Ferrian's Winter

Within the city, dark and light

Every step a mindful fight.

Fog oozed through the back streets and side alleys of Bridgetown, thick and soupy. Ferrian and Flint made their way through the Western District with difficulty, barely able to see two paces to either side of them. At first, they followed the curve of the city wall, until a stray beam of light cut through the fog like a hazy blade, right across their path. Hastily, they turned aside into the deep maze of alleyways that wound around the backside of warehouses and breweries, shabby residences and some dodgy-looking shops that appeared out of the mist like threats, then vanished just as abruptly.

Everything was dark and silent. Hawk's Light did not penetrate the shadows here, blocked by the tall buildings, but remained as an ambient glow brightening the sky overhead. Only Flint's lantern burned the way forward through the murky recesses of the city.

It didn't take long for them to concede that they were hopelessly lost.

Where is everyone? Ferrian thought, disturbed. They can't ALL be dead, surely? The entire city??

Then they rounded a corner only to come perilously close to the main street.

An immense stream of white light blazed past, burning away the mist and darkness. It was almost too bright to took at, yet snared the eyes like a trap. A faint impression of rainbow colours swirled hypnotically within, dragging unguarded thoughts into its depths. Ferrian looked at it before he could stop himself, and his mind was instantly entranced. In a matter of a second he forgot who he was and what he was doing, enraptured by the light and all the promises it held...

He would have been lost, then, if Flint hadn't yanked him back into the shadows.

The Freeroamer gripped him by the shoulders and shook him violently until he was certain that Ferrian had regained his wits.

"Ferrian!" Flint hissed. "Kid! Are you alright?!"

Ferrian nodded dizzily, though his mind felt as though it had melted into warm porridge.

Flint shook him again, just to be sure.

"Alright!" Ferrian yelled. "I'm alright, stop!!"

Flint released him.

Ferrian clutched at his head, gasping deep breaths until his thoughts resumed some sort of normality.

"Flint," he panted, "do you have any idea where the smithy is?!"

The Freeroamer scrunched up his face, then sagged and shrugged. "Nope."

Sighing, Ferrian slumped back against the wall of a building. His Sword pressed uncomfortably into his back, so he straightened again and threw his arms up in exasperation. "Well, this isn't working! We can't keep stumbling around in the dark hoping to accidentally find it while also not accidentally getting eaten by Hawk!"

The thought made his blood curdle. He had come so close already. Just an instant, just one wrong step…

Flint, curiously, didn't seem quite so affected by the light as Ferrian was. He tried to decide if that was because the Freeroamer had no emotional connection to Hawk, or because he was still recovering from an intense bout of self-loathing.

… a total immersion in deepest despair, void of all hope…

Ferrian recalled Requar's words, and wondered ironically if he should not have spoken with Flint after all, should have let the man continue to dwell in anger and guilt and gloom, as a bizarre means of self-defence.

He shook his head. This whole situation is insane…

Flint noticed his expression. "Yer too close to 'im," he warned. "Hawk's getting to ya."

Ferrian nodded. "I know. I'll be more careful."

Flint lowered his head, staring at the ground. "Funny thing, though," he said. "I kinda feel like I know 'im, too. Like we've bin on missions together, or somethin'." He looked rueful. "I know that Hawk earned himself a Freeroamer badge. Seems like he impressed ol' Grisket, but I never met the bloke. Wish I had."

Ferrian smiled slightly. "You would like him," he said. "And you'll have a beer with him one day."

Flint looked up, regarding Ferrian for a long moment. "You really believe that, huh?"

Ferrian folded his arms. "Just a few hours ago I was having a conversation with Lord Requar. At this point, anything's possible!"

Flint barked a laugh, clapped Ferrian on the shoulder, and stooped to retrieve the lantern and crossbow he had set on the pavement.

"I'll take the lead," the Freeroamer declared. We'll keep that stream o' light to our right. Jus' don't look at it again, eh? Should lead us somewhere…"

"Yeah," Ferrian muttered. "It'll lead us somewhere, all right…"

"Jus' think depressin' thoughts," Flint advised and started off into the mist.

Depressing thoughts. Ferrian snorted as he trailed after his Freeroamer companion. I've got an infinite supply of those…

They walked for only a few minutes more before Flint brought them to a halt again.

The fog was bright ahead, not from direct light, but reflected glow. Only a single row of buildings protected them from the deadly glare of the main thoroughfare.

A side street crossed their path. On the other side of it, barely visible through the mist, was a yard of some kind, surrounded by a low wall. A squat stone building with black-painted beams hunkered to one side, with a tall chimney leaking grey smoke that swirled the mist into eddies.

