The Heartstone Blade (The Dark Ability Book 2) (10 page)

Rsiran set the panel back down. As he did, he felt the pull of lorcith suddenly strong on his senses. Without waiting, he Slid away from the warehouse.

R
siran returned to the smithy
. Only after he’d returned did he realize that he still held the strange lump of metal. Cursing himself, he slipped it into his pocket. If he had more time, he would learn what it was. Maybe then he would understand why it had been hidden between the crates.

He looked around the smithy, but Jessa was gone.

Rsiran needed to find Brusus to fill him in on what they’d learned, and learn if he’d found anything from his sources in the palace. Too much had happened since they’d seen him, but it was growing clearer to Rsiran that it all tied together somehow. If only he could make the connection.

His mind still hadn’t slowed since returning from Ilphaesn. Studying the lantern helped, but didn’t put him at ease like working with the hammer would.

Deciding to take some time, he moved to the coals and began heating them to a red-hot glow. Once satisfied, he sorted through the remaining lumps of lorcith until he found one that called to him. He set it in the coals, letting it gradually heat to an orange glow. Lorcith could take more heat than most metals and had to be much hotter than even steel to work easily.

Then he set to work.

Rsiran began hammering the metal, flattening it. As he worked, he considered trying to influence the shape the lorcith took. So often when working with lorcith—and lorcith only—he listened to it and let the metal dictate what direction the forging took. This led to Brusus’s frustration that Rsiran did not make nearly enough of the knives that fetched so many coins. Now Rsiran wanted to make knives, but for a different reason. He needed something small enough to easily pocket.

The lorcith responded. As he worked, he split the metal, turning the single lump of lorcith into three separate pieces. He hammered each of them, slowly turning them into small knives that he flattened, slowly shaping. Before finishing, he worked his mark onto the end.

When they were finished and cooled, quenched in the bucket of stale water resting near the anvil, he lifted them. Compact and balanced, but unlike the other knives he’d made. They barely fit in his hand. These would not be marketable, but they suited his purposes, fitting nicely into his pocket.

With a push on the lorcith, he sent one of the knives flying across the room. It sank into the wooden wall plank with a loud thunk.

Rsiran pulled it back and felt some resistance as he did. When the knife came flying back to him, he slowed it and caught it out of the air. These knives would be useful.

After sharpening them on his grinding wheel, he pulled the other knives he had in his pocket and set them on his table, replacing them with the small knives he’d just forged. They did not weigh so heavily in his pocket. The others could be hidden throughout the city as anchors. If there was someone out there for him to fear, he needed to be prepared.

Like it so often did, working the forge had cleared his mind. He considered what they had seen, about the stores of lorcith on Firell’s ship. His own collection had diminished, and he had to address how he would obtain more. He could return to Ilphaesn late at night and mine the ore himself, but doing so would be risky. What if he took some from Firell?

The first person he worried about was Brusus. Would he mind Rsiran stealing from Firell? Brusus wanted more shaped lorcith items. Better to sell. While there was value to the unshaped lorcith, it was much more valuable when forged. And Brusus would likely have wanted Firell to bring the lorcith to him anyway.

And Firell? Rsiran didn’t know him as well as the others, but Firell had been nothing but kind to him. Would he really steal from a friend?

If he did, what did that make him?

Nothing more than the thief his father had always expected he would become. Sliding, the dark ability, but one that had saved him so many times. And what Rsiran had used it for had not been dark, at least not the way he saw it. Could saving Brusus be a dark ability? Could saving Jessa? How could the Great Watcher not want him to use his ability?

But he didn’t have to use it against his friends. First, he needed to understand why Firell had the lorcith. Then he could decide what to do. But doing that meant he would need to reach Firell. Too much delay and Firell would leave the city, travel up the coast to Asador, and whatever he intended to do with the lorcith would be complete.

But… he would have to reveal his ability to reach Firell. That was the only way he could think of reaching him. Given that everyone but Firell knew, it did not seem that much of a problem.

A loud knock on the door to the smithy startled him.

Rsiran Slid to the door, one hand resting on the hilt of the knife at his waist, ready to flick it toward whoever might be on the other side of the door. Jessa wouldn’t knock. Brusus might. And Haern? Haern never visited. Since the attack on the palace, Haern had been distant. Rsiran preferred it that way.

He hated the idea of a surprise, but the heavy knocking came again, shaking the door practically from its hinges.

“Damn, Rsiran. I do be knowing you’re there!”

Shael.

After what they’d seen on Firell’s ship, what they’d overheard, he wasn’t sure he wanted to talk to Shael. The smuggler likely wanted to see how much progress he’d made on the device, but Rsiran hadn’t done anything with it yet. Nor had he decided if he wanted to.

