Suri glared at the dwarf. She was muttering, her fingers flexing. To anyone who didn’t know better, they might think she was merely angry, that she cursed him under her breath.
“Gronbach, give her back the sword! Now! Hurry!”
He ignored Persephone as he studied the weapon.
The wind rose. Dust and dirt swirled.
“Suri, don’t—” Persephone started to say.
The jolt was so abrupt that Persephone had to lean on the dwarf holding her just to keep standing. “Oh, blessed Grand Mother!” she exclaimed as snaps, cracks, and loud booms escaped from the open gate of Neith, deep painful groans issuing from that ancient mouth.
What had survived thousands of years of warfare, erosion, and the presence of a demon named Balgargarath didn’t survive the retribution of a teenage girl. In minutes, the legendary Belgriclungreian city of Neith fell. Weakened pillars, unequal to the task of supporting so grand a roof, broke, and the weight of the mountain came crashing down. They felt the shudder and jolt through the ground, the collapse of hollow places beneath their feet. To either side, the great towers of Esbol Berg listed, staggered, then fell. One dropped toward the sea, where the top destroyed one of the docks and raised an enormous wave that lurched ships, slamming some so hard they shattered against the docks. The other great tower imploded, collapsing in a huge plume of dust and bursting stone. The cloud of debris blew out over them. The gust of wind and shower of pebbles shoved Persephone to the ground, and the dwarf behind her let go.
The world disappeared into darkness, a hazy cloud of fragments. Persephone couldn’t see Suri, Brin, or Roan, all of whom had been right beside her. She pulled up the sleeve of her dress to breathe through and covered her eyes. “Suri! Stop it! Suri! Suri!”
The ground settled. The shaking stopped, and for a long moment, there was silence. Not a voice, not a bird, not a bee broke the hush. The only sound was the soft pattering rain of tiny stones. By the time the wind drove the dust to the sea, the sun was shining again. A coating of powdered rock covered them. Brin coughed, struggling to wipe her eyes clear.
The soldiers who had escorted them were gone. Persephone saw the sunlight glinting off their armor as they ran down the slope. Gronbach himself remained exactly where he had been. He still held the sword, his face a display of disbelief.
“It has her name on it,” Suri said for the fourth time. “You can’t have it.”
The mystic held out her hand.
“For all the gods’ and everyone else’s sake, give…it…back,” Persephone said.
Gronbach continued to stare in shock. Maybe he was too frightened to move. Persephone could understand that. She was a bit on the terrified side herself. But she knew Gronbach by now. He doesn’t want to lose.
“Give it back, and we’ll get on a ship and leave. And Mari help you if any harm has come to Moya or Arion; Suri’s even more fond of them than she is of that blade.”
Gronbach looked to Persephone and nodded. He handed the sword to Suri who clutched it to her chest.
“Unlike you, I’m a woman of my word. It’s time we left,” Persephone said as she walked past Gronbach down the road toward Caric.
—
A strangely silent crowd came out of their homes and lined the docks as Persephone’s party climbed on board the Calder Noll. They gathered in the streets and squares weeping and wailing. A few whispered to one another in their own language, and for once Persephone was happy she couldn’t understand.
The captain said nothing to them, neither did the crew. Persephone took charge and directed everyone to the cargo space toward the front of the ship. Standing there as the lines were cast off and the little ship was rowed away from the docks, Persephone looked back at Neith. The full face of the sun shone on what was left of the mountain. The great gate was gone, the towers missing. The majesty that was Neith had vanished, and the road up the slope led only to a battered memory and a broken dream.
On this trip, the crew of the Calder Noll avoided them much as the first ship’s crew had. Arion was wrapped in blankets, her face pale, but she was still breathing. Persephone took that as a good sign. She thought that if the Miralyith were going to die, she would have done so by now.
They all gathered around the prone Fhrey, blocking the harsh sea winds and taking turns cradling her head as the deck pitched.
“Don’t suppose you managed to bring the tablets?” Brin asked Moya.
She shook her head. “They stopped treating us well the moment you left. I thought we were off to our deaths when a group of Dherg came and led us down to the dock.
This brought nods from Frost and Flood as well.
“You’re alive,” Persephone told Brin. “And going home. That’s enough; be grateful.”
“I know, and I am. It’s just…well…I didn’t get a chance to decipher hardly any of them. I was going to study them last night, but I…I…”
“She fell asleep,” Roan said.
Brin cocked her head at Roan. “Didn’t you?”
“No, I never sleep when there is something to work on, and last night I had a lot to do.” Roan smiled. “It’s okay, really it is.”
Brin nodded. “I know. I just wish I had time to study them.”
“No, I mean it’s okay. I fixed it.”
“Fixed what?”
Roan opened her bag and drew out a thin, rolled tube. Brin inched toward her as Roan untied a string and unrolled what had been inside. “The little men call this vellum; it’s made from sheepskin. It’s the same thing they use to make maps and diagrams. Very thin and light. It’s great at holding something they call ink. Of course, I didn’t have any of that.”
On the interior of the vellum were markings. Markings that looked exactly like the ones on the tablet.
Brin stared in amazement. “How did you do that?”
“I laid the vellum on the tablets and rubbed the charcoal from the furnace over them. It made this image.”
Brin reached out.
“Careful,” Roan said. “It will smear.”
“You’re a genius,” Brin said, and eagerly took a seat beside Roan.
Watching the two studying the scroll, Persephone felt her lips rise into a smile that lingered until she noticed Suri. The mystic still held on to the weapon, a faraway look in her eyes.
“It’s a beautiful sword,” Persephone said. “Roan, do you think you could make others now that you’ve seen how it’s done?”
Roan nodded.
“And is this one strong?”
Again, Roan nodded. “I think I’ll be able to make the next one even better. If I could—”
“But is this one strong? Is it as good as bronze?”
“Stronger.”
“You sure?”
Roan nodded again.
“That’s good enough for me.” Persephone squinted at the markings on the sword’s blade. They were different from those she remembered on the shafts.
“What does it say?” she asked Suri. “What was her real name?”
The mystic didn’t reply.
Brin glanced at Suri cautiously. “It’s…it’s hard to pronounce.”
Persephone nodded her understanding as Suri watched them. Her eyes were red, cheeks flushed and blotchy.