Page 103 of The Last One
“Were you wearing your amulet?”
“Yes. Each time.”
He rubs his chin, thinking. “Hmm.”
“We’ll test it again once I find my amulet—not that I’m anxious to skirmish with another man or beast again, but if I do, I’ll pay attention.”
Jadon picks up the first weapon on the worktable. It has a long wood shaft with a cone-shaped head made of iron. “This isn’t mine—found it while cleaning up this forge. You should get to know it. A mace.” He hands it to me. “Good for heavy blows, but it doesn’t penetrate armor.”
“Heavy but not impossible,” I say, handing it back.
“Think you used one before?”
I shake my head. “Doesn’t feel like something I would’ve used, but I’m open to new experiences.”
He lifts an amused eyebrow—really?—as he leads me to the straw man. My face heats at his playfulness.
“Meet Bronie. He won’t be with us for long.” He swings the mace and hits the straw man with anoomph. He does it again, moving like the wind. “Now, you try.Slowly. You don’t have to impress me right now.”
Arms looser, I take a deep breath and swing—and the damned thing almost flies out of my hands. I swing again and again.
“Control the weapon by controlling your abdomen,” Jadon suggests.
Yep. My abdominal muscles warm as straw flies from Bronie with each blow.
Interesting.
He holds out a dagger. “Your last-resort weapon.”
The dagger’s grip is wine-colored, well-seasoned leather interspersed with copper tacks, and the blade is engraved with hexagons.
“This is one of mine,” Jadon says, “but now, I gift it to you.”
“Really?” A crest of gratitude sweeps through me like warm tea as I turn the weapon in my hands. “It’s beautiful. Did you make it?”
“Yep,” he says, shoulders squared. “Daggers are used for grappling. For puncturing armor. For making someone scream for mercy. Plain edge. Easier to sharpen. Makes clean cuts.”
The dagger feels as light as a large apple in my hand. When I stick Bronie where his heart would be, the jab feels personal, like I knew this straw man—he stole my birthright and all my money and refuses to give any of it back, then yells “mudscraper” at me before sticking his tongue down my lover’s throat. Yeah, Ilikethis dagger.
“I don’t know how I know this,” I say, “but where I came from, we name our weapons as a show of respect.”
“Where I’m from, we do, too.” Jadon taps the dagger. “She has no name, so it’s up to you to name her whatever feels right.”
“I’ll call her…” I hold up the small knife. “Little Lava.”
Jadon crosses his arms and leans against the worktable. “Little Lava? Why?”
“Because she brings the heat. Just like me.”
“And the heat you bring is well-appreciated.” He selects the next weapon, handing me the longsword. “Let’s try this, Hotness. The second-best sword in Vallendor.”
This weapon weighs as much as a bag of potatoes, and its blade is as black as night.
“I’ve already named her Fury,” he says, running his finger along the sharp edge.
Intricate etchings of moths flit along the black leather handle and across the hilt. A black stone sits in the middle of the circular pommel.
“Steel blade painted black,” Jadon points out, “so that it won’t reflect light. You don’t want the enemy to know you’ve arrived. The black stone is onyx, just like the moth’s thorax of your amulet.”
