Of course, she did, Persephone thought. Sending Roan to the smith’s workshop was like sending a dog to a butcher’s house and wondering if the animal noticed the meat.
Before long, they came upon the dragon. She was lying down, but her head was up and looking at them. Persephone didn’t see the mystic. “Suri?”
The girl’s head popped up. She’d been lying on a blanket, her head resting on the side of the dragon, its long tail encircling them both. An absurd image, this wild, barefoot mystic with her ruddy cloak and tattooed body, lying snuggled up with a fearsome giant, all claws and scales, wings and teeth—a girl and her loyal companion.
“I was wondering if you’d return.”
“I told you I would be back. I’d never leave you behind.”
Suri smiled, a sad one, but a smile nonetheless.
“Suri, I need to talk to you about Minna—” Persephone started, but she was cut off by the mystic.
“She’s not Minna, not really.”
“No, she isn’t.”
Suri placed a hand to the dragon’s neck. “Still, I think there’s a part of her in there, something trapped inside. I can’t leave her here like this.”
“I don’t want you to.” Persephone looked at Roan and nodded.
Stepping forward, Roan laid the bundle down then unfolded the cloth, but never touched the sword. The blade was the most amazing thing Persephone had ever seen. The metal was brilliant silver, but around the edges where the shadows pooled, she saw a blue tint. The blade tapered elegantly, every line straight, and the handle was built out of the same metal, making Persephone believe it was all formed from one solid piece. Not nearly as decorated as Raithe’s sword, or even as stylish as any of the Galantians’, this was perfection through simplicity. In the same way musical accompaniment failed to add to, and often distracted from, a great singer, the Dherg had mastered their craft to such a level that any change would have been a flaw.
Roan pulled out a small bag and unrolled it. Inside were a tiny hammer and half a dozen little etching tools.
“I’ll need to know her name,” Brin said.
Suri nodded.
“Show me.” And the Keeper gave the mystic a piece of chalk.
Suri drew the symbols on the floor.
The three of them went to work etching the blade as Persephone and the dragon watched. Does she know? Balgargarath had appeared to understand when Moya shot the first arrow, but the dragon either didn’t understand or didn’t care. Her eyes were open but empty. Maybe that’s what Suri saw—the emptiness.
When they were done, Suri got on her knees and, using a glowstone, ran her fingers along the blade where the marks were etched. “It’s her real name. I called her Minna because that’s what a songbird was singing when I found her. I thought the bird was telling me her name. But that wasn’t her real name. This is.” She tapped on the blade. “This is what it looks like. I found it in the weave.” She wiped her face and began to shake. She got up and looked at the dragon. “I can’t believe I have to do this again. Can you leave us?”
“Suri, if you want, I can—”
Suri shook her head. “It has to be me.”
Persephone nodded.
Roan gathered up the tools and bag, and together the three of them started back toward the gate. As she walked away, Persephone looked back and saw the dragon watching Suri as she picked up the sword. For a moment, fear gripped her. What if she’s sensing her death? Will she attack?
Suri held the sword in her hands as if it equaled the weight of Elan. The dragon continued to watch the mystic, and then Persephone saw it. Just a glimpse, just a flash, but it was there. Those large forgiving eyes that were far too familiar even to Persephone. She felt her own tears crest, slip, and fall.
“Minna.” They heard Suri’s soft, fracturing voice. “Minna…remember the time we came home and found Tura lying in the garden…”
Persephone led Roan and Brin back outside to where Gronbach waited with his soldiers. He looked at them suspiciously. “Is it done?”
“Almost,” Persephone said.
The release of power threw the great gates of Neith back to their full reach, as if they were nothing more than a pair of bedroom doors.
A cloud of dust blocked out the sun for a moment, at least for those near the entrance. Everyone stared at the opening, waiting. Several minutes passed, and just when Persephone was about to go in to make sure Suri was okay, the mystic walked out. She was covered in a fine powder of dust, except on her cheeks where rivulets glistened untouched. Sobbing, Suri clutched the blade to her chest with both hands.
Gronbach stared at the mystic in disbelief. He glanced at his soldiers, then back at Suri as if not quite able to accept what he was seeing. Suri didn’t fit anyone’s expectation of a dragon slayer. He gestured to one of his men, who ran inside to verify that the dragon wasn’t there. It didn’t take long for him to return and nod.
Then Gronbach gestured, spoke something in the Dherg language, and once more Persephone found herself restrained by the little dwarfs.
“Are you really such a fool?” she shouted at him. “We’ve killed Balgargarath and a dragon. And you still aren’t honoring your word?”
Gronbach chuckled. “You’re the foolish one. If I lied before, what makes you think I wouldn’t again? It’s best you die, as you are obviously too stupid to live.” Noticing the sword Suri held, he added, “And I see you lied about the magic sword being consumed.”
He focused on the blade with greedy eyes and held out his hand. “Give it to me.”
Suri looked at Gronbach, as if noticing him for the first time. “It has her name on it.” She tilted the blade so he could see the markings.
“I don’t care whose name is on the thing, little girl. It’s mine.”
“But it has her name on it,” Suri repeated, louder this time.
Gronbach rolled his eyes. “She’s simple, is she?” He shook his head and reached out, grabbing hold of the pommel as Suri clutched the blade even tighter. As they struggled in their tug-of-war, the ground began to shake.
A giant slab of rock, one of the pair that formed the gates of Neith, slipped free and fell, exploding in a burst of dust. The towers of Esbol Berg began to shudder and teeter. Stones slipped free of their ancient moorings, and a giant block the size of a roundhouse plummeted, crashing down the hillside.
Gronbach let go.
The moment he released the sword the shaking stopped.
He looked at the place where the stone had crashed and then up at the towers.
“It has her name on it,” Suri repeated, oblivious to the earthquake that had nearly brought the ancient city of Neith down around them.
Gronbach looked from the great edifice of the Dherg’s ancestral home to Suri. He stared deep into the mystic’s eyes, then shook his head. “That’s not possible.”
He reached out again.
“Gronbach, don’t!” Persephone shouted. She tried to stop him, but couldn’t break free of the hands holding her.
He was more forceful the second time, and wrenched the weapon free of Suri’s little hands, giving her a shove backward in the process.
Overhead, thunder cracked, and dark clouds covered the sun.