Page 69 of Forged in Fading

“She gets that from her father,” Sylvi, Boden’s mother, said from a few paces away. Gods, who hadn’t been invited?

“I can think of someone else who inherited that trait.” Alvara squinted up at the sun that had decided to make its first appearance in days. Maybe if she stared long enough, she would go blind and could excuse herself.

“And who might that be?”

Oh, for Vitharen’s sake, Boden was here too? “We don’t train for another hour,” Alvara said as spots danced across her vision, though his presence instilled her with an unexpected dose of confidence.

“I’m well aware. I was quite interested to see what your training involved, though I didn’t expect such a crowd. And…” He jutted his chin in Pyry’s direction.

Alvara sighed. “I didn’t expect him either.”

She made the mistake of looking at Pyry, who caught her eye and proceeded to squeeze past elves to approach. Boden gave them both a quick glance and stepped back to join his mother.

“Lilja invited me,” Pyry said as he watched Boden from the corner of his eye.

“You’ve never once agreed to spar with me, and yet you came to this?”

“You saved my life in Tasírath, spared me from Vorianta’s fate.” He swallowed and tugged on the collar of his tunic. “And these trainings mean something to you.”

“Is that your way of saying thank you?”

Pyry bowed his head. “Thank you.”

He was trying, she had to admit. “Learn how to use that dagger of yours. And start paying attention in these trainings so I won’t have to keep saving your ass. Go join the others.”

She watched with an oddly light feeling in her stomach as the back of his wheat-blond head retreated into the bodies awaiting her instruction. Maybe this would all do her some good. Magic might be the expertise of many of the elves here, but weapons were hers. This was her opportunity to help provide them with more tools to survive the coming storm.

Boden followed her line of sight to Pyry. “Are you all right?”

“I am. More than all right.” And she meant it. “Thank you, Lilja,” she called over the hum of voices. “I think gathering as many elves as we can to train is the perfect idea.”

Lilja squealed and hopped up and down. “I knew it! I only invited a few today, but I have so many more people I can bring tomorrow!”

Perhaps Alvara had spoken too soon.

The group of elves multiplied at each morning’s training, and Alvara had even begun to lengthen it to two hours to accommodate the growing needs of each individual, including Pyry, who had made more progress than she had expected and dutifully attended each day.

She could see it in the haunted looks that receded with each step and swing the elves practiced—the power, the physical nature of wielding weapons—it harnessed their worry and panic, transforming it all into a quiet confidence. That they could survive the battle to come.

Red blisters covered Alvara’s hands, her muscles throbbing from her early mornings teaching and late nights forging weapons, but it still didn’t feel like enough. They had one chance to stop King Einar in his path to victory, and Alvara wasn’t going to waste it.

She had little else to offer other than a lifetime of stories passed down by her father, but he had always believed that the right knowledge could affect the greatest changes. The only obstacle was the willingness to put aside your pride and accept that you still had and always would have much left to learn.

But the problem was, she didn’t know what knowledge they needed. Wielders throughout Ilmanir had spent countless hours digging trenches surrounding the inner and outer parts of the wall. The hope was it might slow down King Einar’s forces long enough to release a volley of magic and arrows from atop the wall, weakening the enemy’s numbers. But with a secured Nyrian alliance, his elves would fill the trenches and even obliterate the wall that had secured the city for centuries.

Unless…

“Runes!” Alvara yelled as Boden sauntered into the clearing later that morning. He had done his best to attend her weapons trainings when he could, but he was constantly pulled in a thousand different directions with battle preparations.

He cringed and pressed his fingers to his ears. “Good morning to you too. Why are you shouting so early in the morning? I need at least three more cups of tea to handle whatever this is.”

She pressed her hand to his neck, shooting a stream of ice down his back, and Boden yelped. “Wake up. You can have as much tea as you want later. I have an idea.”

“I think I preferred you when you were depressed,” he grumbled as he rubbed the collar of his tunic up and down his neck.

“And you’re probably not the only one. But Boden—we can cover the inner side of the wall with runes that block out magic. It won’t protect the city itself, but it can at least make the wall impervious to attacks from Nyrian wielders. And they won’t know at first glance. It’s not much, but it may buy us some time.”

“Runes?” Boden chewed on the word, his lip curled. He was clearly as fond of the remnants of the gods’ language as every elf she had ever met, except her father.