The day’s early rise brought warmth to the sandstone walls that encompassed the alleyway. The sky burning a bright orange across the visible horizon. A great reprieve from the night’s journey. He made his way down the jagged path, lined with various shops, their linens boldly hued against the canvas of the sandstone walls. He carefully eyed each stall he passed, meticulously judging their wares.
The scent of fresh meats, sizzling in light of the sun’s peak over the city walls, glistened. The smoke gently rose from the grills, into the pockets of shade still hidden from the rising star. The lustful scent, attempted at grappling him every chance it got. Hunger, exhaustion, began to take their toll.
He touched his hand to the pouch under his jagged breastplate, lightly squeezing the coins within, not today. He pressed forward, past temptation. Scanning passively across the structures, a tavern caught his eye at the end of the corridor.
The tavern jutted out from the wall in lesser fine cut sandstone. Off to the side of the structure, rose a crimson awning held up by oaken pillars, with a few scattered makeshift tables, matched with stools underneath.
Standing before the engraved wooden door, he took a deep breath, the decision made. Above him lay the invitation. The carvings in the wooden sign were crude, but easily read out; “Quicksands Tavern.” This will do.
The interior was dimly lit, with scarcely any streaks of light making it far inside the walls. The overall feel of the tavern was grim, certainly not much to look at. He smiled, should manage sufficient coin here.
It wasn’t till he took a seat at the bar, that he noticed the bartender staring him down from the kitchen behind. Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. His assessment was well placed. When she came to the front of the bar, it was immediately evident, she was the finest quality of the tavern thus far.
Her hair was tied back behind her, but it flowed down her back in dark ruby red. Her face was round, her smile was short, but sweet. The eyes were a pale grey that he found evenly welcoming, to threatening should they need be.
She slid a menu in front of him with the tips of her fingers while maintaining eye contact with him. Her gaze curiously unwavering. He removed his metal gloves, placing them on the bar top beside him while he surveyed what the Quicksands Tavern, had to offer.
When he made to pick up the parchment, she eyed his left forearm before turning to continue in a previous task.
The decision was soon made, for nearly a fraction of the remaining lucros; “Can I get the chicken and kale?”
The bartender did not turn from where she stood, her voice steady, “Will be a few minutes.”
He resigned awkwardly to the silence, “Thanks, miss.”
She turned, walking back to the kitchen. Passing where he sat, her tone was warmer, more welcoming, “Kalissa.” He nodded with a smile while Kalissa disappeared behind the kitchen doors.
The emptiness in the tavern brought about a coolness to the air. After what seemed an eternity, little by little he discovered just how crowded the bar really was. The soft ping of water dripping from the faucet sink on the underside of the bar, to the whispered high frequencies of the air sliding in the doorway. Finding the culprits that occupied the room helped pass the time.
In the midst of his orchestration, boots clamored his attention. A woman walked through the tavern’s entrance. The fresh resonance of life sent the other acoustics in the room back into the shadows. Her silver-blonde hair moved with her every stride, bouncing above her neckline where it was cut. She wore a light blue lined top, with a tanned leather half-dress over her pants.
She did not smile at him, like Kalissa had, while she made her way over to the bar. She sat two stools away on his left, brushing her hair away from her face before removing her leather strapped gloves. Oddly pale for the amount of light this city gets.
Kalissa came out with two plates on one arm, two mugs in the other free hand. She placed a plate in front of the stranger, sliding a mug over too, before making her way over to him.
He did not know if it was hunger, or the cooking that enthralled him, but the plate looked ravishing. Three breasts of chicken were browned at the tops with a blanket of kale underneath soaked in the meat’s juices.
With the last bit of self-restraint he had, - “Thank you, Kalissa” - he slowly carved in to the tender chicken laid before him. Now, it’s worth it.
He sat savoring the taste, fork in one hand, knife in the other, chewing away when the stranger called over to him, “You’re from Andescion?”
He shifted his left arm, conceding with a smile, “Yes, I am.”
She sat facing him with one leg crossed over the other, while one hand leaning on the bar toyed with her food. “I do not mean to offend; the marking has always intrigued me.”
