Chapter 11

S eraphina stepped through the portal and into to the busy town of Bridgefort. She arrived on the edge of town north of the walled city. Even from her distance, she heard the hum of the busy streets. On the hill, King Alfred's castle loomed over the town, gleaming in the late afternoon sunlight, the heraldry flags flapping in the wind on the highest turrets.

How she hated that man.

She entered the town, which was abuzz with activity from all the shops and shoppers. Here she would find the master blacksmith, though she had no idea what he looked like or how she would find him. She stopped at one of the local shops and asked where she might find the blacksmith. The man at the shop did not recognize her as Queen of the Mystic Vale. And why would he? Her castle in the vale was far to the north and rather isolated. He gave her directions to the forge at the end of town where the blacksmith made weapons and armor for the king, as well as took commissions.

Intrigued by this, she headed through the crowded streets, dodging the filthy peasants. Perhaps she should have been accompanied by her royal guard, but then, she did not want to make this an official royal visit.

At the forge, she paused in the doorway. All along the walls hung all manner of weapons from axes to war hammers to swords as well as armor that included helms, breastplates, and gauntlets. The man was busy at the back of the forge.

She watched him work. He pounded out a long piece of steel on an anvil with a hammer. With every beat of the hammer, sparks flew. Then he took the sword and placed it back in the heat. He brought it out of the fire and pounded it again, trying to shape the steel. When he gave no indication he noticed her standing there, she cleared her throat.

He stopped mid-swing to look over his shoulder. His face was dirty and sweaty, but beyond that she was unable to discern much about him.

He placed aside the hammer, reached for a nearby rag and wiped his hands as he approached.

"What can I do for you?" His voice was deep and dark and slid over her like hot molasses.

It made her shudder.

"I understand you take commissions," she said.

He gazed at her with blue-green eyes. Now that he stood closer, she saw his face had sharp, chiseled features and a square chin. His hands were large and strong. Sweat dampened his shirt under his arms and his chest.

"A few," he said at last.

Still unsure why she was sent here by the Magic Mirror, she glanced around his forge once more. A long blade hanging on the wall nearby caught her eye. It shimmered even in the half light, almost as if it were glowing. There was an intricate design along the length of the blade. The handle was made of wood and richly decorated with spiral carvings.

"Do you make all these yourself?"

"Yes," he said. "That one is not for sale."

"What is it?" Her fingers twitched. She resisted the urge to reach for it.

"A special commission." He was a man of few words.

She cut him a glance. "It looks different from the others."

"Because it is." Finally, he folded his thick arms over his massive chest and narrowed his gaze at her. "Is there something you want?"

Undeterred, she tipped her head to one side. "What sort of commissions do you take?"

"All kinds." His mouth pressed into a thin line, clearly running out of patience with her.

She almost laughed. If he only knew who she was. "Tell me, blacksmith—"

"Roderick," he snapped.

Her brows lifted. "Tell me, Roderick , will you make one for the Queen of the Mystic Vale?"

His arms dropped to his side, his demeanor changing from resistance to interest. "Are you here on her behalf?"

She grinned. "You could say that, yes." She turned her gaze back to the shimmering blade and motioned to it. "Tell me about this one."

"It's enchanted," he said.

"It's magic?" she asked.

"In a manner of speaking." He reached for it and brought it down from the wall, handing it to her hilt first.

She took it in her hand, the smooth wood of the hilt resting against her palm. The blade itself looked as though it were a masterpiece instead of a weapon. It was lightweight in her hand. She reached for the blade, desperate to touch it.

"Don't," he warned. "It's sharp."

As she met his eyes, she saw the warning glint there.

"What makes it shimmer?"

He chuckled. "Trade secret. I can't tell you that."

The man was infuriating. "Then at least tell me what an enchanted blade does ."

"It does what the wielder wants." Another cryptic reply.

"I don't understand."

He held his hand out for the blade. She turned the hilt back toward him, but as she was about to hand it over, a blinding flash of light erupted from its hilt. Heat burned her hand. Startled, she dropped it to the ground with a dull thud. The small forge filled with the metallic tinge of magic as she stared wide-eyed at the man, her heart racing with astonishment at the sudden display of power.

"What was that flash?" she asked.

"A warning."

He merely grinned as he bent to pick it up. "It's linked to the bearer. It can make a knight undefeatable in battle once it understands how the knight fights. This one belongs to me."

"You said it was a special commission."

"Yes. For myself." He grinned.

He replaced it back on the wall.

"You mean, it enhances skills?" She eyed it, curious.

He nodded. "A hunter would always catch his prey. A knight would always defeat his enemy."

"And a blacksmith?"

"Always forges the perfect blade."

"I suppose that's why you're a master blacksmith, then."

"I suppose it is," he said.

A wide smile spread over her face. The back of her neck tingled with sweet anticipation as she thought of the power of the enchanted blade. Wielding one against Snow White would ensure the woman would die. But she could not be the one to kill her. She needed an assassin. Someone she could trust. But who?

"I want one," she said. When he gave her an odd look, she smiled. "For the Queen of the Mystic Vale."

"You can speak on her behalf?" he asked.

"As I said, I do. Now, when will the blade be ready?"

"It will take several weeks—"

"The queen needs it as soon as possible."

"I have other work here—" He waved to the forge behind him.

"Five thousand gold crowns if you deliver it yourself in a week."

Astonishment flickered over his face. He appeared to be rendered speechless.

"Deliver it myself?" His voice quivered with disbelief.

"Yes, to the castle in the north of the Mystic Vale." She reached into her pocket and, though it was devoid of contents, she quickly conjured a purse full of gold. She pulled it out and handed it to him. "One thousand gold crowns as a deposit. Does that suit?"

His jaw dropped open, unable to form any coherent response. Finally, he said, "And five thousand upon delivery?"

A flicker of amusement went through her as she nodded slowly. "Indeed. If you deliver it in person to the queen, yes." She gave him a sweet smile.

He took the purse from her hands, the coins jingling inside. "I will see you in a week then."