Blademage Adept (The Blademage Saga Book 3) (3 page)

“I’ll get them,” Alanna slipped out of the building and around the corner toward where the wagon was set up against the side wall, top and sides draped with canvas to lessen the damage from falling ash.

Alanna, Mirsa, and Rhysabeth-Dane returned to the forge as Kylgren-Wode opened the provision sacks to dole out bread and dried fish.

“More fresh water,” Mirsa handed Kevon one of the full water skins she carried. “I worked up a fountain out back while you were clanging around in here. We can fill up everything before we leave.”

The ground rumbled. Kevon stepped outside and peered through the haze. “I think the ash will be worse before it gets better,” he sighed, spotting the thickening column rising from the now glowing peak to the East. “Perhaps we should make a few more improvements.”

“Ready?” Mirsa asked, chuckling at Kevon’s bleary-eyed gaze.

“Mmhm…” Kevon mumbled, placing a hand on the upraised ridge of slate he’d spent the bulk of the last two mornings moving from the deposit Mirsa had detected earlier.

“Raising the far supports,” the Master Mage advised, and Kevon could feel the magic moving through the earth, granite pillars on the other side of the forge corkscrewing upward to nearly twice the height of the building.

Without speaking, Kevon pulled up on the slate slab, drawing it upward with his Art as he pushed his focus downward to gather more power to work the spell. He used none of his own energy for the magic, what little effort he did expend was to gather the latent forces from below. The slab groaned upward under his direction, his fingertips trailing along the upward-moving stone, retaining contact with the energy deep beneath them.

The link shattered as the slate worked free of the dirt it had been resting in. Kevon’s focus shifted to the Movement rune he had already prepared, and he stepped aside, no longer comfortable in the stone’s path without the extra magic at his disposal. The slate remained balanced in the calm air, balanced by gravity and the slightest touch of Kevon’s magic. A puff of air tipped the slab toward the forge and waiting supports, and Kevon let it.

Hand still on the edge of the falling stone, Kevon felt the weight shifting, and latched onto that energy. Twisting the stone’s own momentum into fuel for his spell, he focused on multiple points across the flat surface, and
pushed
upward, adding his own reserves to the rune, slowing the slab’s fall before it
clack-clacked
against the raised supports on the far side of the forge.

The supports on the near side spiraled further from the earth to meet the face of the slab. “It should hold,” Mirsa called.

Kevon released his spell, shaking from the intense exertion. The Movement rune dimmed in his mind, and he heard the other Mage talking.

“I know we’ve done more complex work with stone, but the terrain here is ill-suited,” Mirsa said, laying hands on the resting slab.

“We have no way of knowing about other Magi in the area, and I’m afraid of working any larger scale Earth magic so close to the volcano,” Kevon agreed.

Mirsa lowered the supports so that the midpoint of the slate was barely above the corner of the existing building, then paused. “The end supports are too far apart. Can you lower those on the end, while I bring up the new ones?”

“Sure,” Kevon wheezed, stumbling a few steps toward the other end of the slab before he found his footing. He reached the stone pillar at the back corner, and placed a hand on it. The connection with the power below formed, and he split his attention between maintaining the link, and monitoring the pressure and stress on the slab above. The supports on Mirsa’s end lifted, and the slate groaned. Kevon forced the twisted pillars on his end back into the ground, slowly, matching Mirsa’s speed. In the space of a few minutes, the new roof was level across the front end of the smithy. Both Magi shifted their focus to the supports at the back, Kevon lowering his, and Mirsa handling the one on her end, as well as the pillar in the middle by the other end of the building.

“All right,” Mirsa called. “Enough!”

Kevon stepped back, and could barely see daylight between the old roof and the new covering. “It’s good!” he called, but Mirsa was already fusing the slate and granite with short, powerful bursts of Earth magic, stabilizing the structure further.

“Can we go back in?” Rhysabeth-Dane struggled with the horse she was holding away from the action, and coughed as she inhaled ash when she spoke.

Chapter 5

Sparks flew from the impact. Kevon moved the glowing steel half an inch, and struck again. Another movement across the anvil, another shower of sparks. A last tap near where the glow of the metal dimmed, and Kevon tossed the blade back into the furnace.

