Damien focused on the edge of his sister’s sword. It was already sharp enough to shave with, but he wanted to get the edge a little finer, make it a little harder so it lasted longer. He’d been working on it almost nonstop for the last two months. The balance was flawless, the blade strong and flexible. It wasn’t as polished as Lizzy, but Damien didn’t think you’d find a better weapon anywhere in the kingdom. Even the fire drake talon he’d set in the pommel looked like it was meant to be there.

Fine grains of iron fell to the tabletop as he ran his soul force along the edge. He made ten more passes before he felt certain he couldn’t get it any sharper. He lifted the sword and wiped a cloth along the blade to remove any remaining iron filings. The hilt felt warm in his hand. According to the book that was because he’d put so much of his soul force in the iron a little had remained behind. That was one of the unique properties of a soul-forged blade. He would also be able to sense it anywhere in the world.

He made a couple of swings, careful not to damage any of his room’s minimal furnishings. Satisfied with his creation Damien placed it in the cherry wood box he’d had the carpenter in town build. The sword nestled down into the crushed velvet lining, the deep-gray metal stark against the red cloth. Like Ann said, black and red were the colors for battle.

He hoped Jen liked it. The hasp clicked shut and he tucked her gift under his arm. He was eager to see her reaction and, since he had nothing else to do, he decided he’d take it to her right now. He could fly to The Citadel in time to have lunch with her.

Damien left his apartment, flew down to the first floor, and went out onto the steps. It was only mid October, but a foot of snow covered the grass and the guards huddled under thick cloaks. Sunlight reflected off the snow forcing him to narrow his eyes. This was the time of year when the guards earned their money. At each corner of the wall a brazier burned so they could warm themselves as they walked the perimeter. Most of them spent more time standing around the fire talking than they did patrolling.

Damien shook his head. No one had yet explained to him why they even bothered with guards on the wall. He still leaned toward it being some sort of punishment.

He expanded his shield so it was six inches away from his skin then vibrated the air trapped between his skin and the shield, creating a pocket of warm air around his body. He couldn’t raise his body temperature like a warlord, but this was a good alternative. He leapt into the air and turned toward home.

A few hundred yards from the tower he increased his speed, pushing with everything he had. The ground became a blur of white and green. He wished he had some way to measure his speed.

Half an hour later The Citadel came into view; a new personal record. If he kept practicing he might make the trip in fifteen minutes. Below him in the training yard tiny figures ran around, carrying parcels. Saddled horses pawed the ground outside the stables and no one was training.

What the hell was going on? He remembered training in snow twice this deep.

He landed beside the door, not bothering with the official landing zone. A pair of first years brushed past without seeming to notice him. Inside, students and full warlords jammed the entry hall. They stood talking in clusters, the unsteady flow of their soul force revealing their anxiety.

Some wore travel gear and had their weapons belted on. Many of the younger ones looked nervous. Damien saw no sign of Jen. He ran up the steps and down the hall to their quarters, hoping to find her.

He knocked once and pushed the door open. “Sis? Dad? Anybody here?”

Jen emerged from her room. She wore her standard slashed blue tunic and pants, her sword jutted up behind her head and a rucksack was slung over her shoulder. “Damien? What are you doing here?”

“I brought you your name day present early and I thought we might have lunch together. It looks like I came at a bad time.”

“I’ll say. Haven’t you heard? The Ice Queen’s army is on the move. General Kord expects to make contact within the next couple of weeks. Eight squads are being deployed to help and another ten are going to handle any stragglers that slip through the line.”

“I’m glad I got here before you left. If you’re going into battle my gift will come in handy.” He held the five-foot box out to her.

“I don’t have time.”

“Please. You won’t regret it, I promise.”

Jen set her bag down, took the box, and opened it. She gasped when she saw what was inside. “It’s beautiful. Damien, how did you afford this?”

“I didn’t buy it, I made it. It’s soul-forged from meteoric iron. Took me two months to craft it.”

Jen removed the long sword from the box. “It’s amazing. The handle’s warm.”

Damien explained about how a bit of his soul force remained in the blade after he finished with it. “Even when we’re apart a little bit of me will always be with you.”

She set the sword and box on the kitchen counter and hugged him. “Best present ever. Thanks, little brother. But now I’ve really got to go.”

She replaced her old sword with his soul-forged blade, put the box and her old sword on the couch, and started toward the door.

“Got room in your squad for one more?”

Jen looked over her shoulder. “You volunteering?”

“The masters have me sitting around the tower sucking my thumb. Maybe I can do some good up north.”

“You don’t have any gear or weapons.”

Damien let a little power blaze around his body. “I am a weapon, and anything else I need I can scrounge up in camp.”

“I’m convinced. After that business with the demon I’m sure the guys won’t complain. Come on.”

They left The Citadel and walked around to the stables. Jen’s squad was readying their horses. The scene reminded Damien of when they’d gone hunting the goblins, only this time forty other warlords readied their mounts all around them.

“Guys,” Jen said when they were close enough. “We’ve got an extra recruit. I trust no one will complain if my little brother rides with us again.”

Unlike last time, smiles and handshakes greeted Damien, none warmer than from Talon who walked without even a limp after his close encounter with the goblin spear. A horse appeared beside Damien and he climbed aboard. “Where’s Dad?”

Jen swung up onto her own horse and nudged it over beside him. “The king called him back to the capital to take command of the reinforcements in case our line breaks.”

“How many did the Ice Queen send south?”

“Word from the scouts is twenty thousand mixed ogres and ice trolls along with a hundred strong frost giant artillery. It looks like she’s serious this time.”

Damien frowned. “Damn. That’s more than last time, isn’t it?”

“A lot more. That’s why we’re heading north. Eight squads of warlords can make a big difference. Rumor is they’re ordering fifteen sorcerers to help as well.”

Damien nodded. Fifteen sorcerers would make an even bigger difference. He hadn’t heard about it, but that didn’t surprise him. Nobody told him anything. Still, twenty thousand was a lot of monsters.