hit Addolgar with. And that’s not even the one he uses during battles. That one is bloody huge. Nearly as big as the bastard’s head.”
Her father chuckled and stepped around her. “The only purpose of this spear was to protect you—and it did. Its job is now done.”
He started to throw the pieces into a bin he kept for trash.
“Don’t you dare throw that out.”
“Why not? It’s broken, and repairing it would be useless. It’ll only break again.”
“But you made it for me.”
“You cling to what is meaningless, child. Just like your mother sometimes, only with her it’s mostly grudges.”
He tossed the spear into the trash, and Rhona had to fight every instinct she had to not dive into that bucket after it.
“Besides,” her father continued, “I have something better.”
Sulien crouched in front of a trunk, opened it. “I was going to give it to you when I saw you back at home, but this is even better.”
Her father stood and handed her a small metal stick. She’d guess it was only three feet long—and that was it.
“Oh . . . a stick. How . . . uh . . . nice.”
“Don’t be foolish, Rhona. It’s more than a stick.”
He took it from her, held it in his big hand. And Rhona smiled when a sharpened tip suddenly appeared at the end. “Oh! It’s a long knife.”
Then it extended another four or five feet, turning it into a metal spear. “Oh, Daddy! That’s—”
It extended again and grew wider, stretching to and through the opening at the top of the tent.
Eyes wide, Rhona grinned. “That’s . . .” She simply didn’t have words for what it was. There were quite a few weapons among their kind, many of them created by her father or his kin, that could extend from small to big and back again, so that the dragons using them wouldn’t have to constantly switch weapons depending on their current forms. Usually banging the weapon at a certain angle on its base extended it or a shield and they were easy enough to make small again.
But this . . .
“No matter what form you’re in, you’ve got a weapon.”
“What do I press?”
“Nothing.” The spear quickly slipped into its original size, and her father handed it to her.
“But . . .” After years of training by her father’s side, before she’d joined Her Majesty’s Army, Rhona knew what was needed for their weapons to work. “Don’t you need a chant? A spell? Something?”
“Only in the creation of it.” He leaned in. “Want me to show you?”
“Are you joking? Yes!”
He laughed. “Go on and try it first. See what it can do.”
Rhona held the weapon in her hand. It seemed so . . . ordinary. A metal stick. Nothing more. But then she called for the tip and it was there. She used her free hand to touch it.
“Careful,” her father warned. “It’s bloody sharp.”
It was. And Rhona was delighted.
She called forth the spear, and the weapon lengthened and grew. It was the perfect height for her, too. As tall as her with the tip extending just past her head.
Rhona dropped into a crouch, one leg stretched out to the side, the weapon now in both hands. A low attack.
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