“Shankling!”cried Zyll at last, and from a hideous green pocket, she withdrew a silver breadknife. Brandishing it in the firelight, her sharp grin stretched wider as crimson eyes reflected the rising sparks.
“Is Sandrum’s blade-ling,” she declared, waggling the cutlery.
“I beg yourpardon,” scoffed Nigel, “but Sandrum Temple forged only thefinest—”
“Gods, am Igladto be out of that pocket,” gasped a new voice, wheezing like it had only just escaped suffocation. Then, sharp and annoyed, “Hang on, are we talking aboutSandrum? Because, you’ll have to forgive me, that guy was a completeasshole.”
Nigel gabbled, apoplectic, and Fern realized with astonishment that the voice was coming from the knife.
“Another Elder Blade?” Her mouth dropped open.
“Kid, you’re my new favorite person. Rat-person. Whatever, you get it. You wouldn’tbelievehow long it takes some folks to figure that out. Look at this white steel! Snowy as hells, right? I’ve got that, you know,weight of significance.Runes all over the place. Soul of an ancient hero and all that. Anybody with a pair of eyes should be able to see that right from the jump.”
“Youwere forged by Sandrum Temple?” asked Astryx, whose skeptical gaze couldn’t seem to settle between Zyll or the knife in her fist.
“Oh, yeah, I definitely . . . was . . . um . . .waitaminute. One . . . ear . . . Are you—? Is that—? Frigging hells, youare . . .” The knife’s voice bottomed out to a worshipful hush. “TheOathmaiden.Uh, that bit about the furry one being my favorite person was just, like, hyperbole, okay? I was only keeping the spot warm for you.”
“Wow,” said Fern.
“Look, kid, you can’t see it, but I’m shrugging helplessly over here. No hard feelings, but my destiny is sitting across the fire from me, and I can’t ignore that, you understand? Do you have any idea how big of a deal it would be for me to be wielded by the Blademistress? Still a big fan ofyouthough, okay?”
Nigel recovered his faculties enough to bellow, “I beg your pardon, my lady, but this . . . this stickpin isnotan Elder Blade! The greatest blacksmith of the Latter Age never stooped to forging . . .tableware! Speak your name, impostor!”
“Well, if you want to get technical about it—” the knife began.
“Breadlee!”interrupted Zyll, waving him around a little more.
There was a sudden, terrible silence, which was spoiled when Fern snorted and clapped her paws over her mouth.
“I go byBradlee, these days,” said the knife, in icy tones. “But as I wassaying,my forge-name is Bradelys Tertius.”
“Impossible,” scoffed Nigel. “Bradelys was lost. And he was agreatsword. He did not spreadjamontoast.”
“Wasa greatsword,” continued the tiny blade, mournfully. “Sandrum and me had a, um . . . falling out.”
“Hereforgedyou!” said Nigel, and then laughed, a booming sound that actually made his blade rock gently from side to side. Fern thought she could hear amused tears in his voice. “Into . . . into dinnerware! What on earth did you do to earn his ire?”
“Did Imentionhe was an asshole?”
“So, Breadlee—” began Fern.
“Bradlee.”
“Is there a reason you’re hanging around in Zyll’s pocket?”
“This I am also interested to know,” added Astryx, folding her arms and studying Zyll narrowly. “Since I searched every fold of that coat.”
“I, uh. Do you want to tell it?” The breadknife’s attention shifted to the goblin, somehow.
Zyll lowered Breadlee until he was at eye level, studying the length of his blade.
She licked him.
“Hey!” cried the knife.
“I have, how do you say . . . conf-is-klated him. He is murrrder weapon.” Zyll purred theRinmurderlike she was savoring the taste.
“That’s not a good way to tell the story!” Breadlee protested. “Look, I didn’t murderanybody. I was barely involved. Except for the stabbing part.”
