The Heartstone Blade (The Dark Ability Book 2) (23 page)

The one word said it all.

“I will bring her back. He will not take another of us. After that, you’ll tell me everything about what you’ve pulled us into.”

Brusus breathed heavily before finally nodding.

R
siran hid
the sword within the lumps of lorcith in the smithy. If Josun were determined to take it again, it wouldn’t matter where else he hid it. But not knowing where he might find Firell, he wanted to ensure he knew the sword’s location in case he needed an anchor to return. Then he Slid away from the smithy.

He emerged standing on the rocky shores. Thick clouds filled the night sky, swirls of pale yellow from the obscured moon making them shadows overhead. Waves splashed around him, the sound chaotic and unsettling. The rocks felt slick beneath his boots. At least here, near the shore, he felt better connected to the water. Hopefully, he would be able to reach out his senses far enough to find Firell.

Rsiran closed his eyes. Doing so was not necessary, but the darkness seemed to increase his sensitivity to the lorcith. All around him were forgings he’d made. Knives and bowls and even the spoon Haern preferred to keep for himself. But farther came other senses. The call of the lorcith in the smithy, that hidden in the trunk at Brusus’s home, and even the softer sense of lorcith from far to the north. If he let it, Ilphaesn would practically fill his senses.

He pushed them all away.

Had he not had to search for the sword in Asador, had he not learned how to ignore the sense of lorcith, he might not have been able to do what he needed.

Distant senses of lorcith pulled on him. Some he recognized, like the knives far to the north. Likely Asador, but they could easily be in Thyr as well. The unshaped lorcith, familiar only because he’d held it. Even the muted sound of the alloy. Everything he’d touched before called back to him.

Rsiran pushed it all away, stuffing it into the deep recesses of his mind.

Beyond that, out and away from him, came the call of lorcith. First as a soft tickle, just at the edge of his awareness, like a pinprick of light mixed with a soft familiar call.

Not knowing what he’d done, Rsiran latched onto it. The sense came to him more fully, as if dragged across a great distance. For the briefest of moments, he let himself hope that he felt the lorcith charm Jessa wore. But then he felt more lorcith with it, unforged and with a different call.

That would not be Jessa.

He pushed away the twinge of hope. It did no good, not with what he needed. Or with what might be necessary.

And what he planned was risky. Della had been right about that.

For Jessa, he would take any risk.

Opening his eyes and clinging to the lorcith, he Slid.

Distance blurred past him. Sounds and colors mixed with the familiar bitter scent of the Slide. And then he emerged.

At once, he knew he stood in the hold on Firell’s ship.

Waves rocked against the ship, sending him sliding across the slick deck of the hold, crashing painfully against one wall. Rsiran bit back a cry of pain and held onto his shoulder, wincing.

Again there was no light in the hold, and he felt a moment of fear at the darkness. But he had known the dark, and here in the hold, it was not dark, not like he’d known. All around him came the awareness of lorcith.

As before, he used this to know where he stood, feeling for the void in the darkness where no lorcith existed to find the door.

When he reached it, he flexed his injured arm. Nothing appeared broken, but it throbbed with a steady pain. This kind of pain he could tolerate. And strangely, pain in the darkness like this felt familiar to him. At least he had not been poisoned as he had in the mines.

Rsiran checked his knives. Three and each small, meant for pushing rather than throwing. Other knives were stacked inside some of the crates. He thought for a moment about grabbing those, before deciding against it. He would not harm Firell unless he had to. All he wanted was answers.

And then he would Slide away—hopefully, to Jessa.

The cold metal doorknob slipped beneath his hand. Rsiran turned it, prepared for whoever might be out in the hall.

Lantern light streamed through the cracked door. A single orange lantern hung along the wall, the same kind as found in the mines. The steady light brought back unwelcome memories. His heart fluttered, and a surge of anxiety twisted his stomach.

He needed to control those emotions to help Jessa.

He stepped into the hall. The ship rocked under him and he swayed with it. One hand trailed along the smooth wooden wall to keep balance. At the first door, he paused, listening for any voices. Unlike the last time he’d been aboard the ship, he heard nothing.

