The Anvil of Ice (13 page)

"It's got to be hotter, far hotter!"

"Push 'em further in, then!" gasped Roc, panting like the hand-bellows he worked.

"Can't risk that—too hard to control!" Alv bit his lip a moment, then ran to the wheel set in the floor and forced it open a full half-turn. Great gusts of heat came roaring up from below, through the layers of coal and charcoal, sending a high flame up from the heart of the pit to lick at the vaulting. Alv turned to the wheel that controlled the waterflow, but it would open no wider. In a burst of sheer fury he canted the great bellows lever loose and worked it himself. Sweat poured off him, he could hear his shoulders cracking with the effort, but the airblast roared through the pit faster even than the wheel could drive it. A white glow crept outward toward the rim, sizzling and crackling, spreading around the half-buried blade.

"It's going, Roc, it's going! Just once more—pump, man, pump, and sweat some of that lard off yourself! Here am I breaking my back and you just sit around twiddling your fingers— "

Roc, purple-faced and gasping, threw all his bulk onto the piston of the hand-bellows, the fire blew white at its heart and the steel sang again. Alv caught it out, swung round to the anvil and caught up his great hammer. To Roc's dazzled eyes he seemed to vanish in an aura of sparks each time he struck, and every blow rang as hard as the machine hammers. But louder and clearer rang his voice, though few of his words could be heard.

As sundered I found you

In flickering flame,

As once then I bound you

I bind you again
—

Shape, sword, in the firelight!

Encircle your blade with sharp steel!

Almost before Roc could see again, the blade was back in the heat and he was thrusting and heaving at the bellows once more till his mind grew cloudy. Then again a hammer rang, and the voice echoed it, but more lightly now, and from time to time there came the clang of a tool discarded, another seized. The blade lay wedged on the anvil, its heat turning the smoky air to a rippling velvet curtain. Alv, bending over it, tapping around its rim, became a strange hunched shadow, his voice no more than a whisper as he worked the chain of characters round the blade.

Master, my hammer, This stubborn steel, Teach it to know My skill's command
—
That in its turn Shall hammer home The will behind Its wielder's hand
…

Then it was back to the firepit for a moment, a few strokes to flatten the tang and punch it for rivets, the glowing shape poised over the quenching trough—and then there was a loud searing hiss, like a voice that screamed. A blast of steam leaped upward and burst across the roof; boiling droplets rained down over anvil and firepit with a sizzle and a roar, spattering agony across sweat-ridden skin. Great gusts of steam washed through the reeking air and, murk-heavy, condensed like black rain on every metal surface. As the steam blew aside Alv stood there with the blade in his hand, and he slapped it down on the flat of the great anvil, which tolled like an awesome bell. "
It is done
!"

But it was not long before dawn when the weary young men at last climbed up the stairs from the forge. The blade had had to be trimmed down with light hammer and file, and soaked for some hours in a bath of weak corrosive to remove surface impurities. Meanwhile Roc and Alv labored to clean up the forge, which the Mastersmith always insisted upon, and make it ready for his return. Alv was acutely aware of his bold disobedience, and in chilly dawn afterthought it no longer seemed such a marvelous idea. But he had done it, and there it was, and nobody the worse for it—not even him, for the Mastersmith might rage, but he could not deny the power of the work. When Alv took the blade out and washed it he seemed to see a peculiar sheen, in rather than on the metal, and wondered if he saw with the eyes of a true smith; Roc could see nothing. Alv gave the blade its first edge with the grindstone and finer whetstones, then very carefully wiped the blade with a stronger corrosive, and polished it away at once. The rippling weld patterns, relic of the many strands that made
it
, ran in strange twists and coils across the blade; he turned it one way in the lamplight, and they seemed to hold depth and perspective, like one of the strange drawings in the Mastersmith's Sothran books, but a very peculiar perspective that suggested immense distance to the eye, and sought to draw it down. It was almost like looking over a cliff. Another way, the light rippled across the patterns, and they suddenly reminded him of the folds and convolutions he had seen on a drawing of the human brain in the Mastersmith's great anatomy text. Another way, and they were like some ancient, esoteric writing—
very
like writing, he could almost read it now, surely he could catch a word or two—then he tilted it slightly, and the patterns became that weird suggestion of the abyss once more. At last he wrapped it in soft leather, and tucked it under his arm, and beckoned Roc to follow.