Rsiran twisted the lock and pulled the door open. Shael looked at him, his wide face and deep blue eyes mixed with amusement. He pushed through the door and slammed it closed.

“You do be a hard one to reach, Rsiran. I be seeing Brusus this morning and he be telling me you be here.”

He frowned. Why would Brusus have told Shael that he was in the smithy when Rsiran hadn’t seen Brusus in days? Maybe Jessa found Brusus?

“I was actually just leaving,” he told Shael.

Shael’s eyes darkened and his brow furrowed. He scrubbed a massive hand across his face. “So… can you be making the device for me, Rsiran? That be the purpose of my visit.”

Rsiran glanced over to the table where the sheet for the schematics lay folded up. He hadn’t given it much more thought since Shael’s first visit. “I haven’t had a chance to try—”

“I know you be thinking this is more than you be wanting to do, but I can pay you well. Those plans… they be valuable to the right person, you know.”

He didn’t, but Shael knew that too.

“Jus’ like the knives you be making for Brusus.” He smiled a wide smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You do be making such fine knives for Brusus. And I hear you be making a sword? I no see a lorcith sword in… well, not for a long time.”

Sweat suddenly slicked Rsiran’s palms. His heart thudded once. How did Shael know of the sword? Brusus wouldn’t talk of it, would he?

Rsiran shook his head. “No swords. And even the knives have been harder to make. Working with lorcith is difficult. The metal doesn’t always take the shape I want it.”

That last, at least, was true. But he wouldn’t share with Shael that he kept the sword in the smithy. That he felt it calling to him even as he stood across from Shael, the sense of the blade so finely attuned to him. Since its forging, he’d always been able to sense it well, more so than any of the other items he’d made. Rsiran did not understand why.

Shael leaned toward him. “Don’t be worrying about lorcith,” he said. “I do be able to find it for you now. Told you the last time you asked I couldn’t but found me a source, I did. So if that be your concern…”

Rsiran swallowed, afraid to say anything that might reveal he knew about Firell’s ship and the lorcith collected there. “That would help,” he said carefully. Having more lorcith, no matter how he acquired it, would help. At least then, he wouldn’t have to return to the mines, work in the dark, and try to free the lorcith. The idea of returning haunted him more than he cared to admit. And he wouldn’t have to steal from Firell.

And maybe Shael’s source was the same one that Firell shipped, but to where? Who other than the Elaeavn smiths could use lorcith?

Shael’s smile deepened and he stepped over to Rsiran and clapped him on the shoulder, nearly knocking him forward. Working with metal all these months, finally learning the secrets of forging, taking the lessons imparted by the lorcith, had changed more than just his skill. Rsiran had grown stronger too. But Shael still seemed to tower over him, easily able to overpower him.

“I be bringing a small supply to you tomorrow. Then you be working on my project.”

Rsiran glanced again at the schematic. “I’ll do what I can,” he started. “But—”

Shael shook his head. “But nothing. You be one of the best smiths I meet in Elaeavn. If you no be able to do it, then who?” Then he stepped out the door and pulled it closed with a loud thud.

Rsiran stood, staring at the door. His father might have been able to help, but he was gone. The shop shuttered. Generations of Lareth master smiths would end. Rsiran may be able to work with metal, but he would never have the same respectability that his family had known for years. And he’d always felt fine knowing that until seeing what had become of his father’s shop.

Now… now he didn’t know how he felt. Only that it felt empty and strange to see the place that he’d always expected to take over abandoned, left empty. Would it one day fall into the same level of disrepair as the smithy he now worked in?

Rsiran sighed.

He made his way to the table and pulled out the schematics, unfolding the parchment so he could examine it again. The diagram looked like nothing more than parts, and he had no idea how to piece it together. Without knowing how to follow a schematic like this, he would never be able to make what Shael wanted.

He sighed again. What would it have been like to truly work as an apprentice? What would it have been like for him to learn from his father—or other master smiths—rather than taking whatever lessons the lorcith provided? He didn’t deny that the lorcith had guided him well, as evidenced by his improved skills, but even the lorcith couldn’t teach him certain things.

And without knowledge, he’d always be a second-rate smith. Never able to become a master smith. That shouldn’t bother him, but it did. Did he really want to spend the rest of his days worrying about the guild discovering his unsanctioned smithy? Did he want to fear the Elvraeth learning how he worked with lorcith? But without an apprenticeship, he’d never be anything but what he was now.

That should be enough. He had Jessa. A sense of safety. A place where he felt at home and welcomed.

Why was it, then, that he felt something was missing?

