Chapter 14

I hoped my monster girls and Maya were having success with Priestess Lysila. I had my own task today. I was back with the dwarves, standing with my new allies as I watched the best blacksmith in the village, a brawny dwarf with black hair and a beard streaked with gray. Scars covered his entire body. Small, puckered burns from sparks.

Heat rippled from the furnace. A priest of the Lord and Lady of Wind chanted prayers to send air into the flames burning something called coke, which looked a lot like gray charcoal. I didn’t know if it was a magical substance or if I knew next to nothing about how swords were forged.

Fara stood at my side to take notes, curious about what was happening and how this would work. She stood poised to write while all of my werewolves and aos sithe surrounded us as my bodyguards. Hagza was with me. She stood next to a large magic circle that surrounded a barrel of oil. The blade would be tempered in it.

“It’s a simple one for tempering the metal to make it hard and strong,” Hagza had explained when we had arrived. “That’s what normal tempering does. The blacksmith aligns the grains of the steel by battering it with his hammer and pounding it out. The tempering ensures that it cools so quickly, the grain can’t change. This circle just makes sure it’s perfect.”

The blacksmith lifted a bucket from the fire and poured it out into a mold, forming a bar. Flames danced at the edge. Another priest came up, this one to the Lord and Lady of Fire. The dwarf glanced at me, his expression hidden by his beard.

“Lord Gibil, cool this metal. Take away the heat of it so that it may be worked into a weapon of sublime majesty.”

The metal cooled down to black. The blacksmith broke the sand mold and thrust the bar back into the forge. The priest of wind was no longer praying. No air was flowing in. The dwarf gripped the bar with his tongs and turned it. Twisted it.

He pulled it out and brought it to the anvil. He hammered at it, the head of the tool big and hefty. It must have weighed twenty or more pounds. The dwarf’s muscles bulged as he pounded it with skill, turning the bar over to hit it from both sides.

He had a steady rhythm.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

Sparks burst from the impact of metal each time. I watched on, entranced by the process. There was something so ... primal about witnessing the blacksmith hammer the steel into the shape of a sword. He worked at it with the hammer.

As he worked, the metal cooled from the bright white to warm yellow down to orange. When it reached a ruddy red, he thrust it back into the furnace for a minute or so. He pulled the metal back out and beat at it again.

He folded the steel.

I watched him do that over and over. Pounding it wide in a minute, bending it in half then in half again, making layers of steel. He repeated it over and over, hammering it flat before folding it twice and working again.

After doing that maybe forty or fifty times, he moved on to shaping the blade.

He created it through controlled force. He used hard but measured swings. Every stroke of the hammer hit the right spot. He moved the sword on the anvil with the tongs as he pounded. He worked fast and with skill, breaking off the crust on the glowing metal each time he hit it.

I heard him muttering as he worked.

Praying to the Lord of Metal.

Was he a priest, too? That made sense.

The Gods didn’t seem to care they were making a sword for Halia. Maybe they had no idea. How omnipotent were the Gods? Maybe they were getting dozens of prayers a minute. Was their awareness focused in one place or many?

I just watched.

The sword took shape. The bar flattened, coming thinner. Flatter. The shape appeared. He added a fuller to the middle. He worked so fast. I had a feeling that what the dwarf was doing in an hour would be days of work in the real world.

No magic back there. Plus, aren’t dwarves just supposed to be innately good at crafts?

The sword took on its final shape before he thrust it into the fire one more time. He drew it out and headed for the quenching barrel in the middle of the circle. He thrust the sword into what I first thought was water but turned out to be thick oil. It hissed and bubbled.

“Usu Urud!” chanted Hagza.

The circle burst with leaden light that washed over it. The sword burst with light in the oil then the boiling stopped. The smith pulled it out and held it up. The oil dripped off the bright steel. It was a sword. It had no hilt or handle, just a tang he held. It didn’t seem like a spell I knew. Most be a unique wizard spell like using the teleportation circle.

“It needs sharpening,” growled the dwarf, “but it’s nearly unbreakable.”

“I can sharpen it,” I said. “Fit it with the hilt and handle.”

