Witchsign. Den Patrick

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       CHAPTER ONE

       Steiner

       The Holy Synod has done much in the last decade to expunge all mention of the goddesses Frøya and Frejna. We have had less success in the Scorched Republics, whose people still hold affection for the old ways. It is the Synod’s hope that veneration of these goddesses passes into history as our grip tightens on Vinterkveld.

      – From the field notes of Hierarch Khigir, Vigilant of the Imperial Synod.

      The furnace burned bright in the darkness. The old timbers of the smithy were edged in orange light, tools hung from iron hooks, gleaming. Steiner loved it here, the smell of hot metal and coal dust, the pleasant ache of muscles hardened from work, jobs in need of doing and jobs well done. The product of his labour lined the walls: small knives; pots and pans; hammers; scythes and the odd sickle.

      The anvil chimed as Steiner brought the hammer down on the white-hot metal. Sweat dampened his brow and ran down his back with each breath. A deep contentment settled upon him; something was being made, something was being created.

      ‘That’s enough of that,’ said his father. ‘Looks like you’re making a sword. And you know how the Empire feels about that.’

      Steiner grinned. ‘Could I at least finish it? I’ll melt it down afterwards.’

      Marek allowed himself a smile, caught up in Steiner’s enthusiasm. ‘A sword does a strange thing to a man’s mind—’

      ‘Being beaten over the head with one thing is much like another, I reckon.’ Steiner shrugged and gave a chuckle.

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