"That's gotta be it," Flint whispered, his eyes bright with excitement.

The place had an ominous look to it, but before Ferrian could reply, Flint was jogging ahead, hunched over, keeping his head lowered protectively beneath his hat. Ferrian followed quickly, face turned to the left, arm shielding his eyes, fighting a powerful urge to glance to the right – and then they were over the wall and plunged into welcoming shadow once more.

Piles of scrap metal hunkered like rusted carcasses in the mist, along with tools, anvils, makeshift work benches and heaped bags of coal. A cart stood against the building's wall. Here and there, silvery glimmers winked upon the ground – tiny puddles of liquid silvertine.

They took care to watch where they stepped.

Flint reached the building, found a door, and tried it.

The door was unlocked.

Flint exchanged a brief glance with Ferrian, then went in.

They emerged into a small, dark, cramped room, with an untidy bed on one side and a rickety wooden table and stool on the other, below a small square window. A couple of wooden plank shelves were crammed with packets of food, tea and other miscellaneous things, alongside horseshoes nailed to the walls, and a collection of dusty, but well-made weapons. A dirty piece of cloth hung across the doorway opposite them.

A sound came from beyond it – rhythmic and musical.

Flint pushed quietly through.

They entered the forge proper. The room was tinged with a deep red, doleful glow from the dying embers of the fire. The air was hot and dry, smelling strongly of burning coal and the sharp tang of metal. On the wall opposite, the main doors were slightly ajar, letting in a piercing spear of white light. More light spilled in dusty shafts from two small windows set into the street-fronting wall. The brightness beyond them was intense, and painfully alluring, but somewhat muted by the grimy glass.

But the room was not empty.

The smith was still there, sitting at an anvil beside his forge. A hammer made of silvertine rose and fell, rose and fell with a smooth, expert motion, scattering silver-white sparks across the floor and creating the ringing sound.

Both Flint and Ferrian, despite themselves, were caught unguarded. The sight and sound of the man was extraordinarily beautiful, as though he were a divine being playing an instrument, as though with every strike he brought life and music and wonder into the world.

He hummed softly to himself, deep and melodic.

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The smith did not seem to be aware of his stunned visitors. He did not look up or pause in his work.

His skin was all aglow.

Ferrian felt tears rise to his eyes. He was filled with a yearning, a childlike desire to go and sit by the smith and watch him work forever…

Something prickled the back of his neck.

Catching himself with a gasp, he turned quickly aside, raising a hand to shield his face. He noticed that Flint was also gazing at the smith, enraptured…

"Flint!" he hissed, slapping the Freeroamer in the chest with the back of his hand.

Flint gave a start and blinked rapidly, at once lowering his head. "Right," he breathed. "Right, yeah…"

"I think he's a wraith!" Ferrian whispered.

The smith was nowhere near as powerful as Hawk, but he was still dangerous. They would need to proceed carefully.

Flint was attempting to look around the room while protecting his face with his hat. "I don't see the Eliminator anywhere!" he whispered back.

Ferrian squinted around as well, from behind his hand. A number of silvertine objects were arrayed on racks around the walls, but they were all swords, spears, shields, armour pieces and other unidentifiable small items.

Nothing that looked like a giant crossbow.

Flint was edging out further into the room, trying for a better look. Ferrian followed him nervously.

The smith still did not notice their presence; or else did not care. His humming continued; his hammer kept striking at the anvil.

The rhythmic song was terribly lovely. Ferrian fought hard to stop it from invading his thoughts.

The prickling on his skin grew more intense. It felt as though something cold and slimy was slithering down the back of his neck. It was near unbearable.

He gritted his teeth, knowing all too well what was causing it. His right hand twitched with the need to reach back for his Sword.

No! he thought furiously, clenching his hand into a fist instead.

"Flint, I don't think the Eliminator is here!"

"It's gotta be!" Flint hissed back.

Ferrian shook his head, his discomfort growing by the second. "Maybe it's been melted down?"

Flint growled. "I don't believe it. The Eliminator is a one-of-a-kind piece. The smith wouldn't do it!"

"Then maybe he sold it to someone else? Or the thief never even brought it here?"

Flint just growled again and continued searching, stubbornly.

Ferrian was beginning to feel ill, now. He had broken out in a sweat, and the pit of his stomach dropped strangely. He could feel his magic stirring, the Winter waking, a pressure buzzing within him.

A sudden dizziness struck his head, and he staggered to a nearby bench and leaned on it for support.

