A New Light (The Astral Wanderer Book 1) D'Artagnan Rey (books to read to be successful txt) 📖

join him after training while Jazai and Asla went to the dining hall. He complied willingly and asked where they were going, but the giant said he wanted to keep it a surprise for now but that he should bring his majestic with him.

They headed to the eastern wing of the castle and passed many rooms and halls he had yet to see as he’d had no reason to be there until now. In fact, besides the areas he had seen on his first day there, he had yet to fully explore the castle. Training filled most of his time and he was given a temporary room in the scholar’s tower across from Jazai. Although the apprentice somewhat disdainfully declared that it was less a room and more a refitted supply closet, it suited Devol for now.

Wulfsun opened a large metal door and motioned for him to enter. As soon as it swung inward, an immense heat issued from within. The boy walked through and paused, a little surprised by several forges and dozens of benches and cooling pools positioned in the large space. Numerous pieces of metal and colored stones in boxes were scattered on the floor or hung on the walls beside weapons and armor.

Three dwarves stood in conversation, while a squama moved a box of supplies quickly across the room. A female daemoni worked at the largest forge, one equipped with two large rocks of cobalt at the top that seemed to pump Mana into the flames. Embers threw flurries of red and blue sparks from the mouth of the furnace.

“This is our blacksmithing operation,” Wulfsun explained and turned to the boy with a smile. “Come along. I want you to meet the master.”

Devol swallowed the numerous questions that surged within and glanced at the large Templar. “The master?”

His companion chuckled. “Aye, she’s in charge of arming the order. She is an expert craftsman. Those rivets during the kinship trial? She made most of them decades ago and they still function.” He leaned closer and indicated the young Magi’s sword. “She’s also one of the few smithies who are able to repair a majestic.”

“Repair a majestic?” he asked. “I thought they repaired themselves.”

“They can over time,” the commander agreed. “But they can be severely damaged and even broken by certain things, typically in battle with another majestic. And as you are hopefully aware by now, that is quite a bad thing. It’s not only a broken weapon but it can inflict injuries on the wielder and even death in the worst case. If such a thing were to happen, having someone who can repair a majestic is quite helpful.” The Templar began to walk to the large forge. “Come along now.”

Devol followed him, momentarily distracted by a couple of other human blacksmiths making repairs to armor to his left. As they approached the daemoni, a tall, lithe figure with four arms and four legs stepped from behind the forge. Ashen-gray skin was marked with what appeared to be red warpaint on his face, a line down the middle that separated into two lines that wrapped back to make circles around his large, red eyes.

“I got the exhaust going, boss,” he said to the daemoni, his voice raspy yet with a pleasant cadence. “Gonna need to swap out the cobalt by tomorrow night. The shipment is coming in the morning, right?”

“Should be,” the master smith replied, straightened, and stepped away from the furnace. Her medium-length gray hair was scraped into a bun, her horns sloped back and curved up, and she was not only redder than the daemoni he had seen previously, but she was far more muscular as well.

Wulfsun pounded a hand on a nearby table and grinned as she turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. The four-armed creature waved a hand. “Hey, Macha, Rogo! How are ya?”

“Captain!” Rogo responded with a delighted shout. “Nice to see you!”

Macha turned fully, folded her arms, and nodded. “Evening Wulfsun.” Her voice was cool and efficient. She looked at Devol, who bowed slightly under her gaze. “Is this your new apprentice?”

“Not quite.” The huge Templer settled a hand on his shoulder as if to calm him. “He would make a good one, though. He fights like a likan.”

Rogo stepped fully from behind the forge area and Devol was shocked by his size when he moved closer. He was a little shorter than Wulfsun and the daemoni but stood at least six and a half feet tall. His four knees were bent to balance him so he might have been taller than both of them at full height. He stopped a few feet away and gave them a toothy grin as he rubbed his chin with one hand. The lower two rested on his hips. “So you’re the potential recruit, eh? I heard you got yourself an interesting majestic there, my new friend.”

“Introduce yourself properly, Rogo,” the daemoni chided. “The boy probably isn’t used to seeing realmers like us yet.”

“Ah, you’re right, boss.” He moved forward quickly and proffered a hand. When the boy took it, he placed his other three hands over their clasped ones and shook vigorously. “I’m Rogo the smithy. I’m what you humans call a melian. It’s a pleasure to meet a warrior as young as yourself.” He released his multiple grasps and pointed at the daemoni with two arms. “And this is Macha, the master forger in our little camp.”

Macha placed her hands on the table, leaned forward, and focused on the young Magi. “So, I hear you want me to look at your sword?”

Before Devol could reply, Wulfsun intervened. “Aye, only to see if you can tell us anything about it. The boy is heading off on a mission in a couple of days so it’s good to have as much information as possible, yeah?” The mention of timing surprised the boy and he raised an eyebrow.

“Wait, I am?” he asked.

The Templar looked nonplussed as the realization dawned. “Ah, right. I