Page 136 of Quicksilver

I didn't react when he stole in later. He sat in a chair by the window, moonlight threading through his hair, shadows playing over his hands and his face as he watched me work. He and Lorreth talked quietly, and I hammered. They were both there, helping when I poured the steel for the wolf's head hilt. Fisher whistled when we cracked the mold and he saw what Lorreth had carved. Very few words were traded between us. As I bound the broad, beveled blade to its hilt and cross guard, and wrapped the hilt with a glittering black and gold cord, a breathless tension clung to the air.

Then, at last, it was done.

I nearly collapsed on the spot.

The sword was a thing of beauty. Undeniably so. Aside from the impressive wolf's head pommel, the hilt was also decorated in trailing vines that wound around the hilt and guard, which I’d managed to fire myself without any help from Lorreth. The blade itself bore a rippled wave that ran from end to end thanks to the countless times it had been folded. I had spent the past hour painstakingly engraving words down the very center of the blade. Words that would hopefully bode well for both the weapon and the warrior who bore it, and badly for those who found themselves at its sharp end.

By righteous hands, deliverance of the unrighteous dead.

“Incredible,” Fisher said breathlessly. His eyes found mine, and they shone with amazement.

“Can I hold it?” Lorreth asked hopefully.

“Go ahead.”

He lifted it, eyes lit with reverence. Inexplicably, my throat closed up at the sight of him holding the weapon. He ran his finger along its edge, barely touching his fingertips to the steel before hissing, pulling his hand back again. “Gods, you only need to look at the damned thing and it cuts.” He popped his index finger into his mouth, sucking on it.

For the first time since we left the map room, the quicksilver spoke, and its voice was no longer fractured. It wasonevoice, strong and clear.

It is time. Give us our song.

Outside, the sky was lit up with an explosion of green and pink light.

My breath caught at the sight of it. “What is that?”

“The aurora,” Fisher answered softly. “A blessing.”

“Holy fuck.” Lorreth dropped to his knees in the snow, staring up at the sky, his mouth wide open. “It's...beautiful. The aurora hasn't been seen in... in...”

“Well over a thousand years,” Fisher said. “It's been there all night. I was going to tell you both to come and look, but I had a feeling it'd still be here when you were done.”

Lorreth's eyes shone brightly as he watched the green dancing lights shift to reds and pinks, undulating in waves in a broad band across the horizon. The warrior was on the verge of tears, and I had to admit, I was pretty close myself. I was drained. Wrung out, even. But I still had the energy to stand as I watched the sky, knowing that I was witnessing something rare and remarkable.

The sword lay across Lorreth's lap. He rested a hand on the hilt, as, still in complete awe of the beauty lighting up the heavens, he began to sing.

To all those who’ll listen

or haven’t been told,

of the day the last drake

woke and rose from the cold.

Of the young warrior who came

veiled in shadows and blood

to defeat the foul creature

and save those he could.

Of the Fisher King,

and the wolves at his back,

who came howling in the night,

together, a pack.