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“Jesus Christ,” I whispered. “I had no idea.”
16
Vigoren grinned. His face looked ghostly by the light of the will o’ the wisp lantern. “That’s some kind of binding spell. Not like any I have ever seen before, but we can expect exotic magic in an exotic sword.”
Had my mother known about the magic forged into Chun Yi? She never mentioned an enchantment. On the long journey from China to America, she brought the sword and the clothes on her back. I had always assumed the sword was a family heirloom, with no value beyond its age and its deadly steel.
I slid my hand along the counter until my fingers rested on the sword. The glowworms crept from the blade to my skin. They didn’t feel like anything, though they were definitely crossing onto my hand before fading.
“Binding?” I asked. “What is the spell binding?”
When Vigoren blew out the lantern, the glowworms vanished. “If you look closer at the blade, there’s a particular waterfall pattern that only occurs when magic is folded into the metal. Certain mages can read the steel to determine anenchantment’s purpose, but with this sword, I suspect only a Chinese mage would know.”
I lifted the sword. “Can you unbind the magic?”
“It would be my pleasure.” Vigoren smiled. “It won’t be more than a moment.”
Damn, that was fast. I should have splurged on a swordsmith years ago.
Vigoren disappeared into the back of his workshop.
In the glass case near my right, I inspected the lineup of antique rapiers. I didn’t like the thrust-and-parry style of fencing, but I had seen one or two mercenaries who had made a living out of killing that way.
Not that mercenaries had long careers. They always seemed to die young.
I shadowed a swordswoman for a year in an informal apprenticeship, until my tough-as-nails mentor took an arrow in the belly and died not two weeks later. Thinking about it still made me feel numb.
When Vigoren returned, he offered me Chun Yi, pommel-first. “Try it.”
I swept my sword from its scabbard.
Nothing happened. Chun Yi still looked dull and battered. Frowning, I gripped the sharkskin hilt tighter and swung the sword so it whirred through the air. The balance of the blade felt familiar. Disappointingly so.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
Vigoren shrugged. “Here. Let me take another look.”
I flipped the pommel toward him. The flat of the blade caught in my left hand. Chun Yi cut me in the crook of my thumb.
I grimaced. “Damn it.”
Blood trickled onto the blade. Iridescence shimmered down the length of the steel, then ignited in a rush of magic. Chun Yiburned like an ember, glowing cherry red at the center, cooling to ash gray at the edges.
“Shit!” I nearly dropped the sword, though it burned without heat.
“Blood magic!”
I whistled low under my breath. “You were right.”
Vigoren grinned. “Swordsmiths dream of discovering enchantments like this. Ancient, rare, and hidden in even the ugliest of blades.”
Ugly? I decided not to argue the point.
The burning sword mesmerized me. I always found fire beautiful. “What is it?”
Vigoren rubbed his mustache. “The blade is bloodthirsty, very literally. The more blood it drinks, the more powerful it will become.”
“Powerful? How?”