"Ferrian!" Flint's voice floated to him through the ringing in his ears, the striking of the hammer, the smith's wistful, sublime melody… The stream of light from the window blurred and swam… Conflicting emotions churned back and forth within him, tugging him one way then the other…

Flint was suddenly at his side, saying something, looking concerned.

"F-Flint," Ferrian whispered. "Get… out… of here…"

The Freeroamer frowned.

A shudder passed through Ferrian. Frost crackled over his limbs.

Flint backed away in sudden realisation.

"Go," Ferrian panted. "Leave me. You have to… get away… from me…" He looked up at his companion pleadingly.

His body reacted of its own accord, then. His arm jerked back and snatched the hilt of his Sword, drawing it with a silvery flash.

With a yelp, Flint leapt out of the way, narrowly avoiding being sliced in half.

Silver and black mist poured off the blade, twisting and turning in agitated flurries.

"Flint!" Ferrian cried, his magic rushing up within him now. "GO!"

His face gone pale, the Freeroamer looked about himself in final, hopeless panic, then turned and fled into the back room.

Just in time. Ferrian's magic exploded through him, surging down into the Sword. White light burst from the blade and from his eyes, with such force that it sent him reeling. The Winter howled into a whirlwind around him, sending everything within reach flying – the workbench beside him was snatched up and flung into the wall, where it burst into splinters. Icy wind raked the room, coating every surface with frost and extinguishing the embers of the forge, plunging the room into deeper shadow, save where Hawk's Light penetrated inexorably from outside.

The main doors were torn from their hinges. Light flooded through, amid a storm of snowflakes.

Ferrian straightened calmly, observing a room turned to shades of silver through his Godlike vision. The Winter was a vague moaning in the background, a breeze ruffling his cloak and hair. The wind and ice did not affect him.

Nothing affected him. He was a God.

Dimly, he was aware that someone had fled into the other room, but that was inconsequential. Of far greater interest was the thing that was glowing in the centre of the room.

He turned toward it.

A Human man sat there, his bare arms stocky and muscular, his body clad in a leather apron. Light burned from the silver tattoos etched into his skin, streaming rainbow colours into the darkness. The man remained seated on his stool, though his hammer had fallen silent and still at his side, gripped in one huge hand.

He stared back at Ferrian, smiling, his eyes crinkled with amusement and twinkling with diamond sparks.

He had the smith's attention, at last.

Jealous rage boiled within Ferrian. How dare another being exist that was almost as powerful as he was, let alone sit there, mocking him?!

Lifting his Sword, Ferrian advanced on the smith.

The man did nothing, simply continued to smile at him, watching him come.

Ferrian stopped in front of him, eyes blazing. "Who are you?" he demanded.

The smith did not reply, just threw his head back in a booming laugh.

Enraged, Ferrian took his Sword in both hands and swung it at the man.

Quick as thought, the silvertine hammer came up.

The impact sparked a burst of brilliant light and a strange musical tone. It jolted Ferrian so hard that he staggered backwards several feet.

For a moment, he wavered in confusion. Then, gathering himself, he attacked again.

Again, the hammer swept up, parrying his blow, and swung him aside so that he stumbled into the anvil and fell to the ground.

What is this?! he thought in astonished fury. No one can defeat me!!

The smith had risen to his feet now, and beamed down at him as though playing with a child.

With a cry, Ferrian surged to his feet and charged.

The smith vanished, leaving Ferrian stumbling again. He recovered in time to see the gleaming hammer heading for him, and dodged aside.

The hammer brushed past his whirling cloak and slammed into the ground with a bone-jarring thud. But he had left an opening. Taking advantage of it, Ferrian swung his Sword two-handed at the man's back.

But the smith was fast. His hammer curved up and around in an arc, crashing into Ferrian's Sword in a dazzling burst of light, sending him tumbling away.

He almost lost his grip on his Sword. Leaping back to his feet, his hands tightening around it, he braced himself for another attack.

And so the fight went on, back and forth across the smithy, amid howling snow and silver streaks, and crashes of blinding light. Ferrian's body began to tire, but his Godlike power would not let him rest or ease his assault.

Ferrian's eyes blazed as he whirled through the darkness, his Sword streaming black and silver mist. This arrogant wraith had to be destroyed! He was a thing that should not exist, and an insult to Ferrian's superiority…

Finally, after another mighty hammer strike just missed him, Ferrian was gifted another chance. His Sword was already slicing towards the smith's midriff…

The blade cleaved right through him, dissolving the wraith instantly into a burst of shimmering motes.

