“When the kobolds were young, the mountain spoke to them,” Berin began, her voice shifting to the rhythmic cadence of a born storyteller. All around them, eyes and ears turned toward the female, and a grim smile settled on her face as she continued.
The mountain told the kobolds that there was work to be done, and so long as the kobolds listened to the mountain, there would always be enough food and territory, and more puppies would grow to adulthood than those who died. The kobolds, who had fought among themselves more like beasts than people, heard the mountain and obeyed.
Five females were selected from among them all, and tribes created to support them. They were Zren of the Mithrilblades, Idje of the Goldblades, Shibi of the Waveblades, Tegra of the Magmablades, and Cyeba of the Woodblades, forever may their names be howled. Each tribe was given a task and a blade, and only when all five tribes and all five blades came together could the heart of the mountain be opened.
For generations, the tribes worked together, growing and thriving, creating the City in the Deep. All was well until the mountain fell silent.
Berin’s nose dipped, and when Kaz glanced around, he saw that the other Goldcoats had also bent their heads. They all looked as solemn as if some tragedy had only happened the day before, and they were still mourning the loss. The silence of the circle was broken only by sounds drifting in from far away, and even Jia had stopped stirring her pots. Eventually, however, Berin drew in a deep breath and started speaking again.
Left alone, the kobolds fell to bickering among themselves. Each tribe had their own ideas of what they should do, now that the mountain no longer commanded or protected them. The Goldblades and the Woodblades remained true to their promises, believing that the mountain would someday speak again, and be pleased with their loyalty.
The Magmablades, ever the most quarrelsome, declared that as the mountain had abandoned them, so they would abandon the mountain. They did as they wished, declaring luegat and even vara on the other tribes, with the quiet support of their sister tribe, the Mithrilblades.
The Waveblades tried to remain neutral, unwilling to either continue their work without reward or yield entirely to the primitive part of our nature. Eventually, however, they were drawn into battle when the arrogant Magmablades declared vara on both the Woodblades and the Goldblades, threatening to create one tribe to control all.
Waveblades, Woodblades, and Goldblades joined together to fight back the Magmablades and the Mithrilblades. Still, all seemed lost until, at the last moment, the Mithrilblades withdrew, abandoning the Magmablades. Then were the Magmablades defeated, and it was only because the Woodblades and the Goldblades still followed the way of the mountain that the offending tribe was not destroyed.
And so the kobolds continued. Generation after generation were howled to the ancestors, each following the ancient commands, though some with more reluctance than others. But each generation forgot a little more of the lessons taught by the past, until one was born who ignored all but her own hunger for power.
Oda Magmablade.
Kaz almost jumped at the name, though he had half expected it by now. His shoulders drew in and his ears flattened, as if everyone around him must know by looking that his mother’s name was Oda. It was possible, of course, that the Oda Berin had mentioned wasn’t Kaz’s mother at all, but Kaz had a sinking feeling that his hopes were about to be dashed.
Over time, the Magmablades had returned to their old ways, though they never again threatened the other four great tribes. They did, however, absorb many of the smaller tribes, until eventually all the tribes in the Deep were either part of a great tribe, or protected by one. Like the mountain itself, the great tribes protect the lesser, and, in turn, the lesser care for the greater.
The Goldcoats nodded, several reaching up to touch the golden armlets that were partially concealed by the fur of their upper arms. Kaz had assumed that these were just part of what this particular tribe wore to mark their members, but now he wondered if they held a deeper meaning.
Oda Magmablade was a powerful female, but not powerful enough. She wanted to lead the Magmablades, but her mother chose another. This sister went forth on her spirit hunt, and never returned. Of course, this happens sometimes, but the pup was strong and canny, so it was entirely unexpected.
The chief of the Magmablades mourned her lost puppy, and Oda once again tried to prove herself to her mother. The chief chose a different daughter, this one already past her hunt, but this daughter was lost to a rockfall while helping destroy fulan. Another daughter and another were lost, until only Oda and two others remained. The chief could neither decide between them, nor accept that one of her pups was a monster. Then, the chief died, and for her inability to do what needed to be done, her name is now forgotten, never to be howled.
So vara came again to the Deep. The two remaining sisters yielded to Oda, and she became the chief of the Magmablades. She was subtler than her ancestors and, to our shame, by the time we realized what was loose among us, it was already too late.
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Five great tribes became four over the course of a single night. The Woodblades were the most peaceful of us, the tribe which adhered most closely to the ways of the mountain. Their people were artists and crafters, protected by the lesser tribes sworn to them. They made the richest pigments, the most beautiful clothes, and the most potent medicines. They also made the most effective firemoss oil.
Oda Magmablade traded with them for a great amount of this firemoss oil, sending out her gatherers to bring all the firemoss they could find to the Woodblade den. Then she sent in her stealthiest warriors, who set fire to it all. The Woodblades died, mother and daughter, except a few puppies who escaped. No females lived, and so that was the end of the Woodblades.
Berin’s voice dropped to a low, throbbing tone, nearly a growl, but holding more sorrow than anger. Other kobolds had slowly been gathering, drawing near as they listened to the female speak. Each and every one echoed the last, growling words, which rose up into a howl of loss, calling for a tribe that no longer existed.
