Chapter VIII. Forgefire #2
“Ashdrinker was singing a hymn in my head as Charlotte led us down the cliffroad and through the noble quarter, folk bustling about their affairs. If not for the churlsilver and braids of maidens’ hair at the windows, the fonts of holy water at every door, León might’ve almost been a city from a time before the sun failed us.
But on every corner hung an iron gibbet, scribed with the crime of the corpse therein—heretic, wytch, idolator—and patrols of gens d’armes roamed the streets, brows marked with ash, mechwork crossbows at their backs.
Unlike in Redwatch, I saw no refugees of war-torn provinces, no beggars.
And I fancied the faint scent of cinders hung in the air as Charlotte led us down a broad boulevard toward the marvel in the city’s heart.
“The great cathedral of León.
“‘Le D?me,’ Lachie breathed, making the sign of the wheel. ‘Sweet Mothermaid.’
“‘Hell of a sight,’ I agreed.
“B-b-b-blasphemy, my friend …
“A circular monolith of marble and stained glass, surrounded by seven spires that touched the sky.
Its arched entryways loomed thirty feet tall, dawndoors to the east and duskdoors west. They were wrought of bronze, corroded green with long years, embossed with a motif of the wars of heaven—the Empyrean Host battling the Fallen legions.
But though Le D?me was a masterpiece, it was near overshadowed by the marvel outside it.
“I’d heard tell in my travels, but never thought to lay eyes upon it myself.
Le Chemin des Anges, they named it—The Angel Way—a tribute from the sculptor Alfonse de Merangais, wrought near a century ago.
Twenty-seven figures, towering in stature, stood on a broad stone boulevard that encircled the cathedral, guarding it from all harm.
“They were stunningly beautiful, great wings folded at their backs, sigils in their hands; Eloise with her sword and shield, Chiara with her blindfold and scale, Evangeline with her wreath of flowers. Grim Mahné with his scythes, Raphael with his book, and of course Gabriel, patron of this city, his flaming sword held aloft to heaven. After all I’d seen, there was no love left in my heart for the Almighty, nor his legions neither.
But still, I found my breath stolen from my lungs at the sight of them.
“I looked up at my namesake, at once struck by the notion his visage seemed … familiar. I couldn’t place when, nor where, yet gazing up at that beautiful statue, I was struck with certainty I’d seen it before.
Charlotte’s eyes were affixed upon Gabriel too, fingers pressed to the flaming sword pinned above her heart, and I recalled Mathieu’s tale of how she’d earned her name.
I’d no illusions an angel had actually appeared to her in this cathedral, urging her to burn the corruption from this city’s heart.
But God knows I was no one to look askance at others for the tricks the mind can play on those in mourning.
“Gavrael.
“I looked down as my blade spoke, silver eyes fixed on the angel above.
“Looks nothing like h-h-him.
“‘Come.’ Charlotte bowed to the statue in farewell. ‘The forge is this way.’
“Down long thoroughfares we walked, through kiss of salt and stink of fish, into the trades district. People cast curious glances our way, mothers, marketeers, and merchants, looking at me and Lachie with awe. But not a one of them met my cousin’s eye as she approached, and many hissed as she passed, spitting over their shoulders or making the sign of the wheel.
Charlotte ignored them all, chin held high as she led us to a mighty stone building on the edge of a large square.
A statue of Eloise with her sword and shield stood guard outside, anvil song and woodsmoke kissed the air, reminding me at once of my stepfather’s forge in Lorson; my sister and me playing soldiers as the sun sank below the horizon, fighting back-to-back against invisible legions.
“Ever outnumbered, we’d say. Never outmatched. Always Lions.
“Memory of my nightmare rose unbidden then; those grinning teeth, that red serpent emerging between them. I’d dreamed of Celene almost every night since I’d drunk her blood in Cairnhaem, but that snake was something new …
“‘Gabe!’
“The cry pulled me from reverie, back into the dim light of day. Baptiste was striding from the building, dark eyes alight with joy. A handsome fellow about Baptiste’s age walked beside him, shaven head and bright blue gaze, the skin on his hands and muscular forearms bearing the telltale burn scars of a fellow blackthumb.
“‘Fairdawning, brother.’ I nodded to the big man. ‘What news?’
“‘Gabe, it’s astonishing,’ Baptiste said, almost giddy as he waved to the foundry at his back.
‘They use a form of convection to capture the heat, concentrate it upon itself. But the forge is fashioned such that less temperature is wasted to the air, less fuel used in the firing, God Almighty, it’s incredible. ’
“The man beside Baptiste chuckled, thumbing sweat from his brow. His skin was a rich olive, his smile bright against the charcoal smeared across his face. ‘Merci, M. Sa-Ismael. High praise from a blackthumb of San Michon.”
