A dented copper kettle swung from Kaelen’s fingertips as his hemp sandals scuffed against the volcanic rock.
The morning air smelled of sulfur, charred stone, and burnt grease. Ahead of him, forty wide granite steps rose toward the Upper Earth-Fire Forge. Red banners of the Armaments Guild snapped in the gusting mountain wind. High on the archway, Vice-Dean Karst’s heavy bronze sundial cast a sharp black shadow across the stone.
The shadow was less than half an inch from the noon mark.
Thirty minutes remained on the eviction decree.
Walking uphill before breakfast is a terrible habit, Kaelen thought, feeling the weight of the cold well water sloshing against his knuckles. If the guild had any sense of hospitality, they would have piped the steam down to my hammock.
Across his shoulder, his green bamboo fishing rod bounced with every lazy stride. A dark silk blindfold covered his eyes, tied firmly behind his ears. He did not need his eyes to find the stairs. The heat rolling down the slope was louder than a drum.
“Stop right there, Vance!” a sharp voice barked from the terrace above.
Kaelen paused on the thirty-fifth step and tilted his head.
