Faithless by Graham Austin-King

Author:Graham Austin-King [Austin-King, Graham]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fallen Leaf Press
Published: 2017-06-29T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The looks started the second week of his training with Lasris. Envious glances turned to black looks as the crew set off to the mines each day and Wynn headed for Lasris’s forge. Glances had become accompanied with muttering and he’d almost been glad when Terrik had clawed him back from Lasris and sent him to the mines with the others.

Five days in the mines had left him aching as a different set of muscles were abused. He’d been grateful for his bed each night.

He swore again as he stomped down the steps and made his way across to Lasris’s hut. The first of his two days a week with Lasris, he’d been woken by the priest leaning over his cot and jabbing a finger into his side until he got out of bed. The priest’s grey and sunken face was not something he wanted to wake up to again.

The forge sat cold and silent in the grey murk of pre-dawn. Wynn arched his back, stretching out the kinks as he watched the drizzle mist its way down through the fissure high above the Gilded Quarter.

Lasris had made it clear that he had no intention of leaving his own bed this early, and that he expected Wynn to take care of preparing the forge. Wynn rummaged around in the gloom until he located the flint and steel, and bright sparks split the darkness. He pulled gently on the bellows, chanting softly until the kindling caught. The mechanics of lighting the forge had become almost second nature to him now. He barely paid attention as he added wood, set coal to catch the flames, and forced air into the fire. His chant grew with the flames and he basked in the heat, letting the warmth soak into his flesh.

The iron rod had been left close to the anvil and he glanced at the cottage before thrusting it into the forge with a twisted smile. Let the miserable old bastard sleep through this.

Wynn pounded on the glowing white and yellow length of iron with all the glee of a child splashing in a puddle. Any joy that pure fades quickly and he soon settled down to the business of folding the iron, working the chant of Calling Iron that Lasris had been trying to teach him, to the rhythm of his hammer strokes. His voice softened as he returned the rod to the forge, finding himself almost crooning the chant of Waking the Flame to the iron as it rested in the coals before reaching it out with the tongs.

Through it all the windows to Lasris’s hut remained dark, and a sullen disappointment clung to him.

“It’s a lovely noise, Wynn, but are you going to do more than just bang two bits of metal together?”

He managed to hold onto the hammer as he jumped, though it came close to leaving his hand and flying over his shoulder. He set it down on the anvil and turned to Lasris. “I thought you

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