The dwarf stared at me then went to work.

He forged a cross-guard from the steel and it was quenched in the same fashion. He slid it over the tang until it fit snugly. Then he slipped on a handle made of hardwood. He tapped in pins of steel to hold it in place and used a hammer to flatten the ends, riveting it to the handle. He quickly filed it smooth.

I had gotten here at dawn. It felt like noon, and the blade was done, but...

I had work to do.

The blacksmith set it on a table covered in wet felt cloth. The blade was gorgeous. A long sword that was wider at the base, slowly tapering until the chisel-like tip. It was a good four feet long. A deadly weapon.

I closed my eyes and found the words to the Sharpen ritual.

“I call upon Lord Nabu and Lady Nisaba to sharpen the blade until the end of time,” I chanted. “Let the power of the metal flow into the blade and hone it to a razor-sharp edge that will never dull. Nothing can withstand the sharpness of a blade. The crystalline structure of metal is a perfect harmony through which anything can be achieved.”

I repeated the phrase three more times, the magic flowing through me as the edge of the sword changed. I could see it growing razor sharp. It would never grow dull. It would be able to cut through almost anything, too.

I was glad it didn’t take long. Some rituals took hours of repeating the same phrase.

“Lord Leo,” Fara said, “this is fascinating. And this sword can really cut through anything.”

“Yep,” I said. “And I’m not done yet. Time to add Permanent Light to it since Halia does serve Lady Sherida.”

“Halia will like that,” Fara said, making more notes.

It made my dick twitch to call upon Lord of Light along with his wife after I had cuckolded him.

“I call upon Lord Shamash and Lady Sherida to infuse this sword with light. Let the power of the light shine from this blade. All things can glow with the right stimulation and shed illumination upon the world. Let the brilliance shine to all and drive back the darkness. Let this sword be a beacon.”

I only did two castings as I watched the blade grow brighter and brighter. I didn’t want it to be so brilliant no one could look at it. This would be more than enough to illuminate a dark room. Halia deserved a special sword.

And there was one more ritual I could put on it. One more ritual that would make it even deadlier a weapon than it was.

I would use Electrify on it. On contact, it would discharge lightning to stun or kill.

“I call upon Lord Enlil and Lady Uttu to imbue this blade with electricity. Let the power of the lightning discharge when this blade strikes and surge the power of the storm into its enemies. Charge is built in all things, seeking a path to ground. Let that electrical charge surge through this blade and smite its foes. Let lightning crackle.”

It took five castings to imbue the blade with enough lightning to matter. My throat ached. I wanted to drink a gallon of water. I swallowed against how hoarse I felt as I picked up the sword. I loved how it glowed and crackled.

I couldn’t wait to present the sword to Halia. I had already named it. Stormlight. A great name and a homage to one of my favorite book series that I would never get to finish reading. Well, the other me, would.

“Leo,” Maya whispered in my mind. “Get back here. The priestess is wet and ready for you. She is just dripping to get some of that big dick.”

I smiled as Hagza held up a leather scabbard. It was plain, but the dwarves promised a better one in a few days. I sheathed the sword and said to Hagza, “Hold onto that until I give it to Halia. It sounds like I’m needed elsewhere.”

“The boudoir?” Hagza asked, a twinkle in her eye.

I shot her a glance. “You want to see it?”

“Maybe.” She flashed me an earthy grin. “Well, if you have that little water priestess to fuck, let’s get you back. We can’t keep her dripping pussy waiting.”

“No, we can’t,” I said, smiling. I was surprised it had worked. Well, my monster girls were such sexy things. Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised.

We left behind the dwarves surrounded by my bodyguards. The citizens watched me warily, peeking out of the dark doorways and windows. Children crouched in ditches or behind fences, peering at me in frightened awe.

It was like this in Astovin in the beginning. But familiarity bred comfort.

We headed to the entrance of my dungeon. I had changed it, making a large tower-like fortress with iron doors that opened at my approach. Esclava was standing in the middle, smiling at me, a wicked gleam in her eyes. One of the werefoxes lounged nearby, looking naughty.

“It went well, Leo?” Esclava asked. “Do you have time to stay?”