From the Ashes by Gareth K Pengelly Read Free Book Online Page A

time as she blinked.
                  There would have to be a reckoning. A settling. An end to the dark bond that bound the two women together. She would have the chance, soon enough.
                  The blacksmiths ahead and she smiled, for this was her destination, the foaming, churning waterfall cascading like a white ribbon down the cliff behind it, to the wheel that powered the bellows. The clanging ring of metal on metal as weapons were being forged for the battle ahead. Then a bang and a puff of smoke, followed by the sounds of coughing. She laughed gently to herself; yes, this is where she’d find him.
                  Sure enough, as she entered the round, open-walled building, the youth was there, his – what had Stone called it? – cannon to hand, strips of leather binding his hands to protect from the build-up of heat after the many test fires.
                  “Less saltpetre this time!” he called out to Gregor the village Blacksmith who stood, face blackened with soot, carefully realigning an archery target on the grass just outside the smithy. “And I think I need to pack it more, too! This time it’s going to work, you mark my words!”
                  Gwenna stayed silent, leaning against a wooden upright and smiling as she watched the lad at work, pouring yet more of that strange black powder into the device, followed by a handful of small bits of metal shrapnel, before tamping it all down with a brush. He aimed the contraption towards the target, the cannon suspended from his shoulders by sturdy leather straps, Gregor running at a red-faced sprint, as the youth grabbed a lit taper from the side of the forge. One hand firmly gripping a handle on the side of the contraption – a fresh addition, Gwenna noted – he touched with trembling fingers the taper to the hole at the closest end.
                  A cacophonous boom this time, rather than a splutter, everyone at work around the smithy jumping in fright as a great belch of smoke and flame erupted from the end of the barrel, the target some twenty yards distant blowing to smithereens as it was shredded by a hail of red hot metal. As the smoke cleared, a cheer from the workers in the forge, as the youth leapt up to his feet from the floor where he’d been blasted, yelling in triumph and casting his invention aside as he ran over, jumping into the arms of the Blacksmith like an overexcited puppy.
                  The cheers slowly subsided, and a faint clapping could be heard from the smithy, the lad turning, unwrapping himself sheepishly from the embarrassed Gregor as he noticed the flame-haired shaman making her way through the soft, green grass towards him.
                  “Erm, Gwenna. Hi.”
                  “Quite a show, Marlyn. I’m assuming the cannon works as it should now?”
                  The youth nodded, unable to stop the grin of triumph from spreading across his face.
                  “Aye, it does! Thanks to the Nagah-Slayer, of course; his knowledge of machinery and alchemy is incredible. It’s nice to have some support for my ideas…”
                  He trailed off. Gwenna smiled.
                  “Trust me, after that little demonstration you can count on my support. If we arm each of our warriors with one of your cannons then it’s almost as if we have an entire army of shamans.”
                  He smiled, half-heartedly, at the compliment, but she could tell that he was hiding some unease.
                  “What’s wrong, Marlyn?”
                  “Nothing…”
                  She fixed him with her piercing green eyes. Finally he relented.
                  “It’s just… for this last year, I’ve been harbouring so much resentment towards Invictus. So much anger and rage.” He looked up into