Chapter III. Splintering #2
Gabriel scowled, sipping at his wine. “It was fear drove me away, I’ll grant you.
But not of how I felt. It was fear of what I might do.
Working in the snow beside my friends, warm and alive and breathing, I ached for the taste of that blood again.
Like a fiend for his pipe. Like a beggar for his bottle.
The thirst conquers all palebloods in the end, Historian, and my own was worsening by the day. I knew that one night soon …
“‘Gabe!’
“Baptiste’s shout tore me from red memories, the taste of blood on my tongue.
“‘Gabe, I think I’ve found her!’
“I scrambled across the stones, Lachie beside me, over to where Baptiste was digging. He was on one knee, reaching beneath a tumble of rock with his good arm.
“‘I just … she’s…’ Baptiste made a final lunge, crowing in triumph. ‘Ahaaaa!’
“With the crisp ring of starsteel, my brother drew his hand from among the wreckage, holding Ashdrinker to the sky. Her blade gleamed darkly, the silvered dame upon the hilt smiling as ever, arms outstretched as if in joyful greeting. But almost as soon as he’d lifted her, Baptiste’s victorious smile became a puzzled frown.
Lowering the blade, he peered at her quizzically, blinking in slow surprise.
“‘She’s … speaking to me.’
“‘Not screaming?’ I asked. ‘That’s a switch.’
“‘Easy, mademoiselle. All is well, I…’ Baptiste glanced to me, back to the sword in his grip. ‘Oui, he’s here. Peace now.’
“I took the blade Baptiste handed me, half wincing at the anticipated barrage of screeched insults. But instead of screaming, Ashdrinker sounded as if she were almost weeping, my heart twisting with pity at the sorrow in her song.
“Oh, G-G-G-GabrielGabriel oh thank M-M-Mothermaid and Martyrs and all the angels of the heavenly host I was frightened so f-f-f-frightened!
“‘Easy,’ I cooed. ‘Easy, Ash. I’m here now, all’s well.’
“I couldn’t see it was so d-dark I couldn’t seeseesee I thought ye leftleftleftme!
“‘No, no, hush now. I’ll not leave you, mon amie, not ever. You know that.’
“God I remememember shouting at ye I am so sorry, Gabriel. I meant it not, I meant it notnotnot meanmeant it … I would n-never I would NEVER …
“‘You weren’t yourself. It’s already forgotten.’
“Forgotten, she whispered. What have I forgotten so much somuchmuch lost, oh h-h-heavenly father help me. What is wrong with me I can’t remember I can never REMEMBER.
“Tears stung my eyes at that, a flare of grief and rage and helplessness. But I forced a smile into my voice, touching her face. ‘I’m just glad you’re back, Ash. I missed you.’
“And I ye. But … butbut … wherewhere is Dior?
“I swallowed hard, wanting to tell her all. To share that loss. Choking on my own heart instead, forcing out the lie for fear of what the truth might do to her in this state.
“‘She’s well. Fear not. We’re on our way to meet her.’
“Oh good, came the silver sigh. Goodgoodgood. That girl is the heart of it all, Gabriel. The only thing he left us but g-g-grief and ashes. You mustmustmust keep her s-s-safe.
“‘I will. You sleep now, Ash. Be at peace. God knows you’ve earned it.’
“And ye. My d-d-dearest friend.
“Her song fell silent as I slipped her back to sleep in the scabbard at my waist, left only with her echoes in my head. Pawing at my eyes, I looked up to find Lachlan and Baptiste watching me, puzzlement on the former’s face, concern on the latter’s.
“‘Is…’ The big smith frowned. ‘Is she always like that?’
“‘No,’ I sighed. ‘Ever since I broke her on Fabién’s skin, she’s not quite been the same. But since the Battle of Maergenn … I fear she’s getting worse.’
“Baptiste sucked his lip, glancing at the blade. ‘Can she hear us? In her scabbard?’
“‘See us, too. If she’s a mind to, anyways. But she sleeps ofttimes. Dreams.’
“‘May I?’
“Baptiste held out his good hand, and unbuckling my swordbelt, I passed Ashdrinker over. Lachlan raised an eyebrow as the blackthumb pressed the blade into his hands, and gesturing that my old ’prentice stay put, Baptiste motioned silently for me.
With a curious glance to Lachie, I followed the blackthumb, trailing down the rubble pile until we were a good ways distant.
And turning to me in the gloom, Baptiste sighed.
“‘She’s in trouble, Gabriel. Your blade.’
“‘Well, she is my blade. Trouble is familiar country.’
“‘Her core is cracking.’
“I blinked, gaze sharpening. ‘What? ’
“‘She’s fractured, Gabe. From her tip, near three inches down her length.’
“‘No,’ I growled. ‘No, I’d have noticed.’
“‘It’s just a hairline. Hard for untrained eyes to see. The damage might’ve reached a tipping point at Maergenn, but still … it’s bad.’
“‘But … I need her to kill the Forever King. No ordinary blade will pierce his skin.’
“‘Gabe, if you keep slaying coldbloods with her, that crack will only deepen. And on the flesh of an ancien Voss…’
“I chewed my lip, fear rising, thoughts racing. ‘Can you fix her?’
“‘Shattered swords only get reforged in children’s tales. Once a blade breaks—’
“‘It’s broken, I know, I know. But you’re the greatest smith the Silver Order ever produced, Baptiste. Is there nothing you can do for her?’
“The big man scratched his stubble. ‘I might could forge-weld her, I suppose. It wouldn’t mend the damage, but it’d stop it getting worse. You couldn’t go swinging her around like you used to, but with luck, a weld could hold for a battle or two.’
“‘Good,’ I said, chest flooding with relief. ‘That sounds good, let’s—’
“‘Hold now, Gabe. I said I might be able to weld her. But the Ashdrinker is made of enchanted starsteel. Not even the forges of San Michon burned hot enough to work a blade like her. I only know of two foundries in the whole empire that could manage it.’
“‘Where?’ I demanded. ‘Where are they?’
“‘Well, the first is in the capital. The Ironmongers’ Guildworks. La Rivière de Fer.’
“‘Augustin? That’s across the other side of the fucking continent.’
“‘The other isn’t as far. But I’ll wager you hate it more.’
“‘I’m not in the mood for guess-a-game, brother.’
“‘La Forge de San Javon, Gabe. In León.’
“‘… Fuck my face.’
“Baptiste folded his massive arms, smirking. ‘Tempting. But alas, I’m spoken for.’
“León. The barony of my grandfather. The hateful bastard who’d cast my mama out into the cold when she fell pregnant with me. The life she’d had to live in Lorson, the death she’d endured in that same cursed sty … all of it was in some fashion his fault.
“I’d never spoken a word to the old prick.
Not even in my days of glory, when my name—his name—rang out in the houses of the holy and the halls of the Augustin emperors themselves.
I didn’t even know if he still lived. But it seemed if Baptiste was to mend Ashdrinker, if I still held any hope of ending the Forever King on her anointed edge …
“‘… Seems we’re heading back to Nordlund.’”