He continued onward and stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

Lantern light behind him made it difficult to see out into the darkness. The ship creaked and someone clomped across the deck. Wind snapped against the sails, whistling loudly. Soft patters of rain or spray splashed down the stairs. Rsiran tensed, considering Sliding onto the deck before deciding against it.

He started up the stairs, taking each step carefully. The second step creaked loudly, and he froze. For a moment, he thought he heard someone coming. But then nothing more.

By the time he reached the top of the stairs, tension made his shoulders ache. The last time he’d been on the main deck had been with Jessa. Then, lines had been coiled against the rails. Sails were rolled and tucked. Wooden planks underfoot had been dry.

Now the lines were pulled taught as wind filled the sails. The ship swayed more violently here, and Rsiran struggled to keep his feet. Rain splashed down, striking his face like sharp needles.

Footsteps hurried across the deck. Rsiran crouched in the shadows, hoping to stay hidden. One of Firell’s sailors, a man named Tagas who he’d met before, grabbed a coil of line and threw it over his shoulder before hurrying out of view again.

Rsiran didn’t know anything about sailing. How many men would be on the ship? Firell certainly. And Tagas. But who else did he sail with? How many others would he find?

“What is this?”

Rsiran stiffened as the voice boomed behind him.

He turned, prepared to either Slide or push his knives, whatever it took to escape if needed. Firell stood at the bottom of the stairs. Shadows obscured his usually affable face. Deep green eyes flickered. His hand slipped to the knife at his waist.

One of Rsiran’s.

Footsteps thundered across the deck of the ship. Toward him. Tagas had heard.

Without waiting, Rsiran pulled on the knife. It jerked free and flew across the distance. Rsiran grabbed it out of the air.

He Slid to the bottom step and grabbed Firell, turning him toward the knife.

Firell watched him with less uncertainty than Rsiran expected, especially after he’d just demonstrated rare abilities.

Rsiran pointed the knife toward Firell and glanced up the stairs. Tagas looked down, watching with a tight expression. Firell shook his head and Tagas disappeared.

“Brusus send you after realizing that crate on the dock was mine?” Firell asked. Somehow he didn’t seem surprised to see him.

It wasn’t the question he’d expected. Firell didn’t seem surprised. “No. He didn’t want me to come.”

Firell pointed down the hall. “Might as well put that knife down. I’m not going to hurt you.”

His voice seemed so different than the Firell he’d known. “I don’t think you can. And I have questions.”

“Of course you do. That’s why you’re here. But we can at least sit and share a mug of ale while we talk.” Firell didn’t wait for his answer. He started down the hall, pausing briefly at the door of the room where Rsiran had overheard him the last time. “Come on. Rain is picking up. You don’t want to be out there when it really starts. No sea legs. Might get nasty. Ale will help calm your stomach.”

As he said it, the ship swayed again, throwing Rsiran against the wall. A tight smile crossed Firell’s lips.

Rsiran made his way down the hall after him and entered the room on edge.

He needn’t be. Firell stood with his back to him, facing a long table. A low bunk rested against the far wall. A small trunk rested on top of the table, and Firell twisted, showing him a small flagon before pouring it into a metal cup. The room stunk of faded perfume and bitter ash.

Rsiran shook his head. He had not come to drink.

“Go on. Ask your questions. Then it’ll be my turn.”

After closing the door—he didn’t need Tagas or one of the others surprising him—he moved toward the bed. “Why do you have lorcith? Are you working for Josun? For his—” he almost said rebellion, but he knew that wasn’t right anymore “—for the Forgotten?”

Firell took a long swig of ale before answering. “The lorcith was the job, Rsiran. Some of it went into town like that crate Lianna saw. The rest goes out. Didn’t Brusus take enough for you to use?” When Rsiran hesitated answering, Firell laughed. “I know Brusus was here. Not much happens on my ship that I don’t know about.”

He said it so off handedly that Rsiran almost missed it. But he recognized the implications. Firell knew that they’d been to his ship. “I know about the lorcith. That you have some of my work that Brusus hadn’t asked you to move. Where did you get it?”

Firell laughed again. “That girl of yours isn’t the only one who can sneak.”

“You?”

He shook his head. “Not my gift,” he said, but he didn’t elaborate more.

Shael, then. The man had proven capable of sneaking into the smithy, so why wouldn’t he have been the one to take some of Rsiran’s forgings? “You didn’t answer the second questions. Who asked you to gather lorcith?”

