by J. A. Pitts
“I need something to drink,” I said, turning off the flashers and checking the traffic. “Let’s stop at this tavern over by the smithy,” I said. “I want to check in on my friend.”
“I could use a drink,” Joe said.
I pulled into traffic and adjusted my mirror. Joe stared at me with his one good eye. Pain etched his face, and he cradled his arm against his chest.
Traffic was relatively light for the Eastside, but I still chafed at the pace. Weaving in and out of the slower moving vehicles bought me some time, but I had to be careful. With all the hot-rodders out there, adding nitrous and such to cars exactly like mine, I was more prone to police scrutiny. Tonight, I didn’t need the delay.
I cut through Bellevue and over to Redmond, noticing that the lights were out and smoke hung heavy in the sky.
God, I hoped that wasn’t coming from the smithy.
Joe raised his head and sniffed. “Fire,” he said, and passed out.
“Hang on, Joe. We’ll skip the drink and head to the hospital. Just don’t die.”
I barreled down Bel Red and over toward Kirkland. If I took Seventy-second, I could pass the smithy on my way to Evergreen Hospital.
The flutter in my gut became a full-on ache. Flames like I’d never seen before roared upward into the night sky.
I turned past the car wash and the full brunt of the tragedy came into view. The smithy was a total loss. Several fire trucks and police cruisers had the area cordoned off. Traffic had come to a standstill due to the crowd milling around the Crankshaft Tavern across the street. I nosed the hatchback through the crowd and cut into the tavern lot. I parked near the back, glanced back at Joe to see if he was breathing, and got out, letting the sound of chaos wash over me.
“I’ll just be one minute,” I said to Joe, who let out a low moan. “Let’s see how bad it is,” I said, walking toward the road.
Jesus, that fire was hot. Must’ve been the propane exploding I’d seen earlier in the night. I was surprised there weren’t more buildings burning.
I cut across the street to get a better angle, and sure enough, Julie’s trailer home was a smudge of ash.
A police officer approached me, holding his hands out to his sides to block me from approaching the fire.
“Sorry, miss,” he said in a strained but kind voice. “You need to stay back.”
I wanted to jump up and down and scream. Instead, I took the calm approach. No use antagonizing the nice officer. “Sorry. It’s just that I work here,” I said. Mostly not a lie.
His face was stone-cold sober. Serious. “It’s not safe, miss.”
“Yes, of course,” I said, taking a step back.
He seemed to relax. If I was nice, he’d play nice.
“Has anyone seen Julie?” I asked, holding down the panic. “The owner. Did she get out?”
A fireman with a clipboard approached. “You worked here?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Black smithy.”
“If you could answer a few questions, then,” he said. “We can’t get into the shop, the fire is too intense.”
“Is there a truck in the lot?” I asked.
“No truck, but there is a car over to the side,” he said, pointing.
It had been burned out as well.
“Whatever started this seemed to spread across several target areas,” he said. “We heavily suspect arson, but until we can know more . . .” He shrugged.
“I guess that mushroom cloud was the propane tanks going,” I said.
He nodded. “Happened before we were on the scene.”
“We got coal out back, about a ton and a half,” I said, walking along the fire line.
He relayed the information over a walkie-talkie and let me walk with him around to the side of the shop. As I got closer, I had a very bad feeling about the car. It had been totally burned out, but the shape was familiar. Could be Katie’s, I thought. But how many of those are on the road today? And the fire had done a good job burning it down to the rims.
We walked a bit farther, so I could see the front of the smithy, farthest from the road, between the shop and Julie’s place. He pointed out several heavily burning sections, and I confirmed one was the coal pile. The second seemed to be a collapsed shed.
“We stored supplies back there. Borax, welding gear, that sort of thing.”
“More propane?” he asked, making notes.
“No propane, but several tanks of oxygen.”
“They blew early,” he said. “Oxygen doesn’t like fire.”
