The walls of Crisanth were lined with bells which would be set to clanging if anything larger than a dog climbed over or smashed through the stone. The bells were loud enough to reach the Arcanist’s ears even as far as his house. But Rolan had not heard them.
“Itobliteratedthe warning system,” said Anaya. “I saw it. It was like… a great oak tree, its head and shoulders moving over therooftops. It smashed houses with its steps.” She gave Evaine a nervous glance. “I tried to stay in the shop like you said. But people were injured, they needed help.”
“You did the right thing,” Evaine said.
Anaya looked down at the blood on her dress. “I pulled a man out from under his own house. He lost an arm. I—I bandaged him as best I could.”
Evaine drew her apprentice into an embrace. “You did well.” Over Anaya’s head she stared at Luc with worried eyes. “The Cryptic isn’t your only problem. Strider and his gang are still out there.”
Rolan tensed, imagining Luc caught between his father, Hoff, and the giant Cryptic.
His father, who could useArcana.
“They’re no idle threat, Arcanist,” Evaine pressed.
“No,” Luc agreed grimly. “They are not. What I don’t understand is how they learned to summon Arcana.”
Rolan shook his head. “They didn’t. At least, they didn’t summon it the waywedo. They…atethe relics. Crunched them up like carrots and swallowed them right down.”
Luc stared at Rolan, a shadow passing over his face. For a moment he looked so stricken that Rolan feared he was relapsing and that his wounds were opening again. Behind him Evaine too went pale, her eyes widening. Did she know something about all this?
“Theyatethem?” Luc repeated in a hard tone. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, why?” Rolan asked. “What did they do? What does it mean?”
After a moment the Arcanist shook his head. His gaze was distant and troubled. “I cannot be certain yet, but… that is a problemfor another time. I must deal with this Cryptic first.” Luc paused to frown at Rolan, who was now retrieving his old knives from the sheath by the door. “What are you doing?”
“Getting ready. Iamyour apprentice, you know. And before you start in with your huffing and puffing and throwing your weight around, I intend to stick with Evaine and Anaya. Someone has to keep them safe while you go kill that thing.”
Luc held his gaze for a long, measuring moment, until Rolan began to sweat under the collar. What if Luc had changed his mindagain? What if he was having second thoughts about keeping Rolan?
Without saying a word, Luc turned and went to the wall behind his bed. He hooked a finger into a knot in the wall, prying out one of the slatted boards. From a cavity behind it, he withdrew a sword.
It was small and sleek with a leather-wrapped hilt and a cross guard of silver carved like two raven’s wings. When Luc swept it slowly through the air, the blade shimmered with blue light. The aleth carved near the hilt glimmered with Arcana.
He held it in his hands for a moment, gazing at it as if he could see precious memories reflected in its honed steel.
Then he held it out, hilt first, to Rolan.
“This is the sword of an Arcanist,” he said. “Imbued with Arcana, its secret already drawn out. Wield it with honor. Find the center.Strike the core.”
Rolan had stopped breathing. He took the sword with a trembling hand. But as his fingers wrapped around the hilt, he felt a whisper in his ear, and a thread of strength coiled from the sword, up his hand, and shivered around his wrist. It was heavier than a dagger, of course, but not too heavy, its weight perfectly balanced in his hand as if it were an extension of his own arm. He stopped trembling andstood tall, the blade vertical to his face. He gazed at himself in the steel.
“Strike the core,” he whispered. “Hey, what about my using Arcana being against ‘all laws, civil and Arcane’?”
“Consider this a special exception,” Luc replied. “Just… don’t abuse it.”
“Who,me?” Rolan grinned as Luc strode to the door, whistling for his horse. Apple came galloping up, still barebacked but full of fire, ready for another mad run.
“I will see you back in the city,” Luc said, swinging his bulk onto the horse’s back. His eyes lingered on Rolan for just a moment, then on Evaine. “Truth willing.”
He was gone in a spray of mud and a clatter of hooves, his cloak a swirl of ink against the gray sky.
With a deep breath, Rolan turned to Anaya and Evaine.
“Cool sword,” said Anaya, grinning weakly.
“Finally,”Rolan replied.
