“We be ta tree Smitts, but I supposed tat you’d already be knowing tat, yeah?” he asked. I gave a nod.
They were leading us out of the tunnel and into a clearing. Across the way stood a huge log cabin, and off to one side of that stood a shop with an oversized forge and three anvils.
“Welcome ta our humblest abode, lass.” All three gave a bow from the waist. The third Smith was the oldest of the bunch, his gray hair bound in a long braid, a long grey beard with beads woven into it, and he had bright blue eyes that reminded me a little of Luke’s. He was wearing a red on red kilt and a white shirt that had seen better days.
“Thank you,” I said. I couldn’t help glancing over my shoulder. The mound we’d stepped out of was gone, settled into the ground.
The first Smith, the one with the red hair, stepped forward. “I be Angus, that there with the shiny cap is Wil, and ‘ol grey beard there is Paddy.”
“I’m Quinn, this is Bres.” The men all nodded to one another, but it was Paddy who stepped forward.
“Let me see that sword of yours lad. It looks a mite familiar.” Bres handed over his sword, the blade still shiny with black blood. Paddy polished it off, inspecting it first one way, then the other.
Angus grunted. “He tinks every sword is one he’s made. He be going daft, though he can still swing a vicious right.”
Paddy glared at Angus, and Wil just laughed. “Egads, how long since we be having guests? Come on, we should show them to ta house. Feed ‘em up.”
I was already shaking my head. “No, I’m sorry, we don’t have time. We came here for help. I need you to build me a sword that will be able to. . .” I paused, feeling what I was about to say spin through me. I was asking for a sword to kill Ashling.
It hit me in the gut, as if I’d been kicked by a mule. Sinking to the ground, the reality swept through me.
To save the world, I was going to have to kill my sister. Just like the prophecy had said.
The three Smiths exchanged knowing glances. It was Paddy who crouched in front of me, the beads in his beard tinkling. “Lass, you need Excalibur. We made tat sword, imbued it wit ta strength of a soul and gave it to Arthur ta rule. But it’s been many a year dat it t’was destroyed.”
Clearing my throat, I put my hands on my folded knees. “I know. That’s why I need you to make me a new one.”
Paddy’s blue eyes lowered and he shook his head slowly. “I don’t tink we can, lass. We have many a sword ‘ere, good swords, but none wit ta power you be needing.”
“I wish to hell we could,” Wil said. “But we be missing all ta vitals.”
Bres frowned, “What do you need?”
Angus lifted his hands in the air, ceasing the conversation. “This is a talk for ta anvil.” He turned and headed towards the covered work area, Paddy and Wil following him.
Bres held his hand out to me. “Don’t lose faith, Quinn. We aren’t done yet.”
I managed to give him a smile, and wished with all my heart that I could hang onto his words and truly believe them.
10
The ‘vitals’ as it turned out were a list of items that Angus, Wil and Paddy mostly had. Except for the most important parts.
“You see, ta most important tings to make a weapon of power like Excalibur are ta weapon of a true King of ta Emerald Isle and ta soul of one who needs to make recompense for ta sins in their life.”
I leaned a hip against the middle anvil, the sharp edge digging into me a bit. “But you said that the last true King was Arthur.” They nodded. “So how are we going to get a weapon of his?”
Angus shrugged. “He had a number of tings. His sword, of course, as well as a dagger . . .” He kept talking, but my ears started to ring and all I could hear was the word dagger. My fingers found the handle of my dagger at my waist. The bone was smooth and warm, the etching in it and the blade were Celtic. It had power. Cora had told me that when I first met her. She had said that it was bonded to me and my family.
Could it be that my grandfather had known what I would need? That the dagger he’d passed down to me was really once Arthur’s? Slowly, I pulled it out and laid it on the anvil.
With a gasp and a choke as a unit, the three Smiths went silent. It was Paddy who finally spoke up. “Lass, how did ya get tat?”
“My grandfather gave it to me. Is it . . . was it, Arthur’s?”
Paddy lifted it up off the anvil. “Yes, dis was Arthur’s.” He fingered the blade, turning it in the light. “If it was passed down to ya, troo yer family, then not only was it Arthurs, den you are Arthur’s descendant.”