The Merlinian Legacy (working title)

Chapter 12: Whispers in the Wind

Seren and Alderwyn spent the better part of the morning following the meeting with Raina Redcloak, scouring the snow-dusted woods for any sign of Alaric's departure. They moved swiftly, questioning those who might have crossed paths with him—hunters, scouts, and Druid acolytes—searching for even the smallest trace that could point them in the direction Alaric and his new mentor, the mysterious witch, had taken. The forest offered little more than whispers, and those they questioned spoke only of rumors and shadows, with no clear hint of where Alaric and his new mentor might have gone.

As the sun climbed higher, Alderwyn turned to Seren with a wry smile, her breath misting in the chill air. "I'm starting to think the trail might have gone cold. But perhaps it's time we sought out someone who might have seen him leave."

Seren frowned, frustration simmering beneath her outward composure. "And who would that be? Everyone we've spoken to has been just as clueless as us."

Alderwyn's smirk grew sharper, her eyes gleaming with a trace of mischief. "Let's try Gearlock. He always has an ear for comings and goings, especially if they involve gnomish interests. And last I heard, the little expedition he was guarding returned the same day your twin's group left."

Following Alderwyn's lead, they made their way through the winding forest paths until they reached Gearlock's workshop. Nestled beneath the roots of an ancient pine, the workshop blended into the surrounding woods, save for the occasional burst of steam that escaped from hidden vents among the twisted roots. The entrance was reinforced with ironwood beams and adorned with gnarled branches that twisted around brass fixtures—an organic merging of nature and metal that spoke of the "Way of the Branch."

Inside, the space was a controlled chaos. Workbenches lined the walls, cluttered with half-assembled weapons, gears, and parts of clockwork creatures, each designed with both precision and practical wear. Maps and sketches covered the walls, detailing hybrid weapon designs, trap mechanisms, and defensive plans. The floor bore burn marks and impact dents—signs of weapon tests that had not always gone as planned.

One corner of the workshop was dominated by a large anvil and a forge, its embers still glowing faintly with residual heat. Racks held rows of modified blades and crossbows, each equipped with folding mechanisms or spring-loaded contraptions—perfect for adapting to the ever-changing needs of battle. Above the forge, bundles of enchanted branches—oak, rowan, and ash—hung like drying herbs, ready to be integrated into Gearlock's designs, infusing nature's resilience into gnomish metalwork.

Suspended from the ceiling beams were harnesses and gear meant for fieldwork—belts with compartments for explosive vials, lightweight grappling hooks, and intricate nets woven with both wire and enchanted tendrils. It was a space where practicality met creative ingenuity, reflecting the mindset of a gnome who followed the Way of the Branch philosophy who valued both precision and adaptability.

They found Gearlock inside, tinkering with a brass contraption that looked like a clockwork beetle—its limbs already fitted with small blades that snapped open and shut with a metallic click. He glanced up as they entered, wiping grease from his hands with a stained cloth, and flashed them a grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes.

"Ah, Alpha Seren, Priestess Alderwyn. What brings you to my little neck of the woods?" he asked, leaning back against a cluttered workbench. "You don't usually come calling unless something's up."

"We need to know about your last meeting with Alaric," Seren said, cutting straight to the point. Her voice held a note of urgency that caught Gearlock's attention. "Anything you can tell us—where he was headed, what his plans were. It's important."