Death is just the beginning. The mark of the Deathwalker, given to children born in Andescion, stayed with them throughout their first lives. Within the intricately designed marking; three circular symbols positioned evenly within an outer circle. Each symbolic of Arias’ teachings. Three circles, three code of laws, three phases of the cycles; life, death, rebirth. No surprise it took three guilds to wrestle control of the city.
The marking would only be removed when an individual pledged their lives before the Andescion flames, to be born anew in the flames of rebirth. All under the watchful gaze of Arias. Or in our present case, the guilds of three.
Almost a fortnight had passed by now… He met her gaze mid bite, “You have seen the mark before? There are others, here?”
Her reply had a hint of obscurity to it. “Every cycle, a few prospects from the Andescion city find their way to Arenite. Whether it be of the Legions, Devote, or Shadowmancers, a certain few find their way here, instead of there.”
He nodded. “The ones who do not get chosen more oft than not disappear entirely from the people’s lens, we always thought them to wander aimlessly until they reach Oblivion.”
She eyed him thoughtfully. “Andescion may have closed their eyes to the realm around it, however that does not stop the rest of the realm from peering in. You got a name, Andescion?”
He eyed the gauntlets beside his plate, then picked at his plate some more. “From first birth, all of Arias’ children of Andescion are marked, a ‘Deathwalker’.”
She continued to eat, her plate near empty already, while keeping her voice at a steady parallel with his. “Is that how you wish to be regarded here?”
He chewed slowly, silently for a few moments.
She laid her fork and knife across her now empty plate. “The tattoo you bear, carries no weight outside the city at all. You are free to call yourself whatever you wish here.”
He pushed his empty plate forward, retrieving some lucros from within his pouch, placing them gently one at a time beside the plate. One extra for good measure. “Appreciate the notion, but what would be in a name without its meaning. To be born again in the fire, is the beacon of the new beginning.”
She stood up, making to shake his hand with an awkward stance, “Well, you may call me Lance. You will find refuge here should you need it.”
He met her grip evenly. With that, Lance picked up both their plates, taking them to the back of the kitchen where Kalissa was cleaning.
Lance returned with a flagon of warm mead, refilled both their mugs, residing back at her stool before taking a decently sized swig. Especially for the early hour. “If you don’t mind me asking, which of the guilds did you submit to?”
He met her drink in length, allowing a moment for the warmth to move through him. It was then, he took note of the rust-stained metal that plagued his gloves on the bar top. He let a soft laugh escape him. “I made to smith for the Andescion Legions, to learn their mastery in eneryia.”
Lance smiled, “I’ve seen the Reaver once or twice, not a joyous fellow that one.”
He laughed wholeheartedly this time, “No, not at all.”
Lance took another swig. “What do you intend on doing now?”
The dark mead swirled the edges of his mug while he set it down on the bar top. “I don’t suppose I’ll be heading back to Andescion anytime soon.” If ever again, for that matter.
Lance appeared to ponder her words more carefully. “Do you have an agenda here in Arenite?”
He thought on this briefly before giving reply. “I fear I know little of the realm outside of Andescion’s walls.”
Lance smiled in silence before giving reply, “You knew enough to bring yourself here.”
I scarcely know where ‘here’ even is. “I felt compelled to this city strangely enough. The deeper I pressed through the Bloodwood Forest, the stronger the pull was.” He shrugged. “I can’t say how, but I was drawn here.”
Lance drew her shoulders, leaning towards him slightly, her gaze unblinking, cryptic. “Arenite pulls in many travelers. It is not uncommon for newcomers to feel Duharrae’s presence.”
He shifted his posture, knuckling his forehead, while selecting the right words, “You mean a wisp?”
Lance arched her eyebrows, “Don’t tell me they teach you nothing in that shell of a city.”
He responded quickly in attempt to regain composure. “It is known in Andescion, that there are many wisps of the realm, but save for Arias, the details are…. scarce to say the least.”
Before he could open his mouth to continue, Lance relieved him of explanation. “She is the city of Arenite’s protector. The keeper of the Arkose Desert, along with anything that resides within it.”
He took a drink of his mead this time. “What would a wisp, ‘Duharrae,’ want with me?”
Lance moved more in line with her own stool again, cupping both hands around her mug. “Perhaps nothing, yet. Many are drawn in to her calling, finding their way through the desert to the city. It is on you, whether you choose to act on it.”
