Huge Ajax's Arc

Chapter 25 of 619

Ajax watched the water in the clay pot darken to a deep green. Chalam lifted the pot off the coals and set a flat stone across the mouth to hold the steam. The brew was done. One turn of the sun of dullness for the thing under the stone. Now they needed the blade. "Cover it and carry it down at first light," Chalam said. His voice was flatter than before. "Pour it slow across the seam. Corner to corner. If you rush, it beads and runs off." "You've done this?" "No. I read it in the dryad's face." Chalam wiped his hands on his robe. "I won't lie about what I know." Grayson sat against the wall with a whetstone working slow along a plain blade. He did not look up. "One pot won't stop six arms." "It buys the hour we need," Ajax said. "The blade does the rest." "If it comes." "It comes." Grayson set the stone down. "Then say so to the men before dark. Not after." Ajax nodded once. Grayson picked the whetstone back up. The light was already going orange at the wall gap when they heard the hooves. Not a horse. Something lighter, quicker, four soft pads on stone. Ajax stood and put a hand to his belt. Chalam raised his staff. A brown-gold shape trotted through the gap. Long fluffy tail, perked ears, no bigger than a hound. On its back sat the wrenleaf gnome, legs braced, glasses fogged from the ride. A bundle wrapped in oiled cloth lay across his lap. A second bundle hung at the creature's flank. The gnome slid down and steadied himself against the animal's shoulder. The prowler sat and licked one paw as if the ride had been nothing. "Six blades," the gnome said. He unrolled the long bundle on the flat stone by the fire. Iron. Heavy at the point, tapered like a spike. Six of them, dark and oiled, each as long as Ajax's forearm. "He kept them for this. He asked no coin. He said the mason's son knows the debt." Ajax lifted one. The weight was wrong for a sword and right for a puncture. He tested the edge with his thumb. It bit. "News," the gnome said. "The hunter has ridden faster than the grove read. He is one day out. Not two. Not three." Grayson stood. The gnome took the smaller bundle from the prowler's flank and held it out to Ajax with both hands. "And this. From the smith. For you alone." Ajax unwrapped it. A seventh blade, shorter, the grip bound in dark leather. A wolf paw was cut into the pommel. The same mark he had carved into stone at the crossroads. The same mark on the seat below. "He said your father left it on his bench," the gnome said. "Three hundred years ago. Told him a son would come for it." Ajax closed his hand around the grip.