reached out and grabbed his da’s wrist, pulling him back to face him.
‘Da, you’re worrying me.’
Olin sucked in a deep breath, blew out slowly.
‘The newcomers in Kergard, the ones you fought. I don’t like them.’
‘I don’t like them either,’ Drem said. ‘No need to make a sword to kill them with, though.’
A flicker of a smile. ‘No, son. I’m not forging a sword to kill them. My axe or knife would be good enough for that. No, I mean, there’s something wrong about them being here. I feel it. And Old Bodil, supposedly killed by our white bear …’
‘I’ve had … doubts, over that,’ Drem said, frowning, remembering the strap-mark worn into the flesh of Bodil’s wrist. He told his da about it.
His da nodded, giving him a proud look.
‘Aye, that’s what I’m talking about. Strange things are happening here. The new mine, the miners, men found dead in the Wild, bonfires. Call me suspicious, but I don’t like any of it.’
I don’t like the new miners! Drem thought, thinking of Wispy Beard and the fight near the market.
‘And on top of that, the damn Kadoshim are stirring things up in the south – talk of human sacrifice and who knows what – and the Ben-Elim demanding their warrior tithes and taxes. It’s their fault, all of it,’ Olin snarled, a hint of savagery and rage barely contained. He breathed deep, closed his eyes. ‘And I’ve had enough,’ he said with a slow exhalation. ‘Something feels wrong, and when I’ve had this feeling before, we’ve packed up and left. Moved on. But where else is there to go now?’
Drem shrugged.
‘I’m going to end this. All of it.’
Drem didn’t like the way his da was acting, the way he was speaking, the look in his eyes, a focus verging on frenzy.
‘How? Da, you’re not yourself. What do you mean?’
‘I’m going to forge a starstone sword and cut Asroth’s head off with it.’
Drem felt an overwhelming urge to take his pulse and almost let go of the bellows. There was a long moment of silence between them, even the crackle of fire and charcoal ebbing.
‘What?’ Drem blurted, incredulous.
Has he lost his mind?
A thousand more questions burst to life in Drem’s mind. His da ignored him.
‘DA!’ Drem shouted, but then his da was moving, all grim focus, and Drem could tell from the look on Olin’s face that he wasn’t going to do any more talking. With tongs Olin lowered the lump of starstone metal into the forge, laid it into the white heat of the charcoal, so hot the air was a shimmering haze about it.
Drem felt sick, all this talk of running and hiding, of Ben-Elim and Kadoshim. For as long as he could remember, life had been Drem and his da, just the two of them, a solitary existence, but one that Drem was used to and loved. This talk of the world piercing their bubble and crashing into their lives, changing everything, left Drem feeling scared and nauseous.
And he’s talking about Asroth? The Demon-Lord of the Kadoshim. But he’s dead a hundred years, or alive and sealed in molten rock in Drassil, an eternal gaol. Everyone knows that.
They both stood in silence, looking at the matt black metal. Nothing happened.
‘Not hot enough?’ Drem said.
Olin stood there, staring at the lump of metal, a dull, impenetrable black, then nodded to himself, drew himself straighter. He unsheathed a knife from his belt and opened his mouth, spoke, but in no language Drem recognized, the words issuing from his throat fluid and unearthly, setting Drem’s hairs standing on his arms and the back of his neck, sending an icy chill trickling through his veins, even in the sweat-heat of the forge.
‘Tine agus fola, iarann agus cruach, lann a maraigh an aingeal dorcha,’ his da said, at the same time drawing the knife across his palm, a dark line welling, with a flick of his wrist spattering the blood on the forge and starstone. There was a hissing sound, a sweet smell, and where the droplets of blood hit the starstone the rock began to bubble, rising like blisters, spreading across the dark metal like spilt ink.
‘Da,’ Drem croaked, his voice dry and cracked. ‘You’re scaring me.’
The black metal began to glow, red first, shifting to orange and then incandescent white.
‘Da!’ Drem said, louder.
Olin ignored him, reaching for tongs and hammer.
Dawn was a glow in the east when they left the forge, turning the water of the Starstone Lake to rippling bronze. Snow