Page 117 of Forged in Fading

“Your mother’s? Very interesting indeed.” The king made a thoughtful noise before resuming his seat on his throne. “You have clearly been touched by the gods, and we cannot ignore their requests for aid.”

She doubted anyone touched by the gods harbored a strong dependence on sugar to make it through the day, but she kept her mouth shut, and he continued.

“The blade you speak of is cursed. None who have wielded it have ever survived, but it grants unimaginable power. With each life it takes, the power of the wielder only grows, but at a cost. They become more dependent on the dagger, obsessed. Without the dagger by their side, they lose the immense strength it offers. Helvati speaks to them through it, twisting their mind to benefit her desires.”

Oh, that was all. “Can we destroy it?” Alvara asked.

The king shook his head. “No. It is impossible to destroy. The only way to sever the goddess’s connection with the wielder is to slay them with the blade itself. If what you say is true, he must be stopped. The fate of the world may depend on it. We will help you with what we can. Take them to the forge.” He pinched his nose. “You smell of sunlight, it makes my eyes water.”

The dwarves’ forge outmatched her father’s stories and her own dreams. Metal clashed and echoed off the walls, while the air hung thick with heat and smoke both familiar and comforting to her from her years apprenticing with Jalomir.

As far as the eye could see, dwarves worked in more blazing forges than she could ever count, heating and bending every kind of metal imaginable, including some she hadn’t even known existed. Piles of jewels towered next to each smith, their iridescent colors washing every surface and living thing in mesmerizing hues.

“Impressive, is it not?” Skeggox puffed out his chest.

It was more than impressive—it was easily the most magnificent thing she’d ever seen.

“I’m afraid she may try to stay here instead of returning home,” Boden said, chuckling.

“Follow me.” Skeggox waved them on and ambled toward a forge at the back of the cavern, calling out to a smith busy honing a manner of weapon she had never laid her eyes on before. It was a long pole that ended in a lethal blade, with an axe below on one side and a spiked hammer on the other. It would be glorious in a fight.

Skeggox tapped her on the shoulder. “Elf, what kind of magic will the humans face?”

“Plants, earth, and fire.”

“Ela, Nyr, and Valo. No need to speak to me as if I have no knowledge of your realm.” He turned to the smith and rattled off a long list in Dwarvish.

If she was here, she might as well take the opportunity to study their handiwork. Alvara shuffled closer to the weapons lying around them, mesmerized by their flawless beauty.

A double-sided spear caught her eye, the larger and smaller lethal points on each end made of a glowing blue stone she had never seen, let alone worked with. Silver spiraled down the weapon from each tip, wrapping around a long, slender shaft in the middle that had been forged from some kind of turquoise metal. A lethal weapon if you knew how to wield it, or an easy way to stab yourself while in combat if you weren’t careful. Yet she still couldn’t help but run her fingers down the immaculate creation.

“Dalviri’s request. An exceptional weapon to channel her powers,” Skeggox said, and Alvara snatched her hand back. “The gods are fickle and often do not accept the first or even third iterations of the weapons they desire. What they use them for, us mortals do not know. Would you like it?”

“The goddess’s spear?” Alvara croaked. He must be mad.

“It will be destroyed otherwise. They do not like others touching their playthings. But in this instance, I think exceptions must be made. You are of her kingdom, are you not?”

“Yes, but⁠—”

Boden picked up the spear and thrust it in Alvara’s hands. “Take it, for Elamara’s sake. You know you’d like to.”

The weapon weighed little, requiring almost no effort on her part to lift it, and shrank before her eyes. It stopped at the perfect length for Alvara’s height, and she dangled it as far away from herself as she could. “It…it…”

“Ah, yes. The weapons will adapt to their handler if they agree with the match. It must like something it sees in you.” Skeggox spoke as if the spear had a mind. As if that was normal. “You, half-breed.”

Boden stiffened at his words, and Alvara drew the spear to her chest with clenched fingers. She opened her mouth to correct Skeggox, but Boden laid a hand on her back. He was right—it wasn’t worth risking the dwarves’ help, even if his choice of words made her want to gouge a hole in the wall.

“How did you know?” Boden asked.

“It is of little importance. You only carry the one, pathetic dagger?”

Alvara bit her lip to keep from laughing at the dwarf’s disgusted tone.

Boden shifted on his feet. “Yes, but⁠—”

“Magic users,” Skeggox muttered while he sorted through a small pile of weapons next to him. He grabbed a similarly sized blade and held it out. “Take it. It will absorb the power of any whose blood it draws. Power you can use through your own magic, since you seem to believe it superior to a blade.”

Boden touched the dagger and jumped back, cursing. “Is it supposed to do that?”