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Startled, Hali turned to see Sooty standing at the top of the stairs, a disbelieving look on his face. She’d almost forgotten about him, she realized. As much as he liked to pretend otherwise, Sooty was a valuable member of the team, and she really ought to keep him better informed of what was going on.
“Everything’s fine, Sooty. Just a little . . . excitement at the counter, that’s all.” She offered him a reassuring smile, though from the arched eyebrow he gave her in return, she suspected it might not have been all that reassuring. “I’m going to do a bit of research on this book. I shouldn’t be too long. Would you mind running the counter for me?”
Sooty’s face fell, and Hali felt a pang of guilt. She knew how much he hated being left in charge of the shop. But then, she also knew that he had a soft spot for her, no matter how much he tried to hide it. And he was a good kid, despite his grumbling. He always made sure the shop was in perfect order, down to the last quill and inkpot, and he had a knack for remembering just where every book was supposed to go.
“Sure, Hali. No problem.” He started down the stairs, then paused. “But, um, where are you going?”
“Right,” Hali said. “I’ll just be . . . in my office if you need anything. Doing some research.”
Sooty’s eyebrows climbed up toward his hairline, and Hali felt her face flush. She was being ridiculous. She was a grown woman, and a successful business owner. She didn’t need to explain herself to her employees. But all the same, she hurried down the cellar steps before he could say anything, and set the grimoire on the workbench.
As she straightened, she caught sight of a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye. She spun around, her heart pounding, but it was just a stack of old crates, piled precariously high. With a huff, she went to the back of the cellar and pushed a few of them aside. There was a loose stone in the wall, one that her uncle had shown her when he was teaching her all the secret hiding places in the shop. She pried it free, then carefully stowed the grimoire inside.
Straightening, Hali brushed the dust from her hands and surveyed the cellar. It was a jumble of old furniture, broken bookshelves, and boxes of unsold stock, all cast in shadowy hues of gray and blue. But somewhere in the midst of all this, her book was waiting for her. The book that had brought a sudden jolt of excitement and adventure into her life, and she had a feeling it was only the beginning.
Chapter
Two
The corridors of the Forge of Vulkanos were a world unto themselves, a subterranean labyrinth that stretched for miles beneath the Ashen Peaks to the south out of Luminara. They were a living, breathing thing, pulsing with the heat of the forges, and the clamor of hammers against anvils and the hiss of molten metal as raw ore was pounded into submission. The air was thick with the scent of seared flesh, and the harsh tang of burning coal, and the raw, primal power of white-hot lava as it was forged into being. It was more than any outsider could bear, and even most of Osric’s own kind found it too much to take, once they reached their majority. But it was the only home Osric had ever known, and he would sooner have torn his own heart out than leave it behind.
Sweat running down his bare chest, his muscles aching from his usual pre-dawn ritual of toiling over an anvil, Osric wound through the twisting corridors, following the familiar currents of heat that rose up from the depths. The stone floor was slick with condensation, and the further he descended, the more the heat swaddled him, a heavy, suffocating blanket. But it was a comfort to him, a reminder that he was never truly alone.
Finally, he reached the chamber of his mentor, Agnith, the master blacksmith of the Forge, and Osric’s de facto guardian sever since that night. Agnith was a towering figure, even by Emberforged elf standards, with a thick braid of fiery red hair and a voice that boomed like a cannon. He surveyed Osric with a single, steely eye, and gestured for him to approach.
“Osric,” Agnith rumbled, setting down his hammer. “What brings you to my domain, child of the Embers?”
Osric’s bare feet slapped against the stone floor as he crossed the threshold, the heat rising up to swallow him, the air thick with sweat and the raw, unyielding power of the flames. He shambled toward Agnith, who loomed over the anvil, one thickly-muscled arm crossed over his leather apron as he studied Osric.
“Agnith.” Osric stopped a few paces from the anvil and dropped to his knees. “I seek your guidance.”
Agnith’s expression didn’t soften. “You have always been a quick study, Osric. But you are not so quick to come to me with your questions.”
A shudder of shame rippled through Osric, and he kept his gaze fixed on the ground. “I . . . I did not wish to disappoint you.”
“And is it not more disappointing to me, then, when you fail, because you did not seek my counsel?”
A gnawing ache of guilt coiled in Osric’s belly. He had no answer for that, because he knew it was true.
“Agnith, I need to know if I am on the right path with my studies in metalworking. With our goals.”
Agnith’s brow furrowed, and he regarded Osric for a long moment. “You seek to master the ancient art of forging, then.”
Osric nodded, his throat tight. “I have been researching the Ignan runes like you asked. The ones that are said to have been used in the forging of the primordial artifacts.”
Agnith’s expression softened, and he let out a low, rumbling laugh. “They call to you, do they not? The beckoning crackle of flame. I remember when my own mentor first told me of them, when I was but a youngling such as yourself.”
Osric’s pulse quickened, and he dared to look up at Agnith. “Do you know anything of their true power? The legends say that they are capable of reshaping the very fabric of the world.”
Agnith’s eye glittered with an unreadable emotion. “The legends are true. The power of the primordial artifacts is both wondrous and terrible, a force that can sunder mountains and level empires. It is not a power to be trifled with.”
A shiver of excitement raced up Osric’s spine. “But you know how to harness that power, when the time comes.”
“Indeed. The embers sparked in the First Forging are a sacred gift, a power that we are entrusted to wield in the service of the greater good. But the temptation to misuse that power—to let it consume us—is a constant danger. There are plenty who have long sought to harness the primordial artifacts for their own ends, and it has only brought them suffering.”
“But if one were to master the art of forging, truly master it,” Osric said, his voice a hushed, fervent whisper, “then they would be able to control the power the primordials wielded. They could bend it to their will.”
Agnith regarded him for a long moment, and then he nodded, a slow, solemn gesture. “Yes.They would be able to command them. But it is a dangerous path, Osric. One that can too easily lead to ruin. That is why we cannot allow any one person to wield them. We must do it as one.”
