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Hali blinked. “Clue? For what?”
The professor’s lips curved into a sly smile. “I believe I know exactly what the grimoire was meant to decipher.”
Chapter
Twelve
The Forge’s hidden stronghold had been Osric’s home for the better part of a year, though there was little to show for it in the cramped quarters he’d been assigned. A narrow cot, a chest for his spare clothing, a basin for washing in the mornings—those were the only furnishings, the only comforts. The rest of the space was given over to his training and research, with tomes and scrolls spread out on the floor, diagrams of ancient artifacts tacked to the walls.
He moved through the room with a sense of detachment, gathering up his few belongings and stowing them in a satchel. A change of clothes. Rations for the journey. A coil of rope, a grappling hook, a waterskin. His journal, bound in supple black leather, and a quill with a fresh vial of ink.
And then, at the last moment, he hesitated, his fingers brushing against the slender volume of dwarven poetry he’d purchased from Hali’s shop. It was foolish, he told himself, to cling to the memories of a life he could never have. But he couldn’t bring himself to set it aside, not just yet.
Not until he had seen her one last time.
The thought was a dangerous one, a flame licking at the corners of his resolve. She would be safer if he stayed away. If he kept his distance, then the Obsidian Circle would have no reason to harm her. But he couldn’t leave things as they were, with her thinking the worst of him. He owed her an explanation, at the very least.
He tucked the book into his satchel, and with a heavy heart, hefted the bag over his shoulder and made his way to the surface.
He was so lost in thought that he didn’t hear Agnith’s approach, his mentor’s footfalls muffled by the thick rugs that covered the stone floor. It wasn’t until the older elf cleared his throat that Osric started and turned to face him.
“Sorry,” Osric said, his voice sounding thin in the dimly lit chamber. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
Agnith regarded him in silence, his expression unreadable. Osric shifted uncomfortably, suddenly all too aware of the guilt that must be written across his features. He and Agnith had been through too much together for Osric to pretend that he wasn’t distracted, that he wasn’t having second thoughts about their mission. But the older elf said nothing, only crossed the room to stand at Osric’s side.
“We are treading dangerous ground, you and I,” Agnith said at last. “The Obsidian Circle is a shadowy foe, with tendrils that reach into every corner of the realm. We must be ever vigilant if we are to succeed in our task.”
Osric nodded, the weight of his guilt settling over him like a shroud. “I know. I just need to be sure that we are doing the right thing. That this is the path that we should be on.”
Agnith’s jaw clenched, the firelight casting deep shadows across his face. “The Hammer of Earthblood is a powerful relic, one that must not be allowed to fall into the wrong hands. You know the devastation that it could cause, should the Circle succeed in harnessing its power.”
“I know,” Osric said again. “But at what cost? How many lives are we willing to sacrifice in the name of our cause?”
Agnith placed a hand on Osric’s shoulder. “I understand your misgivings, I do. But you must trust in the path that has been set before us. The fate of the realm hangs in the balance, and we are the only ones who can set it right.”
Osric’s fists clenched at his sides, the leather of his gloves creaking. “I want to believe that. I do. But I cannot help but wonder at what cost our victory will come.”
Agnith was silent for too long, the only sound the crackling of the fire in the hearth. Then, to Osric’s surprise, he turned and headed towards the door.
“Take the evening to tie up any loose ends,” Agnith said, his hand resting on the door latch. “We depart at first light, and there is much to be done.”
And then he was gone, leaving Osric alone with his doubts.
Luminara was bathed in twilight, the last golden rays of the sun giving way to the silvery glow of the moon. It was a beautiful city, a city that Hali loved with all her heart, and the thought of what was to come filled Osric with a profound sense of regret. Regret, and longing, and a thousand other emotions that he was ill-equipped to name.
He slipped through the streets with the ease of long practice, his footsteps silent on the cobblestones. He knew this city, its every shadow and secret, but tonight he walked with a heavy heart. The city that had once been a sanctuary was now a trap, a snare that threatened to claim the woman he cared for more than anything in this world.
He reached the market square, the fountain in the center casting shimmering patterns of light across the stone. The last time he had been here, he had been with Hali, his hand outstretched to catch the spray of water, her laughter like a song. He closed his eyes, trying to hold on to the memory, to the way he had felt in that moment. He had felt . . . free. Unburdened by duty, by the gravity of the mission that loomed over him.
But the mission was still there, waiting, and he could not afford to forget that. He had a duty, a sacred oath that he had sworn, and he could not let his feelings for Hali cloud his judgment. The world needed the First Forging once more, and he was the only one who could set it right.
Wasn’t he?
He shook his head, trying to clear away the doubts that lingered at the edges of his mind. He was straying dangerously close to the precipice, and he knew that he should turn back, that he should return to the safety of the Forge. But he couldn’t leave things as they were with Hali. He couldn’t leave her to face the darkness that was coming, not without a warning.
Not without saying goodbye.
He quickened his pace, the satchel weighing heavily on his shoulder. The streets of Luminara were quiet now, the city settling in for the night, but he moved with urgency. He had little time, and there was still so much that he needed to say.