He nodded, in contemplation of her words, where they were leading.
As if in reply to his thoughts, “Be wary though. Those that do not heed her calling, end up shrouded in sand, both body and spirit.”
A good passing of silence lingered before she continued, “There is more to tell…” She looked at him curiously. “Plenteous you must learn if you are to survive out here… but you will need to make yourself useful first.”
I wonder what this Duharrae would define to be; ‘useful.’
“I have a task I could pay you for. I have a busy schedule of my own to attend to, I could use some assistance in acquiring some items. I believe something more than fate brought you here today, perhaps Duharrae’s own will. We will see.”
He sat still, staring through his empty mug, slowly toying with the carved inlay with his thumbs.
Lance calmly pressed. “You could walk away from this tavern, continue on as if you never came, treading a wandering path in shroud.” Lifeless…
Her gaze was locked upon him when he looked up from the mug to meet hers. “Or see if there is a path worth taking from beyond the walls.”
She nodded to his rusted gauntlets on the bar top. “You complete this task for me, I can get you working a real forge.”
It seems the path is all but evident, but what lies behind the curtain. A stronger steel at the very least... Another day with a meal. “What would you have me do?”
A gentle smile escaped her face. “Gathering.”
He tilted his head with a questioning stare.
“Nothing obtuse. I need you to gather Herkimer shards from the Arkose Desert.”
Before he could question, she took his curiosity for consent. “On the morrow. You will need to retrieve them before first dawn’s light. The first line of light’s morn will illuminate them to your eyes. You will have mere moments before they are lost in the sands once more.”
He staggered in his search for words. “What exactly are these Herkimer shards?” He nodded to himself. “Surely I won’t lose these shards once they’ve been tracked.” Perhaps she doubts my competence.
Lance kept a cryptic grin that kept looking through him. “You will know them when you see them.”
Sounds… simple enough.
She pounced on his silence once more. “You will take a carrienx from the Arenite Stables tonight. Just say ‘Lance Reviere’ has sent you to tread the morning’s sands.”
Carrienx?! What breed of mount is that? “I suppose I’ll know them when I see them?”
Lance laughed genuinely, rising from her seat. “You’re catching on, Andescion.”
He rose from the bar stool with her, watching Lance stride across the room to grab a leather pouch from the other side of the bar.
“Remember, ‘moments.’ Scarcely a minute at best. Watch for the desert anklos as well, they generally hunt under the cover of nightfall, but fresh meat is fresh meat.”
He froze mid-step, standing mouth agape in the doorway.
Lance tossed the leather pouch at him, laughing again, while she went into the kitchens with Kalissa. “You’ll be fine, Andescion.”
~~~
After crossing back to the market center, reminiscent of the path he had taken earlier, he took in what was overlooked during the first passing. A foreign merchant had drawn in a decent sized crowd by now, but it was not the theatric display that captivated him. He stopped on an outer edge of the market’s circle, out of reach of the foot traffic, gazing up at the massive statue.
His eyes traced the carved onyx stone legs, up to the obsidian dress that hung loosely about her. The statue’s likeness could well rival Duharrae herself - for all I know. He dared not get closer, but it was plain to see the craftsmanship was impeccable. A wisp…
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
He shook his head, after tearing his eyes away from the statue, pressing onwards towards the outer city’s stables where Lance had sent him.
The streets were far more crowded now that the day was closer towards its peak. Though even a dwindling section of the city seems to dwarf the life in Andescion. It wasn’t till he nearly reached the outer walls, that the stables revealed itself.
He walked through the swinging double doors, searching for – what in Oblivion are these. He stood wide eyed at the large beasts before him. Not horses, Lance. The closest one caped in chestnut and amber, yelped, padding its front paws in the sand of its stall.
His vision scanned his surrounding, a few empty stalls, but another nine of the creatures padded their ground at the ready. The sight was incredible, save for the way those tails whip back and forth along the ground. They moved through the thick layer of sand that blanketed each stall, like cobras stalking prey.
Beneath the layers of sand, the stable floor itself had carved red stone tiling. When he finally took his eyes off the magnificent beasts, he followed the trail of sand that led from each stall, conjoining further into the stables.
