Ferra led the expedition through the foundry gates and stopped the apprentice convoy when scorched scrap fell across their path.
Behind her, two sturdy apprentice smiths carried tool chests suspended between pine carrying poles, their faces flushed from the intense ambient heat.
The central smelting hall opened before them like a cavernous tomb, choked with clinker mounds and blackened slag.
Above the main smelting floor, a labyrinth of suspended walkways and copper conduits connected three towering cupola furnaces.
Ferra knelt beside the nearest floor fitting, running a calloused thumb across the weld seam of a bypass coupling.
"Look at this sloppy amateur slag," the forgemistress spat, pointing her round-nosed hammer at the pitted joint.
"They tried to duplicate my harmonic grounding network, but they used brittle scrap and cold welds!"
"Will the foundation hold if they fire the main blast, Mistress?" the senior apprentice asked nervously, wiping sweat from his nose.
