A Promise of Iron by Brandon McCoy (best free ebook reader TXT) 📗

would need the blessing of a storm to help mask that activity. That wasn’t really a concern; this time of year, the ocean air would typically form up around the hills to the west and give us some decent rain every few days or so. The bows would be tricky. Ash made for a good bow, but it would need to be treated to get it flexible enough to form; it was a timely process.

“The belt knives here, you can get those at the House, I won’t risk running my forge on that.”

“No, friend,” Dallon replied. “Can’t let the House in on this one at all, can’t have the knives linking back should the boys be caught or killed, I need unregistered weapons.”

“That will cost you then. The stock isn’t the problem, I have a few discrete vendors, but the time in crafting three virgin blades is…”

“Well compensated for, I assure you,” Dallon said, gesturing to the bag of coin.

I stood up, grabbed the cup from the writing-table, and went over to my cask of ale. I offered to Dallon, but he declined as politely as I did his pipe. I sat back down and thought for a moment. “When do you need it?”

“Ten days,” he said quickly enough to infer there was no room to negotiate. “I have some business here in Belen, but I will need them before I head south. The oculus is on us here.”

I nodded.

Once I got my materials, the bow and knives might be two days, three if the weather didn’t cooperate. I would need to get to work on the bows soon, though. I took another drink of my ale and began to calculate the cost of the order. In materials and bribes, I estimated the cost to be about seven iron stars. “Going to be at least ten stars to make it happen.”

He nodded in agreement and gestured again to the bag.

I leaned forward and opened the purse. I counted dozens of silver coins, half as many in gold, and a handful of dark iron stars. I did some quick arithmetic and tallied close to eleven stars in various coin. I opened the other bag beside it. Inside were the six nobles I was owed from Lesso and a letter of apology promising me a fresh cask of ale for late payment.

Dallon tossed the iron circle back on the table. “You can keep this too.”

I looked at the circle again. This was not something to be sold or melted down. It was a symbol, one shown to the right person would buy whatever aid they could render. Shown to the wrong person and it likely would end with your head separated from your shoulders.

I picked up the circle and tossed it back to him. “I want no part of your rebellion.”

“You’re already in it, friend,” he replied, placing the ring back on the table. He left his index finger pressed against it. “This is not something you can buy and not something you can give away.”

I met his stare. His eyes were like daggers. All my instincts said this was a dangerous man, but they were all dangerous. They were ruthless in their pursuit, these patrons of lost causes. They were no better than the Venticle zealots with the quest to civilize the known world. How did Ada ever deal with these people? Lesso was much the same. Despite his ingratiating charm, I suspected he would sell off his mother if it meant driving a stake into the Old Oak. I wanted no part of that brand of fanaticism. But I knew that if he was anything like Lesso, he would not yield his point. I slid the ring into my pocket. I could always melt it down later.

“I agree to your terms,” I said, extending my hand. “We have an accord.”

“Ten days,” he repeated as he took my hand.

I nodded as he gathered his hat and gloves. I walked him to the door. “Tell Lesso I expect that ale before the next cycle.”

Dallon’s smile faded. “Lesso was executed in Gent three days ago.”

I had no words. I had seen Lesso only a few weeks ago. “Lesso was—”

“A patriot,” he finished, placing a hand on my shoulder. I didn’t meet his eyes.

“Salt and ruin,” he said as he placed his hat on his head and stepped onto the street.

“Salt and ruin,” I echoed.

He vanished amidst the traffic and I shut the door. Turning back to the shop, I took a deep breath. I saw an unwritten letter, a bag full of rebel coin, and a little circle of iron that guaranteed me certain death. I was lucky, after all.

Chapter One and Four

Summer 1272, Cyllian Imperial Count

I counted out four iron stars worth of coin from the bag and placed them in my purse. Then I went upstairs to tend the wound on my foot and to put on my boots. I made good time to the House considering my foot still ached. When I arrived, the guards were just beginning to load their oil crates to light the street lamps. They gave me a sideways look as I approached but didn’t bar me from entering.

The House was quiet as it often was near closing time. A majority of the stalls at the commissary wing were closed, but Lira was still there, looking as beautiful as ever.

I stepped towards her and saw the worried lines around her brow. I opened my writ book; she did not call out my name as she had before.

“By the grace of Sereventus, what happened to you? Did you get the coin? I thought I was going to have to stash this thing. Auditors have been on me to close for the past half hour. What took you so long?”

I winked at her, which was not the correct response.

She smacked her hand on top of my writ book. “Faerin, gods help me if you don’t…”

“Yes, yes, I have it,” I said, holding my hands up in