"Breakfast?" inquired the forgeboy hopefully as they came out into the hall.

"Yes, I'm ravenous! But let's go roust Ingar out of his nice soft bed first, I want to see what he makes of this."

"He'll probably thump us with it! Oh well, I'll hang on…"

Alv drummed merrily on the door of Ingar's room. They were not very surprised to get no answer, and kicked the door wide. "On your feet, journeyman, and meet your new master!" But then they stopped, slightly surprised. Ingar lay peacefully in his bed, sleeping on his side much as usual. But though he was facing the door, he had not stirred at all. Alv stepped forward, grabbed him by one heavy shoulder and shook him—and then fell backward with a yell of sheer horror.

With a crisp dry rustle, exactly like the sound in Alv's dream, like the sound in the library, Ingar's body had caved inward where he lay, collapsed and crumbled to a heap of dark fragments, like a pile of dry leaves before an autumn wind.

Roc, eyes wide, backed slowly out of the room and onto the landing, till he could back no further. Alv scrambled up, half-fell against the doorframe and out, and stood there staring back into the room—staring, he knew now, at what he himself had done. The back of his hand was against his mouth, and he bit into it to stifle a scream. The blade dropped, dully ringing, to the floor—

And the Mastersmith stooped to pick it up. Whether he had come up or down the stairs they could not say. He was there now, unwrapping the folds of leather, and his dark eyes flared wide in his haggard face as he saw the completed blade inside. Then he looked up at them, and quickly past them to what they had seen. For a minute he stood there expressionless, then he looked down at the blade in his hand, and complete understanding dawned in his face. He threw back his head and laughed—a rich, carefree laugh, the laughter of sudden release. Then, abruptly, he rounded on them.

"Well," he smiled, eyes still ice-bright with mirth, "so you were that determined to prove yourself! And you have cost me a fine journeyman in the process—though perhaps you didn't quite believe in my sentinel. Now you do! Still, it would seem that I have another journeyman to replace him…" The Mastersmith's voice had gone vague, almost dreamy, as if he was voicing his thoughts. He raised the hiltless blade high, and Alv could not but flinch, though in truth he would have welcomed being struck down in that hour. But the Mastersmith was only examining it. "Yes—yes… And there, yes, perfect… another journeyman, yes, and one who might well be capable enough to fill Ingar's shoes as well as his own… For boy, boy, this is craft of great power… Master's work…"

And then suddenly he was himself again, and gazing at Alv with the same intent look as he had when they first met. "Who are you, boy?" he whispered, and his hand fell heavy on Alv's shoulder. "Where have you sprung from? Who was your father? Your mother? What strange hour, what remote place gave you birth?" The hand sprang to Alv's chin, tilted it back fiercely, so he staggered on weak legs.

In that instant came a sound Alv had never heard before, echoing through the high windows of the tower, distant but deep and clear, like the ghost of a great bell tolling.

The Mastersmith's hand fell away; Alv staggered and almost toppled down the stairs, but the smith hardly noticed.

"Boy, this comes timely!" he said softly. "You have pleased me well—forget the fool, he pays the price of his own stupidity! Later today I shall set the stamp of journeyman upon you! But for now, get you to bed and rest, and you too, Roc! Until later!"

He gestured with the blade, and Alv stumbled away down the stairs, hardly knowing what he was doing but wanting to be away, to escape, to run till he could run no further. But as they came to his room Roc thrust him firmly inside and thumped the door shut behind him.

"
You
…" Words failed the forgeboy, and he almost threw Alv flat on the bed. Alv thrust his head in his hands, unable to think, unable even to weep. The forgeboy slumped into the single chair. "What'd he ever do to you, that was worth
that
? I suppose if he hadn't fallen for it you'd Ve tried to cozen me into it…" And then Roc's voice suddenly ran down like a spinning wheel, slowing, slurring, weakening. Alv looked up, startled, and saw the forgeboy swaying where he sat, eyes glazed, about to topple onto the floor. The surprise triggered something in him; he sprang forward and hissed in Roc's ear. "It's a spell! An enchantment! Something of his! Fight it—"

Roc stared up at him and mumbled something. Alv shook him, slapping him—and abruptly the forgeboy was awake, eyes wide with horror. "I was just falling asleep— I couldn't help myself, I was just… Like something dragging me down!"