I nodded. “Yes, I know.”
He stopped and spoke with one of the young men holding a hose and directing water into the fire.
Between the car and the smithy, I saw the firelight glint off something lying on the ground. The fireman didn’t see it, and while he was distracted, I darted over and picked it up.
My heart leapt into my throat. It was Katie’s phone.
Blessed mother, what was Katie doing here?
I spun around, overwhelmed by the noise, and the smell, the heat, and the flashing lights. I had to get out of here. And I needed to get Joe to the hospital.
I began walking around the fire line. Too many questions danced in my head. Hadn’t Rolph been here? Did he start the fire? Where was Julie? Her truck was not here. Had Katie and she met to talk?
I ran across the street, pushing through the crowd toward my car, when I remembered that Rolph had called me from near the smithy. I turned, looking for the pay phones, and sure enough, there he was, talking.
I pushed past several goth kids who were trying to gawk and act bored at the same time.
“Rolph,” I yelled over the noise.
He turned, panicked, and hung up the phone.
“Sarah, thank the Norns.”
I grabbed him, even though he had a head on me. I pushed him back against the wall and growled, “Katie was here. Where is she?”
“They took her,” he said. “They came and ransacked the smithy. Someone was hurt.” He cringed when I raised my fist.
“Who was hurt?”
“A woman, I could not tell.” The anguish in his voice was real. “If they had seen me, I would be dead right now.”
“Unless you started this,” I said. “Unless you lured Katie here and killed her and burned down the shop when you couldn’t find the sword.”
He pulled back, shock on his face. “I would not,” he said, his voice strained. “The bard, your lover? I could never harm her. And Julie? She showed me kindness. Do you think this is how I would repay them?”
I eased back a bit. Julie had nursed him.
“Then why’d you bring Frederick into this to begin with?” I asked.
“To force your hand,” he said, letting his head drop. “You would not see reason. I thought if you met him, you would see the horror of him.”
“He wasn’t bothering you, nor me,” I said. “You invited him here, into our lives.”
“He killed my kith and kin,” he said, the anger returning to his voice. “He burned their village, slew the men, ate the children.”
A shiver of nausea slithered up my chest, causing my shoulders to shake briefly. I lowered my hands, releasing Rolph. “I had no idea.”
“And now, will you confront him?”
I closed my eyes; it was all too much. Katie and Julie hurt, kidnapped, dead, or dying? The smithy burning.
“They will not put out that fire,” Rolph said, turning to look across to the smithy. “That is dragon fire. It will burn itself out when the fuel is consumed, or when the light of day approaches.”
“Are you serious?” I asked, stepping around him to look at the firemen. “They are putting on a serious amount of water.”
He just glanced down at me.
I thought for a moment, trying to make sense of all the chaos.
“Okay, so I need to find Frederick. He wants the sword, so I have a bargaining chip.”
Rolph reached out, grabbing my shoulder so hard it hurt. “Never e
ven say that aloud,” he said. “I would rather see all you hold dear burned to ash than see the sword given freely to one of his kind.”
I shrugged his massive hand off, and thought. What did I really know about this man—I mean, dwarf.
“Oh, Joe.” I turned and started walking to my car. “Rolph, do you have your truck?”
“Yes, why?”
“I have a friend who needs to get to the hospital. We were attacked earlier by a pair of giants.”
Rolph grabbed me by the arm again. “Giants?”
“Yeah, Ernie and Bert.”
He looked at me blankly.
“Same goons that threatened me the other night, and ran me off the road a few days before.”
“Perhaps the same two who beat me,” he said, his voice full of venom.
“Well, one of them won’t be bothering anyone else,” I said, moving toward the car. “I killed him.”
Rolph nodded, his face grim. “Not a small feat. And the other?”
“He’s missing a few fingers,” I said. “Maggoty things that kept on moving after he fled.”
“Yes, foul creatures, giants.”
I made a face. “I smashed them, but he got away.”
