Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 2

The hand-guards were perfectly balanced, streamlined and exquisite. Sai didn't hold back his smile, and Arick looked at him in wonder. He moved into a graceful set, dipping and slashing; the dancer now accompanied by the perfect partner.
    Sai had never seen anything so beautiful. He was reluctant to end the display, but the metal called to him.
    "Arick. Time to feed the blades."
    Many said that the blades of Master Sai were living things, thus, they were born with a feeding— a baptism of blood. It wasn't truly their first taste of blood, for Sai already lived within the steel, but the steel must be anointed for the magic to come alive. He moved to stand before the young soldier, who knelt, offering the blades back to Sai, handles first.
    "Offer your arm, Lieutenant."
    Arick extended an arm, holding it steady as Sai drew the blade over his skin. A path of red welled up and he smeared the blood over the body of the blade. He did the same with the second blade. Blood trailed down Arick's forearm, dripping to the ground where hundreds of other warriors had left their mark on the hard-packed dirt. Sai then hesitated, glancing at Arick's child. After a moment, the golden-haired man took the babe from the arms of its nurse. As quickly and gently as possible, Arick used the razor-sharp blade to nick the child's skin, allowing his son's blood to join his on the hungry blade.
    As the child's wailing cries filled the air, Sai raised the blades to the sky, offering them to the sun, the wind and finally down to the Earth. Arick held the babe close to his chest, rocking it to soothe its anger.
    Sai chanted in a language long forgotten: "You have tasted of the blood of your master. You will serve him well, remaining strong and supple, never failing him in battle." He extended the blades, pressing the points into Arick's chest, just over his heart. "You have tasted the blood of your master. If you fall, you will return to his hands, never doing harm to him." He then laid the bloody blades in the palm of his hands, offering them to Arick. "You have tasted the blood of your master. Go now, and sing for him!"
    Arick accepted the blades and an eerie, otherworldly hum filled the air. Sai felt a weary smile tug at his face and he felt just a tiny bit of himself leave with those blades. That was the part he'd not shared with the client. Those blades were bound to him as well, and their song was beautiful. The onlookers gasped as they always did, caught up in the magic of the moment.
    The swords Sai created were always bound to him, but not like this pair. And in spite of his secrecy, one look at Arick told him the client knew and approved. His heart beat a little faster in his chest.
    "You should come inside and let me bind your arm." His voice was husky and full of meaning. The warrior with hair like the sun smiled at him. For a moment, it was just the two of them in the late afternoon sun. The child cried and the spell was broken.
    "Anna, please take Aron home. I'll be there soon."
    Or not so soon. If Sai had his way, Arick Weste would be out all night.
    As the crowd trickled away, Sai damped down the fires of the forge. His nephew-apprentice quietly and efficiently cleaned up, locking the great gates as he went home for the night. Sai went inside his ancient, beautiful home and carefully rinsed and wrapped Arick's arm, though the wounds weren't that deep. Fire-toughened hands were unexpectedly gentle on Arick's flesh; he had no desire to cause pain.
    Before he thought to wash the sweat away from his face, Sai had the tall young lieutenant pinned against the wall, their lips melding, hips thrusting, and as the sun went down, the sword master's fire burned brightly, all through the night.
    CHAPTER 1
    "Arick!"
    His voice was raw, blood poured down into his eye. Sai slipped on the bloody grass, stumbling over the stinking, disemboweled corpse of a warrior. Ally or foe, it really didn't matter; it was in his way and he fell, coming up even more filthy and shattered than before. He stumbled into a run, turning over bodies, his heart sinking with each set of dead, lifeless eyes.
    "Have you found him?"
    Juliana was nearly as battered as Sai felt; bleeding from dozens of small wounds, her face was swollen and puffy, an eye nearly closed. Bits of her armor were missing; a deep slash in the boiled leather testified to her good fortune on the battlefield.
    "No. No, I can't find him!" Somewhere, a rational side of Sai stood back, watching the