Gods and Swindlers (City of Eldrich Book 3) (35 page)

Terry laughed, shaking his head. “That’s not what it says.”

“How do you know?” Todd asked. His awe of Terry evaporated, replaced with annoyance.

“Because I made it,” Terry said.

“That’s impossible,” Clint said, shaking his head. “This was made by Wayland, the smith god.”

“No such person,” Terry said.

“Yeah, there was,” Todd said. “And you can’t be Wayland, because you’re Thor.”

“No such person as Thor, either,” Terry said. “But you have no problem believing I’m him.”

“Well, the lightning,” Dustin said. “That’s kind of convincing.”

“I’ve been making swords a long time,” Terry said. “I’m a lot better at it than I am at throwing lightning bolts around.” He gave the shiny sword an experimental swing. The monks jumped backward.

Terry lifted the sword and slashed it towards the nearest chair. The blade hit the cushioned arm and bounced. Terry presented it back to Todd. “It’s pretty, but it’s a piece of crap. If I used it to hit another sword or a wooden shield, the blade would shatter.”

Todd stared at the sword. “But the runes . . .”

Terry shook his head. “You translated them wrong. Don’t feel bad. Runes are tricky, and I was being a smart-ass so I made them even trickier. What it really says is ‘treasure will slip from the hands of the foolish man.’”

The monks stared up at Terry in confusion.

“A fool and his money soon go separate ways?” Terry asked. He waved his hand in front of their faces. “There’s one born every minute? Hello?”

Todd looked like he might cry. “Treasure is a fraud?”

“Yup,” Terry said. “Well, I guess if you want a magic sword, then, technically, it’s the genuine article. Lots of magic in it because of all the slag in the steel. Makes it sparkle if you draw it fast, it glows in the dark, that sort of stuff. But if you want a real sword that cuts stuff and won’t shatter in your hands when a berserker with an axe is coming in for the kill . . .” He held out his hand to Clint. “Let me see that one.”

Clint, looking as lost as Todd, handed the tarnished sword to Terry.

Terry examined it for a long moment, then smiled. “You want a sword to fight with? This is the one you want.” He made a few small swings. “Don’t worry, Meg. I won’t attack the chair again. This blade would actually do some damage.”

He glared at the monks. “Had you boys bothered to polish this one, you’d see that along the side . . .”He tapped at a darker line running along the blade near the hilt. “It says Ulfberht. With a cross between the last two letters. Not one of the later knockoffs, but the real deal, made by yours truly.” He gazed at the blade with pride. “Best work I’ve ever done. The Rolls Royce, the Ferrari, of medieval swords.”

Todd, looking skeptical, said, “That old thing? It doesn’t look like very much.”

“Swords don’t need to look good,” Terry said, scorn dripping from his voice. “Your foe won’t stop and say ‘oh, look, it sparkles.’ He’s gonna be too busy chopping you up to notice. Unless ”—the pride returned—“you have an Ulfberht. Those always got attention.” Terry shook his head. “Magic swords. As if humans figuring out how to turn dirt and rocks into steel isn’t magical enough. Meg, you want a sword to kill the dragon with, take the Ulfberht.”

And here’s the rant
 
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“Do you clowns—and that includes you, Wayland, or Thor, or whoever the hell you are—honestly think I can kill a dragon with a sword? A goddamn sword? What the hell am I supposed to do with it? Make dragon kebabs?” Her hands on her hip, wearing her most fearsome scowl, Meaghan took a step forward.

The monks and Terry—eyes wide—took a step back. Meaghan felt a vicious little stab of joy.
Scared? Good.
“What is it with men and swords? Why the fuck do you think every problem can be solved with a three-foot-long steel penis?”

Steph stepped out from behind Terry and began to clap. “Amen to that. Put those silly things away, boys. To a dragon, a guy with a sword looks like cocktail weenie on a stick. Meg, what’s the plan?”

Run and hide?

I can still hear you,
Marnie said in her mind.
If you need time to think, take it. Smaller problems, right?

“Smaller problems,” Meaghan said.

