For a long, awkward moment, no one spoke. Finally, Slorn took the initiative, lowering himself in a small bow. “Welcome, as always, my lord. What can we do for you?”
“Spare me the gracious-host routine,” the Lord of Storms said. His voice was impatient, and he was looking around, his flashing eyes seeing through everything. “I’m just here to get our new recruit his sword.”
The Lord of Storms stepped aside to reveal another man standing behind him. Slorn’s eyes widened in surprise. He hadn’t even seen the man until now, though that was due to the Lord of Storm’s control over his thunderheads. There certainly was no other way Slorn could have missed the monster of the man who stepped forward. He was taller even than the Lord of Storms, and nearly twice as wide. His head was clean shaven and crisscrossed with pale, puckered scars. His black coat, which was too small, he wore open and fluttering in the wind, the sleeves ripped off to make room for his bulky, overmuscled arms. His face had the strange, smashed look of a brawler’s, the bones broken too often to ever sit right again. Yet what made Slorn look away in disgust wasn’t his crooked fingers or his sharp-toothed, murderous sneer, but the sash he wore across his bare chest.
It was a strip of crimson fabric tied over one shoulder of his ripped coat. The cloth had several long, telling splatters streaked across it that left little to Slorn’s imagination, but even more disturbing was what was sewn into the sash. All across the red cloth, sewn in with surprising care, was a collection of what Slorn could only guess were trophies. There were broken sword hilts, some of them with their spirits still whimpering in pain, bits of jewelry still splattered with lines of dark, dried blood, and other things Slorn didn’t look at too closely.
“This must be the one you told me about,” Slorn said carefully. “Your new, nonwizard recruit.” It had to be. There was no way a wizard could wear what the man was wearing and not go mad.
“Yes,” the Lord of Storms said. “Spirit deafness is a bit of a hindrance, but you don’t have to hear to kill demons. Sted here has proven he can get the job done, so I’ve decided to make him a full member of the League.” He smiled at Slorn, a terrifying sight. “The sword’s the last bit he needs. I presume it’s ready?”
“Yes,” Slorn said. “Pele, take Mr. Sted here to his new sword.”
To her credit, Pele didn’t hesitate. She stepped forward and motioned for the enormous man to follow her. As they disappeared into the house, Slorn took the opportunity to broach the subject hanging over their heads.
“So,” he said, looking at the Lord of Storms. “It’s not often you escort a new recruit to pick up a sword yourself. Is Sted that good?”
“Hardly,” the Lord of Storms said. “Sted’s a brawler. He was born a brawler and he’ll die the same. I only hope we can squeeze a few dead demons out of him before it happens.” He turned to face Slorn, and his expression grew murderous, a sure sign that the time for small talk was past. “You need to consider the company you keep more carefully, Slorn.”
Slorn crossed his arms. “So long as I fulfill my contract to provide the League of Storms with awakened blades, I am free to pursue whatever other side projects I desire. This is our agreement.”
The Lord of Storms sneered. “I allow your little dalliances with that thing you keep up in the mountains only because the Weaver managed to convince my lady you would be the one to find a cure for the demon infestation. That generosity does not extend to Monpress’s pet monster. I may be forbidden from interfering in the thief’s actions, but that doesn’t mean I have to stand by and watch while you sell him tools to hide the demon from us.”
So the Lord of Storms had been warned off Eli by the Shepherdess. Slorn had suspected something of the sort. It wasn’t like the League to let something like Nico run free. He tucked that bit of information away for future use.
“All I gave Eli was a coat to replace the girl’s ruined one,” he said. “Surely you don’t want the demon terrifying the countryside and causing panics.”
“Spare me,” the Lord of Storms snarled. “Know this, Shaper: This is not the way of things for much longer. Do you think that boy’s my lady’s first favorite? Or her last? The time is coming, very soon, when the Shepherdess will grow tired of Monpress’s antics. I suggest you think long and hard about where your loyalties fall when that day comes.”
“When that day comes,” Slorn said slowly, “I know exactly what I will do.”