R
siran checked
the knives in his pockets and looked over his smithy again. The unfolded parchment rested atop the table like a taunt, reminding him of how little he knew. He folded it back up so that it fit into his pocket. Maybe Brusus would understand how to read it. At least Brusus should know what Shael wanted from him.

At this time of day, he should be working. A forging of some kind—anything of value—that Brusus could move. And if Shael truly intended to supply him with lorcith, he didn’t need to fear running out of his supply. Yet, he didn’t feel like standing in front of the hot forge. Not that it wouldn’t relax him. He knew it would. But doing so would only remind him of what he’d become. And he didn’t know how he felt about it yet.

What else could he do? Search for Jessa? She could be anywhere in the city. Likely, she went prowling on one of her own tasks, something she wouldn’t tell him about. Though they shared a deep bond, he knew she had her secrets. For the most part, he didn’t mind.

And if not Jessa, then should he try to find Brusus? That man was more difficult to find than Jessa. Rsiran suspected he spent much of his day in Upper Town. At least, by the way he dressed, it seemed he did. Always decked out in some finery, heavily embroidered or with the perfect cut, almost as if he wanted to believe he didn’t truly live in Lower Town. Not that Rsiran could blame him.

But he would not find Brusus. And after Shael’s visit, he didn’t want to stay here. Besides, there was much he needed to find out, not the least of which was an answer as to why Firell smuggled lorcith. That, at least, was something he could do.

He should leave a message for Jessa, but decided the knives sitting out on the table would serve. Then he Slid.

It was late afternoon and the sun was starting to sink toward the horizon, leaving streaks of orange in the sky and just enough light to finish up the day’s tasks; the docks were flush with activity. A few shallow-keeled boats floated toward the docks. One was tied to the far dock. Men worked quickly, unloading buckets of fish that sloshed as they carried them. These would be carted to the Lower Town market, which would be a flurry of activity until late in the night.

A tall twin-masted ship was moored out in the bay. Rsiran recognized it as Firell’s ship, anchored in a different location from before. Would its new location make it more difficult to Slide to, or would the fact that he had been on the deck before ease that transition? Had he only left one of his forgings on the ship, he would have an easier time reaching it.

But he remembered there were forgings of his on the ship. How many knives had he sensed when he first reached the ship? And he had practiced feeling for his work. Standing atop Ilphaesn had given him plenty of practice listening for the tiny pull of his lorcith forgings.

As he focused, he felt the sword in his shop… the knives resting on the table nearby… the various other items left throughout Lower Town in the Barth or Brusus’s house… and at least two different knives. He could use that awareness to pull him, as he had when Sliding away from Ilphaesn earlier.

Rsiran hesitated before Sliding. Was he prepared to confront Firell about the lorcith on board his ship? Was he prepared to answer the questions he would get in return? Would he admit that he sensed lorcith? That secret, almost more than Sliding, seemed one worth keeping to himself. But how else would he explain his appearance on the ship? He could lie, say that he watched as Firell loaded the crates, and followed him onto the ship to confront him, but what would happen were Firell to catch him lying?

He didn’t know. Had Jessa been with him, she might have an answer. But if Jessa had been with him, he doubted she would let him even attempt this. Not after what they had been through today.

There were answers they needed. Waiting did nothing other than put everyone at more risk. How long before one of the Elvraeth came after them—if they weren’t after them already? Rsiran needed to find out what Firell intended to do with the ore.

Grabbing hold of the sense of lorcith on the ship, he Slid.

He emerged in the cargo hold. No light made it into the hold, leaving him standing in near darkness. All around came the sense of lorcith, both from forgings he had made and from the crates lining the walls. The ship rocked under his feet, and he struggled to stay with it. A wave slapped against the ship and sent him flying.

Rsiran had the sense of being back in the mines. Standing in the dark like this made him feel that way. These were times when he wished for Jessa’s gift. Sight had so many uses.

Sliding was useful, too, but in a different way. And he could not deny the fact that he used the attachment to the lorcith, but that seemed different to him somehow, not the same as his ability to Slide. Using that gift did not require the same amount of energy. Sensing lorcith never fatigued him like Sliding did.

Or used to. How many times had he Slid today? Multiple times while making his way around Ilphaesn, and each of those with Jessa in tow. And then to the warehouse and back. Now to the ship. The only time he’d really felt exhausted had been returning to the smithy from Ilphaesn after nearly failing the Slide. Had his energy improved so much? Or was he so accustomed to Sliding with Jessa that when he traveled alone, he didn’t feel the same strain?

Now he only felt mild effects from the Sliding he’d done today. He knew he could return to shore easily if he needed to.