Everyone looked at her blankly.

“I think about killing a dragon and I panic,” Meaghan said. “But I remember a guy from ADOT—”

“ADOT?” Gretchen asked.

“Arizona Department of Transportation,” Meaghan said. “He said building highways was like eating an elephant. The only way to do it was one bite at a time.”

“You’re gonna eat the dragon?” Gretchen asked.

“Eventually,” Russ said. He looked around at everyone staring at him. “What? Dragon meat is supposed to be good.”

“And good for you,” Gretchen added, then saw the look on Meaghan’s face. “I’ll shut up now.”

“The point of that is that the only way to deal with a problem this big is to break it down into smaller problems,” Meaghan said. “What’s our first problem?”

Todd stared morosely at the shiny sword in his hand. “That we’re all gonna die and the dragon’s gonna eat us?”

Chapter Forty-Three

M
EAGHAN SWITCHED INTO
lawyer mode and got to work.

“First thing we need to worry about is defense. Marnie, you’re in charge of this. There’s magic at work that keeps those of you who aren’t impervious—”

“Unlike us,” Sam said in a solemn voice.

Meaghan nodded. “Yes, unlike me and Sam. There’s a particular threat involved with dragons I can’t explain or even warn you about because the magic won’t let you hear it or remember it.” She glanced around the room. She saw confusion, but not the dreamy, unfocused look.

So far so good.

“Since I can’t tell you the details, I need you to trust me and trust Marnie. If she says you need to stay back, there’s a good reason for it. You can’t help me with this. All you can do is put yourself in danger and distract me.” She looked around again. “Will you all do that? Will you trust me?”

“What has happened?” John walked into the room, his hair a tangled mess and a sleepy look on his face. “Where is Luka?”

“Gone,” Terry said. “The elves took him.”

“What?” John, awake now, glanced around the room. “Where?”

“Probably the archive,” Meaghan said, all business. If she stopped to think about what she was about to do, stopped to think about her and John, she’d fall apart. “You missed the part where you have to trust me and Marnie.”

Marnie stared intently at John.

He nodded. “I understand.”

I whammied him a little. I hope that’s okay.

Meaghan nodded at her.
Thank you.

“Secondly,” Meaghan said. “We need to rescue Luka. Again, I think it has to be me. Between the archive’s defenses and the elves’ magic, I’m not sure who else can do it.”

“I can do it,” Sam said in a firm voice.

“Dude.” Dustin glared at Sam. “We talked about this.”

“I am sorry, my friend, but this is my task.” He fixed Meaghan with his intense gaze. “I know the archive, Meaghan. You do not. I escaped from their worst prison and I have eluded them for months. You have not.”

Yeah, that’s what Luka said, too.

Only Sam wasn’t being arrogant or over-confident. He wasn’t trying to shut her up, wasn’t trying to patronize her. Sam was stating plain fact.

“I am not a child,” he said. “I am the size of a human child, but I am an adult. The elves you have met revile me, but to many—to those like me—I am a hero. I have given them the strength to keep fighting. Do not deny me the chance to serve them again.”

The quiet ferocity in his voice brought tears to her eyes. Sam was a hero, the genuine article, and Meaghan knew she couldn’t stand in his way, no matter the risk to him.

“Besides, you are needed here,” he said in a softer voice. “You cannot lead if you are afraid to risk the lives of your fighters.”

“And they won’t be expecting Sam,” Owen said. “They think he’s a coward. They’ll be expecting you.”

Meaghan nodded. “All right. Sam, you’re going after Luka.”

“I can leave now,” Sam said, rising to his feet.

“Wait, you’ll need a weapon,” Terry said. “Something made of steel.”

“The real sword?” Meaghan asked. “The Ulfred one?”

“Ulfberht,” Terry said with a smile. “No, that’s too big for him to handle easily. We need to go to my house. To my shop. Look outside.”

The snow had stopped. The moon had broken through the clearing clouds and after the dark night, the moonlight reflected on the snow seemed as bright as the sun.

Meaghan nodded. “Then get right back here. Bring Aggie and Hank.”

