The Shadowsteel Forge (The Dark Ability Book 5) (3 page)

Before he left, Brusus squeezed Rsiran’s shoulder. Rsiran considered his friend, wondering what he intended by offering Alyse a job.

Brusus leaned in and whispered to him. “This way, you won’t have to spend so much of your time chasing her. Trust me, Rsiran. This will be good for you too.”

He looked over to his sister, bruised and beaten, a different person than she had been when they shared a house with their parents. She blamed him for much of it, but the fault was not on him. Brusus was right, though. This way, he knew that she would be safe, and he could focus on what else might come at them.

I
n the light of day
, Rsiran found the faint blood trail along the street more easily.

He hated returning here without Jessa, but he wasn’t about to bring her to the place where his sister was attacked without knowing what he might have missed. Alyse claimed she’d been attacked regularly, but the man who had taken her had not seemed like a typical attacker in Elaeavn.

Then again, there weren’t typical attackers in Elaeavn. The city had its share of minor crimes. Theft and other things that Rsiran had been a part of, but physical violence was uncommon. Partly because the constables—men and women he now knew to be guild members—kept the city under reasonable control, but partly because there was a certain code of conduct most in this part of the city lived by.

An older couple pushed past him, weaving around where Rsiran knelt over the stones, eyeing the trail of blood. Thankfully, there hadn’t been any rain overnight to wash it away, but the heavy clouds overhead and the sticky humidity told him that wouldn’t last long.

He followed the blood trail as it weaved through the street. After they’d escaped, Rsiran should have returned alone to find out what the man had wanted. It would have been easier to question him alone, when he didn’t have to worry about his sister or Jessa getting injured. Now all he had was the blood to follow.

Maybe he
should
have asked Jessa to come along with him. At least with her, he’d have her Sight, and would be able to follow it more easily. Tracking it this way required him to almost crawl in certain places. It looked strange enough for him to be crouching on the street, but when he got down on his hands and knees to track, he looked even more ridiculous.

When he lost the trail, Rsiran searched toward the docks. Going farther into Lower Town seemed the most likely. The man had the look of a seaman, and from there, he could have slipped onto one of the ships leaving port, and gone anywhere. Jessa had noted that he was not of Elaeavn. If he intended to abduct Alyse, going to sea would have been the easiest way out of the city.

He found nothing that indicated that he had gone this way.

Up the street?

Rsiran’s gaze turned toward the Floating Palace. In this part of Lower Town, the illusion didn’t hold quite as well as it did other places, but parts of the palace still seemed to float, stretching off the rock high above him. Blue lights glowed in a few windows. Once he would have been impressed by the lanterns there. Still was, he supposed. But now, he understood how the lanterns worked, and that it was heartstone generating the blue light. Strange that he’d broken into the palace twice, and now, working with the alchemists, he could move unfettered beneath the palace.

He found the trail again and followed it up the street, as if toward the palace.

That made no sense. Why would the man have been moving
up
the street and toward the palace? He wouldn’t have been able to leave the city from there, at least not easily, and not without passing through the Aisl Forest, taking a road that was considered one of the more dangerous ways from the city.

The forest provided protection to Elaeavn, but also isolated the city. The Elvraeth never seemed to mind that isolation, but now, Rsiran wondered if that had more to do with the fact that some—likely the council and the guildlords—knew about the Forgotten and their organization, as well as Venass. Having the protection of the forest was another layer that prevented access to the city.

He continued along the street, following the trail of blood. It began to space out, making it more difficult for him to follow, and he wondered if the man had paused long enough to bandage his wounds. Rsiran’s knives had cut him a few times, but apparently, not badly enough to stop him.

“Why are you staring at the ground?”

Rsiran looked up to see Sarah standing along the edge of the road. He hadn’t realized it, but he neared the middle section of the city, with Upper Town not far from him. The guild houses were in Upper Town, but he had grown up in this part of the city, and his father’s old smithy was still here, empty now.

“Nothing,” Rsiran said. He hadn’t seen Sarah much since their attack on the Forgotten, and then learning about his family history. Mostly, that was his choice. He didn’t like the way that Sarah had looked at him, questions in her eyes when she did, as if she wanted to study him. In some ways, she made him feel no different than he had when captured by Venass.

“Nothing? Not even the blood that you seem to be following?” She skipped across the street and tapped the most recent streak with her toe. “I thought it might be yours, but it’s dry. It looks like you’re following someone.” She met his eyes and smiled. “Almost like a wolf tracking a wounded animal.”

