Faith Hunter - Seraphs

“ Sweet seraph. It’s wonderful.” Rupert took the cloak, stroking the dark blue velvet, so fine it scattered the light. The lining was quilted scarlet silk. He shook the wrinkles from its folds, and tossed it over his shoulders. Assuming a rakish pose, he asked, “Well?”

“You look perfect,” I said. “It brings a blue sheen to your eyes, and makes your hair look even darker.” I’d have added it was lovely, except it wasn’t; it somehow carried a sense of menace. The cloth fell to the floor, making his shoulders look broader, his form threatening.

“And there’s this,” Audric said. From the counter, he lifted a cloth-wrapped object and extended it to Rupert. A leather-wrapped hilt with a dark blue stone set into the pommel protruded from the end. “It’s a bastard sword. It was specially made for you.”

At the sight of the ornate navy-and-burgundy, tooled-leather sheath, Rupert made a soft sound, not quite a moan, not quite a groan, but way more than a sigh. The timbre brought a smile to Audric’s face. “You’re slower than a mage or a half-breed,” he said, “but stronger. As your skills increase, that strength will make you a formidable opponent, even for me. The hand-and-a-half-length hilt is perfect to capitalize on that strength.” Rupert pulled the blade from the sheath and set the leather to the side. Gripping the hilt in both hands, he swung the double-bladed, four-foot sword experimentally, getting the feel of its balance. “Don’t start a swing that you aren’t totally committed to, Rupert. It has its own weight. It won’t be easy to stop in battle.”

“Is it named?” he asked.

I stiffened at the question. Most sword masters—not sword owners, but masters —named their weapons, and that name often followed a blade from master to master. That name was part of the initiation rite when a savage-blade student was given his first battle-weapon. To a traditional swordsman, the blades he used were alive, with personalities and characters all their own. I had never named my own weapons, and had never been through the ceremony that officially marked a mage reaching adult-hood, thus I had never received my adult weapons. Maybe I would feel differently about them if I had, but to me they were tools, not toys or pets.

“No. Naming is your right, but only after you draw first blood in battle.” Audric handed him the sword sheath. “Strap it on beneath your cloak. Today, it’s for show. Most likely.” His voice was disappointed; there might not be fighting and bloodletting in the streets.

“What are we today? Her escorts?”

Audric’s mouth turned up, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Her champards.”

I closed my eyes. The title was a formal one, established by the first practitioners of savage-blade for the nonmage companions of a mage—champions and partners who followed into battle, fought the same war, and wrestled against a common enemy. Champards pledged themselves and their fortunes to one mage-leader. And died by her side. Cold scuttled up my spine on anxious feet. Rupert’s training in the arts of war had only begun when Audric came into his life. He wasn’t ready for his first battle blade. He was good, very good, but was years away from being skilled enough to fight in a real war. “I don’t want anyone to fight beside me. I never want anyone to die because of me,” I said.

“We took on your battles when we became partners in Thorn’s Gems, honeybunch,” Rupert said, strapping the sheath on his waist beneath his cloak. “When we first became friends. This was inevitable.”

But he didn’t know what he was saying, what he was promising. He couldn’t. Behind us, Jacey stepped through the door with a blast of icy air, her boots on the wood floor telling me who she was as surely as if she had announced herself. It took a long moment for the door to close. “You people look… wicked,” she said, her voice muted. “Dreadful. And terrible. And exquisite. Like pure flame.” It was her trademark comment, flame having the power that purified gold and metal, and shaped glass. Her words fell like an omen on my soul. I didn’t want to look terrible, yet it was the effect I had planned for. It was the exact impression I wanted to make. And with two armed champards at my side, I could look nothing else.

When I opened my eyes, I saw Jacey, wearing her finest, a scarlet velvet gown with long, full skirts, and a dark crimson cloak thrown back to reveal the dress. I was surprised she wore her best clothes. And then I wasn’t. In her own way, Jacey, too, was declaring herself a champard. Her brown hair was braided, and she was wearing lipstick, something she seldom bothered with. I blinked back a sheen of tears. “Who’s going to mind the store?” I asked.

“We’re closing Thorn’s Gems. It’s been decided we need a show of force to combat the gossips, scandalmongers, and waggling tongues. Don’t argue,” she said as I was about to protest. “I need jewelry,” she added. Going to the emerald display case, she lifted out the chunky emerald necklace made of locally mined stone and draped it over her head. The pendant nestled in the velvet and caught the light. “This emerald find made all the news. It won’t hurt to remind the town fathers where a good bit of their tax base comes from.” She dangled emeralds from her ears, and slid three emerald rings on her fingers. On her wrists went matching knitted cuffs, stitched with beads, which caught the light.

Calm, she looked us over, her gaze lingering on me, on the hem trailing from beneath my battered war-cloak. Her brows went up but she didn’t comment. Instead she looked over the door to the loft, at the framed, embroidered proverb hanging there. It was my birth prophecy, the divination that claimed my twin and I would be great warriors against Darkness. A Rose by any Other Name will still draw Blood. The prophecy that could never come true because Rose was dead.

“You don’t have a family,” she said, “except us. And family doesn’t desert family. Lock up, boys. Thorn. Big Zed and the kids are waiting.” Regal, she floated through the room and out the door.

“You ever see her like that?” Audric asked.

“Yeah, with her kids,” Rupert said morosely. “Best not to argue. She’ll box our ears.”

“Do tell. I’d like to see her try.” Flipping his palm up and out, Audric said, “After you, little mage.”

Dread tight in my chest, I followed Jacey into the sleet, my walking stick tapping for balance, the bloodstone handle-hilt of its hidden sword warm in my hand. With a deft movement, I freed my cloak’s hood and pulled it over my head. Sleet had formed a brittle layer on top of the softer snow, and my boots cracked through, sinking to mid-shin. The town was quiet except for sleet landing with a secretive patter.

A snow-el-bile—a hybrid, battery-powered car modified with snowmobile sled runners—raced past, sliding and slipping. Another el-car, this one painted with the logo of the Satellite News Network and equipped with a rotating track like a bulldozer, churned toward us on the slick surface. Chasing a seraph sighting, reporters from SNN had been stranded in town when a blizzard hit and were desperate to find something to share with the nation before their superiors and fans forgot they existed. Or they could take the mule train back to civilization. Not a fun prospect. Oliver Winston had tried to interview the local mage, as had his companion reporter, Romona Benson. So far I had managed to avoid them.

From every building and storefront, town citizens emerged, locking up behind them. Some delivered surreptitious glances our way. Others turned away as if we didn’t exist. Only a few acknowledged us, and I made note of them: Esmeralda Boyles—Miz Essie—who trudged across the street to join our little cavalcade; Sennabel Schwartz, who ran the local library; and her husband, whom I didn’t know. A few others followed.