When that haunting sound finally faded, the last distant echo disappearing into the eternal stone that surrounded them, Berin went on.
Once the Woodblades were gone, Oda called a meeting of the great tribes. There had long been a balance among them, but without the Woodblades, that balance was lost. While the Goldblades still mourned their dead cousins, Oda demanded that the most powerful tribe, hers, be given the territory and tribes the Woodblades had controlled. The Mithrilblades supported her, and so she began to move in.
It was only because the Goldblades refused to accept that the fire was an accident that Oda’s treachery was revealed. The puppies who fled spoke of strangers, and the Goldblades listened. One of Oda’s remaining sisters betrayed her, in exchange for command of whatever was left of the Magmablade tribe. Evidence of Oda’s duplicity was brought before the chiefs of the Mithrilblades and the Waveblades. Even the Mithrilblades listened, and once again, they turned their backs on the Magmablades.
Upon hearing that Oda was to be exiled from the Deep, her tribe rose up, revealing that they had been quietly encroaching on the territories of the other three tribes. In only a little while longer, they would have been able to declare vara, and take over the Deep as their ancestors had wished to do so long ago. Instead, they were put down, though many kobolds died, until only Oda and a few of her fiercest supporters remained.
The Magmablade knife was taken from where it hung at Oda’s side, and the Mithrilblades broke it upon their anvil. The hilt was returned to Oda, symbol of her shame, and she and her Broken Knives were driven from the Deep, never to return.
Berin’s voice trailed into silence, and then she looked back at Lianhua, one ear canted to the side as she spoke in an almost mocking tone. “But you, of course, want to know how all of this relates to you humans, and the answer is simple: It takes five knives to open the mountain, and now there are only three. The Woodblade was lost when the tribe burned, destroyed so completely that not a trace of it could be found. The Magmablade was broken, and while a Magmablade tribe remains in the Deep, and they retain the blade of their knife, it doesn’t matter. Five knives and five tribes are required, and even the most generous kobold would admit we have only three and a half.”
It was all Kaz could do not to clutch at the strap of his pack, which he was certain held the hilt his mother had been given when she was exiled from the Deep. How was it possible that he had never heard this story before? How had Oda managed to keep it so quiet? Was that why they had been forced to move through the mid-levels so quickly?
But even the tribes in the heights must have heard the tale eventually, and even if they didn’t care as much as those in the Deep, it must have come up each time the Broken Knives settled on a new level. Was that why Oda had been so paranoid about other tribes, and why the puppies Kaz had tried to play with were always so cruel to him?
Kaz’s ears were flat by now, and he was so caught up in his own bitter thoughts that the deep rumble of Raff’s voice caught him entirely off guard.
“What do these magic knives look like?” the warrior asked. Everyone, including Kaz, turned to stare at him, and Raff scratched his jaw awkwardly. “I’ve known a few smiths, y’see, and one of ‘em even makes magic blades. If we find out what makes these particular ones so special, maybe we can find or make some replacements. It’d sure be a lot easier than goin’ all the way through this mountain every time someone wants to trade for some mithril or suchlike.”
Berin shook her head, then looked thoughtful, then slightly amused. “The Goldblades would tell you they’re irreplaceable, given by the mountain itself. And I, of course, wouldn’t argue with them, since we Goldcoats are faithful to a fault. Still, I saw the Goldblade once, and no one ever said I couldn’t tell anyone about it.”
She held her hands about twelve inches apart, and said, “The blade is the most unique part. I’ve heard the hilts have even been replaced once or twice, but I don’t know for sure. They’re pretty enough, but a hilt is a hilt, and as long as it sits comfortably in the hand, that’s the important thing. The metal of the blade, though, looks like ripples on water.”
Waving her hand through the air in an up and down motion, she said, “Dark then light, then dark and light again, and each part of it catches the light differently. The metal is impossibly hard, and never needs to be sharpened. It took the greatest of the Mithrilblade smiths to damage the Magmablade, and even then they were only able to snap it, not shatter it. But the most important part is the carved stone that covers the tip. Only a powerful female of the right tribe can remove it, and the mountain can’t be opened with a covered blade.”
She was describing Ghazt’s knife; the one Kaz’s aunt Rega had given him, the one that currently hung in the sheath on Kaz’s belt. He had removed the worn leather from the old knife Zyle Sharpjaw gave him, and wrapped it around the hilt of his father’s knife instead, thus disguising it as something far less interesting. The weapon felt right at his side, and the blue stone that usually covered its point currently rested in a small leather pouch in Kaz’s pack.
Was it possible that Ghazt’s knife was one of these special blades? Were there more of them than the kobold chiefs wanted to admit, or had Ghazt somehow acquired one of the five, then hidden it until he died? Had the Magmablade not actually been broken, and some substitute was given to whatever part of the Magmablade tribe remained in the Deep? But then why did Ghazt have it, instead of Oda? Why wouldn’t ever-faithful Rega have given it back to her sister?
But Kaz knew. There was only one real possibility. Somehow, Ghazt, and then Rega, had possessed the Woodblade, the impossibly strong weapon that was supposedly destroyed in a blaze of firemoss oil. Firemoss burned hot and fast, but not hot enough to melt iron, much less adamantium, or even an adamantium alloy. Kaz himself held the key to opening the mountain.