A Shifter Disaster Thanksgiving (Holiday Shifters of Frost Mountain #6)

Chapter Four

Inside the Blacksmith’s Forge

“Careful with that blade, Sylvester,” Jon said. “You’ll take someone’s eye out with it if you’re not careful.”

Sylvester looked at the red-hot steel blade he’d just finished forging, examining it for flaws. When he found none, he set the sword in the water trough, causing a loud hiss and a surge of bubbles. With work on the sword completed, he reached for the battle-ax head he’d been working on earlier. He looked at it, frowned, then held it over the roaring furnace.

The dragonflame licked his hands, but it was a sensation he had grown accustomed to over decades of hard work and by virtue of his birth. When he felt the blade had been melted enough, he withdrew it, placed it on his anvil, and hammered it. Sparks illuminated the forge with each strike, and the din of his hammering along with Jon’s, filled the air.

“That sword looks terrible,” Sylvester said suddenly.

Jon struck his longsword once more, the sound ricocheting off the stone walls of the forge. “What?”

“I said,” Sylvester repeated a little louder, “your sword is terrible. It’s misshapen. If anyone carried that into battle, they would be flattened in seconds.”

His friend’s lips curved into a grin that revealed the gap in his teeth. “I think I’m doing a good job, Sylvester. Why don’t you mind your own business? Unless you want me to test it on you.”

Jon grabbed the reddened handle of the sword and pretended to jab Sylvester with it. Both men burst out laughing. They’d worked together long enough to know how to take a ribbing from each other. In fact, it was impressive how close the two men had become, considering that Jon and his wife had only moved into the village and become his neighbors less than a year ago. Like Sylvester, Jon was a dragon shifter, and working in the forge had been convenient for him. Although Sylvester was used to working alone, he did not mind the company.

The way he saw it, Jon was a welcome friend, and he was one of the few people in Pine Gap who treated him as just Sylvester, not the son of the late chief or the brother of the current one. Sylvester had no interest in being the village chieftain. He preferred blacksmithing, which he’d done for decades.

“So,” Jon said, striking once again with his hammer, “are we going to address the dragon in the room?”

Sylvester frowned at his friend. “What are you talking about?”

“Your meeting with your brother.”

That wiped the last traces of the smile off Sylvester’s lips. He placed the ax head in the water, watching the surface bubble and steam.

Jon tried again. “Do you not want to talk about it?”

Sylvester sighed, causing smoke to spurt from his nostrils. “It was nothing new. He told me that I was focusing on the wrong thing. That I should be concerning myself more with the threat of war,” he said, scoffing. “Does he really expect me to believe he had no hand in our father’s death when that’s his response to me asking about it?”

Jon was silent for the next few seconds, which Sylvester was grateful for. He stroked his greying beard with a blackened hand, his hazel eyes regarding his friend carefully. “You shouldn’t let Gregory’s response get to you,” he said carefully.

Sylvester stared at his friend with incredulity. “What? How can you even say that?”

“Your brother is focusing on what he considers to be most important right now. I understand how you feel, but the tensions between this village and Glenstra are growing. It’s only a matter of time before that our enemies strike. As village chief, he’s doing everything he can to make sure that we are not vulnerable when that happens.”

“Bah!” Sylvester said forcefully.

“We’ve been forging weapons for months. If we strike now, we might succeed.”

Sylvester shook his head. “ Might,” he said, stressing the word.

Jon countered. “Need I remind you that Glenstra lies higher up on the mountain than Pine Gap?” He set down his hammer and sat back, facing Sylvester. “They already have territorial advantage. An attack on them could very well be our last. Whatever strength this village has lies in its defense.”

Sylvester sneered. “You sound just like my brother.”

“He’s a warrior, Sylvester. And you… you are a blacksmith.”

A moment of awkward silence passed between them. Sylvester realized his jaw was clenched. He relaxed it.

“I’m sorry,” Jon said, looking rather apologetic. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s okay.” Sylvester held up a hand. “I’m not envious of Gregory. I have no interest in becoming a warrior.”

“You’re more like Malcolm.”

At the mention of his father’s name, Sylvester felt a twinge of sadness. Jon was right. The Stormbringer clan had always been known for its power, but Malcolm had always been a peaceful man. He had never advocated for war and would always seek amicable methods of preventing armed conflict both within and around Pine Gap. Sylvester’s attitude about war was the main reason he and Gregory had their differences; differences that had resulted in Malcolm’s demise.

“Yes,” he replied, “except that my father is dead. And the man responsible for it has taken his place. Why doesn’t anyone else see that?”

