Chapter 10: Five Thousand for a Blacksteel Sword? Moonrice Sells Out Instantly

Chapter 10: Keep the Name

"Orin Hale."

Veyra said the name without warning.

Cassian’s hand was still resting on the east door.

"Who?"

"One of the youngest standard-bearers in the Third Formation."

She paused.

"He answered twice at every roll call."

"Afraid you wouldn’t hear him?"

"Yes."

Veyra didn’t smile.

"The first answer was his response. The second was to make sure he was still counted among us."

Her voice stayed level, but her fingertips stopped against the edge of the stone seat.

"Three months after joining, he still thought he might be overlooked at any moment. Later, no one overlooked him. At least, not while he was alive."

"If that roll of the fallen is real, his name is in it."

Cassian looked at her.

A young soldier who had been afraid even roll call might pass him by. He had been dead for so long, yet someone still had to remember that second answer.

"I won’t promise to bring back the whole roll."

"I didn’t ask you to."

Cassian pushed open the east door.

"Then let’s see how they mean to silence him."

He crossed the first span and reached the second gap.

A roar like a rising tide rolled up from the depths.

The first underground dawn tide had begun.

Across the gap, a black-gold transport platform slid slowly out of the darkness.

It carried only two things.

A long, narrow black-gold case.

And a tall, thin figure clad in gray-white bone armor.

Three bone bells hung beneath its left arm. They swayed with the moving platform without making a sound.

An Ashbone Bell-Keeper.

It hadn’t waited in the distance for Cassian to approach.

It already knew someone would be guarding this side of the gap—and that whoever came would not be able to reach it.

The platform glided straight toward the near side and stopped only two steps away. The gap still lay between them, while the underground dawn tide rose below in layer after layer.

Close enough to feel like an offering.

The Bell-Keeper bent down and opened the black-gold case.

There was no glow inside. No weapon.

Only tightly packed rows of narrow strips. Names covered their black-gold surfaces. Some still shone. Others had already disappeared beneath gray-white stains.

The Bell-Keeper drew out one strip.

"Orin Hale."

Its voice scraped out from behind thin bone, dry as stone grinding against stone.

It called his name once.

Then stopped.

As if waiting for the second answer.

Only the tide answered from the gap.

Veyra wasn’t here.

Orin would never answer again.

The smallest bell beneath the Bell-Keeper’s wrist gave a soft chime.

The edge of the name strip began to turn white.

Cassian pulled out a rock bolt.

The platform was only two steps away. He couldn’t pin the Bell-Keeper, but he could at least pin the strip to the platform’s edge.

He threw.

The rock bolt crossed the gap.

Without even raising its head, the Bell-Keeper turned the smallest bell half a circle.

The bolt veered in midair.

It wasn’t falling.

It was coming back.

Cassian jerked sideways.

The iron bolt tore past his eyes and struck stone in a burst of sparks. Its rebounding tail grazed his fingers, then vanished into the gap.

His outstretched hand froze in midair.

Another inch and he would have grabbed for it like an idiot.

The Bell-Keeper raised its face.

It was watching him.

The smallest bell sounded again, slower this time.

There was no panic at being interrupted. It was making sure Cassian understood: his test now lay at the bottom of the gap, while it still held the name.

The spreading white had already swallowed the first black-gold stroke on the strip.

Cassian pulled his hand back.

Wrong.

Distance wasn’t the problem. Neither was the speed of his throw.

As for what the bell had actually done—he didn’t know.

The Bell-Keeper closed its hand around the largest bone bell.

Dong.

This was no clear chime.

The sound crossed the gap like a hand and seized the metal at Cassian’s waist.

The broken blade jumped half an inch from its sheath.

The tension gauge slammed into his belt clasp at the same instant.

Cassian planted a boot on the exposed back of the blade and forced it into a crack in the stone. The metal shook wildly beneath his sole, as if it meant to drag his foot across the gap with it.

He couldn’t let the blade go.

It had killed enemies and cut through divine structures for him. It mattered more than a stranger’s name.

The Bell-Keeper knew that.

It didn’t rush him. It simply rang the large bell again.

The name strip kept whitening.

What remained of Orin Hale’s black-gold lettering shrank toward the Bell-Keeper’s fingers.

Cassian clenched his teeth.

He had one rock bolt left, and he wasn’t going to spend it on another guess.

He hadn’t figured out the enemy’s timing, either.

If he kept guessing, the next thing he gambled would not be a piece of iron. The Bell-Keeper might have stopped the platform here precisely because it wanted him to throw himself across the gap for one name.

Cassian wanted the roll. He also wanted to know what lay inside all three bells.

That was exactly why he would not pay for his curiosity with his life.

But one thing had happened.

The bell had dragged back flying iron.

Nothing more.

Keeping the broken blade pinned, he used his free hand to unfasten the tension gauge.

The Bell-Keeper tilted its head slightly.

It thought Cassian was trying to save the second tool.

Cassian let go.

The tension gauge ripped away from his waist.

That tool had measured the safety margin in every line he used. Without it, the next crossing would have to be judged by hand, by eye, and with far more risk.

The price wasn’t light.

Which meant the result had better be worth hearing.

The gauge didn’t fly toward the near side.

It shot straight into the large bell in the Bell-Keeper’s hand.

Crack.

The iron shell jammed into the bell’s mouth. A short snap of breaking bone came from within.

The Bell-Keeper shook its wrist again.

The large bell coughed out half a dead note.

The corner of Cassian’s mouth moved.

Not victory. Just the first time the enemy had failed to make all three bells speak at once.

The gray-white stain on the name strip stopped for a heartbeat.

Cassian pulled the broken blade free and leaned over the edge of the gap.

He did not jump.

The tip of the blade crossed the last sliver of distance and hooked the strip hanging over the platform’s edge.

The Bell-Keeper’s two remaining bone bells rang together.

The impact struck the broken blade head-on.

Cassian’s five fingers went numb. The weapon nearly flew from his hand. He did not fight that force for the whole strip. He slashed down instead.

The name strip tore through the middle.

A small black-gold fragment flipped across the gap and landed beside his foot.

It held one complete name and half of a Third Formation mark not yet covered in white.

Orin Hale.

Not the whole roll. Not a road. Not power he could devour.

But the name had not disappeared.

The transport platform was already moving again.

The Bell-Keeper drew back the rest of the strip and closed the black-gold case. The tension gauge remained jammed in the cracked bone bell as both receded into the distance.

The creature wasn’t wounded. It didn’t charge at Cassian in anger.

Its other two bells could still ring.

It merely stood on the retreating platform and watched Cassian pick up the small fragment bearing the name.

The first underground dawn tide began to recede.

Two remained.

The Bell-Keeper suddenly spoke again.

"Cassian Vale."

One bone bell rang.

The other followed, giving the second answer.

The cracked third bell remained silent.

The platform vanished into the darkness leading toward the banner scar.

Cassian closed his hand around Orin Hale’s name.

Far away, two bells were still calling his name.