Gilded Serpents

Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Blacksmith

"Ciro!" I shouted.

But it was too late.

The crowd swarmed, pushing me back and forth, shoving me left and right in the already narrow alley. The voices grew louder and louder still - not shouting in anger, no, but a rising cheer. The once shocked and still expressions of the street turned to that of joy, for here he was, a hero of lore finally returned.

I tried shouting for him once more, but even my loudest scream would have trouble finding him. I caught his eyes just once as he was pulled away, pushed and pulled to the middle of the street, and saw an unfamiliar slack-jawed expression of sudden shock.

"He's back!"

"I knew he would finally return!"

"Is it really him?"

"Ciro! Ciro!"

I tried my best to squeeze forward, but the gathering, shouting crowd was far too thick to pass. He was gone.

I scanned around me, trying best not to panic, looking for any empty space to gather myself. It was then, searching left and right, that I saw these villagers up close for the first time. Each pair of eyes that met my own seemed to have the same misty white glare, and familiar necklace hanging loose around their necks.

Blood Mages.

There had to be dozens of them, all packed into this tiny alley, all trying to get to the now long-lost Ciro. Young, old, and seemingly from all across the entire realm of Lucerna. Here they were, packed around me. A situation in which, only weeks ago, would have terrify me.

As my back hit the corner of one of the many small shop stands, I was confronted by an uncomfortable heat. Upon impact with the cart, a scattering of willow-weaved wards fell to the ground, and I hurriedly picked them up. Away from the cool of the small underground passageway, I was assaulted by a sudden unbearable warmth. Yet these villagers wore heavy cloaks, fur-lined tunics, and hats, seemingly unfazed.

I was reminded of when I first met Ciro, back when he was still in his tiny hermit shack on the side of the mountain. He too wore heavy clothes, burdened by his lack of magic.

"CIRO," suddenly bellowed a voice down the alleyway.

It was then that the crowd's excited yells suddenly turned to hushed murmurs.

I stood on the tips of my toes, trying my best to see the source of such a dramatic reaction. I then stepped forward, weaving until I suddenly hit an opening in the crowd. There Ciro stood, with the gathering slowly parting, leaving him alone in the middle of the broken cobbled alley. In front of him stood a tall woman, hair in thick braids, and heavy leather gloves in fists at her side. Even from this distance, I could read a fury behind her mist-colored eyes, stark against her dark skin.

"Milea," spoke Ciro, almost in a whisper.

It was then that the woman suddenly turned away, back to him and the crowd alike, and walked away into the dark of the alley. Ciro took a hurried step towards her before quickly turning around and locking eyes with me. I stood, frozen in the sudden lax of commotion, and still holding a small ward in my one good hand.

"You, quickly. Let's go," he called, beckoning me forward.

We walked quickly, finally catching up to the tall woman, who did not once slow her pace. Every person we passed seemed to lock eyes with Ciro, and we were met with either cries of joy or confused whispers. The tunnel winded left and right, walls packed tight with wards and oddities alike, and I found myself in an uncomfortable layer of sweat.