Jon looked at him with pity. Sylvester didn’t need that, but he had to admit that his friend had a point. The situation between the villages was very real, and with Malcolm gone, war was more likely than ever. But why was Gregory acting like he wanted a war to happen? Did he have their father killed so he could carry out his plans? But why ?

The more he thought about it, the more it tormented him.

Jon returning to working on his longsword. He was quite skilled for someone who had just started blacksmithing. He’d picked up the trade quickly, which is one of the things Sylvester liked about him. Though Jon was a few years older than him, he always addressed him as an equal. They were blacksmiths. They were friends.

“Speaking of yesterday,” Jon said suddenly, glancing up at him, “You didn’t come back here after your meeting with your brother.”

“I decided to fly for a bit instead,” Sylvester replied with a shrug.

Jon gave an understanding nod. “How did it go?”

Sylvester hesitated for a second. “It was the usual. I flew across the side of the mountain.” Then he added, “I also brought home a wife.”

“You what ?” his friend exclaimed. Then he seemed to catch himself. “Did you say a wife? I don’t understand. How—?”

“There was a breach yesterday. A plane crashed on Frost Mountain.”

Sylvester explained how he’d spotted the plane materializing as he flew over the mountain, how it had exploded, how he had managed to rescue two passengers before they hit the ground, and how one of them was currently in his cabin and was going to be his wife.

Jon’s mouth dropped open wider and wider with each new detail.

“I left her in the cabin,” he concluded. “If she’s got a good head on her shoulders, she’ll stay put until I get home.”

“A wife ?” Jon looked like he was still struggling to make sense of what his friend had just told him. “Why would you even do that? Does your brother know about it yet?”

Sylvester shook his head.

“The timing is just… wrong. I don’t think he’ll like that.”

Sylvester smirked and said, “I am counting on it.” He could just picture the look on his brother’s face when he introduced Diane to him. Gregory wanted him to stay in the forge, producing weapons for Pine Gap. He didn’t want it known that there were serious problems in the village and disagreements within the Stormbringer clan. How he would react to him taking a wife instead of taking the war seriously he did not know. But war made no sense to Sylvester despite what Jon had said: Your brother is focusing on what he considers most important right now.

“Well, so am I,” he said under his breath.

The whole concept of war between the villages was insane. The rivalry had begun decades ago over a territorial dispute that had resulted in a few deaths. Why the villages hadn’t resolved the problem by now was beyond him. It was what Malcolm had been hoping to do before his demise. And now war was on its way again or so it seemed.

Sylvester grunted and ran his fingers through his hair. He didn’t trust his brother, not that he had any reason to. They might belong to the same clan, but he and Gregory had never been close, even as children. Sylvester mostly kept to himself, while Gregory had picked fights with whomever he could. And he was still the same. He was a natural-born leader, but not when it came to maintaining peace.

Again, he entertained the notion of avenging his father’s death by taking down Gregory, the man who had murdered him. It wouldn’t be easy, but he could try. He could forge a new weapon from the very blade that his brother had used on Malcolm and use it to slit Gregory’s throat.

But he knew he would never go through with that plan. If he murdered his brother, he would be breaking the promise both he and Gregory had made to their mother as she lay dying: Never attack each other.

Taking his brother out was not an option, no matter how much the idea appealed to him. He simply needed to find another way to get at Gregory, like exposing him and finding a way to make him admit his guilt. Sylvester swore he would never rest until their father got the justice he deserved.

“Whatever you’re thinking, you probably shouldn’t go ahead with it,” Jon said, shooting him a skeptical look.

“How do you know what I’m thinking?”

“I don’t. I just know it won’t work, so why don’t you put it off until the war is over?”

Sylvester waved at Jon dismissively. “The war hasn’t even begun yet.”

“Well, it’s only a matter of time,” Jon said. “We should be expecting an attack at any moment. It could come tomorrow or in a few days.” Jon smiled. “Personally, I’d rather it came in a few days, after Thanksgiving. Quinta is already making preparations for a special dinner.” His eyes suddenly lit up as an idea occurred to him. “Why don’t you and your wife join us? Gregory could come along, too—”

“Diane and I will be happy to join you,” Sylvester said. “I doubt my brother would be interested in any celebrations with a possible war pending.”

Jon regarded him for a moment, smiled, and returned to his longsword without a word. Sylvester turned away, reaching for the weapons he’d submerged in the water. The sword and axe looked perfect. He ran his finger along the edge of one of the blades. Sharp. The image of him creeping up on Gregory and swinging it at his neck crept into his mind, but he quickly squelched it. Instead, he redirected his thoughts to Diane, wondering what she was doing at the moment.