Terry pulled on his coat and held out his arms. “Come on, Sammy. I’ll give you a lift.”

Meaghan watched Terry struggle through the snow, Sam clinging to his back like a child getting a piggyback ride. Her stomach clenched.

I’m going to get somebody killed.

Maybe,
Marnie told her
, but I may be able to bring them back. You lead the troops and I’ll put them back together, okay?

Deal.

Despite her earlier complaints about mind reading, Meaghan found Marnie’s presence in her head comforting.

You’re not alone,
Marnie told her.
You never have been.

Meaghan looked around the room. She was surrounded by family, neighbors, and friends. And they trusted her. She could tell by their faces. They were scared and tired, but they trusted her.

Please, God, don’t let me screw this up.

This time Marnie stayed quiet.

“Okay,” Meaghan said. “The third thing we have to deal with is killing the dragon.”

“They’re gonna burn the archive,” Dustin said, trying not to cry. “There’s so much stuff in there we haven’t catalogued yet. So much stuff we’re gonna lose.”

Owen shook his head. “Luka will convince them not to. He didn’t get to that part of the con before they took him—the bit about the key to stopping magical immunity being in the archive—but he’ll push it now. They can’t seriously believe we’ll give them the baby. Luka knows he needs to convince them he’s more valuable to them alive than dead.”

Steph had tears in her eyes. “That doesn’t mean they won’t hurt him even if they think he can help them.”

Owen took her hand. “Luka’s tough as hell. He’ll get through this.”

“Like Terry got through his time as Wayland?”

“Yeah,” Owen said. “That was bad, but he’s still here, right? We got Terry though that. We’ll get Luka through this.”

Steph gave him a grim smile. “Okay, but I’m killing every elf I see—except for Sam, of course.”

Owen nodded. “And I’ll be right there with you, but let’s get Luka back first.” He looked at Meaghan. “So how do you kill a dragon? You gotta take off the head, right?”

“Yeah,” Meaghan said. “I’ve been thinking about that . . .” But she hadn’t come up with anything yet. How on earth was she going to kill a giant, pissed-off lizard that could fly and breathe fire?

Smaller problems
, Marnie reminded her.

Smaller problems . . . “Is there any way to neutralize that stuff that makes the flames?” Meaghan asked. “The goop in the back of its throat?”

“You mean make dragon spit not flammable?” Russ asked.

“Yeah.”

“Dad said it was a lipid, right?”

“Yeah,” Meaghan said. “That’s like fat, right?”

Russ nodded. “Yeah. Or an oil or a wax. All fats are lipids but not all lipids are fats, but they’re all flammable. A dragon is basically an on-demand grease fire.”

“But what about dish soap? That destroys grease, right?”

Russ gave her his save-me-from-fools look. “Soap attaches to the fat molecules and makes it easier to wash them away. It doesn’t eradicate them.”

“But it’s not like a dishpan full of suds can catch on fire,” Meaghan said.

“You got a giant sink we can fill up?” Russ asked. “You think you can hold a dragon’s head under water? Get it to blow bubbles?”

“We could spray the hose at it,” Dustin said.

Russ moved his annoyed look to Dustin. “You never took chemistry, did you?”

“Uh, well, no,” Dustin said. “But you put out fire with water, right?”

“Not grease fires,” Gretchen said. “Flour. That’s how you put out grease fires.”

“For the love of God,” Russ said, exasperated. “None of you get to cook in my kitchen. Flour dust is explosive. If a pan of oil catches fire, you smother it with a lid. Or salt or baking soda, they work, too. You add water to a grease fire, you get a fireball.”

“Not what we need,” Meaghan said. “Okay, forget that idea. But if it ate some baking soda or salt—”

Russ shook his head. “Not for a fire that big. You’d need to dump a truckload down its throat.”

“Damn it.” Meaghan paced back and forth, thinking.
If we can’t put out the fire
 
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“What about fighting fire with fire?”

“That means using a smaller controlled fire to burn up the fuel,” Brian said, “so the bigger fire can’t advance.”