Cold, steel-grey light poured over the eastern lip of the mountain basin on the eleventh dawn of the countdown. That turned the frost on the eight-sided pillars of the abandoned seal court the color of unpolished pewter.
Ten paces north of the southern archway, Daro Kesh stood on the center granite flat stone slab with his plain, broad short sword held bare in his right hand.
It was a weapon built with zero concession to ceremony. Eight days ago at the Ash Reed forge shop, after Seyun and Joren pulled three spirit-hardened metal ribs out of the collapsed check fire vessel while refusing the lingering fire echo, Daro had forged those three ribs into a two-foot-long, two-finger-wide blade. Six inches shorter than the standard Bronze longsword Reth Mal had split at the Hollow Summit, and eight ounces heavier toward the handle. Halfway down the flat of the steel, a Hammered matte band marked where Daro had ground away his own customary fancy ridge after nineteen-year-old Kes proved that the fold stiffened the sword’s lateral turn.
When Daro let his breath settle into that short, broad steel in the freezing dawn air, the blade didn’t glow or hum with dramatic light. Instead, the space around the edges seemed to deepen and darken, like grey river stone seen through two feet of moving water. The clear signed name of his Early Jade Adaptable Depth.
