Home > Secrets of the Sword 1(3)

Secrets of the Sword 1(3)
Author: Lindsay Buroker

My thoughtless bashing of the balloon had destroyed it—the remaining shell had gone dark—and the artifact oozed slightly less magic. The mist faded and nothing untoward happened to me. That didn’t keep me from wishing that I had a hazmat suit in the Jeep that I could have donned. For good or ill, I was being paid to take care of this and had to finish the job.

Do you know of any possible side effects from destroying fae artifacts, Sindari? Assuming this is a fae artifact.

Aside from irritating the fae who placed it there?

Yeah. Irritating people is my job. I’m not that worried about that.

Like elves and dragons, the fae have numerous kinds of magic. There are thousands of things that artifact might do. Side effects, as you call them, could be copious.

Fabulous.

A pair of deer had come out of the woods while we were communicating. I didn’t notice them until they reached the water and bent their necks to lap at it.

“Beat it, deer!” I yelled, waving my sword.

They skittered back to the trees and stopped to stare at me. The farmer was also looking over from the fire. It had returned to normal, but he shook his head slowly, as if to say the trouble was only beginning.

The deer must have gotten some of the water. One wobbled, took a few faltering steps, then crumpled to the ground.

I swore. What kind of poison worked so quickly?

The other deer fled back into the woods, but its gait was ataxic, and I feared it wouldn’t make it far. I eyed my hand, blood now welling from a cut between my thumb and forefinger, and wondered if I’d just screwed myself. Another perk of my mixed blood was that I healed faster than normal humans, and I’d survived injuries that would have killed someone else, but I wasn’t bulletproof.

I’m destroying it, Sindari. Jaw set, I turned back to the artifact.

I understand.

This time, I was more careful. I angled my slashes carefully so the shards from the broken balloons flew in the opposite direction. Even the water worried me, so I did my best to keep it from splashing me.

“Hazmat suit,” I muttered as a droplet hit my jaw anyway. “I’m buying a hazmat suit and keeping it in the Jeep for all future road trips.”

Chopper shattered the last of the glass balloons, and I backed away again. Faintly glowing white mist hung in the air above the destruction, but the magic faded from my senses.

Despite my care, a shard had landed on my shoulder—or maybe that had happened on the first strike. I lifted a hand to knock it away but paused. Just because I’d destroyed the artifact didn’t mean the mystery was solved or that we’d never have to deal with it again. What if these bundles of balloons started popping up on farms all over Washington?

I gingerly plucked up the shard and slid it into my duster pocket. Willard’s people could go over it.

The deer are dead, Sindari reported as I waded toward the shoreline, Chopper resting on my shoulder. I would dry the blade before putting it away.

I’ll tell the farmer to drain the field. He better get rid of this harvest—it could be as tainted as the water.

Val? Sindari sat on the shoreline, his head tilted as he gazed at me, his telepathic voice carrying an odd note.

Yes? I grunted as my boot snagged on another bush.

What’s wrong with your sword?

As I climbed onto the shoreline, I pulled Chopper off my shoulder for a look, expecting half a cranberry bush to be dangling from the tip.

But the tip wasn’t the problem—the entire blade was glowing with pulsing white energy.

Sindari scrutinized it. It’s sending out a wave of magic with each pulse. Like a beacon.

A beacon that will let my enemies know exactly where I am?

A beacon that will let everyone know exactly where you are.

Hell.

 

 

2

 

 

I dried off Chopper, hoping the sword would stop pulsing once the contaminated water was removed. It didn’t.

I laid the blade in the grass and backed up a few steps. Immediately, I sensed the waves of magical energy emanating from it, as Sindari had promised. Strange that I hadn’t felt anything apart from its usual aura when I’d been holding it. It was like the difference between being under the water when a wave surged to shore versus being caught on the surface.

Backing a few dozen steps away did nothing to diminish the pulses of energy that washed over me. A beacon was right. How far away could the waves be sensed?

“This would be less concerning if there weren’t a few hundred ogres, orcs, trolls, and other aggressive species in the Pacific Northwest who want me dead.” Whether working for the government or as a freelancer, I only assassinated magical bad guys who really deserved it—primarily murderers—but that didn’t keep their friends and family members from detesting me and wanting revenge. “And if people hadn’t already tried to steal this sword from me in the past.”

Magical swords were hard to come by on Earth, and as I’d learned of late, Chopper was one of the more badass weapons around. Someone from another realm had told me it was called a dragon blade, and I knew from experience that it could cut through their armored scales when few other weapons could hurt them. A dwarf had told me it was ten thousand years old and made by an ancient dwarven master enchanter.

All I knew for sure was that it made my job a lot easier, and I didn’t want to lose it. Fezzik, which had been made by my weapons-crafting friend Nin, could mow down people who weren’t protected by magic, but not everyone fell into that category.

You do have cause for concern. Sindari still sat on his haunches by the blade, but he gazed into the woods, as if potential thieves might even now be creeping up on us.

I walked back over, picked up Chopper, and wiped it down again, still vainly hoping that somehow cleaning it was the answer. “Will you show me the fairy ring?”

Certainly.

Before I’d taken more than a few steps after Sindari, my phone buzzed in my pocket, startling me. It was Dimitri, one of my roommates and the majority owner of the Sable Dragon, a quirky coffee, potion, and enchanted-yard-art shop in Fremont. In a fit of dubious wisdom, I’d volunteered to become a ten-percent owner in the establishment, so his problems were my problems. As if I didn’t have enough problems of my own.

“Yeah?” I answered warily, expecting news about a fight between ogres or goblins or some other patrons of the coffee shop—for some reason, it attracted full- and partial-blooded magical beings like flames attracted moths.

“Are you at the beach?” He’d seen me off that morning and knew about the trip.

“A cranberry bog that’s beach-adjacent.”

Technically, we were leaving the bog and heading into the woods. Sindari weaved through the trees, and I stepped over soggy logs and moss-draped boulders as the rain picked up, spattering off the top of my head.

“I mentioned to Zoltan that you were going to Long Beach, and he wants you to pick up some things.”

“I’m not his personal shopper.”

Dimitri paid rent to live in the old Victorian house in Green Lake that we shared. Zoltan, the alchemist vampire who lived in the basement, did not. That left me disinclined to run errands for him.

“He said he’d give you a discount the next time you need his services.”

I almost told him to stuff it—no, to tell Zoltan to stuff it—but then I thought of the shard in my pocket and my glowing sword. Willard had people who could research magical items, but Zoltan had a lab full of equipment in the basement. He’d proven useful more than once—as the ridiculously overpriced invoices he sent me attested.

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