Read Online The Rival by Kristine Kathryn Rusch - Free Book Online

some progress. 
    At first, Yeon had thought the strange metal from the Cliffs of Blood was unforgeable.  It had taken them nearly a month to find the right combination of heat and tension to make the metal into a sword in the first place.
    But they had done it.  They simply hadn't been able to finish the process.
    Matthias discovered the metal, called varin, during his long sojourn in the Cliffs of Blood.  After he resigned from his position as the Fifty-First Rocaan, he ran home, to the Cliffs.  He had no family left.  He hadn't even been back in decades, but the villages looked the same, nestled near Blue Isle's northeastern most mountains.  The Cliffs of Blood were tall and imposing; the jagged blood red stones lining the peaks gave the cliffs their name.  They were actually part of the northern range, the Eyes of Roca, taller than the Snow Mountains to the south, and much more deadly. 
    The people up there had a hard edge to them, a lack of belief in anything, including Rocaanism.  It had been a perfect respite for him, after a life in the Tabernacle.
    But he had continued his scholarship.  It had been more of a religion to him than the real religion anyway.  And he had learned some things that would surprise the true believers.  Things that had surprised him.
    The steam kept rising from the bath.  Matthias leaned closer.  The stench of Yeon's body rivaled his own.  They had been at this too long.  Fortunately the smithy stood at the edge of a dead-end street, in the farthest reaches of Jahn.  Auds rarely came here, and lords never did.  This was the poorest section, the kind of place forgotten now that the Fiftieth Rocaan  —  with his focus on the less fortunate  —  was long dead.
    Matthias had been here for two months, unnoticed and unrecognized.  Fifteen years had changed more about him than his appearance.  Then he had been a high-ranking Elder, and finally appointed (unwillingly) to Rocaan.  His finery and the status of his office gave him his identity.  Now he was like all the rest in the kingdom, with rough fingers from hard labor, and a face lined from too much time in harsh weather.  His clothes were still fine  —  the followers near the Cliffs had some excellent seamstresses  —  but grimy with use.
    "Back!" Yeon shouted, and with a meaty arm, shoved Matthias toward a pile of straw. 
    Matthias let himself tumble backward and covered his head with his arms.  Yeon landed with a grunt behind him, and then the sword exploded.
    Boiling water fell on them like rain.  Mixed with the droplets were hardened bits of varin.  Matthias kept his face covered and protected the most vulnerable areas of his body.  The varin pellets had hit him before and left welts the size of fists along his back.  He would get welts again.
    Yeon was cursing, his words muffled by his position under the straw.  Matthias knew what the smithy was saying; he was casting aspersions on the Roca's parentage, on the Tabernacle's holiness, and on the King's love of the Fey.  A hissing echoed behind them as the bulk of the water fell toward the furnace.  It would take some cleaning before the smithy was ready for use again.
    And then it was over.  Matthias raised his head.  He had small burns along his right arm, where the water hit, and a lump was already forming on the back of his left hand.  Despite the pain from the welts, they pleased him.  It meant that people had the same reaction to forged varin as some had to holy water.
    The Fey's reaction might be even stronger.
    He pushed the straw off Yeon.
    "I don't know why I let you talk me into this," Yeon said.  "It's a fool's project, and it will never ever work.  No one can make varin into a sword.  No one can make varin into anything."
    "That's why Old Lady Fice had varin tools in her stable," Matthias said.  He had shown Yeon the varin tools over a year ago, when they had first discussed this project.
    "Find her smithy and have him make the