicite crystals were worth more than a house, and Ash had shattered it when he knocked it off the workshop shelf.
“It’s okay.” I put my arms around Ash and pulled him into a tight hug. “I won’t tell.”
And I never did. I took the blame for breaking the crystal and got stable cleaning duties for a month. The worst month of my life, except for, of course, the month after I lost Ash through the rift. I would’ve cleaned a thousand stables if it meant I got him back.
Now, here he was, right in front of me like an answered prayer. I couldn’t help but smile a little at the thought.
“What?” Ash tilted his head slightly. “You’re smiling.”
“Just remembering something. You were such a crybaby when you were a kid.”
Red flashed over Ash’s cheeks. “And you were a bully. Always blackmailing the other kids or bossing them about. Remember Old Jim’s face when he found out you’d been threatening Yarah with a sword?”
I burst into laughter. “I thought his head was going to explode!”
“If you’re gonna go waving that damned thing about, you best learn to use it so you don’t kill yourself,” Ash said in his best Old Jim imitation. “Do you remember what you said?”
I nodded. “I already know how to use it. You stab them with the pointy end!”
We shared another loud laugh, drawing the eyes of other patrons in the tavern. Normally, that much attention would’ve bothered me. I always tried to be as inconspicuous as possible. It didn’t matter to me as long as Ash was with me. Having him back, it almost felt like the weight of the world had lifted and we were kids again. I could breathe again.
“You’re still good and sharp with the sword, I presume?” Ash asked.
“Better than ever.” I stood. “But speaking of, I have to go run some errands before tomorrow morning if you want me at my best.”
“Of course. Just… Where are you staying?”
I opened my mouth and quickly shut it, not knowing how to answer. I couldn’t afford to go back to the crappy motel I’d spent the night in, not if I wanted to stock up on supplies. Initially, I had planned to find a covered corner somewhere and grab a few hours of sleep in the open air, but that sounded less appealing as time went on.
“Nowhere yet,” I answered after a moment’s hesitation.
“Then you can come and stay with me.” Ash dug out a small paper card and held it out to me. “I’ve booked an entire block of rooms at the old Omni. I’m sure there’s an empty one somewhere for you. Wouldn’t want you sleeping on the ground the night before we set out on a big hunt.”
I frowned at the offered card. “I can’t afford to pay you back, Ash.”
He shrugged. “Then don’t. Think of it as a repayment long overdue. You looked out for me a lot when we were kids. Now, I get to return the favor.”
I took the card and carefully tucked it away. At least now I could be sure I wouldn’t lose him again, though I was hesitant to leave his side. I still couldn’t believe this wasn’t real, and that if I looked away, he would disappear again.
Ash must’ve sensed my hesitation. He smiled. “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere. At least, not until tomorrow morning. Promise I’ll see you again later today? After you’ve run all your errands?”
I nodded emphatically. “Pinky swear it.” I held out my pinky finger, and he hooked his on mine, just like we used to do when we were kids.
Chapter Five
People flowed through the streets, and into the beating heart of Atlanta’s merchant district. There, the air smelled of iron smoke and freshly baked bread. Peach pies, still warm from the oven, sat on display, with yellow ribbons tied around them. Vendors stood with their small carts piled high with sweet Vidalia onions, blueberries, or potatoes as big as a fist. They called to passersby, urging them to sample their wares. Textile merchants smoothed their hands over simple cotton or silk brocade, the spinning wheels whirring in the shops behind them. An old man slept in his chair next to a cart of dusty Coca-Cola memorabilia, a worn ball cap pulled down over his face.
I sidestepped a pair of kids chasing each other through the narrow streets with swords made of sticks. A haggard-looking woman grabbed them by their collars and scolded them loudly. Nostalgia tugged at my heart, a memory of a time when I was one of those kids. Except I hadn’t had a mother to scold me and set me right. Maybe if I had, I’d have chosen a sensible career instead of monster hunting.
