Battle Bond: An Urban Fantasy Dragon Series (Death Before Dragons #2) - Lindsay Buroker Page 0,106

not speak your language,” the dwarf said. “I am Belohk. You have saved my life and slain my captors. You are a mighty warrior.”

“I’m glad you think so.” It was legions above the dragons calling me a mongrel and a criminal.

I know a few words in his language, Sindari said, bringing more charms over. The thong was broken so I could only stick them in my pocket for now and hope I didn’t lose any. I’ll attempt to share what you’re saying.

Good. Thank you.

“I should have realized as soon as I saw your sword. The blade of Dondethor, a true master craftsman.”

I was in the middle of heaving a slab of rock off him, my battered body protesting the effort, and almost dropped it on my foot. “You know who made my sword?”

He—Belohk—looked at Sindari, waiting for a translation. Then he nodded. “The work of the legendary craftsman Dondethor is recognizable by all good dwarves. One of his works hangs in the museum in the Granite Castle deep in the First Mine.”

“Is he still alive? Is there an instruction manual for the sword that I can buy?”

His forehead creased. I probably shouldn’t have asked that. His estimation of how great a warrior I was had likely plummeted. What kind of warrior didn’t know the history of her weapons?

But I might never get another chance to talk to a dwarf. I had to put dignity aside and learn what I could.

“Dondethor passed to the realm of the blessed ancestors more than ten thousand years ago.”

Hell.

“The secrets of the blades are passed from father to son, mother to daughter. They are not written down. Did your father or mother not share them with you?”

“No, I got the sword from a zombie lord. I didn’t ask him if his parents had shared the operational instructions with him.”

As Belohk digested that—or maybe indigested it, as his pained frown suggested—he rolled onto his hands and knees and pushed himself to his feet. He wobbled, and I grabbed him to give him support.

“Then the sword was stolen from the original owner. It should be given back.”

Give back Chopper? I didn’t shake my head with vehement rejection, even if that was my first reaction, but made myself ask, “Do you know who it belongs to and where the family would be found?”

If I seemed cooperative, maybe he would be more likely to help me. And I was cooperative, however reluctantly. I’d had the sword for ten years, so I wanted very much to state it was mine, but Zav had also implied it was stolen. If I ever did find the legitimate owner, I would feel compelled to give it back.

“I do not know,” Belohk said. “Sometimes, great weapons were given as gifts to kings and queens and emperors and empresses from other lands. A few were even sacrificed to dragons for appeasement. I could take you to my homeland to do the necessary research, but I am a prisoner here.”

“How did you end up in this situation?”

Maybe I’d better get his mind on that and give up on getting more information about Chopper. If I kept asking about it, he might feel compelled to try to take it from me so that he could deliver it to its rightful owner. If that owner showed up with provenance, I would return Chopper, but I wouldn’t go looking for him or her.

“I was kidnapped and sold and dragged into this… forsaken realm. Which has no portals, no way back. No way home.” He turned haunted eyes on me. “I have a wife and children and grandchildren. And it is a volatile time back home. I worry about them.”

“If I could get you back home, I would. Trust me.”

Clumps of dirt and flooring tumbled down, and I whirled, again pointing Fezzik upward.

Dimitri was leaning over the edge. He jerked back out of sight. I lowered the weapon, and he poked his head over the side again.

“We’ve got a problem.” He looked toward a portion of the sky that wasn’t visible to me from down in the hole.

“Just one?”

“It’s a big one. I think our dragon is losing.”

I swore. “I’m coming up.”

“Zav seemed to be kind of injured from the beginning, and the other one is taking advantage.”

I’d been afraid of that.

Dimitri offered me a hand, but I pulled myself up into the wreckage of the kitchen on my own. Not because I was too proud to accept help but because I didn’t want him to get hurt because he