Firell’s eyes tightened. He took another drink of ale and refilled the mug. “So many questions. Don’t I get to ask any?”

“No.”

Firell looked at the knife Rsiran still held out toward him. His eyes danced dangerously. “Fair enough. For now. But I’ll have answers before you leave.”

Rsiran didn’t intend to stay on Firell’s ship long enough to answer his questions, but he didn’t argue. “Who has you gathering lorcith from the mines?”

Firell studied him, his eyes flickering a deeper green for a moment. “I see you already seem to know.”

Rsiran tensed. Did Firell Read him? He hadn’t worked out his ability yet. He should have asked Brusus. Likely he’d know. But the lorcith-fortified mental barrier he managed to keep in his mind kept most Readers out. All except Della, and he began to think her abilities were somehow different from most.

But no. There had been no sense of someone trying to crawl through his mind. He’d met delicate Readers—Della Read him without him knowing—but that wasn’t it.

If not a Reader, what did that make him?

“I heard you talking to someone on your ship,” Rsiran admitted. “Warning you to continue with your job.”

His eyes flicked past Rsiran and toward the door. “You were here.”

At least Firell hadn’t known that he had been on the ship a second time. Perhaps he didn’t know everything that happened on his ship as he claimed. “I was here.”

Did it matter if Firell admitted that Josun had him smuggling lorcith? Rsiran already knew Josun was the reason Jessa went missing. He needed Firell to help find him.

“Then you know I don’t have much of a choice, don’t you?” Firell asked.

“He took someone you care about, didn’t he?” Rsiran asked again. He finally lowered the knife. If Firell came at him, Rsiran would have to push the ones from his pocket. He hoped it didn’t come to that. “Or did you do this only for money?”

Firell took another drink of ale. Something in his voice changed. “If you overheard him, you already know. Don’t play the fool, Rsiran. It does not suit you.”

The comment reminded him of one Della had made. Just like that one, he ignored it. “You have lorcith you are getting from the mines. More than the city has seen in quite some time. Why does Josun have you taking lorcith
away
from the city?”

Firell refilled his mug. Then he set down the flagon of ale, pulled the sole chair in the room out from the corner, and sat, lounging with his legs kicked out. He sighed deeply. “I wondered at that for a long time. Couldn’t understand why he’d want the ore taken away from the city. After all, not many who know how to work with it.” He nodded toward Rsiran and tipped his mug. “Though to be honest, I didn’t really know who I worked for.” Firell shook his head, and Rsiran frowned at him. “Don’t look at me like that. In my line of work, that’s not uncommon. You ever ask who Brusus be sending those knives of yours off to?”

He hadn’t. Not as he should have been, especially when the demand continued to increase. Now that he knew about the Forgotten Elvraeth, he wondered what questions he should have been asking.

Rsiran sank onto the only other surface available—the bed. “When did you learn who it was?”

Firell sighed again. “I been working this job for months. Taking crates of lorcith away. Asador. Nheal. Cort. Thyr. Valen.” He tapped his fingers as he named the cities. “I sailed where I was paid. And he paid well.
They
paid well. Shael made certain of that.”

Rsiran frowned. Shael set up the job. But if that was the case, then it meant Shael knew from the beginning about the lorcith. Was that how Josun learned of him, or was it really only the meeting in the warehouse?

“Didn’t know ’bout Shael?” Firell said. “Don’t feel bad. Don’t think Brusus knows, either. That’s sort of how Shael likes it. Works all angles, you see, and each side pays. Took me a long time to learn. And that’s what makes him dangerous.”

As he said it, the door to the room burst open.

Shael stepped inside, his massive form filling the doorway. Whatever had once seemed friendly about his face had disappeared. Water or sweat stained his bright yellow shirt and plastered down his thick beard.

He lunged for Rsiran, faster than he should have been able to move. In that instant, he slapped a thick chain around Rsiran’s wrist, and it closed with a click. He held Rsiran by the wrist, gripping him with a strength that reminded him of the time Haern had tried to kill him.

Just like then, Rsiran tried to Slide, tried to pull Shael with him, but could not.

Shael’s other hand swung around and struck Rsiran on the side of the head, and he crumpled to the ground.