He considered denying what he was doing, but that wouldn’t help when Sarah simply followed him. Sliding might take him away from her, and he’d proven that he could mask his Slides, even from her, but he couldn’t avoid the guilds forever. Now that they knew about him—and he had helped them—it seemed unlikely that he would be able to avoid them altogether.

“There was an attack last night,” he started. “My sister.”

Sarah’s mouth tightened into a concerned frown. “Why would your sister be attacked?”

Rsiran shook his head. “She claims that she suffered regular attacks before you captured her.”

Sarah crossed her arms over her chest and tossed her dark hair over her shoulder. “Your sister was never held prisoner. She was a guest—”

“Who wasn’t allowed to leave.”

“—while we searched for you. After everything that you have learned, you have to understand that.”

Rsiran sniffed. “I understand that your father was willing to take my sister hostage to get me to do what he wanted. I know that he shared only what he needed to share to coax me into doing what he thought was necessary. That’s not so different from what Venass attempted.”

Her eyes widened. “Careful using that name around here,” she warned. “There are some who know what it means, probably working for them, and if they overhear…”

“If there are any Listeners around, they wouldn’t have to strain too hard to hear someone talking about that place.” Not with the way the guilds searched for information. He once had thought them subtle, but now, they seemed anything but subtle. “Anyway, do you really think there’s anything to worry about here? They haven’t attacked Elaeavn.”

“Yet.” Sarah stepped toward him, and her eyes darted up and down the street before returning to him. “There is movement, but we don’t know what it means. And since the attack on the Forgotten, the guilds haven’t exactly been getting along.”

“Why is that?”

“Father thinks to lead, but with what happened to the smiths… and almost happened to the miners…”

Rsiran waited, expecting her to say more, but she didn’t. “What kind of movement?”

Sarah shook her head. “This isn’t the best place to be having this conversation. Father intended to call you to the,” she lowered her voice even more, “to the Guild Hall, but wanted to have more information before he did.”

“Why would he be calling me?”

Sarah stepped away and sniffed. “Because you can help. Don’t you
want
to help? Elaeavn needs your abilities. I think you’ve proven that already.”

Elaeavn might want and need his abilities, but Rsiran wasn’t entirely certain that he wanted to help Elaeavn. What had he ever received from the city?

“Lareth, you might be the key to understanding what
they
want. Do you really intend to refuse to help the guild?”

“I’m not refusing,” he said. “I’ve shown that I’ll do what’s needed to keep my friends safe.”

Sarah shook her head. “But you won’t help the guilds.”

“I don’t know that there’s anything I can do that would help the guilds, not if Venass is involved.”

“I hadn’t thought that you were a fool. But maybe I was wrong. If you think that you can hide from what’s coming, and that you won’t have a role to play in it even if you don’t want to.... The Great Watcher has called you into this whether you like it or not.”

She turned away, leaving him on the street without giving him the opportunity to respond.

Rsiran stared after her before returning his attention to the trail of blood. As he followed it, making his way up the street, he wondered if she was right. What if the Great Watcher
had
pulled him into this fight? He’d been granted access to the crystals, so hadn’t that called him? And if so, could he refuse then?

He pushed the question to the back of his mind, deciding to think on it later.

For now, he wanted to know about the more immediate threat. Not to him, but to his sister. And maybe to him. Regardless of what she claimed, there was something off about the man who attacked her, something that seemed to be about more than … whatever it was that Alyse had been doing. Rsiran didn’t want to think about what that might have been, what had changed Alyse and stolen her confidence.

The blood trail veered off the street, leaving the city as it went into a grassy area that stretched into the forest.

Rsiran had worried that Alyse’s attacker might have gone into Upper Town to hide, but that didn’t seem to be the case at all. Instead, the massive man had gone into the forest, as if leaving Elaeavn. But where would he go from there? There was no road, nothing but more trees and the forest.

Rsiran hesitated a moment, knowing what Jessa would say if she knew what he was about to do, and then started into the forest.

Oaks and elm trees rose at the edge of the forest, not the massive sjihn trees that grew deeper into the woods. The sjihn and the Aisl had once been the home of their people, long before they had moved to the city and built along the shore. Rsiran had spent enough time in the forest as a child, wandering near the heart of the forest with his mother, to know that there was a certain quiet to the forest, a weight that seemed to fill the air, in the place his people once had lived.