Two kids on bikes sat beside my car, so I shooed them away, and opened the back door.
There was no one there. I looked back at Rolph, who had fallen to his knees.
Two ravens flew out of the car, their caws piercing through the general hubbub. Several people turned to see, and the world slowed for a moment. Rolph held his hands over his ears. “Mercy, Woden,” he cried.
I squatted down beside him. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“The one-eyed beggar,” he whispered.
“Joe? Yeah, the giants hurt him, but I rescued him.”
He reached up with his left hand and brushed the hair out of my face. “He has marked you, I see,” he said, letting his hand fall.
I spun around and looked into the side mirror.
Just inside the hairline above my left temple, there was a series of small runes. “Son of a bitch,” I whispered, letting my hair drop. “He branded me.”
“He has marked you as one of his own,” Rolph said. “Can you deny your call to arms now?”
I stood, looked over at the smithy and the flames that still roared into the night sky. “Not anymore,” I said. “I’m going after Frederick.”
“He’s at the movie shoot,” Rolph said, his voice flush with emotion. “I was talking with Juanita, she says he is there.”
“Juanita?” I asked. “One of JJ’s girls?”
Rolph flushed. “She is kind to me.”
I shrugged. “Never underestimate kindness,” I said. “Let’s roll.”
I got in my car and began pulling through the crowd. Getting to Everett would be a bitch.
Forty-five
I WAS ALMOST TO THE WOODINVILLE CUTOFF WHEN I HAD A quick change of plans. Rolph was following me fairly close, so I put on my blinkers and waved out the window, pointing toward the exit. He followed without a hitch.
If I was going to confront a dragon, I wanted some better gear. And I wanted to let someone else know, just in case.
We pulled into Black Briar around eleven. The house was dark; Jimmy and Deidre were likely already asleep.
We parked and walked up to the barn.
Gunther and Stuart were sitting on bales of hay, drinking and working. Stuart was mending a leather rigging of some sort, and Gunther was sharpening a dagger.
“Hey, guys,” I said, striding up with Rolph.
“Hey, Beauhall,” Stuart said. “Was wondering when we’d see you out here again.”
“Yeah,” Gunther said, putting down the sharpening stone and polishing the blade with a cloth. “After that little scene last time, we figured you’d be too mortified to come back.”
They watched me, expectantly. No bullshit this time, Sarah. “They took Katie,” I said. “I need some gear.”
“Who took Katie? Melanie?” Stuart asked.
“No, not Melanie.” I paused a moment. I’d known these guys for years. “It’s a long story,” I said finally. “Armageddon Rag, gentlemen. The real deal.”
I’d thought about this on the way over. How could I convince them without looking like a total freaking idiot? But then, I’d been worried about how others perceived me for a long damn time, and that’s served me so well.
I thought back to those long nights of wishful thinking, of planning for the end of the world, or dreaming of a life where one lived by wits and skills alone. A time when a single man, or woman, with a sword could right the wrongs. They’d be skeptical, but deep down, they needed to believe.
“Remember all those nights we talked,” I paced in front of them, waving my hand, “the game we played about what if? Like if the world was different. If we had to live by our wits and our swords?”
Stuart laughed. “You been drinking?”
I punched him in the leg, eliciting a hurt cry. “Not joking, you ass. One of you go wake up Jimmy. I’m going in to get my chain.”
Gunther and Stuart looked at one another and laughed.
That was it, I wasn’t getting through to them. I shoved the bales of hay, and the two men tumbled to the ground. “Either help, or get the hell out of the way,” I shouted, storming past them and into the barn.
I stood in the center of the barn, considering how best to proceed, when Stuart and Gunther came stumbling in. Gunther stormed right up to me, pissed off, and grabbed my arm. “What the hell was that about?”
I spun around, shoving him. “I told you. They took Katie. And likely Julie. Or . . .” I choked. “Or she’s dead.”