Towards the back of the building was another double door leading to a vast pen, it may be a full hectare at the least. He stood in the doorway, gazing out into the enclosed section of Arkose Desert that lay before him.
Despite the city’s enclosure, the pen managed the atmospheric feel of the desert he had crossed the night prior. Distant yelps grew louder in crescendo in a matter of moments. Over the nearest of the star dunes, a carrienx prodded itself at the peak. Certainly, well over two meters tall.
Lean muscle armored the creature, its face resembling that of a house feline, just distinctly larger, and with pitch-tipped ears, lengthened equal to the head itself.
The creature scanned the horizon before dashing down the slope of the star dune. Others soon followed. Three… no, eight, in succession. They followed their leader’s path, winding in, out of the crevices the pen had to offer. Each step surefooted, graceful, despite the sand’s natural pull. He watched them fade one by one back over another peak, when another movement caught his eye.
From the original ridge, the shadow of a woman walked towards him. When she drew closer, she revealed a loose blood-red blouse, with cedar riding skirts. She was tall, lean, maybe ten cycles more, yet beauteous with youth. Her leather laced sandals, woven around her ankles, softly crunched the sands beneath her footsteps. She drew near enough, that he caught himself, focusing on maintaining eye contact.
Against the backside of the stables were three stacked barrels filled to the brim with water. She submerged an arm into the topmost barrel, shooting a quick glance over to him. “Good day to you, traveler. What can I do for you?” The water became displaced, the smell of raw fish swiftly moving through the air.
He watched her pull out a medium-sized salmon by the tail, while catching its head with her other hand mid-flail. “Lance Reviere sent me.”
She glanced back to the path she had walked down from, searching, then walked past him through the double doors. Water droplets splashing with subtleness, while the fish attempted to break loose.
He followed her through. She tossed the fish at the nearest carrienx. Within a blink of an eye, the carrienx turned, clamping down on the tossed meal. Chewing slowly, with a low rumble of a purr.
The woman turned to head back out, but met his stare first. “To tread the morning sands, right?” She smiled, retuning outside once more.
Quickly following, he emerged from the double doors two steps after, giving reply in haste. “Yes. Does this happen often?”
Pulling out another salmon, she quickly shot a glance towards the pen, then turned back inside the stables. “Often enough.”
Before he had a chance to follow her, he heard her call out from within, “Bring a fish with you!”
He hesitantly crossed over to the barrels, peering into the topmost one. A dozen or so swam frantically around the edges of the barrel, or at least trying to.
“Quickly now before the others catch the scent.” She had come back out before he even had his arms in the barrel, grabbing another in front of him. This time she waited, nodding to the barrel.
He carefully watched the salmon move about their confines, then plunged his arms in the ice-cold water. One grab, and a miss – the next attempt, a tail slipped out of his palms – by third he caught the fish low enough, hurling it outwards, quickly grabbing the head with his other hand. Soaking himself in the process, damn thing squirms with more strength than its size should permit.
“Come, before the others see.” He hurried after her, mimicking her movements while she tossed the fish to the next carrienx. He lobbed it over the stall, meeting large starving eyes that followed the fish through the air.
The carrienx purred deeply, padding around the stall in a circle, before it let out a yelp, half attempting to jump from the stall. Despite his best efforts he flinched for a moment, defensively. The confines thankfully with no height allowance for escape.
The woman walked up, scratching behind the ear of the creature, “No need to worry, traveler. She will not harm you.”
Unhurriedly, he stalked closer to where she stood, keeping his eyes on the creature’s movement, carefully watching while she scratched the scruff of the carrienx. By the time he stood next to her, the aroma of her of essence pierced the odd stench of the carrienx. A fresh reprieve. “How long have you cared for these creatures?”
Her attention kept to the carrienx, “More cycles than I’d care to count, traveler.” She threw a quick glance at his left arm before meeting his eyes with a gentle smile. “I am Celia Loke. Stablemaster of Arenite.”
Celia strode to the rear double doors again. “Lance tells me you won’t need the carrienx till this evening, but you could probably use the practice by the look of you.”
She returned, nodded to the same carrienx he still stood by. “This one we will saddle up together, so you have an idea of what you’re in for.”