“When did you learn to do this?” Kevon asked Kylgren-Wode. He turned over the guard the dwarf had crafted while he’d been resting earlier, and nodded. The twisted layers of re-forged scrap gave the piece a distinct look, and would be particularly eye-catching once the final polish was done. The way the crosspiece curved down around the front fingers and rejoined the handle at the base was strange, but functional. The three rivets that sat near the anvil looked at least as good as Kevon could have done himself.

“Things no one else wanted te bother with used te be my specialty,” the ambassador chuckled. “I’ll have yer grip carved as soon as we find some decent wood.”

“I’ll have to draw some metal up from the tang to match this, but I’ve always tended to be heavier there than most,” Kevon commented, poking at the glowing blade a few times with his tongs before fishing it out of the coals.

“When will this ash end?” Alanna grouched, peering toward where the mountain should be.

“There has been no new eruption in two days,” Mirsa commented, moving to a safe distance from the sparks, beside the assassin. “With luck, the skies should clear by tomorrow.”

“Not that seeing the boys all sweaty with their shirts off has been
bad
,” Alanna quipped, throwing Mirsa a sidelong glance. “I just wish they’d be a little quieter about it.”

“Outside in the ash, or inside in the heat, stuck in the corner wrapped in a blanket to shield myself from iron bits… still in the ash.” Mirsa fixed her gaze on Alanna’s good eye. “I, for one, will not miss any of this.”

“Trust me,” Kylgren-Wode laughed, applying the last of the thick clay to the precariously balanced blade. “I’ve done this more than once.” The dwarf wiped a bit of clay from one of the edges of the blade, and turned it over to inspect the other side. “It’s ready. Now I’ll work the bellows…”

“We’re hardening it, I get that,” Kevon snapped, not bothering to hide his annoyance.

“Something about the different temperatures…” Kylgren-Wode shrugged. “The way I’ve always seen it done. If you didn’t like Dwarven craftsmanship…”

“No, it makes sense…” Kevon placed the blade in the glowing coals, and set the tongs aside while the metal heated.

“There?” Kylgren-Wode peered over the bellows-handle at the glowing iron.

“Not quite…” Kevon watched as the light golden glow on the sword edges began to take on a rosier hue. “Now.” He picked the blade up with the tongs, and dipped it point-first, into the water barrel near the open end of the smithy. He swished it around until the water stopped hissing, then eased the end with the tang in slower, taking care not to agitate it as much as with the blade end.

“What are you smiling at?” Kevon asked, shaking his head at the dwarf.

“Just happy yer blade didn’t shatter,” he chuckled. “It’s going te be a good one.”

“Temper with this stuff still on it?” Kevon asked, deferring to the dwarf’s judgment.

“Te light straw,” Kylgren-Wode nodded, leaning into the bellows, pumping the handle at a smoother, measured pace.

Kevon placed the blade back into the coals, and scowled at the ash-muted light that still streamed into the room. “This part would be easier in a cave.”

The bellows continued their even motion, even as the dwarf’s moustache twitched with irritation.

“It’ll need a stout grip,” Kevon commented, scraping the last of the fired clay from the blade’s fuller. “The tip is still heavier than I expected.”

“Alder,” Kylgren-Wode grumbled, fussing over the placement of the tools and the newly-made fuller-jig back in the box. “Been passing them fer days before we stopped. Best thing for it, until we find some Ironwood.”

“The patterns are…” Kevon traced a finger along the wavy borderline of dark and light metal that rippled along the length of the weapon between the outer edges and the depression of the fuller.

“The same as ye’ll see if ye look close at yer axe,” the dwarf lectured, packing away the rivets, leather, and a length of bright red ribbon he’d produced from somewhere. “Different metal, doesn’t mark as easy. Same methods.”

“And you’re sure that I won’t want to sharpen it here?” The thickened edges that ran nearly to the top of the depression in the blade would take a good deal of filing to bring to a working edge.

“Yer learning the war-axe,” Kylgren-Wode shook his head. “Two hands from the tip, all the sharpening yer going te need.”