The mother licked her thumb and cleaned coal dust from her daughter’s cheek. I turned away, hand on the hilt of my sword, and followed the clang of the blacksmith’s hammer. There were several shops on Smithy’s Row, and each of them had a fine collection of swords, armor plates, and other items to choose from. The largest shop in Atlanta, Falcon’s Forge, had a small stage out front where the owner demonstrated his weapons on target dummies. The act attracted a large crowd, and probably lots of money. I passed through the crowd as they erupted in cheers and laughter, watching an actor stab a wooden troll. If only it were that simple to kill the real thing.
At the end of the row, around a corner and just off the main thoroughfare of Smithy’s Row, I found a shop more to my liking. There were no demonstrations, no cheering crowds, no gold-plated suits of armor out front to attract customers. Just a three-legged stool propping up a bearded dwarf while he sat, arms crossed, frowning at his apprentice. The dwarven apprentice hammered the blade he’d been working on one last time and held it up, still red hot. Sweat darkened the scarred apprentice’s collar as he scrutinized his piece. He grunted and plunged it into a waiting vat of oil.
The dwarven master grunted in response before eyeing me. “Canna help ye, dytheirn?” His words slurred together as one, but not because he was a drunk. His hands were too steady for that. I’d met enough dwarves to expect the fast-paced, slurry speech.
I untied the sword at my hip and placed it on the crowded wooden counter next to the old dwarf.
Without a word, he rose and drew the blade from its scabbard, eying it with dissecting eyes. “Aye, seen finer days, she has.”
“My last run-in was with a rock troll,” I explained.
He clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Canna go playin with the trolls an what expect a fine time of it. Look here, lass. You see these teeth? Like some gremlin’s done had it for breakfast, it is. She’s fixin’ to shatter with another strike.”
I nodded. “I’m in the market for a new one, but I don’t have time for something custom forged. I’m leaving town tomorrow morning to hunt big game.”
“Aye, nor the coin for it, one supposes?” He wrinkled his nose and gestured to barrel holding half a dozen swords. “As you fancy, dytheirn.” That was all the help the dwarf offered me before he returned to his apprentice’s side, mumbling instruction.
I approached the barrel of pre-made swords and picked one out at random, testing its weight and balance. A custom sword was always better, of course, one crafted and fitted to my needs. However, I had never owned one. Either it had always been out of my price range, or I just didn’t have the time to wait around for one to be crafted. If I did, though, I’d have hired a dwarf to make it for me. They were the finest craftsmen in the kingdoms, well-known for their attention to detail.
I unsheathed three different swords, peering down the blades at expert craftsmanship. They weren’t fancy; they were sturdy and well made. Yet none of the ones I picked up and tried felt right in my hands.
Frustrated, I slid the fourth sword back into its sheathe and placed it carefully back into the barrel. I was about to pick out a fifth one to try when I spotted a sword leaning against the wall in the corner. Dust covered the hilt, and several generations of spiders had built their webs over it, meaning it had been there for a very long time.
I glanced
over at the blacksmith, ready to ask about the forgotten sword, but he was deep in a demonstration with his apprentice, showing him the proper technique for hammering something out.
What can it hurt? The thing’s clearly been sitting for ages. I dusted away the spider webs and lifted the sword. Something sparked in me the moment I held it. The weight was perfect, and the grip might as well have been made for my hand. The blade practically sang as I drew it from the plain leather scabbard. I expected to find a dull sword, worn down from disuse. Maybe even nothing more than a rusty blade. Instead, the blade was a beautiful blue steel unlike any I had ever seen before.
I ran my thumb along the blade and quickly jerked it away with a small line of red on my skin. Still sharp.
I took a few practice swings and knew. This was the sword I was looking for.
The dwarven blacksmith patted his apprentice on the back and nodded, letting him take over.
I held up the sword I had discovered in the corner. “How much for this one?”
