“You have to keep the blowpipe spinning or the glass will sag,” Opal said over the noise. She rolled the slug over a metal table to move the glass off the end of the pipe and shaped it so the pipe looked as if it had a clear ball attached to its end.

Her motions quick, Opal then rested the pipe on the edge of the table and blew into the other end. Magic brushed my arm as her cheeks puffed. The glass on the opposite end didn’t inflate with air. Instead, a thread of magic was trapped within its core.

“It’s supposed to expand, but mine never does,” she said as she went back to the kiln and gathered another slug overtop the first. She took the pipe to a bench designed to hold it and other metal tools needed to shape the glass. Buckets of water sat within easy reach.

Opal grabbed a pair of steel tweezers and pinched and squeezed the slug with her right hand while rolling the pipe with her left hand the whole time. “You have to move quickly because it cools fast.”

Within seconds the ball transformed into a cat sitting on its back legs. She stood and put the cat back into the kiln, but this time she just spun the pipe above the pot. “You have to keep plenty of heat in the glass or you can’t work with it.”

Sitting back on her bench, Opal exchanged her tweezers for another set. These were bigger and as long as her forearm. “Jacks, a great all-purpose tool. I’m putting in a jack line so I can crack the piece off the pipe.”

When the groove was to her liking, she took the tweezers in hand again and dipped them into the bucket of water. She dribbled a few drops into the jack line. “You have to be careful not to get water onto your piece. So you move from the pipe down.” The glass hissed and a spiderweb of cracks spread over the glass on the pipe.

She carried the pipe to another oven close to the kilns. Shelves of trays had been stacked inside and Opal banged the end of the tweezers on her pipe. The cat fell onto the tray. She closed the door.

“If the glass cools too fast, it’ll crack. This is an annealing oven.” Opal pointed to the tracks underneath the oven. “To slowly cool the piece, the oven is pulled away from the kiln over the next twelve hours.”

“Why do you blow into the pipe if the glass doesn’t expand for you?” I asked.

“It’s a step I have to do.” She made a vague motion with her arms as if casting about for the right words. “When Mara does it, she makes beautiful vases and bottles. Mine always ends up looking like an animal and if I don’t blow into the pipe it doesn’t look like anything at all.”

She cleaned up her work area, taking the tools from the water and drying them before replacing them. The bench needed to be ready for the next project, and working with glass didn’t give you time to search for tools.

“I love creating things. There’s nothing like it,” she said, more to herself than to me. “Working the glass. Turning fire into ice.”

I thanked Opal for her demonstration and rejoined Marrok. He leaned against Garnet.

“I think your definition of ‘won’t be long’ doesn’t match mine,” he said by way of a greeting. “Did you encounter another change in plans?”

“Yes. You might as well get used to them.”

“Yes, sir!” He grinned.

“Sarcasm? You’ve been hanging around with Leif too long. What happened to the tough old soldier who mindlessly follows orders?”

His demeanor sobered. “He lost his mind. And when he found it again, his priorities had all been rearranged.”

“For the better?”

“Only time will tell.”

We mounted and headed to the western edge of the Avibian Plains. Once in the plains, Kiki and Garnet broke into their gust-of-wind gaits and flowed over many miles. We camped outside the plains at night. I hoped our passage wouldn’t attract any unwanted attention. My thoughts lingered on Opal’s glassmaking skills. Better than giving in to the deep despair that threatened to overwhelm me whenever I thought of Valek.

Our journey to the rendezvous location lasted three days. During that time, Marrok had spotted signs of a large army that had crossed from the Avibian Plains and turned north toward the Citadel. At night, the glow of many fires lit the distant sky and wood smoke tainted the air.

We had agreed to meet Moon Man and the others in Owl’s Hill, a small town within the Featherstone lands. According to Leif, the Cloverleaf Inn’s owner could be trusted not to report us. “He owes me one,” had been Leif’s explanation.

Owl’s Hill was located on a small rise about three miles northeast of the Citadel. The four towers of the Magician’s Keep were visible from the road into town. A bright orange radiance shone from within the Keep’s walls. The Fire Warper’s home fire?

Still disguised as Krystal Clan traders, Marrok and I entered the town. Situated near the main crossroads, the Cloverleaf Inn’s common room bustled with activity, but the stable was only half full. The stable lad suggested we arrive early for dinner as the inn was a popular stop for caravans.

“One less night of road rations,” the boy said as he helped me rub down Kiki. “And the merchants prefer camping near here instead of overnighting in the Citadel.”

“Why is that?” I asked.

“The rumors have been wild, so I don’t know what to believe. But the merchants who do come back say everyone is afraid of these new Daviians and they say the Daviians have convinced the Council to prepare for a war.”

“With Ixia?”