Stuart came up with Rolph behind him. “I think she’s serious.”
“Quite,” Rolph said. Both men turned to look at him. “There is a dragon who has taken the form of a man to hide his true self.”
“He wants Gram,” I said. “I need to go rescue Katie. Are you going to help, or laugh more?”
Stuart started to smile, but looked at me, cocked his head to the side, and a look of dawning comprehension crossed his face. “Gram . . . ,” he said. “You called the sword Gram.”
“Yes.”
“Fafnir’s Bane,” Gunther said, looking back at Rolph for the first time.
“Rolph,” I said, “these two geniuses are my friends Gunther and Stuart.”
All three nodded, in that territorial way men have, and I turned to the lockers.
“Rolph’s a dwarf, boys. I know you’re familiar with the stories.”
“Jesus and Mary,” Stuart said, crossing himself. “You ain’t fooling?”
I didn’t even answer. I opened my locker and pulled out my chain mail. The stitched cotton underarmor smelled musty as I pulled it over my head, but it would keep the chain from cutting into me, I hoped.
The chain was a bit trickier, but as I was laying it out on the bench, to try and get it over my head just right, Gunther stepped up and helped.
“You’ll need a scabbard for that pigsticker,” he said. “I think Stuart has something you can use.”
“Yeah,” Stuart said from across the barn. “Look in locker six. I’ll run up to the house and wake Jimmy.”
“Thanks,” I said, looking back at Rolph. “Helps when you have friends,” I said.
He looked back, his face impassive.
Once the chain was in place, and the cinches were tightened correctly, I could move with only a small amount of restriction. “Decent armor,” I said, brushing my hands down the chain. The links were done with skill. “One day, I should try making some armor.” I thought how lovely that would be if only we all lived through this nightmare. And Katie. Dear God, I had to not think about what she might be going through at the moment or I would fall apart.
Gunther grunted and began fishing through locker six. He came out with two belts and a scabbard.
“Not sure which of these fits better,” he said. “You want the sword over your shoulder, or at the
waist?”
“I think I’d like a belt to hold the hammers,” I said. “And a shoulder mount for the sword.”
“Can do,” Gunther said, digging into the locker again. “We can make this work.”
I had the scabbard in place and the hammers on my belt by the time Jimmy came jogging into the barn.
“What’s going on, Sarah?” he grumbled. He had on a pair of workout pants with half-moons helter-skelter across the legs, and a T-shirt that read: ONCE A KING ALWAYS A KING, BUT ONCE A KNIGHT IS ENOUGH.
Scruffy and torqued as he was, he still gave me the warm fuzzy I always got around him. Jimmy’s was a safe place. I hated to disappoint him. “They took Katie.” I fished her cell phone out of my back pocket and handed it to him.
He took the phone, opened it, and looked through the files. “It’s Katie’s,” he said, motioning to a table. “Sit down and tell me what the hell is going on.”
I wanted to leave, to get to Frederick, but I needed Jimmy on this. That had come clear to me during the fight with the giants. Kith and kin, that’s what made this worth anything.
So I told him. Granted, it was the quick version, but I tried to include as many details as I could remember. He poked and prodded with questions, but didn’t tell me I was a liar, or a fool.
Even though I glossed over it, I could tell he knew about my drunken night. That explained the strained look on his face.
“This homeless guy,” he said. “Joe?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Woden,” Rolph added for the first time.
Gunther and Stuart exchanged a look, but did not interrupt.
“Woden, right,” Jimmy said. “So, you fought a pair of giants, which don’t look like giants unless you are holding the sword, right?”
“Yes,” I said. His level of reasonableness was a bit maddening.
“So, these giants were beating on a guy who your friend here thinks is Woden.”
“Who is Woden?” I asked, looking around.
“Do you never read?” Stuart asked. “Woden . . . Odin . . . the All-Father. King of the gods.”
“Not king,” Rolph said. “He is their jarl.”
