I tell myself that facing Blacksmiths will be like fighting the leopard. They will be smart, dangerous, and vicious.
So will I.
I reach for my weapons.
My hunting knives already hang from my belt and my bow and quiver are strapped to my back. Quickly retrieving the bow, I nock an arrow and take a knee to the ground.
Father, too, draws his bow and nocks an arrow, but he remains in a standing position so that he and I can cover different trajectories with our arrows.
It’s a hunting formation we’ve used many times before.
“Judging by the sound of their metal, there’s at least three of them,” Father says, his voice low. “You can tell by the different melody each piece of metal sings. Remember that they can transform their weapons into any shape they want. A short dagger can become a spear within a blink. Don’t get too close to them without a way to quickly retreat.”
The way Father described Blacksmith power to me in the past, their only clear limitation is that they can’t use their power on just any metal. They can only transform the metal they’ve tempered with their magic, which is why they carry it on their bodies. Even a piece of what appears to be metal jewelry could become a deadly object.
Skirra stays by my side, edging forward, his teeth bared as he continues growling softly.
“Stay back, Skirra,” I whisper to him, but I’m not surprised when he ignores me. I have as much hope of controlling Skirra as I have of wishing the Blacksmiths would simply leave us alone.
Even so, I’ll do everything I can to protect both Skirra and Kori. Their pack is the last of its kind in these mountains. Untainted by Blacksmith magic, which makes them rare and precious.
Kori remains on my father’s left side, farthest from me, appearing more cautious when he stays a step behind my father.
A shadow of movement from within the turret on the roof tells me that Thoren has taken up position there. Given whatFather said about revealing his presence, I’m certain Thoren will stay concealed until he has a clear shot.
We’ve trained him well.
Stay back. Let us do the cutting.
My father’s voice is even quieter. “No matter what they say or do, they will intend to kill us,” he says. “We’ve lived under their noses for over a decade. They won’t simply walk away from us now that they know we’re here.”
His eyes pierce mine. “Fight to kill, Erik. They will have no mercy for us. We must have no mercy for them.”
My jaw clenches. I give him a nod before he returns his attention to the forest and so do I.
The howls and clanging have faded, and now a soft dragging sound reaches us across the distance, slowly coming closer.
And closer…
Five figures materialize between the trees, all of them wearing white cloaks that blend seamlessly with our snowy surroundings and, disconcertingly, make it impossible to see what weapons they might be carrying around their bodies.
I narrow my eyes at the forest behind them, conscious that there could be more of them holding back in the shadows.
The ones I can see are moving quietly, their footsteps as light as predators who know how to defy the undergrowth and avoid the worst of the leafy debris.
They’re stealthy. Although as they come closer, I can see black smears on their cloaks, confirming that it was very likely they who disturbed the second butterfly nest earlier today.
We won’t know for certain if they were out searching for the woman until we speak with them—assuming they speak first and attack second.
The central figure surges ahead of the others, a lean man whose features become clearer as he emerges from the shadows.He’s only a little shorter than Father with slightly narrower shoulders.
His hair is long, straight, and a metallic copper color that catches the dappled light as he approaches the edge of the clearing. In contrast, his eyes are pale-green like leaves that don’t get enough sunlight. His jaw is angular, giving his face a sharp appearance, which is compounded by the sneer on his lips.
He holds his head high, his gaze seeming to take us in within seconds; his speed slows as he nears the edge of the trees twenty paces away.
That’s when it becomes clear that his right arm is stretched out behind him, a posture that’s concealed somewhat by his cloak.
My forehead creases and I narrow my eyes, trying to see why.