Kevon nodded, feeling the thickening at the end of the weapon, the slight flaring that lent extra weight, but thinned the metal for easier sharpening. The variations in coloring appeared as tongues of cold flame, different on each side of the sword-tip, but similar enough. The weight distribution would be more like an axe or hammer, the cutting reserved for the end, the length of the blade more for blocking and breaking. A flicker of familiarity lurked for a moment at the edge of his awareness, but fled as he noticed it.

“I like it.”

Chapter 6

The better part of the morning consisted of sorting out breakfast and clearing the layers of ash that had settled over everything in the wagon during the night. Rhysabeth-Dane doled out the last of the ship’s biscuits and hunks of cheese they’d traded for before they left the port almost three weeks prior. Kylgren-Wode unlatched the back gate of the wagon, stowed the partially finished blade, and let the horses eat hay from the end of one of the uncovered bales.

Kevon patted down the fresh earth over the re-buried box of tools. The remaining stock and scrap that was left in the box was supplemented with a pouch of coin that was nearly twice the value of the supplies they had used for repairs and new weapons. Had the owner been present, the improvements they’d made over the week they’d spent there might have paid for the iron they’d taken. Without such an agreement, Kevon felt guilty even leaving as much silver as they had.

Mirsa sat outside, looking over the Dwarven librarian’s shoulder as she studied the ancient book and her notes.

“Eat,” Rhysabeth scolded the Master Mage before hunching back over the text.

“It’s not agreeing with me-”

“It is not just for you…”

“Hush,” Mirsa cautioned, looking around to where the others made preparations for departure. “No one knows…”

“They are blind,” Rhysabeth-Dane agreed, glaring over her shoulder for a moment. “But they do need to know.”

“When the time is right.”

“If you’re talking about leaving, the time is right now.” Alanna knocked the caked ash from the soles of her boots before picking up her saddle and disappearing back outside as fast as she had appeared.

Mirsa gnawed off a bite of cheese, and washed it down with a swig of water.

The Dwarven librarian nodded as she began arranging her notes and books, packing them away for travel.

Kylgren-Wode helped Mirsa and Rhysabeth-Dane stow their belongings and lifted them into the back of the wagon before securing the gate. He snugged the harnesses of both of the stout draft horses before he climbed up to the seat and took the reins.

“What are ye waiting fer?” he roared at Kevon and Alanna, already in their saddles and standing by. “The mountain te belch again?” He jerked his thumb sideways for emphasis, pointing to the thinner column of steam and ash that billowed in slow motion from the peak far to the east.

The Warsmith smiled and clucked with his tongue, turning his mount onto the pallid track, Alanna moving alongside as the ashes swirled up and about in his wake.

“Never thought I’d be looking forward te getting back on the sea,” the ambassador grumbled, waiting a moment for the grey cloud to settle before following his friends southward.

“What about now?” Mirsa prodded Rhysabeth-Dane as the wagon rattled along the mountain road that wound down to the port city below. “Can you feel this mountain?”

The latent Earth power had been pressing against Mirsa’s mind for the greater part of an hour, but the tiny librarian just shook her head. “I’m glad to be near it, but it’s not my mountain.”

Mirsa pressed her senses outward, searching for any trace of the oddly structured power that had surrounded the Dwarven Hold, but found nothing, and severed the link before the magic could overrun her. “Interesting,” she mused, squeezing Rhysabeth closer to her side.

Chapter 7

“And good fortune to ye,” Kylgren-Wode shook the stablemaster’s hand and scooped up the pile of silver coins from the table. He walked back outside to where Mirsa and Rhysabeth-Dane waited by the emptied wagon.

“It’ll be enough te get us there,” he grumbled, “but not much else.”

“The elves are the next piece of our puzzle,” Mirsa declared. “We’ll have to go from there.”

“We’ll not be going anywhere if they don’t find a ship willing te carry us there,” the Dwarven ambassador grumbled, jerking a thumb toward the waterfront district. He stooped and scooped up the remaining saddlebags containing their scant belongings, and tossed them over his left shoulder, wiggling back and forth until they settled into place. Shifting his axe harness to the right until he felt balanced, he rested his hand on the haft of the weapon and glanced over at his companions. “They may already be sailing fer that island in the time it takes fer us te get te the water.” He grunted and took a few halting steps to punctuate the joke before dropping into an easy stride down toward the sea.