"A spell," growled Alv. "He's going out…"

"Ah," breathed Roc. "To answer whatever that bell-thing was." He shook his head. "He was going to kill you then, you know that? For finishing that sword, not…"

Alv shuddered. "Yes. I wish he had…"

"Could be you'll get your wish soon enough. Meanwhile we'd better be hopping!"

"We…"

"Yes! Come on! He'll stick us both, sure as sunrise— me just in case. And if he doesn't I reckon something else might, if we stay here—you saw how worried he's been these last weeks. What might that bell be about, then? So I'm off, and I don't give much for my chances alone in these mountains, so you'd better come along, you hear?"

"I hear," mumbled Alv. "If you think I'd be of any help, I'll come."

In truth, as he realized afterward, Alv was no help at all, for it was Roc who had to take the lead in everything. It was Roc who listened till he heard the great door thud softly closed, Roc who led their hesitant way downstairs with Alv trailing behind, in every sense a shadow, Roc who collected clothes and cloaks and boots and swords, and filled wallets with food from the kitchen, with Ernan snoring peacefully in the next room. Alv went and did as he was told without apparent sense or feeling, save once only. That was when Roc vanished down into the forge and reappeared with a bundle that rang of metal, which he thrust at Alv. Alv fell back as if it contained a poisonous serpent. It was Alv's own set of tools, which all smiths crafted for themselves early in their apprenticeship, and which held an affinity for their hands.

"Grown too dainty to carry our own, are we?" sneered Roc as he gathered up the spilled tools.

"I'll touch them no more!" Alv spat out. "They're tainted—"

"Aye, well they may be, but tainted or not, they've got to earn us a living once we're out of here! We can't afford to be particular—speaking of which," he added hopefully, "you couldn't manage to open his strongroom, could you? All that gold?"

"You saw how he guards his knowledge," Alv grated. "Do you imagine he would set any lesser guardian over his wealth?"

"Pity," grunted Roc. He shouldered the tools himself, but tossed both food wallets at Alv. "Ah well, he'd surely hunt us down then. You can manage the gate? So be it. Off we go." He swung the door wide, but paused, and looked around. "Not a bad berth, if you didn't mind the swink.
And
Ernan. Let's hope you can earn us a better." Alv drifted out after him, unheeding.

At the gate they delayed long while Alv fumbled with the lock. His fingers seemed as numb as his heart and grown clumsy, as if unwilling to leave the place. And in that they reflected some part of him, for here he had found his first true home, and had first been treated with any humanity, any dignity. But at the last it slipped open, and the bare valley lay ahead of them in the last light of the vanishing moon. "Uphill!" said Roc decisively. "He'll think we've taken the forest road, if he cares to go after us." He looked up at the cascades of the waterfall, and the stair of rocks alongside, no longer icy in the growing thaw. From the summit of the first fall a long ledge led back to the crest of the pass. "Might save ourselves a step that way. Allowing we don't miss a longer one, if you take my meaning. Well, are you game?"

It made little enough difference to Alv, and he clambered up obediently after Roc. They were both climbers of experience from their excursions with the Mastersmith, and much stronger than the run of young men their age. Roc's weight told against him, and he was puffing and blowing before they reached the top, but Alv hardly seemed to notice the effort. He sat patiently and waited while Roc bathed his scarlet face in the fall, yelping with the chill, and when they set off again trailed after him as before, saying no word. They came upon thick snow as they neared the summit of the pass, for it was above the margin of the mountain's snowcrest at that season; Alv trudged through it unnoticing. But as they breasted the summit, he seemed suddenly stricken; he leaped at Roc, seized his arm and threw him violently down in the snow. Gray-faced and panting, he pointed down into the pass beneath.