Book of Iron by Elizabeth Bear Read Free Book Online Page A

her teeth and her blackened tongue.
    “I see,” said Salih.
    “You could have warned us in advance,” Kaulas said dryly. “Instead of spinning tales—”
    “Spinning tales is what I do. Besides, would you have helped us then?” Riordan asked.
    “We’re heroes,” Salih said.
    Bijou shot Kaulas a sharp glare when he laughed.
    They came to a funnel-shaped depression in the ground. Bijou turned left to skirt it.
    “Watch out for that,” said Prince Salih to the newcomers, interposing himself, one hand on the hilt of his scimitar. Gently, he laid the other fingertips on Maledysaunte’s arm to guide her away. She turned to him, eyes wide with surprise, and Bijou did not think it was offense. She was just shocked that anyone would touch her so informally, so without thought.
    The flesh around her mouth was already plumping again.
    “Myrmecoleon pit-trap,” he explained gently. “If you fall in, you slide to the bottom—”
    “Oh,” she said, her voice rusty and worn—but present, and that was something. She swallowed wincingly. “That’s not in the book.”
    Wordlessly, Bijou held out her water-bottle, and watched as the Hag of Wolf Wood took a painful sip.
    “Maybe they’re new,” said the prince.
    She rinsed the water around her mouth, swallowed, and said, “So. I suppose we’re looking for the blacksmith’s shop.”
    “Of course,” the prince answered. “Where else would you keep your anvil?”
     

     
    Logic led them, along with the memories of Bijou and Prince Salih. An anvil would be on the ground floor; a forge would be well-vented. They decided rapidly that neither was likely to be located in the terraced houses stacked one tier on the next in the sandstone hills, turning instead to the largest excavations—the ones with pillared facades stretching up into the cliff-heights. But poking among them at random proved unhelpful, and every one of the adventurers was too aware of the lurking ghuls and of the remaining duration of the night wearing thin.
    “There are a dozen,” Riordan said. “Did your spider have better intelligence than we’re likely to gain by choosing at random?”
    “What about what the ghul said?” Riordan asked.
    “A forge would be near water.” Bijou volunteered the information as she realized it, having some experience with such things.
    Salamander nodded. “I’m afraid my new friend was left behind in the stampede. But I got a sense of water from her, yes.”
    “Good,” said the prince. “Water is this way.”
    “How do you know that?” Riordan asked—nevertheless following unhesitatingly.
    They hadn’t made it this far into the city last time. And there were no maps of Ancient Erem—none remaining, anyway, to Bijou’s knowledge.
    “Can’t you smell it?” It was a testament to the prince’s diplomatic skills that no trace of helpless wetlanders crossed his expression. Bijou was glad Kaulas went veiled, after all: there were none so scornful as those who had had to learn the hard way.
    “Is that what that metal smell is?” Salamander asked.
    “Yes,” said Bijou.
    “Then yes,” she said. “I can.”
    The way tended downhill again, which was a good sign, and the night still darkened. Moons set, and soon they were walking only by starlight—but the starlight was enough. They avoided two more myrmecoleon dens, eventually coming upon a tall tongue of sandstone riddled with tunneled doorways. They might once have had rectangular corners, but over centuries the wind and sand had worn their edges smooth. The path downward led them around it, and here the drifted sand had blown back from an ancient road paved with cracked white slabs of stone.
    As they walked, Bijou became aware of the brightening of the sky, even though the moons had long slid out of it. At one horizon—not where she thought East lay, in reference to Messaline—a dim glow appeared behind the canyon walls—a line of peach and gold and lavender tracing the top of the cliff