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Praise, Osric knew, but each word of it a blade that sliced into him, twisting as it sank in. He clenched his jaw to keep from crying out, from giving any sign of the turmoil that smoldered inside him. He had never been comfortable with the darker aspects of his training, the ruthless efficiency that was the hallmark of the Forge of Vulkan. But he had excelled, had risen through the ranks, and he had earned Agnith’s approval, his respect. He couldn’t jeopardize that, no matter how much his loyalties were torn.
“Master, I . . . I understand the necessity of our work, but . . .” Osric’s voice trailed off, and he dared to look up, to meet Agnith’s eye. “The things you have me do, the lives that are lost . . . How can we claim to be the guardians of the primordial balance, when we so readily upset it?”
Agnith’s expression darkened, and Osric felt a shiver of unease course through him. “You speak from a place of ignorance. You have not seen the darkness that lurks in the hearts of mortals, the avarice and ambition that threaten to consume them. The work of the Forge is a sacred duty, a necessary one, to keep that darkness at bay. And sometimes, sacrifices must be made, in the name of the greater good.”
“The greater good,” Osric echoed, the words bitter on his tongue. They were the same justifications he had given himself, after his family’s death, after the long years of training and indoctrination. The same justifications that had driven him to the path he now walked, a path that was growing more treacherous with each passing day.
“The world is teetering on the brink, Emberhearth, and only the Forge stands between it and oblivion. But we cannot do our work alone. We need the artifacts, the knowledge that the Circle seeks to control. And it is your duty to ensure that they do not succeed.”
Osric nodded, his jaw clenched, the grimoire heavy in his hands. “I will do whatever is necessary, Master. I will not fail you.”
Agnith’s stony face softened, just the slightest, and he placed a hand on Osric’s shoulder. “I know you won’t, my student. I have faith in you.”
And yet Osric felt the doubt still gnawing at him, threatening to consume him from within. He had spent his whole life in service to the Forge, had never questioned the path that had been set before him. But now, in the wake of his time with Hali, the lines of that path were growing blurred, indistinct. He knew what he had to do, the duty that he could not shirk. Yet a tiny part of him rebelled against it, against the darkness that was consuming him, that threatened to snuff out the fragile light that Hali had kindled in his heart.
Agnith nodded, then gestured to a nearby table, where an ancient scroll was spread out. Covered in intricate, coded writing, it was like nothing Osric had ever seen. “This is the text that the Circle is seeking to decipher. It is a book cipher, with the grimoire you recovered as the key. With it in our possession, we can unlock the secrets of this text, and hopefully gain an advantage in the hunt for the primordial artifacts.”
Osric’s hands tightened on the grimoire’s cover, the guilt that had been gnawing at him threatening to consume him. “Then we must work quickly. I need to return the book to Hali’s shop before . . . before she realizes it is missing.”
Agnith’s eyes narrowed, and Osric cursed himself for the slip. He had been so careful, so diligent in his work for the Forge, and now he was risking everything, putting Hali in danger, all because he had allowed himself to be distracted by her. He was nothing but a tool, a weapon, a hunter, and to lose sight of that was to forsake the fire goddess herself.
“She is of no consequence, and you would do well to remember that. Nothing matters but the artifacts. The First Forging reborn.”
Agnith’s words were like a slap, and Osric flinched, the grimoire’s cover digging into his palms. He knew his mentor was right, but that did little to ease the guilt that gnawed at him. Hali was in danger, because of him, and no matter how much he tried to tell himself that it was a necessary sacrifice, that the greater good had to come first, it did nothing to still the doubts that raged inside him.
“I will do better, Master.”
Agnith waved a hand, his tone cold and final. “Your failure is inconsequential. The fate of one mortal and her shop means nothing in the grand scheme of our mission. What matters is that you learn from your mistakes, that you do not allow your emotions to cloud your judgment. The Circle is a dangerous foe, one that will stop at nothing to achieve their goals. You must be prepared to do the same.”
Osric felt a chill at his mentor’s callousness, a sudden, stark realization of the Forge’s methods, the cost of the path he walked. He had always known, in the abstract, what was required of him, the sacrifices that he would have to make in the name of the greater good. But it was one thing to know it, and quite another to feel the weight of that knowledge pressing down on him, threatening to crush him. He had come to the Forge seeking purpose, and now that he had found that purpose, he was drowning in it, the darkness lapping at his throat, threatening to pull him under.
Agnith’s features softened, and he turned back to the scroll. “Now, let us get to work deciphering this text.”
It was slow, painstaking work, but with the grimoire as the key, the code began to yield its secrets. The text was a set of coordinates, and a series of cryptic directions that made Osric’s head spin. But with Agnith’s guidance, the meaning began to come into focus.
“It is a map, of a sort,” Agnith said. “Leading to one of the primordial artifacts that the Circle seeks. One that we can use to return to the First Forging, and eradicate them for good.”
Asric’s smile was fiery, but it chilled Osric to his core.
“The Hammer of Earthblood.”
Chapter
Eleven
Halizanth awoke with a start, her hand searching for Osric’s form before she even fully opened her eyes. Finding his side of the bed empty, she slumped back against the pillows with a wistful smile. It had become a familiar disappointment, though no less disappointing each time. He was likely already hard at work, delving into ancient tomes and histories in search of a way to infiltrate the Obsidian Circle’s compound.
She shook her head, her smile softening. It was a dangerous game he was playing, one that she had no business being a part of. But try as she might to push him away, to tell him to leave it to the authorities, a stubborn elf was he, and even more stubborn was the tug of their bond. A bond that had only grown stronger with each passing day, each shared secret, each brush of hands and lips.
With a contented sigh, she stretched and threw back the covers. She had work to do as well, even if it was of a more mundane sort. Her shop was still in disarray from the attack, books and papers scattered everywhere. As much as she longed to linger in the warmth of the bed, wrapped in memories of the night before, there was no rest for the determined.
She set about tidying up, the routine of it all giving her a chance to let her mind wander. To think about the things she shouldn’t, like the way Osric had looked at her, with such reverence and longing. The way his calloused hands had trembled as he’d reached for her, as if he couldn’t quite believe she was real. The way he’d whispered her name, a prayer on his lips.
Hali tried to dislodge the thoughts, but they only burrowed deeper. She was treading on perilous ground, and she knew it. Her heart was already his, whether she wanted to admit it or not. And if they were to proceed down this path, if they were to confront the Obsidian Circle together, there was no telling what the future might hold.
As she descended the narrow staircase to the shop, the familiar scent of parchment and pipe smoke enveloped her, chasing away the last remnants of sleep. She found Sooty behind the front counter, his satchel already slung over his shoulder, and his bangs brushed low over his eyes.
“Morning, Sooty,” Hali said, with a wry smile. “You’re early today.”