“Good,” the Lord of Storms said. “The League of Storms has existed since the world began, and in all that time you’re one of the best swordsmiths we’ve ever had. It would be a great shame to lose you.” He paused, and gave Slorn a long, hard look. “Great, but not unbearable. Do I make myself clear?”
Slorn smiled. “Immensely.”
Inside the house, Pele lit the lamps with a wave of her hand as she led the way to her father’s study. The man behind her, Sted, was talking in a loud, brash voice, as he’d been since she’d closed the front door behind him.
“So,” he said, keeping too close behind her. “You’re the bear man’s what, servant? Lover?”
“Apprentice,” she answered curtly, leading him into the den.
“Ah.” She could see him grinning. “Thought you looked a little rough for a concubine, but we are pretty far out. Where are we, anyway? The boss wouldn’t tell me.”
“We’re in the Turning Wood,” Pele said, coming to a stop at Slorn’s workroom door. “That’s all I can tell you. Slorn’s location is a League secret.”
She opened the door to the workroom and led him inside. “I must ask you not to touch anything,” she said. “No spirit in this workshop may be touched by outside hands without Slorn’s strict permission.”
“Why would I want to touch this junk?” Sted growled, glaring at the scraps of cloth left over from Nico’s coat. “Where’s my sword?”
Pele stood aside and motioned to the black blade on the wall. Sted stopped in his tracks. He stared at the sword, eyes wide. “Is it magic?”
“It is awakened,” Pele answered, turning to look at the jagged-toothed blade as well. “Since you are spirit deaf, Slorn made the blade from a stock of ore with a very straightforward personality. This sword has only one desire: to destroy all that stand before it. Not a sophisticated weapon, but we were assured a straightforward blade would be best for a man of your”-she paused-“talents.”
If Sted caught the insult, he showed no sign. He reached out greedily for the blade, but Pele moved faster, gripping the handle right before him.
“As I said, no touching.” She met his angry glare. “The sword doesn’t know you, and it would be happy to take your hand off. Before I can hand it to you safely, you’ll need its name.”
Sted snorted. “What do I look like, some duelist fop? I don’t bother with names for my swords.”
“No, you don’t name it,” Pele said crossly. “This is an awakened sword. It has its own name.” Gasping a little at the weight, Pele carefully took the sword down from its peg, wincing as she always did at the pure blood thirst that permeated the metal. “This is Dunolg,” she said, turning the blade so that the hilt was toward Sted, “the Iron Avalanche.”
Sted grinned, taking the sword with a steady hand. “A proud name.” He gave it a test swing, which was quite unnerving in the tiny room. “It fits,” he said, nodding. “Yes, this sword will do nicely. I can feel it. We’ll cut anything that dares stand before us.”
Pele stepped back as Sted swung the sword again, his scarred face lighting up with ghoulish delight as the wicked, toothed blade cut through the air. It whistled as it swung, a low trill of pure, violent hunger that made Pele sick to her stomach. When she had helped Slorn forge the blade, she hadn’t been able to imagine the kind of man who could form a bond with such a monster. Now, as Sted tied the jagged blade to his hip with a length of stained leather, she was sorry she’d found out.
Slorn and the Lord of Storms were waiting in silence when Sted and Pele exited the house. Sted started to say something about his new sword, which he wore proudly on his hip, but one look at his master’s face was enough to silence him. Without a word, he took up his place beside the Lord of Storms. When he was in position, the Lord waved his hand, and then, without a good-bye or a thank-you, they were gone. There was no lightning this time; they simply vanished into the dark. The moment they were gone, the unnatural clouds began to roll away, retreating as quickly as they had come, and sunlight burst back onto the high ridge.
Only when the storm front was far in the distance did Slorn let out the breath he’d been holding.
“Father,” Pele said softly, “was it right to give that man
“Right has nothing to do with it.” Slorn ran his rough hands over the fur between his ears. “It was work, Pele, nothing more.” With that, he turned and walked back into the house. “Let’s move.”
