04 - Rise of the Lycans Read Online Free PDF Page B

halberds, and battle-axes lined the walls. Smoke from the forge escaped
through a gap in the smithy’s cracked stone roof. A thin layer of soot and ash
covered both shop and blacksmith alike.
    He paused to wipe the perspiration from his brow. No longer a youth, Lucian
had grown into a strapping adult whose sooty face now sported a scruffy mustache and beard. Disorderly
brown hair fell past his shoulders. A leather vest bared his muscular chest and
arms. Sweat glistened upon his sinewy thews, which had been strengthened by
years of toil as a blacksmith. A moon shackle fit uncomfortably around his neck,
but he had worn the collar for so long that he barely noticed the vicious silver
barbs pricking his throat. Viktor’s brand remained seared onto his right biceps.
Leather trousers protected his lower body from sparks and slag. A crude copper
knife was tucked into his belt.
    A tankard of lukewarm water slaked his thirst before he turned back to his
labors. The work of a blacksmith was never done. Just keeping Viktor and his
Death Dealers armed and armored was a never-ending task in its own right; add to
that the necessity of maintaining the castle’s stock of horseshoes, hinges,
barrel hoops, stirrups, nails, thimbles, and the like and there were scarcely
enough hours in the day to keep up with his work. Still, he couldn’t complain.
As a skilled artisan, he enjoyed more freedom than any other lycan servant, most
of whom were confined to guard duty or back-breaking manual labor. Given his
barbaric origins, he was fortunate to have climbed so high.
    Not that Viktor can’t revoke my privileges at the slightest whim….
    The heated metal was already cooling from white to sunrise red. It was still
workable, but he needed to get back to work before it became too brittle to
shape. Before he could hammer another blow, however, the unmistakable howl of a werewolf invaded his smithy. Despite himself, the call
of the wild stirred something deep and primal within him. Moments later, the
clarion call of a blast horn competed with the baying of the wolves. Shouted
exclamations and curses sounded from the courtyard outside the smithy. Racing
footsteps pounded on weathered brick paving-stones.
    Lucian froze in place, momentarily riveted by the howls and commotion. Was
the castle truly under attack? This was not the first time in recent memory that
werewolves had come within sight of the fortress’ walls, yet it struck Lucian
as extremely unlikely that they actually intended to brave the castle’s
defenses; no mere wolf pack, no matter how ferocious, could mount a coordinated
assault on so formidable a stronghold. They were nothing but unreasoning
animals, after all, who preferred to prey on peasant villages and stray
travelers instead. Surely, they posed no threat to anyone safely inside the
castle’s walls?
    Then he remembered who was riding abroad this night.
    Lady Sonja!
    His hammer and tongs clattered to the pavement as he tossed them aside.
Moving quickly, he snatched a freshly repaired crossbow from the racks. The
cunning weapon boasted three separate bow arms, stacked atop each other, so that
it could fire thrice without reloading. He hastily loaded three bolts into the
grooves and raced out of the covered smithy into the courtyard beyond.
    The inner bailey lay between the outer walls and the looming keep, which had
been carved from the very face of the mountain, with many ledges, balconies, and levels hewn from solid
granite and limestone. To lessen the risk of a catastrophic fire, Lucian’s
smithy abutted the eastern wall of the castle, safely distant from the keep and
stables. A nearby well offered him ready access to fresh water. Pigs squealed
loudly in their pens. Glancing quickly at the gatehouse, Lucian saw that the
huge oak doors defending the gate were securely closed and bolted. Torches
flared atop the watchtowers.
    Scores of Death Dealers rushed to the castle’s defense, while