Another wave sent him skittering across the floor. Catching himself on one of the crates, he wished he had thought to bring the lantern. At least then, he would have been able to see what Jessa had seen in the hold. Instead, he was left with the image the lorcith created in his mind and the song he heard. With as much as the ship held, he had the sense of light all around him from it.

Rsiran tried to orient himself to find the door. Strangely, it was the lorcith that let him find what he needed. Listening to the lorcith, he recognized a space where there was nothing. He made his way slowly to that spot, walking rather than Sliding. Without seeing exactly where he wanted to go, he didn’t want to risk himself. Again. Already he had taken more risks today than he should have.

When he reached the door, he twisted the handle slowly, opened the door just a crack, and peeked out into the hall. No lanterns burned, but some of the fading daylight came down the stairs to the hall, giving him enough light to nearly see.

He crept down the passageway. He shouldn’t need to hide—especially if he planned to announce his presence to Firell—but he wanted to make sure he was alone first. And Rsiran hadn’t seen the others Firell worked with for some time. Were they even still with him? Once, when he first met Brusus, they had come to the Barth and diced, but since then, they hadn’t returned. Likely as not, that meant nothing. But what if they learned Firell was smuggling something they weren’t comfortable with?

Rsiran shook the worry from his mind as he reached the stairs. But as he did, the sound of voices came from behind him.

He frowned. There hadn’t been anyone there before. He remembered two other doors along the hall when he had come with Jessa, but nothing more than that. Perhaps they were sleeping quarters?

That meant Firell, if here, would not be alone.

He debated simply returning to shore. Last time he’d been here, Shael had been with him, but Shael couldn’t have beaten him to the ship.

Moving carefully, he paused at the first door. Not here. At the next door, voices drifted out, slightly muffled by the door but loud enough that he could hear.

“You should not be here.”

This from Firell. He seemed agitated.

“And yet here I am.”

He didn’t recognize this voice, but something about it sounded familiar.

“Why? Why have you come to me here on my ship?”

Soft laughter. “Your ship? Like so many others, you think yourself so in control.”

Something pounded angrily, like a fist on wood. “Damn you, this is my ship. You might be able to twist me into your plans, but do not think I am powerless against you.”

More soft laughter. Then another loud thump. This time, a soft grunt followed. “And do not think I fear what you can do, smuggler.”

Rsiran should leave. He knew he should leave, but if Firell was in trouble… Besides, he needed to know why Firell had the lorcith. If he could learn that by simply listening, then he wouldn’t have to reveal that he can Slide.

“Have at it, then.” Firell spoke with a tight strain, and his voice turned slightly high pitched. “But if you do this, then you will have to find another to replace me. You will struggle to find a ship as capable as the Winding Sails.”

“You think I wouldn’t take your ship?”

“You think I would leave it for you?”

For a moment, neither man spoke. Rsiran worried they would step into the hall—and then he would have no choice but to Slide away—but neither did.

“You can still be useful.”

“What is it you want from me? We are almost finished loading your cargo. Then I will sail for Asador, as you’ve directed.”

“Yes, Asador this time. And then next will be Thyr.”

“Do you know how much trouble I have getting this onto my ship? And each time you send more and more.”

“I have more working now. Your job is to move it for me. This is something even I cannot do.”

“And I have told you how difficult it is to move. Each one has to be loaded individually before it can be brought here. That takes time! Already I’ve been in port much long than I prefer. How much longer do I risk being caught by the constables?”

“They will not bother you.”

Firell laughed bitterly. “Of course they won’t. And that doesn’t draw attention either?”

“I have told you before that I do not care about your troubles. You know the terms.”

“If my ship is torn apart carrying your supplies, your terms won’t do you a damn bit of good, will they?”

The other man laughed softly. “Then you had best use more caution. I thought you claimed you were the most skilled smuggler out of Elaeavn.”

“You have ensured that I am practically the only smuggler out of Elaeavn. That is why you used me.”

“That is not the only reason.”

“No. That is not,” Firell agreed. “He is better connected than you know. How long do you think you can keep this from him?”

Another laugh. “I only need to keep it from him a little longer. After that… well, then I will be ready.”

“Ready for what?”

The other voice laughed softly but didn’t answer.

A chair scooted back and slammed into the wall. “And after this is over? Then you will return her?”

“Only then.”

“Unharmed?”

“You should focus on your task before worrying about your payment.”

“Damn you!”

“Can’t you tell? I have already been damned. Now—don’t make me return here again.”

The soft sound of something scraping across wood filtered through the door before fading. Then he heard Firell whisper. “You were supposed to be dead.”

After what he heard, Rsiran didn’t wait to see Firell’s uninvited visitor. He Slid away.