Blade of Secrets (Bladesmith #1)(79)

I have so many eyes on me. For real this time. This is no imagining in my head. People have gathered to see what I’ll do. Even some townsfolk have appeared, wanting to know what’s got everyone so intrigued outside the smithy.

I look inward for the strength I found in the prison cell. I’ve done magic in front of people before. I can do it again. Even if so much more is at stake this time. Not just the lives of four young adults, but maybe all of Ghadra.

It has to be kept safe.

I’m the bladesmith. The only one gifted with magic. I created Secret Eater, almost allowed it to fall into the wrong hands, and maybe it’s always been up to me to fix it.

I remove the broadsword from my side and unsheathe the weapon.

“Please work,” I whisper.

I slowly dip the sword into the liquid metal until only scant inches of the blade and the entire hilt remain visible. The mold does not crack. The liquid metal does not disperse.

I take a deep breath and just stand there, holding the sword in place.

But I need to coax the heated iron to do my will, so I speak to it. “I don’t know why I was given this ability. Whether it was a gift from the Sisters or some curse of my birth. I don’t know what I was meant to do with it. All I know is that I’ve spent my life trying to make the world a safer place with my creations. Yet, I somehow managed to put it at more risk with this singular blade. So whatever the reason, I ask this now: Keep the sword safe. Keep it hidden from the world. Maybe it will have a purpose one day. A purpose for good. But keep it safe until someone worthy comes along. Someone with the good character not to misuse its abilities. Someone with the power to keep it out of the hands of those who would use it for evil. Let only that person have the strength to pull the sword from this stone.”

Normally, it would take weeks for the metal to cool on its own. It’s far too big to quench, so I assumed I would have to find a way to prop the sword in place and camp out here until everything was done.

But the magic has a different idea.

There’s a cracking sound and a rumble in the ground beneath my feet.

I jump backward; Kellyn catches me before I hit the ground, and we run.

A crater opens up in the earth, a circle perhaps ten feet in diameter. The mold snaps, breaking off in chunks that rain down, revealing the iron rock, perfectly cooled in place, and the sword held firmly in its grasp.

I turn to the smithy, who has an expression of shock on his face. “May I borrow a hammer and chisel?”

He flees, and I think I might have scared him off completely, but he returns with what I requested.

Jumping into the crater, I hold the tools aloft, pounding at the stone with all my might. Not a crack, not a chip. Nothing I do will crumble it.

And though perhaps it’s silly, I wrap my hands around the hilt of the sword and pull straight up. Of course it doesn’t move.

I hold out a hand to Kellyn and Petrik and Temra. They each take a turn trying to pull out the blade. It doesn’t so much as bend from its position.

“You did it,” Kellyn says. He laughs and grabs me under the arms, hoisting me in the air and twirling me around.

“Of course she did,” Temra says. She hugs me next.

Petrik pats me on the back. “I’m thinking of writing a second book. Secret Eater’s story. Our story. It’ll be filled with adventure. And romance.” This causes me to blush, but Petrik can’t help the glance he gives Temra out of the corner of his eye. “Generations will know what you did with this sword. They will know it is here, waiting for its intended master. Safe until the time is right.”

“I wish I knew what the broadsword was meant to do,” I say. “But I hope I’m long, long dead when it’s pulled from the iron.”

“I’m certain it will do great things for a time far ahead of us,” Petrik says.

I approach my creation once more, place one booted foot against the rock and try to shift it. It’s far too heavy to budge, of course. “If I’d known a crater would open up in the earth, I wouldn’t have done this here.” I send an apologetic look the smithy’s way.

“Leave it,” he says. “I think it’s fine ornamentation for my business.” A pause. “You that magical smithy I’ve heard rumors about?”

“That’s me,” I say.

“I’d sure be honored if you’d show me—”

The smithy—I never even asked him his name—grabs his navel, his fingers touching the spear shaft now imbedded there. He falls to the ground, his breathing shallow. I’m staring far too long at him before I make sense of what happened.

When I raise my eyes, I see the horses barreling toward us. Scarlet tunics on their riders. And at the front of the charge—

Warlord Kymora.





CHAPTER

TWENTY-TWO



Temra rushes over to where the smithy landed on the ground. She holds the man’s hand but looks to me helplessly. “He needs a healer.”

He needs to not have a spear in his chest. Why is there a spear in his chest? Why would Kymora hurt him? He did nothing. He was innocent. He helped me protect the sword.

She assumed he was harboring you.

You did this.

My fault. Just like everything else.

Kellyn steps in front of me, putting himself between Kymora and me. He and Temra have both taken action, and I’m still standing there. I don’t know what to do.