Master of Iron (Bladesmith #2)(99)

“I gave each of you a little piece of magic to carry with you through your travels. To keep you safe. I’ve watched you at this tournament over the years. I’ve seen you in action. You are all impressive fighters. The best Ghadra has.”

Good, Ziva. You appealed to their vanity. Now you need to find their consciences.

Consciences? Do half of them even have those? They fight for money.

Stop worrying and keep talking. You don’t know how long their attention spans are.

Just tell them your story.

“Warlord Kymora commissioned a blade from me some three or four months ago.” The time blurs, I can’t actually be sure. But that’s not important to the story. “I made a broadsword that steals secrets from those it cuts, and that’s when I heard Kymora’s thoughts. She’d cut herself on the weapon, you see, and I heard her intentions clearly.

“It won’t be like it is now under the rule of the princes and princesses,” I explain. “It won’t even be like it was with King Arund—for those of you old enough to remember his rule. Kymora is the worst kind of tyrant. She likes her power and doesn’t want anyone else to match it. She doesn’t want anyone to have choices anymore. You think you’d be better off receiving your wages from her? How about when she asks you to slaughter children when their parents don’t hand over food for her soldiers? What about when she demands you do menial grunt work, patrolling her grounds?”

I gain a little courage when I see those who had started leaving return to the mass of fighters.

I clasp my hands together to try to cease my own fidgeting. I can’t look anyone in the eye. Instead, I look above their heads. I hope that gives the illusion that I’m eyeing them all.

“You will have no choices. Whatever she wants of you and your magical weapons, she will demand it. And any resistance will result in immediate execution. She’s a general. She doesn’t have time for insubordination.”

I swallow. “You will be lackeys. Not fierce mercenaries free to take jobs where you will. She doesn’t care about people. She cares about herself. She cares about the land but not the people in it. She wants your weapons for her own. She wanted me to make more for her army. While I was able to render the initial broadsword useless to her, she still wants to get her hands on me and force me to make her and her men unbeatable.”

I’m rambling; I must be. I can’t see an end in sight to this nightmare that is public speaking, but I have to keep going.

“You don’t know me that well. You only know what I’ve done for you. What I can still do. I know the odds aren’t great. Kymora’s numbers outweigh our own.”

More grunts and grumbles. I steal a glance at Skiro, and he blanches. Clearly he hadn’t intended to share that information.

“But!” I hurry to add. “I can magic armor for all of you. You are already fearsome with your skill alone. With my weapons, you’re nearly unbeatable. With armor, you will be untouchable. I’m not asking you to fight for me or for Ghadra. I’m asking you to fight so you can keep your way of life.”

I suck down heaping gulps of air, as though I hadn’t been breathing during my pathetic little speech. Though I must have.

Do I need to say more? What else do I say?

Did I already mention how dangerous Kymora is?

Did I tell them my name?

Twins, I’ve forgotten everything I just said.

The silence drags on again, and I want to rip off my own skin.

A voice from the crowd says, “And we’ll be compensated for fighting against this warlord?”

“Yes, damn you all!” Skiro snaps. “How hard is it—”

I cut him off. “You will be paid. You will receive armor for you to keep. And I will fight at your sides.”

Stupid, I think after I add that last bit. What do they care that I’ll be there?

But then someone says from the front, “I’m in.”

“Me too. I want the free armor.”

“Think of the stories we’ll get to tell. Fighting side by side with the magical smithy herself!”

“A payday is a payday.”

“Maybe they’ll reschedule the tournament for after. Might as well stick around.”

One by one, we get their assent. Except for Asel, who simply takes a stance at his father’s side.

I glance around to the newest additions to the army in disbelief.

I did that.

“Wonderful,” Skiro says to the crowd. “Now let us prepare.”



* * *



Marossa and our soldiers arrive three days later. Their numbers? Four hundred and ninety-eight. With all the mercenaries added (whose numbers have increased as more have arrived for the tournament), that puts us at five hundred and forty-one.

Against nearly two thousand.

The last battle saw far worse odds, but Lirasu isn’t like Skiro’s Capital. There’s no castle, no walls to encase the people. No high turrets to defend.

The enemy will have a much easier time surrounding us and overwhelming our numbers.

Not to mention the fact they’re now led by Kymora, who is the fiercest strategist.

At the first war council in Lirasu, with Marossa, Skiro, and their advisers, Petrik shares his thoughts.

“I’ve gone over diagrams of the city. Coupling that with all the reading I’ve been doing on warfare, I have some ideas on how we can make the fight as fair as possible. We want the high ground. I want us to use the mountain. Set up a vantage point for most of our forces and set traps for Kymora’s men as they try to climb up to us. The warlord’s forces will be weary from marching. We want to tire them out even more.”