The carrienx consumed the fish with haste, insatiable. “How often do you have to feed them?” He glanced over to where Celia had just stood, gone. She now stood adjacent the stall, unclasping a harness and saddle from pegs on the wall.
She worked the clasps on the saddle, loosening the straps. “The salmon is caught fresh every morn from The Archean’s Bay, outside the city. It is their favorite meal, otherwise twice a day will usually suffice. Unless they are ridden hard.”
Celia bent under the fencing to enter the stall, throwing the saddle over the back of the carrienx. “Come.”
He followed suit, entering in the same fashion, bringing visual perspective of the carrienx he had not noticed prior. The breath of the creature was slow and steady, heavy and driving for the large creature. His hand brushed the ribcage, each inhale expanding immensely. The exhale cascading in gradual succession.
She watched him, at the same time tightening the straps around the torso. “When you mount, do exactly what you do now, and you will feel her movements.”
Makes sense enough.
“Syncing your breath with her, will allow you to bring your desired direction to her attention.” Celia patted the back of the carrienx. “Now, you must mount her.”
His head shot quickly back to her. “Right now?”
He followed her with his eyes, while she maneuvered past him, out of the stall itself. She released two levers on each side, laying a hand on the gate of the stall itself. “Or, you could wait until nightfall, and try this on your own?”
With reluctant concede, “No, that sounds less than ideal.” One hand hovered just above the saddle, just like a courser, right? He paused -
“Use the reins, like you would the pommel.”
He nodded, laying his hand where the pommel should have been. The rush of adrenaline filled him, he became strikingly aware of the stillness, that the carrienx had taken.
With one quick jolt, he hurdled up into the saddle. In the same motion, the carrienx sat upwards, yet so tranquil in movement.
“Good. Now take her a few steps, together.” She slowly pulled the gate outwards, stepping back from their path.
The carrienx took a step forward, shaking a paw before landing the other. He held the reins firmly, one extra loop around his right-hand gauntlet, for good measure.
“You must learn to trust her. When you grow more comfortable, release your grip on the reins, and she will prove more agile. When you tighten them, her movements will be jagged. It takes time to find the balance, time to know when to tilt the scales when need be.”
He rounded the carrienx around Celia in a loose circle, each step of the carrienx leaving a soft thud on the stone below. The carrienx stretched its vertebrae, extending her back, her legs, straight at a forty-five-degree angle. He adjusted himself in the process. Careful now.
“Her natural terrain will bring you swiftness on the sands.” Celia looked out at the backdoor of the pen. “There are numerous hours of light remaining. Sufficient enough for you to learn what you need before nightfall.”
Celia closed, locked the gate of the now empty stall, bringing herself alongside him and the carrienx. “The night will be long. Stay clear of the anklos.” She looked up at him curiously, almost hesitantly, before opening the double doors of the front of the stables.
They mean for me to ride the night. He brought the carrienx forward towards Celia, to the doors of Arenite. Ride the night of the Arkose Desert.
~~~
Gazing up at the night’s sky, he rode out across the desert’s hills. They say the night is always darkest before the dawn. A pale white string lay itself across the horizon, slowly fading against the deep blue black of the night’s fleeting darkness.
Lance’s instructions were to ride east of the city, towards the mesas. Farther east and south, he knew the distant cliffsides, that held the outreaches of the Bloodwood. East and northward however, the Arkose stretched for kilometers, with mesas in formation, the further he strode.
Each dune gave hint of what the horizon had to bring. Waiting for the ‘supposed’ shift in landscape, he eyed the mesas more closely. The massive mountains of red stone, featured near vertical cliffsides. The natural features themselves, a sight to see.
The carrienx padded across the sand with ease, scarcely leaving a trace of sound with the impact from each step. It had taken most of the evening to sync his desired movements with the carrienx, a good pass for time, nonetheless.
He swayed slightly in the saddle, pulling the reins a little tighter. Pray Arias, bring dawn’s light soon. The carrienx jerked sideways in the sudden change of tempo, widening both his eyes, attention to the scene around him.
The star’s first light stretched its grasp across the horizon, finally. Daylight touched down upon the desert’s grains, light glistening upon a nearby hill. He loosened his grip upon the reins, opening the carrienx’ stride towards it.
