AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Osric straightened his spine. “I am not afraid. I am willing to do whatever it takes to be worthy of the First Forging. To claim the power of the primordial artifacts for our own.”
Agnith’s lips quirked up in a wry smile. “Then you have much to learn, young one. But I believe that you have the potential to become a master of the forge, if you are willing to pay the price.”
“I am,” Osric said. “I swear it on the flames of my ancestors. I will stop at nothing to seize the power that is rightfully ours.”
Agnith’s expression hardened, and he leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, rumbling growl. “The art of forging is a sacred gift, Osric. One we must safeguard at all costs. The knowledge of the Ignan runes, the primordial artifacts—it is not meant for mortal hands to grasp. To seek such power is to court disaster, for the world itself could be torn asunder.” Agnith’s hand closed around his shoulder, the heat of his palm searing through the thin layer of sweat that coated Osric’s skin. “Then go, my young friend. Walk the path that has been set before you, and may the flames of the forge light your way.”
Osric nodded, his jaw set in a hard line. He turned to go, his blood molten with anticipation. He was on the cusp of something great, something wondrous and terrible. They all were.
“Oh, and Osric?” Agnith called out, and Osric paused in the doorway, his hand on the stone. “This must remain our secret. The world is not yet ready for what is to come.”
Osric’s jaw tightened, a bitter taste in his mouth. “Of course, Agnith. I swear it.”
Agnith released him, and Osric turned to go. He could feel Agnith’s gaze on his back, a heavy, searching weight. Osric forced himself to move forward, his bare feet slapping against the stone floor. The further he got from Agnith’s chamber, the more the heat closed in around him, a suffocating, oppressive presence. The flames whispered to him, taunting him, testing him. But he was not afraid. He was ready to claim the power that was rightfully his.
He wound his way through the twisting corridors of the Forge, his mind racing. The key closer than ever now, he was sure of it. A key that would unlock the secrets of the Ignan runes, that would allow him to command the artifacts for his own. He should take it to Agnith, he knew. He should show it to the master blacksmith, and seek his guidance on how best to proceed.
But something held him back. A voice in the back of his mind, a whisper of doubt. This was his path to walk, his destiny to claim. He could not risk anyone else getting in his way. He needed to keep this secret, to guard it with his life.
He emerged from the depths of the Forge, the cool night air washing over him, a welcome relief from the suffocating heat. The sky was streaked with the first pale light of dawn, and the world was hushed, waiting. Osric ascended toward the surface, his steps slow and measured. He had a plan now, a path to follow. He only hoped that he was strong enough to see it through.
As he set off into the darkness, the flames of his determination burning bright, he couldn’t help but wonder what lay on the other side. Victory, he hoped. Power beyond his wildest dreams. Retribution. Forgiveness. A world that they could shape and bend to his will. He had come too far to turn back now.
He had to be careful. The woman at the bookshop—she was no fool, and she had a sharp mind. But that was a concern for another time. For now, he needed to focus on his mission, on finding the artifacts and claiming their power for his own. He strolled through the city streets, the cool morning air sharp in his lungs. The city was beginning to stir, the first faint light of dawn painting the sky a pale, bruised purple. He had been up all night, lost in his thoughts, his plans, his dreams of power and glory.
He had almost reached the bookshop when he saw her—a flash of coppery curls, an expression of intense concentration hardening her features. Hali, the dwarf who ran the shop, the one who had been asking questions about the artifacts. She was standing in the doorway of the bookshop, her hands on her hips, her eyes narrowed.
“Osric,” she said, and there was a hint of a smile on her lips. “What a pleasant surprise.”
Osric stopped in front of her, his heart pounding in his chest. She was even more beautiful up close, he realized, with her coppery curls and her hazel eyes that seemed to sparkle with intelligence, with curiosity. She was a puzzle, a mystery, and he found himself drawn to her in a way that he could not explain.
“I was just in the neighborhood,” he said, forcing a smile. “I thought I would stop by and see if you had any new acquisitions.”
Her smile widened, and she stepped back, gesturing for him to enter. “Always happy to indulge a fellow book lover. Please, come in.”
Chapter
Three
Halizanth had spent her entire life in pursuit of stories. Some she found in the pages of ancient tomes, their yellowed paper crackling with secrets. Others lurked in the shadows of dusty archives, waiting to be brought into the light. But her favorite stories were the ones that found her quite by accident, like the grimoire from the Bellerose estate sale.
She had high hopes for the book at first. First because of its rarity, then because of Sooty’s theory about the pencil markings pointing to some kind of code, a tantalizing prospect on its own. Then there was the shady man who’d come demanding it, a sure sign there was something of value hidden inside.
But as Halizanth pored over the pages of the grimoire, her excitement waned. The spells contained within were nothing more than cheap glamours, parlour tricks for impressing gullible children. There was a potion for changing the color of one’s hair, but nothing to raise the dead or summon otherworldly beings. Halizanth tried every trick in the book, hoping that one might reveal a hidden message or unlock a secret compartment. But the grimoire refused to give up its mysteries.
She’d nearly surrendered it as a lost cause when she stumbled upon the spell for making objects levitate briefly. As she recited the incantation and waved her hand over the air, a burst of magic surged forth, sending a stack of books flying across the room.
“Ah, so that’s how it’s done,” Halizanth said, making a mental note of the trick. It was hardly the kind of spell warranting so much hullabaloo as the grimoire had already caused her—but it might come in handy the next time a particularly insistent customer refused to take no for an answer.
With a heavy heart, Halizanth set the grimoire aside. It was a disappointment, to be sure, when mystery seemed to surround the book, but sometimes a dead end was only that. She made a mental note to contact her rare books brokers later in the week, in case someone else found more value in the grimoire than she could conjure from it, and then set about tidying the rest of the back rooms.
She was elbow-deep in a stack of unbound manuscripts, trying to decide whether to shelve them by subject or author, when a melodic chime announced a visitor. Hali looked up to see Pippa Tumblebottom, a violet-hued fae with gossamer wings and a perpetually wicked gleam in her eye, flit through the door of the shop.
Pippa was a regular at Folio & Fancy, though she seemed more interested in the free treats Hali set out than in the books themselves. Hali didn’t mind; the point of the treats was to draw potential customers in, after all, and what Pippa lacked in financial contributions to Hali’s shop, she more than made up for with fat, juicy gossip. Pippa was a font of knowledge on the goings-on throughout Luminara, and the more treats Hali dispensed, the more Pippa shared.
“Morning, Pippa,” Hali called. “You’re up awfully early collecting your dues.”
“Something like that,” Pippa said, her words vivid as light through stained glass. She hopped up onto a stool and crossed her legs, the gauzy layers of her skirts billowing around her. “Rumor has it there was another dragon sighting up in the Spine this morning. Nasty business, but I do love the excitement, don’t you?”
