The streets were clean, the people dressed well, and from a glance, all was well in Malawi. Bran pointed out buildings, parks, and even the palace as he kept up a steady dialogue of fact, fiction, rumor, and funny stories. Several people waved at him or called out friendly insults.
He slowed as we passed a large building with a circular stone entrance. “The ball will be held in there.”
We looked, but a largish building with a plain outside was all there was to see. It was attached to the palace at one end, an obvious addition and of a different style. It was interesting, but food interested me more. I said so, and Bran laughed and turned the carriage to take us to a rougher part of town.
We climbed down and entered a dark room filled with darker tables and chairs. It was cooler than outside, which had grown uncomfortably hot. A woman server flashed past. Bran called his order as she disappeared into the kitchen, only to appear a short while later carrying a platter and three bowls.
She sat it on the table, exchanged a few insults with Bran, and was off again while we distributed the bowls. My eyes were on the platter and the fish that occupied most of it. Around the fish were slices of carrots and onion. I served myself and used the tip of a dull knife she provided to eat. The fish was one of the best I’d ever eaten, and the bread the server brought was heavy and full of seeds, also wonderful when slathered with butter.
The daylight had passed, and evening awaited. No telling what we’d learn at the Black Swan if we sipped light wine and kept our ears open.
We climbed into the carriage in time to hear a warning shout from a nearby man. A woman pointed at the sky and shrieked. Five Wyvern winged in a large circle and we seemed to be the center of it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Elizabeth said to Bran, “Are there a lot of those evil creatures flying about here?”
Bran said in a hushed tone, “I’ve never seen one of them before. I’ve heard of dragons, of course, but never seen one.”
“Those are Wyvern,” I said automatically. “Not dragons.”
Bran fought with the reigns to control the horse. It may have never seen a Wyvern either, but it knew when to be scared. I ignored him, the horse, the people who ran in the streets, and the few screams. I focused on drawing water from nearby sources and concentrating it into five equal measures. If the Wyvern attacked, I’d scald them with steam again, all five at once if my magic allowed. But for now, they remained too far away.
Not that these were the same Wyvern that had attacked our boat. They might be, but I doubted it. They were fresh recruits flown in by the Young Mage. They’d never been seen here before, so the coincidence of their arrival and ours was too much to ignore.
They didn’t attack us. Instead, they flew off to the west, flying high over the city and upsetting everyone living in it. Everyone we passed seemed to be talking about the sudden appearance of Wyvern, a creature most had regulated to myth until today. Most called them dragons which irritated me in some primal way.
Elizabeth and I listened, commented when required, but otherwise allowed the city to speak to us instead of the other way around. As we passed under a stone bridge over a small, shallow river, a voice called out to Bran. He looked up and waved as he pulled the carriage to a halt.
A young woman raced to meet us, her long brown hair flowing in the air behind her. My eyes couldn’t look away. She was beautiful. While she talked briefly to Bran, her eyes never left me. Mine never left her.
Bran turned to us and said, “Your invitation for the ball is being delivered to the Black Swan right now.”
As simple as that, unknown Elizabeth had entered a city and before sunset, without telling anyone who she was, had secured an invitation to a royal ball. In a city where perhaps one in ten had ever laid eyes on their king, she had managed to attract so much attention the city elite were begging for information about her. That proved the power of rumors.
The people who had tended to us in the Black Swan, as well as those working there, had unwittingly done her bidding with their gossiping too. A few seamstresses, tailors, or employees speaking to their friends about the mysterious new arrival, along with rumors spread in the palace by Bran’s friends had taken only one day for royalty to become curious about her.
Bran sat smiling as we whooped and laughed at his news. He finally asked, “Where would you like to go next?”
Before I could suggest returning to the inn for the evening, Elizabeth spoke up, “I’ve heard Malawi has the best sword makers in the known world. Would the best of their shops still be open?”
Bran spun and slapped the horse in the rump. “If we hurry. The best is usually open until sunset this time of the year.”
The carriage bounced along the cobblestones as I tried to catch Elizabeth’s eye. She playfully avoided me. Yet, she was giving me a present almost as great as the sword itself. The carriage careened around corners, down hills, and ended up near the bay where it narrowed and was surrounded by an industrial area. Bran pulled to a stop beside a low stone building and pointed to a door.
I entered with Elizabeth to find a very large room, open to the working furnaces at the back. Inside were three men, two working at a smoky forge and one older man at the counter sitting on a stool and carefully carving scrolls on a blade. He laid his tools down and looked us up and down without a greeting.
I nodded.
He was old, his face like leather left in the sun to soak up water to crack and dry in the heat. His hands were pale, veined, and as wrinkled as his face. Only his eyes were young and alert. I had the impression his body had aged while his mind hadn’t.
He glanced at my old, everyday scabbard and the crude addition intended to hold a bow, which it seldom did. He didn’t grimace but could have. He said, “I think you have come to the wrong shop. Perhaps I can recommend one more suitable?”
The tone was not insulting, simply flat and void of friendliness. I strode confidently to the counter while thinking that if he picked up his tools as a way to dismiss me, I’d use my magic to push his hand aside and ruin his work. I said, “I’m in need of a new scabbard, and someone to repair my blade. Our driver says you are the best in the city.”
“Your driver does us a favor, but we work for the wealthy and have no time for anything else.”
“Do you have the ability to repair a nick on a blade?”
“Of course, but as I told you . . .”
While he answered, I pulled my blade and placed it on the counter in front of him. His mouth quit working. His eyes grew large and he drew back as if the blade would leap from the counter and strike him. I said, “Is this blade something of the quality you might work on?”
His thumb tested the chip on the cutting edge without lifting the sword. He said, “I have only seen three of these masterpieces made by my ancestors in my life, only one of the three was this quality.”
“The chip?”
“The blade cannot be touched with the heat of a forge.” He used a bit of soot to mark the blade, the chip in the center. “No metal will bind with this for a repair. However, the edge can be reshaped near the chip in such a way that nobody will ever know it has been repaired. The chip is not deep, nor repairable otherwise. That is the best anyone can do.”
I waited.
He gently moved his index finger along the edge to indicate where it would be changed. “There is nobody else in Malawi who should touch this, nobody in the world. Did you cause this damage?”
“In battle,” I admitted.