By the time he got close, he realized the proximity was littered with incandescent shards. First, only few scattered... Then clustered… When he drew rein, he circled his gaze across the horizon, the radiance...
It is if the stars of the night’s sky, had sunken into the sands itself. Long stretches across the desert, made for stars in the desert’s sand, burning bright in the day’s first of light.
He hopped off the carrienx, pulling off both gauntlets while tearing his eyes from the Arkose sands. He eyed the lean muscle flexing in casual movement while the carrienx stretched with that low-rumbling purr. He then wrapped the reins, a multitude of times, around his dominant arm. Praise Arias, if you do not bound.
Slowly falling to one knee, he grasped a fist of sand, watching the grains fall through his fingers. Till all that remained in hand; a translucent crystal shard half the length of his palm.
The sand was cool to the touch, however the Herkimer shard absorbed the fingers of light, akin to an ardent blaze from a forge. Despite the growing heat of the shard, he held it curiously in his hand, toying with the reflective light. Jagged, but with planes smooth to the touch.
One by one, he began collecting in the mid-sized leather pouch Lance had given him. The painted sandscape illuminating his trail.
With a jerk of the reins he staggered, looking back to see the leather cord fully drawn. The carrienx had curled around itself, nestled in a bed of sand. The glow of the shards let off a warm aura around the creature. Rest certainly well-needed. His own eyes shuttered welcomingly.
Continuing within range of the carrienx, he continued to fill the pouch with the shards. By the time he had it nearly three-quarter parts full, he looked behind him, the light burned a little brighter now.
More than a mere streak across the horizon, a burning amber hue streamed into the sky. While he searched for more shards, the numerous stars of the sands seemed to grow scarcer.
He scanned his surroundings, the field previously littered in Herkimer shards, was now borderline barren. I could not have gathered so many.
At the nearest peak, he gazed out across the Arkose. In waves, the crystals began fading out. That was quick.
He tightened the pouch of crystals he had gathered, watching while the final remnants of the shards that lay before him faded from his of sight. Just like that, huh.
He dug his fist in the sand like had had moments prior, letting the grains fall, only to reveal the callousness in his palm. After three futile attempts, he put his gauntlets back on, quietly striding to the near sleeping carrienx.
Upon his approach, the carrienx torpidly raised and lowered its eyelids. In cadence with the rise, fall of its chest. He tied off the pouch to the saddle, untethered himself from the reins, and stroked the carrienx from ear to neck. Soon, we both shall sleep.
With a slightly more affirmative pat, the beast rose. He mounted the carrienx with all the energy he had left, proceeding to turn her westward at a modest pace.
~~~
He walked through the double doors of the stables at a backstep, with the carrienx in tow. The creak of the doors echoed in the silent room, fiery light pouring in from the palette of the morning’s sky, painting an empty room.
The carrienx followed his lead back to the stall, where he removed both the reins, saddle after locking them both in the gate. He hung both on pegs where Celia had placed others, looking back to find the carrienx already laying in the sand bed that the stall had to offer, eyes closed, purring peacefully.
He eyed the doors to the back pen, locked off. Surely Celia must be gathering the morning’s catch. Quietly he tugged on the gate that housed the carrienx, rattling the lock slightly, good. And with that, he strode to the front, gently closing the doors behind him.
The day was at a fresh start, not many would walk the streets at this hour. Yet there was light enough to recoil his eyes while they adjusted to the pace of daybreak. Surreal, to find himself in Arenite. A full day prior I would have sworn my end.
Now to find the forge. Celia had been brief, on where to find this forge, though she had made a point to make sure he arrived by full daybreak, no later.
He searched building to building, walking the streets of Arenite, slowly gravitating himself towards the inner city. Right along the inner walls…
When he approached the inner walls, with pillars carved in intricate red granite, a large fortress took shape at the center in the distance. Hidden by exotic greens, plant life unfathomed in Andescion, the top of the fortress peaked in the distance. Large banners in ivory, with a sigil painted in the middle in golden ember, hung from the topmost parapets. That is the one.
Searching around him, he found the forge, pressed along the inside of the inner wall. Larger than a good number of forges he had seen, not quite the volume of the Legion’s forge, however. Just like Celia had mentioned, the same sigil from the fortress was painted on the door of the forge, in addition to the sign that hung above the street.