“‘Gabe, Lachie, this is M. Cortez,’ Baptiste said. ‘Forgemaster of León.’
“‘Fernando, please. We don’t stand much on ceremony here.’
“‘You bloody well should.’ Baptiste shook his head. ‘The mechwork bows carried by the city’s soldiery, the flaming blade wielded by Mlle Charlotte, the guns on the bay, all of your design.’ He glanced to me, eyes bright.
‘I’ve seen the work of masters before, brother.
And I don’t use the word lightly. But this man is a genius. ’
“‘High praise indeed,’ I nodded. ‘Well met, monsieur.’
“I shook Cortez’s hand, his grip strong and honest, Lachie doing the same. León’s forgemaster looked now to my cousin, his gaze lingering on the ash at her brow.
“‘La Lionne Cendrée.’
“‘M. Cortez,’ she replied, not meeting his eyes. ‘Fairdawning.’
“He motioned to her blade. ‘Lightbringer serves well on your hunts?’
“‘She serves fine. Though her chamber is dry. Have I your leave to visit the stores to replenish her?’
“‘Of course, mademoiselle. I’ll have one of my lads—’
“‘I know the way, M. Cortez.’ Charlotte nodded to us, curt and cold. ‘Au revoir, Frère á Craeg. Chevalier. I leave you in capable hands.’
“My cousin spun on her heel, stalking into the foundry. I saw apprentices scurrying aside at her approach, more muttered curses as she passed by, Charlotte paying heed to none of it. Lachlan watched her leave, his voice gone wistful.
“‘They scorn her. Though she saved them all.’
“‘But at what cost, good Frère?’
“Lachie glanced to the forgemaster as he spoke, his green eyes gone hard. Fernando cleared his throat, looking to me.
“‘I’m told you’ve a patient for me, Chevalier?’
“‘Oui.’ I lifted my sword, addressing the dame on the hilt. ‘Ash, this is M. Cortez. He and Baptiste are going to help you. You mind your tongue while in his keeping, oui?’
“There once was a m-maid from Ardunn,
“Who had a remarkable tongue.
“With angelic grace,
“She’d sit on your f-face,
“Yet m-m-manage to tickle your—
“‘Come now, behave yourself, oui?’
“‘Seven Martyrs…’ Fernando whispered. ‘The Ashdrinker. I’ve heard a dozen legends of her, but not once thought to see her with my own eyes…’
“‘Be warned, she’s out of sorts of late. But if you can mend her, monsieur, the Black Lion of Lorson will be forever in your debt.’
“The smith took Ashdrinker with all the reverence due a holy relic, eyes glittering as they roamed the blade. But his gaze grew clouded as it reached her tip; the hairline crack that now even I could see, traveling ever closer to her hilt.
“‘What say you, M. Cortez?’ I asked, chest aching. ‘Can you see her right?’
“‘I can try, but…’ The blackthumb’s eyes filled with wonder as he looked to the blade in his hands. ‘She … sweet Mothermaid, she speaks to me, Chevalier.’
“‘Better than screaming. But pay no heed to the insults she might gift your mama.’ I smiled wryly, glanced to Baptiste. ‘Can I trust you to look after her for me, brother?’
“‘Of course.’ The big man looked wistfully to the building behind us, the forgemaster at his side. ‘And with pleasure. I’ve never worked a foundry such as this. Though my master was one of the finest smiths in Elidaen, M. Cortez can teach me a thing or two, I wager.’
“‘Fernando, please. And I’d be honored for your help. But we’d best get started. It shall take all my skill to see this beauty right.’
“Without more ado, the blackthumbs turned back to the foundry, speaking in excited tones. The scent of smelter and coke, the hymn of anvil and hammer—those reminders of my childhood brought a strange sense of comfort, and looking to Lachlan, I found myself smiling. God knows we’d seen our trials these last few months, and I’d no idea what awaited us in the city of my forebears.
But we’d found unexpected welcome, smithcraft that could help us with our woes.
My hand drifted to my sleeve, the vial of blood secreted there, the knowledge of what I must do with it filling me with fire.
Soon enough we’d be on the road again after our prey, and vengeance seemed closer than ever. ”
Gabriel paused in his tale, swallowing the last of his goblet, licking slow at his lips. His leathers creaked as he leaned forward to pour himself another, crimson spilling onto gold as the wine’s perfume blushed the air. Jean-Francois lifted chocolat eyes.
“Why do I have the gnawing suspicion all this was happening too easily, Gabriel? That things were going far too well?”
“Because they were, coldblood.”
The Last Silversaint shook his head and sighed.
“Because they fucking were.”