The Grand Crusade (13 page)

“This is where we’d find Crow?”

The man who spoke was the largest of the trio gathered at the door, and seemed larger still for being swathed in a heavy coat and a furred cape of rough

manufacture. A furred hat he’d already removed, letting her see thick auburn hair shot with grey, and the evergreen hue of the woolen scarf wound round his neck matched his eyes.

Behind him stood a slightly smaller man, and one who was younger, too, but had red hair and shared enough facial features with the giant for her to image they were father and son. The third man, by far the smallest both in height and breadth of frame, wore clothes far more fashionable and decorated with bits of ribbon. He leaned on a stout walking stick.

All three of them wore masks and the markings proclaimed them to be Oriosans. Alyx feared for a second that Scrainwood might have sent them to kill Crow or steal his manuscript. Yet none of the men wore swords, and the long, thick, canvas-wrapped bundle slung over the youngest man’s back hardly seemed a threat. Still, she’d have swung the door shut in their faces and gone for her sword, save for the gasp from Crow.

“Kedyn be praised.” Crow’s voice shrank as thickness in his throat choked off his words.

The large man nodded, then looked down, almost embarrassed. “Been a long time, Hawkins.”

“Yes, a long time.” Crow left the table and thrust his hand at the giant. “I never thought I’d see you again, Naysmith Carver! Welcome; come in.”

Nay took Crow’s hand and shook it heartily, then the two men embraced, Crow almost disappearing in the other man’s grasp. Alyx took a step back, still surprised, for the Naysmith Carver she knew came only from stories Crow had told and the pages of his memoirs. To her Nay was still a youth, not a man of years with a son.

Looking past the Carvers, she smiled at the third man. “Shall I assume you are Rounce Playfair?”

Rounce, whose brown hair had retained its color save for white side locks, limped forward and took her hand in his. “And you would be Princess Alexia of Okrannel.” He kissed her hand. “An honor.”

She bowed her head. “The honor is mine. I understand that over the last quarter century, you have provided Crow with a great deal of aid, no matter the threat to you.”

The merchant shrugged as the younger Carver closed the door. “Fooling Scrainwood’s agents was not difficult. Those who were not stupid were smart enough to understand the value of a bribe.”

Nay released Crow and both men covertly swiped at tears. The larger man stepped aside, then grasped his son by the back of his neck and drew him forward. “This is Borell, the youngest. He’s been a big help.”

Crow shook hands with Borell, then introduced Alexia. Both of the Carvers mumbled greetings and started to genuflect, but she stopped them. It seemed to make them more uncomfortable when she began to gather chairs for them to sit; but she bled the tension off by sitting first, then bidding them to join her.

Crow smiled as he looked at Nay and Rounce. “How are you come here? ‘tVhat have you been doing? Tell me everything.”

Rounce laughed and unbuttoned his jacket. His left leg remained straight, and he leaned his cane against it. “I’ve given Resolute messages to pass along from time to time. Hasn’t he

?”

Nay snorted. “Would have been quicker to shout it into the wind than tell Resolute.”

Crow laughed. “I’m sure Resolute intended to pass all your messages on to me, but was waiting for an appropriate moment. A moment of ease or peace, when home news would be welcome.”

Alyx shot him a wry glance. “Is thereevera time with Resolute that would fit that description?”

“No, and apparently that is the problem.” He smiled at her, then again looked at Nay. “Last I knew, you returned to Valsina with Leigh.”

“Yes. He never got right in the head. He knew you saved him, and he loved you for it. But the loss of his father, your betraying the lot of them—that let him hate you. Scrainwood helped. Leigh took Nolda as his wife but wasn’t home much. Wasn’t ‘til the queen’s murder that he went full mad, though.”

Nay glanced left toward his son. “Maud Lamburn, you remember her, she married me. Five children, four lived. Her sister May lives with us too. She married about the same time as Maud. Her husband ran off after a year. Left her with a child. Smithing was good enough to support us all. Borell has worked with metal since being a child and is very good.”

Crow smiled. “I can see you have your mother’s eyes.”

“Thank you, sir.” The man’s voice came softly and clipped theyou.

The big man’s bushy brows arrowed together. “Where’s Tsamoc?”

“Your promise to him has been fulfilled. He kept me alive all these years and just a week past, he saved all of us at Vael. Leigh tried to bring a mountain down on us and the mightiest of the dragons. Tsamoc formed a great arch, holding the roof of their chamber up. He is more magnificent now than he was at the bridge, my friend.”