Once in the forest, Rsiran wasn’t able to pick up the trail. He moved deeper into the trees, but then began to wonder what he was doing. Even if he found the trail, how far did he intend to follow it?

He almost turned back, but there came a sound from deeper in the forest, and he started forward again. As he did, he Slid, moving a few steps at a time. The next Slide took him deep into the forest, where the canopy stretched high overhead, blocking out the sunlight. The air changed here, and cooled, losing the humidity. He shivered briefly and listened for lorcith, but didn’t detect any other than what he carried. He switched his focus to heartstone and heard nothing at first.

There came a soft echo.

Rsiran paused and listened. Lorcith, but why hadn’t he detected it before?

He walked carefully, weaving around the trees as he made his way deeper into the forest. Some of the underbrush grabbed at his ankles as he walked, and he had to kick himself free.

The ground through here had been trampled. Either the man he sought or others had definitely been through here. But why the forest? What was here that would have drawn him in?

And where had he gone?

A distant sense of lorcith seemed to flicker to the far north.

Rsiran froze. There was only one way that lorcith would do that, and it meant someone else in the forest with him could Slide.

L
istening for the lorcith
, Rsiran focused on it, waiting for it to next appear. When it did, he
pulled
himself into a Slide, drawing toward the lorcith.

It was foolish of him to do this. He knew that, but still couldn’t help himself. He wanted to know.

The Slide took him beyond the edge of the forest. The snow-capped peak of Ilphaesn rose to the north, but also to the west. He’d never been here before, and should have been more careful Sliding, especially without knowing where he’d emerge.

When he did, he readied his knives, prepared to
push
them if needed.

He saw nothing.

Rsiran closed his eyes and focused on the lorcith that he’d detected. There was a signature to it. All he had to do was find it. When it flickered into existence again, it was again far from him.

Anchoring to the sense of the lorcith, he
pulled
himself again.

This time, he emerged and saw a massive city rising to the east. Walls of gray stone encircled it. Buildings rose over the tops of the walls, with a central palace visible from the hillside he stood upon. A wide road led into the city, passing beneath a gate, and dozens of people moved in and out of the city. He searched for Ilphaesn, thinking that the mountain would help his bearings, but he didn’t see it. And he heard no sound of the sea crashing against the shore, nothing that implied that he was near the ocean.

This wasn’t Asador. And not Thyr. What city was it?

He should return rather than continue to chase the Slider as he jumped from place to place, but whoever it was
had
been in the forest. Rsiran was certain of that. He wouldn’t have been able to detect the lorcith otherwise.

Listening again for the lorcith, when it flickered back into existence, he
pulled
without waiting, this time, emerging from the Slide standing in a wide grassy plain. Another city rose in the distance, but different from the last. No wall surrounded this city. He saw no sign of people within it. But he detected lorcith.

Not the flash of lorcith that he’d detected before, but more than that. Some had a familiarity to it, likely from his forgings. He would have to get closer to know for sure, but from here, it seemed to be the case. There was the strange, soft music of unshaped lorcith within the city as well. Once he had thought that unshaped lorcith was rare, but seeing the collection in Asador, and Venass, he knew that the metal was not as rare as he once believed. How many knew of the potential trapped within lorcith? Venass knew, and the guilds, but how many others were privy to that?

He waited, listening for the lorcith that he’d heard before. With the other lorcith in the city competing for his attention, finding it was more difficult than it had been. Then it flickered. When it reappeared, it remained in the city.

Rsiran
pulled
himself into a Slide, moving toward the source of lorcith.

This time, he emerged at the edge of a busy square.

He backed toward a nearby building, afraid that his sudden appearance would draw the attention of the crowd in the square, but no one seemed to notice him. This was a market, Rsiran realized, much like the market in Lower Town. People wandered past booths and tables where hawkers called to passersby, trying to coax them to come to their booth. Others shouted, yelling to people nearby. Smells assaulted him, sweet and sour and thick and
different
. A mangy dog streaked past, and a trio of children chased after it. Everything had an energy to it that pulled him forward.

As much as he was interested in what he might find here, he had come because of the sense of lorcith that he’d detected. He focused on it, listening for the song, and heard it clearly.