For a moment Ferrian stood panting, watching the motes spin away on the wind, carried out of existence. Swelling, he let out a fierce cry of triumphant glee.

Then something moved to his right, catching his eye.

It was the smith, standing there unharmed, wielding his silvertine hammer, grinning at him.

Movement to his left.

Another smith, grinning.

And another. And another…

All around him, scores of ghostly silvertine smiths crowded the forge, some bearing hammers, some swords, some even variants of the Eliminator: every instance of the man that had ever existed, or ever would, at this particular moment and place.

He would have to defeat all of them.

Ferrian's fist clenched, his right hand tightening on his Sword. The Winter continued to rage unchecked through the forge; the echoes of snowflakes swarmed through the air around him.

His incandescent eyes narrowed to slits.

So be it.

He threw himself once more into the battle.

Sergeant Flint cowered in the side room, holding on to his hat as freezing air ripped at him, peering through the doorway past the flapping, tattered curtain at the madness unfolding in the forge beyond.

Ferrian had suddenly exploded; gone berserk.

The young sorcerer had demolished the smith, and was now darting around the room faster than Flint could track his movements, leaving silver and black trails through the snow-filled air. Now and then silver-white flashes erupted, and strange blind streaks criss-crossed the room, making it look weirdly disjointed.

It was as though Ferrian was carving up reality.

Flint was stricken with horror.

He knew that he should heed his friend's warning and get the hell out of there, but he couldn't bring himself to leave Ferrian behind.

He's down here because o' me, Flint thought in despair. He hadn't wanted anyone following him into this cursed city, had been determined to find the Eliminator on his own, but Ferrian had come anyway, the damned stubborn kid!

And it seemed that he was right about one thing: the Eliminator wasn't here.

Maybe that bloody smith DID melt it down, he pondered wretchedly. Maybe he was wasting his time and risking his and Ferrian's lives for nothing…

He watched Ferrian for what seemed like an hour. His hands were so cold they were beginning to go numb. His lantern had gone out. He was cramped up in his crouched position; pretty soon he wasn't going to be able to move at all.

Get up, Flint! Time to go…

Flint forced himself to his feet. The wind buffeted him, showing no sign of abating. In the forge beside him, Ferrian's movements finally stopped. Flint caught sight of him standing in the middle of the room, heaving breaths, and, of all things, laughing.

Laughing, as though it had all been just a game…

Then, all of a sudden, the sorcerer went still, and slowly turned to look in Flint's direction.

The sight of his fearsome white eyes turned Flint's bowels to water. He knew, in that instant, that if he did not move, he was going to be dead in the next couple of seconds.

All further thoughts and regrets fled from the Freeroamer's head.

He turned and ran.

Barging out the back door, he fled into the yard, swinging right. The night was dark, the blizzard thick, scattering and obscuring Hawk's Light, but unfortunately everything else as well. Almost immediately, he collided with a snow-covered pile of metal and went down in a clamouring heap.

Cursing loudly, he hurried to extricate himself, and then to find his fallen hat and crossbow. This achieved, he shoved himself back to his feet, and limped away as fast as he could, forcing his leg to work until he could start running again.

The low wall surrounding the yard came into view. Hauling himself over it, he toppled to the ground, landing on his back. Panting, wincing at the pain in his knees, he flailed around again for his hat, then got to his feet.

He looked back the way he had come.

It was a mistake.

Twin white lights glared at him through the snow and darkness.

Flint started running again.

The direction he was going no longer mattered: he had to get away from Ferrian.

Or whatever monster Ferrian had become…

Whether from some unconscious influence, or simple wild panic, Flint veered into the main street.

The light was greatly muted now by the snow, but there were half-buried mounds every few steps, which he found himself tripping over.

It took him a few minutes to realise that they were bodies.

But he didn't have time to stop and contemplate the horror. He stumbled over them and kept going.

At some point, he thought he caught a glimmer of gold and wondered absently if he had passed the Bridge gates, but he couldn't go back, and didn't dare look behind him again.

The way Ferrian had sliced that smith into dust still haunted Flint's vision.

There was a bright, steady glow up ahead, beckoning like an open door, illuminating the snow all around, and the façades of fancy buildings. Flint hugged himself against the cold, squinting through the snowflakes pattering against his face, still staggering over the lumpy ground. He knew that it was Hawk, but the knowledge no longer seemed to hold any meaning. His world had narrowed down, quite literally, to this one Bridge through the darkness; certain death stalked him from behind; hope reached out ahead.

All he saw was safety.

He just had to make it there.

He just had to keep going…