Home > Secrets of the Sword 1(4)

Secrets of the Sword 1(4)
Author: Lindsay Buroker

“What does he want?”

“Devil’s club and hairy manzanita.”

“Those don’t sound like things I can pick up at the gas station.” I vaguely knew what manzanita looked like, but hairy manzanita? And I had no idea what devil’s club was. Why couldn’t alchemists ask for normal ingredients? Like eggs and flour?

“He says they grow wild in abundance out near the coast.”

“Uh huh. I’m not foraging for plants in the rain. Use your Google-fu powers to find out where I can buy some, and I’ll pick them up on the way out of town.” I eyed my glowing and pulsing sword. “Make it quick. I’m leaving soon. Very soon.”

“Uh, all right. Can you get me something?”

“What?” I asked, wariness returning as I stopped in a grassy clearing beside Sindari. “I’m not piling driftwood, nets, and glass fishing floats in the back of the Jeep for your art projects.”

Sindari pointed his feline nose toward a rough circle of three- to four-inch-wide mushrooms protruding from the grass and leaf litter. I didn’t sense anything magical about them, and they didn’t look any different from other forest mushrooms. From time to time, I’d encountered rings of them, and I’d never seen any magical beings pop out of them.

“Good to know,” Dimitri said, “but I was going to ask for cranberry fudge. I’ve only ever seen it at the coast. It’s amazing.”

“Sorry, buddy, but I’ve got a bigger problem. I’m not going souvenir shopping.” More than one problem. The cut on my hand stung—was it my imagination that it was throbbing in sync with my sword?

Not deterred, Dimitri said, “I can send you the address. There’s a quilt shop in town that sells fudge.”

“The quilt shop sells candy?” Maybe they had manzanita too.

“Yup. The last time I was there, they had three kinds of the cranberry. Did I mention that it’s amazing? Get the chocolate version, please. With walnuts.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Val, just a little? I’ll make you something.”

I said goodbye and stuck my phone back in my pocket.

Here are the footprints. Sindari pointed one of his big paws to what looked like, to my unsophisticated tracker’s eye, slightly flattened grass. They head in the direction of the bog. I followed them to the best of my ability, but as I said, the trail is several days old.

“I guess I should have brought Rocket,” I said, naming my mother’s golden retriever. Rocket adored Sindari—he adored everybody—but Sindari found him overly boisterous and couldn’t forgive all the whaps in the face he’d received from Rocket’s tail. “He’s an expert tracker.”

Sindari’s green eyes turned toward me, cool as a glacier-fed mountain lake. That bumbling canine can barely find his own tail. He would have no better luck than I. He would have flung himself into the bog to retrieve a stick as soon as we arrived. Sindari issued the tiger equivalent of a haughty sniff. It is likely he wouldn’t have found the fairy ring at all.

“What a shame that would have been.” I used Chopper to poke a couple of the mushrooms, hoping to elicit a magical response, but despite Sindari’s promise that someone otherworldly had traveled this way, I suspected these were random and mundane toadstools. Still, in case there was a hidden door, I gripped my lock-picking charm—its primary purpose was to open enchanted doorways, after all—and willed it to open the hypothetical magical passageway. Nothing happened. “Any other clues that might be useful?”

I have found nothing else. Your mother’s hound would have found even less.

“Uh huh. Maybe you two need to have a tracking contest the next time you meet. Rocket finds missing people for a living, you know.”

I thought he played with balls for a living.

“That’s just a hobby.”

We headed back to the manufactured home, where Gene waited with his rifle. He gaped at Sindari walking at my side.

“What is that?” the farmer whispered, pointing at him as we approached.

“A tiger. Hey, I think the water was tainted by that thing. And by tainted, I mean poisoned. You better drain the field and get rid of your crop.” I eyed his house, the yard, and the bonfire—it had returned to burning normally. My instincts still suggested that someone—or something—was watching me, but Gene was the only one in sight.

He rocked back on his feet. “That would bankrupt me. I called your boss so I wouldn’t have to get rid of the crop.”

“I assumed you were just tired of burning animal bodies.”

“That’s a fortune in cranberries.” Gene waved toward the bog.

“Now it’s a poisoned fortune.” I eyed the water, wondering where it would be drained to and if more wildlife might die if it was dumped in a river or the ocean. Most likely, it would be diluted enough that it wouldn’t make a difference, but I had better check with Willard. “On second thought, don’t drain it until I talk to my boss. Maybe artifact-tainted water needs to be professionally remediated.”

"Remedi-what?"

Val? Sindari faced north, looking across the berry-covered water and out into the forest. Or above the forest. I sense a magical creature flying this way. Two of them.

Not dragons, I hope. My senses extended a couple of miles—I’d been practicing broadening my range—but Sindari still detected those with magical auras sooner.

I believe they are rocs. They’re flying directly toward us.

I grimaced. I’d battled the quasi-intelligent magical birds before. Some of them were smart enough to know there would be repercussions if they killed humans; some weren’t. All of them liked to gather interesting trinkets. A magical sword would qualify.

“Go inside, Gene.” I drew Chopper and pointed it toward his house. “Trouble is coming.”

As I spoke, the birds came within range of my senses.

“I can’t get rid of the crop,” Gene whispered, his gaze still locked on the bog. “We need that money to pay the taxes on the farm. Are you sure the berries were affected?”

“Get inside now.” I pushed him toward the door.

Two brown-and-black birds came into view, similar in appearance to eagles but much, much larger. They could pick up humans; reports of cattle found dropped from great heights and mutilated in their fields suggested they could also pick up cows.

Gene caught sight of them, cursed, and lifted his rifle. Rocs weren’t as impervious to mundane weapons as dragons, but they were still hard to kill. This was a job for Fezzik.

“That won’t do anything. I promise.” I turned him around and manhandled him toward the door. “Wait inside.”

He found out I was stronger than I looked and stopped struggling, especially after I kicked him in the back of the knee and almost threw him at the door.

Sindari crouched as the rocs flew over the bog. One screeched like the terrifying bird of prey that it was. Their beady yellow eyes were both focused on me.

Gene must have realized how large they were, because he finally allowed himself to be shoved into the house. I slammed the door shut and ran back to Sindari’s side.

My phone buzzed again.

I ignored it and yanked out Fezzik to fire at the closest roc. The bullets, imbued with magic beyond what the pistol itself held, hummed to my senses.

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