The Everburning City

Act 1, Part 2, Chapter 7

Gwendolyn

She had never heard a Crafter utter a threat before.

She had heard stories of them. They were some of the best, and some of the worst childhood stories. At once used to inspire awe as they devastated fields of Gloamtaken and brought down Golems, and fear as legends of their rage and madness left buildings in ruin and entire communities in ash. Every story, though, agreed that the Crafters were the greatest power in the City.

But to hear one threaten someone, even another Crafter, nearly made Gwendolyn's heart stop. Her hand, of its own accord, rested on the handle of her knife.

"Easy," someone whispered on her right, and a hand rested on top of her own. She turned her eyes to see a weathered man with a cross-stitch of burns on the side of his face. He met her gaze, and shook his head. "This is just blowing smoke for a Crafter. Nothing to be afraid of."

Gwendolyn nodded, and let her fingers pull away from the handle of her knife. "You're a shadow?"

"Yep. I've seen their rage before. And believe me, kid, when I say that this isn't it," the shadow said, and he stepped away and followed the rest of the procession.

But before the shadow slipped away, he glanced back and gave her a small nod. "Nice hat."

Gwendolyn was at a loss at how to take that.

She followed silently as the apprentice continued to take notes by burning words onto the paper, occasionally stopping to blow on the page and brush away a few flecks of ash. Beside him, the Crafter with the thick glasses now dangling from her coat pocket was smiling as she clasped her hands behind her back. Beside the Crafter, Valen was trying his best to be polite and engage in the conversation, but that beautiful fool of hers was entirely too frightened of the Crafter to do more than nod politely and agree with whatever the woman was saying.

It occurred to Gwendolyn that the Crafter's interest in Valen might be more than the passing fancy, or wasting time before her task. For anyone afraid of what they had to face, the presence of someone like Corporal Redgrave could feel like a warm coat in the middle of a cold night.

She would know. The night would have swallowed her without him.

"Hey, shadow," Gwnedolyn said, as she jogged up to the shadow who had seen her panic and stopped it without making a scene. Quietly, she asked "when should I be worried about them?"

The shadow gave her a careful glance, and frowned. "What is it? Afraid Crafter Polden is looking at the dashing swordsman with a few too many sighs and batted eyelashes?"

Gwendolyn scowled when she saw the shadow's self-satisfied smile. "Don't be a small-minded prick. These Crafters are about to fight a Golem. I don't need to be in Oversight to know that's going to strain them to their limits. I'm just wondering when it looks like they've put themselves past those limits."

"It will look like someone pushed you into the Spire," the shadow replied.

"Don't be glib. I'm asking a serious question."

"And I'm giving you a serious answer. If you wait to see a Crafter's madness, there'll be nothing left of you but smoke," the shadow said. He sighed, rolled his shoulders beneath his coat, and shook his head. "Part of the reason we're out here like this, is to minimize the collateral damage of their failure. Or their success."

"Spit and simmering ash," Gwendolyn muttered. "That isn't comforting."

"I couldn't agree more," the shadow replied.

"So you and the other shadows here are partnered up with these Crafters, so that you'll know if they start to lose themselves," Gwnedolyn nodded to herself. "I expect you're here because you know these Crafters fairly well, so you'll see the signs before most people would."