The blacksmith’s eyes widened. “That one… How is it you’ve got it?”
“I found it in the corner there.” I gestured to the web coated corner. “Won’t make you any money just sitting there, you know.”
He stared at me as if he hadn’t understood what I said. Maybe I’d spoken too fast. Maybe I’d insulted him somehow.
I looked at my reflection in the sword blade. It was perfect, but I wasn’t willing to insult an entire subculture just to have it. I slid the sword back into its scabbard and held it out to the dwarf. “I’m sorry if I wasn’t supposed to touch it.”
He raised his hands and took a step back, as if the sword would bite him. “No, no. It’s yours. Take it.”
“I don’t understand. I meant nothing by what I said.” I took a step toward him, but he retreated further.
“Just take the bloody thing and get out!” His voice shook, and his eyes were wide with genuine terror.
I didn’t know what to do. Dwarves could be a superstitious bunch, but I’d experienced nothing like that. I lowered the sword, took two steps back and pulled out my wallet, leaving a generous amount on the counter. The last thing I needed was to be accused of stealing.
Then, with one last worried look at the cowering dwarf, I ducked out of the shop.
“Wait,” called another voice.
I turned back to find the apprentice had followed me out.
“That sword is cursed,” he said. “At least, that’s what my father believes.”
I lifted the sword and frowned at it. It didn’t seem cursed, but what did I know about magic swords? “What do you think?”
The apprentice shook his head. “I don’t know about all that, but I can tell you that is no dwarf-forged steel you hold in your hands, dytheirn. It is elven. I’ve seen that same blue alloy worked by their smiths. Elves are a vicious bunch. I would be careful trusting an elvish blade with my life.”
I pulled an inch of the sword free, just enough that I could see the strange blue steel shining in the afternoon sun. I didn’t even know if elves were real. People talked about them, but I’d met no one who’d actually seen one. There were always rumors, though, of strange fletched arrows cutting through the dense trees, the swift shadows of unusually tall men always just out of sight. Remnants of ruins in the woods, and statues too strange to be human. Curses, elves, and magic swords… It all seemed pretty far-fetched to me, and I hunted monsters for a living.
I closed the sword and tied the blade to my hip. “I appreciate the warning, but I think I’ll take my chances with the sword.”
“As you fancy.” The apprentice nodded and went back to his master.
I went about the rest of my shopping, acutely aware of the sword at my side. Maybe it was the dwarf’s warning, or maybe his superstition that stayed in my mind. Either way, it was forgotten by the time I spent the last of my cash from the mail run, and I turned to my next big problem.
A long trek hunt like the one I was about to embark on meant making sure everything was in good working order. That meant I needed to repair a few leaks in my tent and inspect my mattress. Then I’d have to pack it all up nice and neat, small enough it would all fit on my back or in my duffel bag.
I found a quiet spot outside of town and set up the tent, going to work with my needle and thread in a quick patch job.
It was late afternoon, and I was almost finished when I heard the clip-clop of hooves slow in front of my tent. I ducked through the opening.
Commander Tolliver, the man who’d challenged Ash at the tavern for more information, slid down off his chestnut mare. He was tall and broad shouldered, the kind of person who would’ve been able to push boulders around like they were nothing. He struck me as the sort of person who might do that for fun.
He wasn’t alone. He’d brought a dwarf with him. Unlike the two I had encountered at the blacksmith shop, this dwarf sported a bright red mohawk and faded blue tattoos on his face.
“Commander Tolliver,” I said, standing and dusting some dirt from my knees. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Tolliver hesitated a step after climbing down from his horse. “You’ve got me at a disadvantage. You already know my name, but I don’t know yours.”
“Don’t pretend you didn’t look up everyone on Ash’s list the minute you got back to your guild headquarters.”
He glanced back at the dwarf for a moment. “I find it’s important to know who I’m working with and for, Miss Dixon.”
“Just Ember,” I corrected.
