Rohj heard the hoof beats long before anyone else in the camp, even over the din of the forge where he worked. Felt it, more like, deep in his bones, a rapid staccato that set his hammer to a faster rhythm. Sparks shot out as he pounded the metal, gleaming cinders that lit upon his heavy work apron like tiny stars before winking out. Each blow fell with precision, despite his increasing speed. His face was flush with exertion, with heat. With anticipation.

He wanted to finish it before she arrived.

By the time those on the outskirts of the camp noticed her approach, he’d laid down his hammer and plunged the glowing length of steel into the water bath. Steam wreathed up and around him, beading against the exposed skin of his face and arms. About him, he heard the other workers in the forge pause in their labors, listening. They were eager for news.

Beyond the covered area where the blacksmiths worked, a throng of fighting men and women was in motion. They wove among the rows of tents, not running, but with a restrained haste in their movement as they gathered on the edge of the camp, watching for their leader to appear, anxious to learn the news she brought. The low, anxious buzz of their voices swirled into the forge, filling the empty spaces created by the stilled hammers, tongs and bellows. The forge workers watched Rohj, waiting to see if he would go, releasing them as well.

But he did not go. He knew her better than most, well enough to guess that she’d come to him first, before she shared her news with anyone else in the camp. He smiled to himself as he thought of the gift he would have for her. Grudgingly, the blacksmiths around him took up their tools once again.

Steam still rose from the water-filled barrel when Rohj reached into it, running his hands down the length of the thing he had made. Three feet of steel, it was, and a hand-span wide. His fingers told him what his heart already knew: it was the finest blade he had ever made.

He pulled it from the barrel and dried the length of it with a soft cloth. It needed tempering, yet, and to be polished and honed, and lastly to be fitted into the hilt he had made days before, the one set with a thumb-sized shard of ruby in the pommel. The Heart of the Rose. It would be enough for now. She would know its quality as well as he, even if it did not yet shine.

Pride gleamed in his eyes as he wrapped the blade in a length of fleece. The noise outside increased and by the cheers that arose from the soldiers he guessed that she must now be among them. The echo of her horse’s hooves still pulsed through him. She was closer now, pace slowed as she moved through the camp but not much. Rohj tucked his gift beneath an arm and went out to meet her.

He had timed it perfectly. Just as he stepped into the sunshine, her pale gold stallion broke through the crowd and came to a rearing halt on the grass before him. She slid to the ground even before the horse stopped moving and strode towards Rojh, a triumphant grin upon her face.

“Dox Imbra,” he said, and bowed.

She was glorious. Though she was dressed in a simple tunic and breeches no different then the soldiers who followed her, she was suffused with a power and physical grace that set her apart from everyone around her, and always had. Even as children playing on the banks of the Tongue he had been captivated by her. Twenty years and royal consecration had only magnified her grandeur.

“Well, it’s done.” She stopped in front of him, hands resting on her hips. “The elders have consented. No more waiting to be beset by raiders, and uselessly chasing after them once the harm’s already been done. We’ll march the army right at them, this time. Show them what it means to have their home invaded.”

She was speaking only to Rojh, not making a speech, but those nearby heard her words and began to murmur excitedly, and the noise grew in intensity as the news spread. This was the message they had all been waiting for: war with the Vinkyr.

“Runners went out already. We might have new recruits as early as this evening. Will you be able to arm them all?”

He gestured to the ranks of workers who had followed him, at last, out of the forge. “We will work day and night until every man and woman who fights for you is outfitted properly.”

“Good,” she said with a crisp nod, and he saw that she had never really doubted him. “We should have a bonfire tonight. There…” she pointed to the peak of a tall hill nestled in a bend of the Tongue. Imbra’s hill, where the sunbolt had been fired into the sky to claim all the lands it crossed for the people of Ular. “Will you see that is done, Rojh? To call my warriors to me.”

“As my Queen desires.” He saluted, fist to chest, and bowed to her once more.

“Good,” she said again. Then, as if she had just noticed (though he was sure it was not so) she jerked her chin towards the bundle tucked beneath his arm. “What’s that?”

“Something I promised you a long time ago.” He lifted it in his hands, flipped away the sheepskin so that she could see it clearly.

She sucked in her breath and her eyes lit up like fire. “My sword!”

“The finest ever forged, as I said it would be.”

She reached for the blade, but hesitated before touching it. “Can I…?”

“It’s yours,” he assured her, and pushed the blade into her hands.

She took it gingerly, balancing the length of steel on the tips of her fingers, feeling the weight and balance, imagining, he guessed, what it would look like when it was finished properly.

She made a low, appreciative noise in the back of her through, the sort of predatory growl usually reserved for their lovemaking.

“Oh, Rohj…” She turned her burning eyes on him. “Now I know we shall be victorious. With this sword, nothing will stand in my way.”

She whirled around to face the gathered warriors, sword blade thrust high over her head, and shouted:

“Nothing can stand in our way!”

The army of Ular roared in response.