Painted in pitch black, six successive angular points, conjoined at a central sphere, like a spiked-fanned wing. Drawn to it, he approached the door to get a closer look.
“You survived, Andescion.” He failed to notice Lance standing there, back against one of the wooden beams that held up the awning to the porch.
He walked up the two steps to join her on the porch of the forge itself. “Without a scratch from any anklos either.”
Lance patted his shoulder when she walked past him, pushing open the door, releasing a thick stench of burning metals, familiar, yet somehow containing a unique tint to it. “Thank Duharrae for that. She finds you useful thus far, apparently.”
He silently chuckled to himself, useful. Instinctively following her, he lingered in the doorway at the sight of the sigil once more.
Lance caught him in the corner of her eye, and paused before she fully entered. “The daughters of Duharrae.”
When he turned to face her, she had already fully entered the forge, shrouded slightly in the darkened room, illuminated with fire and ember from two lit stations. A fan of stations lined up on one side, tracing an invisible circle. In the middle of the room was a large wooden table in circular form.
She placed the bag she was carrying on top of it, before she continued. “That is her marking, a symbol of those who protect the city, carrying out her will.”
He let the door close behind him, beginning to unfasten the pouch he carried at his side. “Who are these ‘Daughters’?”
She smiled, motioning for the pouch he held in his hand. “You have a great deal to learn, Andescion. First, let’s see what you’ve learned thus far.”
He tossed her the pouch, proceeding to observe the forge, while she looked it over. Six anvil stations, just in visible sight. There may be more past the back doors. Every two contained a stone furnace along the wall, with a bellows on one side of each.
He eyed Lance spreading the Herkimer shards across a white linen cloth, she had laid upon the table. “Would have gotten you more, I underestimated how quick they fade.”
She continued laying them out, certain ones in isolation from others. “More than halfway full, not bad for your first run.”
He leaned against the doorway, with his arms crossed, still eyeing the interior of the forge itself. From the various hammers that hung on the walls, to the long tongs that rested on two of the anvils. “I had a feeling there would be more.”
She wrapped the isolated bunch in another thin white linen cloth, placed them carefully in a small pouch she had from her waist, then tossed the pouch at him. “Not without reward.”
The crystals rattled softly when he caught them, jolting him to attention on impact. I may fall asleep where I stand.
“They are yours.” Lance walked over to the countertop where intricate finished works were on display, for selling most likely. She placed the larger leather pouch of Herkimer shards behind the counter, then walked over to one of the two anvils with tongs laid on top.
She pumped the bellows, bringing the active flame to a roar, brightening the room. “When you are ready, you will learn to forge with them.”
Forge with crystal?! “How does one forge with crystal?”
Lance headed to the back of the forge. “All in time, Andescion. I am no forge master.” She opened a door to a back room, where all he could see was the orange flame reflecting from a torch on a sconce. “I will introduce your teacher, take a seat at one of the anvils.”
The door shut behind her, with that, the light faded back to the source of the one-lit forge. I’ll fall asleep before she even gets back. He went over to the bellows, pumped them some more, brightening the room slightly enough.
When he had taken his seat before the anvil, he heard the door close again. Searching for Lance or the forge master, none were to be found. He glanced back over his shoulder to see a man standing at the storefront of the forge. Definitely not the forge master. Instead, stood a man that too had crossed the Bloodwood.
Clad in dark leathers and a heavily muddied black cherry cloak, his features were hidden. Save for the stench he brings with him. The man searched either direction of the storefront, not catching sight of anyone else in the room. He muffled a cough with his dust mask and a gloved hand instinctively wrapped around his ribs as he sunk over the countertop.
With a frustrated exhalation, he pulled the dust mask down from his face, turning to face the line of anvils. A lit furnace caught his dark eyes and illuminated his facial features.
His face was deeply bruised, his beard more than scruff. Dark near-black hair crept out from under his cowl. Greasy, unkempt. Unshaven hair was the least of that man’s reservations, however. With the mouth that man had on him – a voice that spoke of rebellion - in front of all Andescion’s leaders! …before the flames of Arias! That man… That man was alive.