He nodded. “I’m Ike.”
I crossed my arms and planted my feet. “Why are you really out here, Ike?”
“My records say you’re a poacher, that you don’t do group jobs, especially not big ones like this.”
I smirked. “Come to talk me out of it? Encourage me to give up my spot for my health?”
“Careful, dytheirn,” warned the dwarf, his hand resting on the blade of a black dagger. “I can drop a fly at a hundred paces.”
I was confused until I realized I had put my hand on the hilt of my sword. I forced my hand back to my side. “It’s been less than two days since I was staring down a troll, so if you want to intimidate me into backing out of the hunt, you’re going to have to work a lot harder.”
“I’m not here to convince you to back out,” Ike said. “I want to know everything you know about Ash Harrison.”
“Let me guess. There’s nothing in your files.” I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “Sorry, but I can’t help you.” I turned away.
He grabbed my wrist and turned me back to face him. I glared at him.
“People don’t come from nowhere,” he said. “They don’t suddenly show up with enough money to finance a major hunt like this with half a dozen soldiers and Institute necromancers at their backs either.”
“Don’t like competition?” I yanked my arm away.
“I don’t enjoy walking into a dragon’s den blind,” he growled.
“Well, you signed up for it, pal. Nobody made you. You can always change your mind and spend your days relaxing in your cushy little guild office, telling grunts what to do. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” I gave him an exaggerated bow and started back to my tent.
“Why does he want the dragon’s heart?”
I sighed and stopped. “I don’t know. Ask him.”
“I have. I’ve asked him about the hunt, about our route, about many specifics that should have been made public to those of us going on this hunt. Yet he will take no questions and give no answers. The only responses I get are platitudes. I am placing lives in this man’s hands. I need some assurance that it’s not reckless to do so.”
I spun back around and eyed the commander. “Why did you sign up for this hunt if you’re so worried about it? You have money, fame, influence. Anything you and your guild stand to gain from a hunt like this, you’ve already got it, so why bother?”
“My reasons are my own,” he ground out.
“Talk about cr
yptic non-answers.”
Ike stepped closer, close enough I could smell the horse stable on him. “I’m bound by oath not to tell you more, and I’m a man of my word. Know this. I have no choice but to be on this hunt. No matter what happens, I must see it through. It doesn’t matter to me if I come back whole, but there are other people on this hunt. Innocent men and women who are just looking to make enough to take care of their families. They don’t have a voice. I want to make sure this is a legitimate hunt and not a front for something else. There are rumors…
“Rumors? What rumors?” I glanced at the dwarf.
“There are whispers this is an Institute grab for power,” explained the dwarf. “They say Ash is an Institute puppet, that he’s being controlled by the necromancer. They say the Institute wants the dragon’s heart for its experiments.”
“So what if they do? What do you care?” I glanced up and down at the commander standing in front of me. “Wasn’t it your ancestors who founded the Institute to begin with?”
His throat worked. “That was a long time ago. Generations of bad blood. The Iron Company has nothing to do with the Institute or its people. We oppose them on principle.”
“Neither do I, and neither does Ash. He would never work for them.”
“I hate to ask, but how can you be sure?” asked the dwarf. “How well do you really know this Ash fellow?”
“We grew up together. I’ve known him since we were kids. The Ash I knew couldn’t even squish a spider.”
The commander nodded and stepped back to his horse, satisfied with my answer.
The dwarf, however, snorted and spat on the ground. “Be careful judging men by their behavior as boys, dytheirn. This world isn’t kind when it makes boys into men.” He nodded to his commander. “I will wait for you at the stream,” he said before riding off.
“He seems nice.” I gestured to the backside of the dwarf’s horse.
“Foggy means well. It’s difficult being a dwarf in a human world.” He cleared his throat. “I feel like we might’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. I have no interest in making an enemy of you, Ember. Allies are far more useful where we’re headed. I’d rather have a friendly sword at my back, if possible.”
