In the distance, only a hundred paces away, a group of people is gathered around multiple fires. I count nearly twenty people and as many fires. They’re located close to the large portcullis that sits in the center of the northern wall.
Evening is falling now, the sun setting behind us, and each fire casts an unnerving, wine-red glow across the air.
A sweet and unsettling scent floats across the air, coming from the fires.
Father once described honey to me, a golden liquid from humblebees that tastes sweeter than sugar.
That is the scent I inhale now, but it comes tinged with danger.
Beside me, Skirra gives a low growl and Thoren’s footsteps are cautious. We’re all blood-splattered, and since I’m thirsty and my strength is waning, I know that’s how Thoren will be feeling too.
As we draw nearer to the fires, it becomes clear that the people are young adults, my age or only slightly older, an equal number of males and females.
They’re all standing at waist-high anvils set out in neat rows while the fires next to each of them are contained in large, black bowls that sit on pedestals to the left of each anvil.
Rhythmic clanging rings out from their hammers. With tongs, they hold chunks of metal in place on the anvil while they strike it, over and over again. Metal of all different colors: some bronze, some copper, some ruby-red, some deep amethyst, even a pale blond.
The color of the hammers they grip in their right hands matches the color of their hair as well as the color of the metal they’re beating.
None of their metal is black like Malak’s.
They’re all breathing hard, their chests rising and falling rapidly, their expressions drawn and faces smudged with black soot.
The men are bare-chested, wearing only white pants, while the women wear strips of white material across their breasts and similar white pants. They’re all bare-footed.
Sweat gleams across their bodies, the muscles in their arms honed and defined but visibly straining.
A woman dressed in intricate silver armor stands in front of them, her long, silver hair tied back and her head held high. Her figure is tall and slim, her cheekbones are high, and her eyes are the brightest green.
It’s the color of the woman’s hair that makes me stumble. It’s just like Asha’s. Except that this woman’s hair is adorned with multiple hair pieces, each one intricate.
Her voice roars out in a fierce command. “Forge!” she cries. “You will forge until your hands bleed and your muscles break and still, you will keep on forging!”
I must have stumbled enough for Malak to catch up to me because his voice sounds in my ear. “These students are forging their first medallions.”
He holds up his right hand, far too close to my face for comfort, and indicates the band resting across it. “This was my first. Forging a single medallion takes three days and two nights. They’re on their first night and must not stop.”
The woman continues roaring at them. “Three medallions!” she shouts. “This is your first. You will give it your blood and sweat.” A hard smile forms on her face as her voice lowers. “You will give your second medallion your heart and soul. And you will give your third medallion…fuckingeverything.”
Her eyes gleam as she draws a deep breath and bellows, “Forge!”
As the woman’s command cracks across the air, a drop of something cold lands on my cheek. It’s icy as the frostiest raindrop as it travels a quick path to my chin, where I swipe at it.
My fingers come away smeared with red liquid.
But… I’m not sure where it came from.
I glance up at the clouds covering the sky above us, their crimson hue reflecting the sunset. A faint flicker of lightning passes through them as if a storm might be brewing.
At the same moment the lightning flickers, my deep light sparks and my feet tingle. I push my light down as I refocus on the ground, unsettled by the energy I’m feeling within it. An energy that only seems to be intensifying as the clangs continue and the honeyed scent thickens in the air.
As we continue walking, Malak is a dark shadow at my side, his pace slowing now that we’re closer to the group. To enter the city, we will need to pass behind them, but until then, we’re in full view of them.
Multiple eyes swivel our way, but the glances are fleeting, the students quickly focusing back on their task.
I don’t miss the way those brief looks take in all of us or the slight widening of eyes, particularly when they see Skirra walking beside Malak.
Given the way the forest life has mutated because of their magic, I can’t imagine they regularly see a wolf like Skirra.