The smith thought for a moment, then nodded. “You’re without a sword again, are you, Hawkins?”

Crow laughed. “I am.”

Nay looked at his son and nodded. Borell picked up the parcel he’d carried, and with a murmured “Beg pardon,” hefted it onto the bed. As he began to undo the ties that bound it up tight, Nay began to speak.

“Before leaving Fortress Draconis, all the pieces of Temmer were gathered. The hilt came from you. No one wanted the other pieces, so they came back to Valsina. They got tucked away and there was no thinking on them for a while. Then the dreams started. Working away at the forge, someone would come up and say, ‘It’s time.’ He’d pick a piece of the sword out and we’d set to working.”

Nay’s green eyes glittered as they focused distantly. “Just like that they’d

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come. Odd lot, all, not sure why they were there. They’d just come, say it was time. There was no reforging Temmer. Failed more times than worth remembering. When they came, when they made their pick, they made a new blade around it. That worked.“

Borell threw back the last tie, then unrolled the parcel. It contained four swords, with two hilts toward the head of the bed and two toward the foot. Each had a scabbard and the hilts differed, with one looking much older than the others. As Alyx looked at them, she felt a desire to draw one. Her hand started forward, but she stopped and caught Nay looking at her.

“Forgive me, Master smith.”

“None needed. They’re fated blades. Borell can explain best.”

The young man glanced at his father and swallowed hard. His voice started small, but grew more confident as he hefted the first sword. “This was the first one. I weren’t but five years old when the wizard from Muroso comes to find my father.Hull, his name was. They made this sword. Itsname is Heart.”

He set Heart down and picked up another, the one with the oldest hilt. “This one came next. It’s got Temmer’s hilt. It was an elf helped make this one, an old elf who called himself Magarric. He said its name isAlarien, which I guess means ‘hand’ in Elfspeak.”

Crow nodded. “It means strong hand and protector. It’s a grand title among elves.”

“And this is a grand blade.” Borell smiled as he set it back down. “I watched as they made it, with all the sparks and magick. I got to help on the next one, when the urZrethi came to do his dream-bidding. He was called Bok.”

Alexia stiffed. “Bok? He’s green and furry?”

Nay nodded. “Very gentle and a mage of the first order.”

“Bok?” She glanced at Crow, then at Nay. “He didn’t have a red-robed mage with him, did he?”

“He came all alone.”

Borell nodded in agreement. “He didn’t say too much, but spoke proper. I had to gather special wood to burn for the forging, and other for making the hilt. I carved the pieces myself. He called this one Crown.”

The next sword he lifted differed from the others in that it was a bit longer and decidedly thinner. “This one is Eye. I had the same dream my father did five years ago. A woman mage named Arimtara came that time.” Borell fell silent and blushed.

“The boy was sweet on her.” Nay’s voice carried with it the indulgence of a father for a son’s youthful crush. “Something odd about her, though. Strong as she was beautiful. Could have done the forging with her magick alone save that she said Borell had to help. He did. They made Eye.”

Borell laid that blade down, then flipped open a small pocket that had been sewn into the canvas parcel. From it he drew a small, dagger-shaped amulet on a silver chain. “After the swords there was only one little piece left. Another

woman came, an old woman, must have been three years past. She was from Vilwan and helped shape this. She called it Spirit and said it wasn’t much of a sword, but she wasn’t much of a mage, so it would have to do.“

Rounce shifted in his chair. “Orla was the only one of these mages I happened to meet. I liked her, and was saddened to hear of her death.”

Crow nodded. “She was very special, and underestimated herself if she didn’t think she was much of a mage.”

The merchant sat forward and massaged his left knee. “Just over a month ago I learned you were in Meredo. I tried to convince Nay that we needed to go and help you, bring you these swords, but he refused.”

Nay shrugged. “Wasn’t time. Three weeks ago a dream came. You said about Tsamoc and the arch. That was the dream. Time to go was then. Rounce figured you would be here, so we set out.

“First time around Temmer was enough to cause Chytrine all sorts of hurting. Four times that and some, now.” His green eyes slitted. “They’re swords for heroes. Choose.”

Alexia drew back as he pointed at her. “These are your swords to give, Master Carver. You must have intended them for specific people.”

He smiled. “One was for Hawkins. Knew that all along. Thought one was for Resolute. That idea has faded. Thought one was for the Norrington, but not anymore.”

