Tears of the Furies (A Novel of the Menagerie) Read Online Free Page A

shadows did their best to swallow all light in this place, but
the furnace of his forge was enchanted, and would have burned at the bottom of
the ocean. The weapon was double-bladed . . . little more than a double blade,
really. He had combined the concept of the ancient punching blade, katar, with
the more Medieval double-headed battle-axe. The warrior grasped a handle in the
middle of the two razor-sharp, rounded blades and thus could swing a cutting
edge in any direction. The blades themselves were an iron-and-silver alloy that
would have been impossible, save that his employer was an accomplished
alchemist.
    Iron was poison and pain to witches and the Fey. Silver was
death to many of the creatures of the night. A good weapon. Squire was proud of
it.
    In the light of the forge’s blaze he could see his
reflection in the blade. His tiny eyes flickered in the firelight. There was a
blemish in the metal, and the leathery brown flesh of his forehead wrinkled in
consternation. He reached out a yellowed, cracked nail to scrape at it, to
investigate, and then he chuckled softly with a rattle in his throat from too
many cigars. It was merely a cut on his face, reflected in the pure mirror of
the blade.
    Squire drew his thumb along the edge, barely touching, but
it cut him like a whisper, drawing a thin line of blood from his flesh.
    He nodded to himself in satisfaction. A job well done. Now
he only needed to fashion the leather sheath such a weapon would require. It
was not complete without it, for the dual blade was too dangerous to carry
unsheathed.
    But the leather would wait.
    Squire set the weapon on the wooden worktable where he kept
most of his tools, and stretched. He had been crouched over the forge, and then
the anvil, and at last the grindstone. His back hurt like a son of a bitch, but
it was worth it just looking at the beauty he had made. He sucked his injured
thumb, but there was pleasure in it. To him it was only right that the first
blood the weapon should draw would be his own.
    "What am I going to call you?" he said aloud,
brows knitting as he studied the weapon. The perfect symmetry of the twin
blades impressed him. It was a nasty piece of work.
    Twins, he thought.
    "Gemini." That was the perfect name. It was a
Gemini blade.
    The hobgoblin patted the pockets of his coat and felt the
reassuring bulk of his cigar case. He fished it out, spilling old candy bar
wrappers into the shadows, then removed a cigar and set the case on the table. With
great pleasure he bit the end off of the cigar and clenched it in his teeth,
then went to the forge and leaned in, plunging the tip into the blazing
furnace. The heat from the fire baked the skin of his face, but he was used to
that. Hobgoblins had no particular fear of flames. Of burning to death, yeah. They
weren’t stupid. But not of fire. A little scorching wasn’t going to do much
damage to one of his kind.
    With a sigh of pleasure he puffed on the cigar and glanced
around at the shadow chamber. There were no walls, really, and yet the workshop
did exist in a sort of void within the world of darkness. Black mist churned
and pulsed all around, but there were openings in that breathing shadow,
pathways that would take him anywhere he needed to go. Once upon a time, Squire
had been like other hobgoblins . . . daunted by the constant feeling that the
shadows were aware of him, that the darkness sensed his every move and thought.
It still unnerved him at times, but he had come to know this place, and there
was no danger in it. Not for hobgoblins. Not unless other things roamed the
shadows.
    When that happened, he closed his workshop up and fled back
to the world of light.
    But at times like this, with a job well done and a fresh
cigar in his hand, Squire could relax. He took several more puffs on his cigar
and blew a cloud of noxious smoke into the shadows.
    At peace.
    A soft, electronic melody broke the silence of the shadows. The
tune was The Beatles’ "Penny Lane." It