Chapter Twenty-Eight: A Blade of Legend
In which Captain Graeme at last reveals the secret of the Lochlan blade.
Graeme poured oiska all around. He leaned back in his seat, swallowed a healthy shot, and poured another. He stared down at the cup, twisting it in his hands, and finally started talking. “I’ve told ye the right of it,” he said. “Mostly. The boy is a Lochlan, and his ma did give me the blade as payment. I recognized it right away, but what I didn’t realize was the secret it held.”
Ian sat down and took a cup of oiska. “Secret?”
Graeme nodded. “The blade isn’t even Eiryan steel—ye know that much, aye?”
Ian nodded. “They said someone foreign funded the rebellion, supplied the rebels with blades, but they never found who—only knew there were dark-skinned foreign people in the hills around the same time.”
Graeme paused for another shot of oiska, grimaced, and met Ian’s eyes. “Ye at least know of ha’kari steel.”
“Of course. It’s the only thing my father will buy for his men.”
Graeme put down his cup. “And rightly so. ‘Tis the finest steel cast anywhere in the world. ‘Tis the iron they have in the east—something in the minerals or the soil.” He waved a hand. “I know little of steelcraft. But I do know there was something better, once.”
Ian frowned. “Better than ha’kari steel?”
“Aye.” He opened the box on his desk and pulled out a dagger.
The Lochlan blade. Ian stared. Behind him, Seamus gasped. “How—”
“D’ye think I haven’t been watching the boy? Especially here in Espara? Veil girls and thieves and swindlers everywhere.” He snorted a laugh and gestured at Seamus. “I wasn’t about to risk him runnin’ off with my daughter or my blade.”
“But—” Ian started.
“I had Donal watchin’ him. When the boy received a message from shore at the hand of a highborn Esparan messenger, he thought it a mite dodgy.” He gestured again, this time with the point of the dagger, and narrowed his eyes. “Ye’re either the stupidest boy asea or the most desperate—I haven’t figured out which. D’ye think I just forgot to lock the box? Did it occur to ye that I mighta known ye’d try to take it?”
Ian turned to Seamus, whose face had turned a deep shade of red. “I didn’t—I mean—” He took a deep breath. “I only wanted the money. I only wanted to buy a ship.”
Graeme grunted. “Ye mayn’t have need of one now. My girl knows ye were gapin’ at another when this one was stolen.”
Seamus flinched. “Can I see her?”
“Not yet,” Ian said. He looked at Donal. “You stole the blade when he was distracted.”
“Not me, exactly,” Donal said. “D’ye think Seamus wouldn’t have noticed if I were following him?” He shrugged. “I hired an Esparan lad with nimble fingers.”
“Piper knows ye stole the blade and left the ship without her,” Graeme told Seamus. “She’s heard all about your wandering eye, too.”
The boy’s shoulders slumped. “I wanted to surprise her. And Xian told me not to say anything.”
“Ah, the ambassador,” Graeme said. “Back to that.” He flipped the blade around and passed it across the desk to Ian. “Take a good look, highness. Tell me what ye think of that steel.”
Ian ran his fingers along the length of the blade. When he’d held the dagger before, he’d only examined the crest on the hilt—the emblem of the Lochlan house. Now, he focused on the blade. Not ha’kari, he thought. Something else. But good steel, nonetheless, and well-crafted to be sure. “It’s not ha’kari—not quite—but neither is it Eiryan steel,” Ian said.
“A man sails as much as I do, he hears things,” Graeme said. “Stories, rumors, myths, the like. ‘Tis said in the east that before the uprising that split the houses of Imur and Amun, there was a great center of steel making in the Zhasta Mountains. Both sides wanted it in the wars there. The priests wanted only to end the war. They destroyed the city, killed all the steel masters, and melted down as much of the steel as they could find. They added impurities and destroyed all knowledge of how to make the steel.”
Ian swallowed hard and nodded. “I’ve heard the story, but I thought it was legend. It was six hundred years ago—more, perhaps.”
“’Twas,” Graeme said. “Both the houses of Imur and Amun were chastened by the massacre. They made peace, set up the border, formed their own lands, and looked for the secret of Zhasta steel for hundreds of years.” He paused. “They still haven’t found it. Ha’kari steel is close, but not as good.”
Ian held the dagger up in the light. “And you think this one is Zhasta steel? How?”
“That’s where the rumors get murkier. They say a few of the steel masters caught wind of the priests’ plans and took what they could. They hid out in the mountains till the war was over and moved on to find safer ground, away from the new government and the priests.”
Ian leaned forward and set the steel on the desk. “And where do you think they went?”
Graeme grinned. “Some place with great deposits of iron, precious metals, gemstones, and the like. Some place where they could put their talents to good use, aye?”
Everything clicked together. “Gods,” he whispered. “The dark hill people—the ones who vanished after the uprising—you think they were—”
“Zhasta steel masters,” Graeme said. He paused. “I think the steel masters sold their last several blades to the Lochlans in exchange for access to Eiryan steel and gems, and then they tried to restart their trade in the Eiryan mountains. Only trouble was, Eiryan iron doesn’t have the same makeup as Eastern iron. They made great blades, but they couldn’t replicate Zhasta steel.” He pointed at the blade. “Your friend saw that blade. He figured it was old enough, and he knew the stories, and he thought he’d sell it for his freedom.”
Ian nodded. And now I hold my friend’s freedom in my hands.