She started to tell him Will was dead, but the big man shook his head. “The dream.”

Alexia nodded, then looked at Crow. “Which is yours?”

The white-haired man smiled and reached for Alarien. As his hand closed on the hilt, what she had taken for old brass glowed golden. Crow stood and unsheathed the gleaming silver blade. Elvish writing, washed in gold, writhed its length, and seemed to shift and sway as if golden grass teased by spring breezes.

He turned to look at Nay, with tears running down his cheeks. “Temmer was autumn, and its breaking was winter. This is spring, with promises of summer.”

“Might have felt something like that in the forging.” Nay nodded solemnly. “Now you, Highness.”

She wanted to protest that she already had a sword, a very nice one, given to her by the urZrethi of Bokagul, but one of these blades called to her. It wasn’t the way asullanciriblade had called to her. She’d wielded the blade once used by Malarkex, and it was a foul thing. That sword had wanted her to be an agent of chaos and destruction. It wanted to use her, not be used by her.

She reached for the first sword, Heart, and the moment her hand closed over the leather-wrapped hilt, she knew it had been meant for her from the moment of its forging. Three and a half feet long, with a slight curve at the tip, Heart was both stout and light. Blood grooves ran the length from crossguard to six inches from the tip. There, both sides of the blade had been sharpened, allowing her to thrust as well as stab.

As swords went, Heart had been made by a master who knew both his craft and what would be demanded of the sword. Moreover, the magick in it bound the blade to her. It felt like a natural extension of her arm. She had no fear of its failing her. For as long as she lived, no other sword would she draw. That came to her in a flash, and the truth of it made her tremble.

She bowed her head to Nay. “Thank you.”

“The swords choose their own. It’s what is meant to be.” Nay stood and waved a hand at his son. “The others will find their masters.”

Crow rested a hand on Nay’s shoulder. “Prince Erlestoke should see the blades. He’s a hero.”

“Arrange it. Got the others all arranged, Borell?”

The young man slung the parcel over his back again. “All set.”

“Wait, you can’t go yet.”

Nay looked at Crow. “You’re an important man, though many don’t know. Won’t be taking up your time.”

“You’re not.” Crow frowned. “Nay, a week and a half ago—even though it seems like months now—I spoke with my brother, Sallitt, for the first time since Fortress Draconis. The fact that I let everyone think I was dead, and that I didn’t try to talk to my family, had hurt him. He thought I didn’t trust him. When my father took my mask, I did stop trusting my family, and that was wrong.

“Rounce knew who I was because I needed his help to search for the Norrington, and to make war on Chytrine. I trusted him with that secret and I would have trusted you, but I was afraid what would happen if Scrainwood found out.”

Nay shrugged. “You had your reasons.”

“But I waswrong. I am sorry if you hurt when you heard I was dead. I’m sorry if you hurt now, thinking I thought so little of you that I didn’t believe I could trust you.”

The large swordsmith shook his head and landed a hand on Crow’s shoulder that staggered him. “No tears were shed for you. Never believed suicide. When Crow tales started being sung, of Crow with Resolute, the truth was there. Fact is, youareimportant.”

“But what’s more important is spending time with friends.” Crow smiled. “You must stay here, for dinner at least. Scrainwood has Rounce’s estate, so you can’t go there.”

Rounce smiled. “He does have a point, Nay.”

“You always were the smart one, Hawkins.” Nay squeezed Crow’s shoulder and smiled. “We’ll stay. The wife would skin me for impolite if not.”

“Good, very good.” Crow smiled broadly. “We’ll all get caught up. It’ll be a long night, but with friends, it won’t be nearly long enough.”

Kerrigan remained wary of Rymramoch’s magick, but over the next three days he never found himself ambushed again. He’d not liked being tricked, and that he had been tricked so easily hurt his pride. He struggled with putting all that aside. He accomplished it when he drew two lessons from his disappointment.

The first thing he realized was that as much as Rym seemed to like him, and as much as he appeared to be human—even though he was but a puppet—he wasnothuman. Rymramoch and all of dragonkind had a focus in the matter of the DragonCrown that differed sharply from that of humanity. They wanted the Crown destroyed and their ancestors alive again when their Truestones were returned to them. Kerrigan could understand their goal and even applauded it, but knew its accomplishment was not the same as the defeat of Chytrine. Dragons would take the Crown from whoever offered it to them first.