He started away from the wall and into the crowd. A few people pushed against him, but most seemed not to pay him any mind. Rsiran almost
pulled
himself toward the lorcith again, but decided not to. He considered
pulling
it to him, but that was dangerous as well, especially not yet knowing what he might find here.

At the nearest table, he saw a collection of vegetables. Rsiran moved on. A few more food stands were next, and then he passed one with silks and fabrics of all colors. He’d seen something similar in the crates within the warehouse. Rsiran resisted the temptation to make his way to the booth and touch the fabrics. All looked more exquisite than the simple wool that he wore, which was still finer than anything he had owned growing up.

A few tables held pottery and ceramics, some painted with amazing skill. He passed a few other stands before reaching one where the lorcith
pulled
on him. This was a metalsmith stand. On it, he saw a few pots, some jewelry, and then a few knives. Three of the knives were lorcith, and forged by his hand. Next to the knives was another lorcith forging, this in the shape of a star, nothing but decoration. This was the lorcith that he detected.

“You there,” a small man shouted. “You’re eyeing my collection?”

Rsiran took a step toward the booth and picked up one of the lorcith knives. Holding it, he could hear the way the metal sang to him. He ran his finger over his mark at the base of the knife. Like all of the knives that he’d made, he had placed his mark on it, one that could not be traced back to him.

“Ah, I see you’ve found the mark of the smith. As you might know, these are highly valued for the level of skill required to forge such a knife. Not many smiths are able to demonstrate this type of detail. Do you see the way the metal creases?” he asked.

Rsiran didn’t need to
see
the way the metal folded. He could
feel
it. Then again, as he had been the one who made the knife, he remembered the way his hammer had felt as he worked the heated blade, bending and folding the lorcith as it took shape.

“I see,” Rsiran said.

The man looked up and noted Rsiran’s eyes and nodded. Did he recognize that he was from Elaeavn? When he’d been in Thyr, and attacked, his attackers had recognized his heritage. Not only his, but Jessa’s, and had intended to use that to sell her off for more money to a slaver.

“Yes, I’m sure you do,” the man said. He held his hand out and waited until Rsiran handed the knife back. “These are pricey, though. Not able to see too many of this quality, and certainly not here in Cort.”

Cort. Before returning to Elaeavn, Jessa had once lived in Cort.

At least now, Rsiran knew where he was. Firell brought his ship through Cort, so that could have been how his knives ended up here. Cort was beyond even Eban, situated along the wide Thyrass River, near the eastern Vayan Mountain range. Beyond the mountains, Rsiran didn’t know what he’d find. With his ability to Slide, he
could
Slide beyond the mountains, but he’d risk himself in an attempt like that.

“You’re probably right,” Rsiran said. “How much do you want for it?”

The hawker’s eyes took on a bright gleam, as if he’d hooked Rsiran. “You appreciate the shape?”

“Not only the shape, but the metal as well,” Rsiran commented.

“A good eye for this, I see, but considering where you’re from, I shouldn’t be surprised. Yes. The metal. Also expensive, especially where this is made. Rumor says it comes from deep beneath the earth, mined by their most valued men, and brought out a few grams at a time. Takes months to find enough to make this blade.”

Rsiran fought against the urge not to smile. “You don’t say?”

The man nodded. “I do say. And it is even more impressive that I have three. Think on how long it took to find the metal required to make these three knives? Some traders will search for years before finding something this valuable, and here Connor Jons has them sitting on his table!”

Rsiran set the knife down and resisted the urge to
pull
on the other two. They were as familiar as any blade he’d every crafted, the forging creating a connection between him and the metal.

“You haven’t said how much.”

“Didn’t want to scare you away until you learned how rare these are. Something like this might not be seen in Cort for months.”

Rsiran smiled and waited.

“Five talens,” Connor said.

Rsiran coughed. “
Five
?”

Connor nodded vigorously. “Five. I can’t part with them for anything less than that.”

“For all three?”

“Ah, not all three. Five each.”

Rsiran wondered what Brusus would say if he knew what his knives were fetching outside the city. He’d sold them to Brusus for only a few dronr, and now to hear that they were getting so much in gold… Rsiran couldn’t imagine.

“That… that’s more than I have,” Rsiran said.

He started to back away. The lorcith that he’d sensed was here, but Connor wasn’t the one who had Slid. Rsiran could tell that from the way the man watched him, and his pale brown eyes.

“Ah, well, perhaps I could let one go for four, especially seeing as how you seem to be a purveyor of fine craftsmanship.”

Rsiran stopped and turned his attention to the decorative star. “What about that?”

Connor blinked and lifted the star. “This? Not the same level of skill into this. Pretty plain really. A man like you would be better served with one of these knives. Not only decorative, but practical, too, if you know what I mean.”

Rsiran sniffed. “Not for four talens.”

“Ah, well. I have buyers who appreciate such things.” He grabbed the star and held it up to the light. “This, on the other hand, is more primitive.” A smile came to his face. “That’s not to say that it’s not as valuable. Primitive
can
mean that it holds a different kind of significance. Sometimes primitive is the most valuable.”

Rsiran could detect the lorcith from the star and noted that it was the one that he’d tracked. But who had carried it and why leave it here?

“How long have you had it?”

Connor shrugged. “Not long,” he admitted. “Another recently traded it to me.”

“For what?”

“I have many items of value.”

“Like more of these knives?” Rsiran asked.

The hawker shook his head. “These knives are not as common as that. And what I traded was nothing more than a simple charm.” He leaned toward Rsiran. “I probably got the better end of the trade, if you ask me. Look at this,” he said, holding the star toward Rsiran. “Though it doesn’t carry the smith’s mark like the knives, you can tell that this was created by a master smith. The way the metal comes together is the key. See this seam here?” He pointed to a place that looked no different from the rest. Even drawing on his sense of lorcith didn’t tell him that there was anything different about what the hawker tried to show him. “This is how you know the skill of the smith.”

“How much?”

Connor shook his head. “I haven’t had a chance to fully evaluate its worth. This sort of thing normally takes time for me, and I wouldn’t want to overcharge you…”

Rsiran could tell that Connor was only trying to consider exactly how much he could squeeze from him. If it were anything else, he wouldn’t have been interested, but he wanted to know why someone would have brought this from the forest outside of Elaeavn to here. And he would really like to know what he had traded it for.

Rather than waiting for Connor to make another offer, Rsiran pulled one of the knives from his pocket, choosing the one most like the one the man already possessed. He flipped it in his hand before setting it on the table in front of the hawker.

“I’ll trade this for that,” Rsiran said.

Connor’s eyes widened, and he quickly counted the knives he had on the table, mouthing to himself as he did. “You already had one,” he said with an amused smile.

Rsiran only nodded.

“May I?” the man asked.

Rsiran nodded again.

The hawker took the knife and held it to the light. The metal of the blade flowed nicely, and Rsiran couldn’t help but feel pride in his work as he looked at it. Like the others, his mark adorned the bottom of the blade.

“The same smith,” the hawker whispered. “How did you...”

“Will you trade?” Rsiran asked. He had considered simply
taking
the star—and the knives for that matter—and Sliding away, but that would make his visit to Cort memorable, and he didn’t want that. He would rather the man remember him only for making a trade, and his interest in lorcith. That was much less exciting than a man who stole from him and then simply disappeared.

Connor handed him the star and took the knife. “Such skill,” he said slowly and then looked up at Rsiran. “I don’t say this often, but are you certain this is the trade you wish to make? I’ve already told you what I can fetch for these knives. That,” he pointed toward the star with the blunt end of the knife, “won’t bring nearly the reward. You could sell it yourself for nearly as much.”

Rsiran felt better about not simply taking the lorcith star from Connor. “And who would I sell it to? Seems that you’re the only vendor here interested in such metalwork.”

Another smile spread across Connor’s face. “Ah, well in that you are right. Not many others with the same interest in these items. But I can’t have someone saying that Connor Jons didn’t bargain fairly.” He leaned behind his booth and rustled through a few items before standing and handing another piece of lorcith to Rsiran. “Here. This is much like the one I traded for
that
.” He tapped the star with the flat of the knife.

Rsiran took the lorcith. Unlike with the star, in
this
,
he detected enormous skill in the forging. The star was simple, a forging he would have been able to create almost before he even started listening to the call of the lorcith. But this other… In some ways, it reminded him of the map of grindl that he’d found that led to the Alchemist Guild house. This wasn’t
quite
as detailed as that, but it would have required a master smith to forge it, nonetheless.

It formed the shape of some sort of symbol, like that of a fox’s head, with one eye that practically followed him as he turned it from side to side, but that wasn’t the extent of the shape. That might be all that he could
see
, but he sensed a deeper pattern.