"What is her name?" choked Elof.
Taounehtar she is styled, Taoune's deadly consort. But the creature she becomes among men names herself Louhi.
Elof remembered little of his walk back that night. He ate little and slept less, tossing and turning upon the furs of his bed. Could Tapiau have heard of his own quest, and seek to turn him aside from it? Perhaps; but while the Master of Trees might slant a truth, he would not lie so plainly.
Louhi also has taken an apprentice… if she's Louhi's she '11 be nothing for you and I… for what that girl has, Louhi has, be sure of that… no smith welded my chains, and even if you were the greatest among men you could not make them
. . . The words of many voices blurred and burned in his mind, and became one, echoing away into distances vast and chill.
Nothing .
. .
you could not
. . . If Louhi was as Tapiau said, then what was Kara? What had he dared to love? What had he set out to seek across all the breadth of this vast land, across all the world if need be? But then, as if in answer, he heard the dark timbre of her own words, remembered her heart leap beneath his hand as she spoke.
I am of no common sort
. . .
I will not change
. He lay still then, and a bitter calm settled across his thoughts. She would not change? Then no more must he. What he loved, he loved. It was as simple as that. He could only go on as he had done, seek with as single a mind as he had sought to counter the mindsword, as he had sought to reforge Gorthawer…
It came to him then. From his long search through the remnants of the Mastersmith's library a memory surged up, a matter that had seemed of little moment at the time. So might it still, in itself; but if he could turn it about it would surely serve his will. He slept then, but excitement awoke him at first light. He rose and waited agog for Roc or Ils to stir.
"What do I know of what?" she growled sleepily. "Of iron and copper in corrosives? Many things, though I am not my folk's best scholar in such matters; chiefly that they corrode. How much, how fast, what they form…"
"What they create!" hissed Elof excitedly. "That's what I mean! No? But you'll see! Now, we'll need quantities of corrosives, sheet copper and iron as pure as we can make them. And some of that powdery black stone the Mastersmith used for marking parchment…"
"Ought to be plenty in the hills!" yawned Roc. "Comes from schist or the like, doesn't it? Won't lead do as well?"
"No! It's not for making marks that way! Come, bestir yourselves, we dare not waste the day! We've long weeks of work ahead!"
He spoke truly, save that the weeks extended into months. They toiled far into that night, and many that followed, preparing the forge for the long work to come; then they vanished for weeks on end with the Guardians, hunting out rare or precious minerals from the stone and the finest clays that could be gathered. Elof made it his business to sweep Roc and Ils along by sheer will, till he could almost see the lethargy of castle life fall from them. As the long summer faded and the heavy rains of autumn passed, he spent every hour of daylight in the forge, and by night its fires flared and shimmered among the gaunt evergreens, a defiant assertion of warmth and energy. Many asked of him what he labored on with such exertion, but all he would say was that it was to be a gift. And there came a night when the little forge shone like a beacon through the trees, so high did its fires burn; every gap and cranny in shutters and door blazed with light, as if the stone beneath had melted and let the earthfires through.
Later the shutters were opened to let a cloud of steam disperse, and Roc and Ils stumbled wearily away down the well-worn trail to the hall. Elof lingered long thereafter, and the hammering and cracking of clay molds echoed through the night. At last he made his way down to the castle in the small hours of a morning that sparkled with frost. So silent was the Forest that he was quite unprepared for the sudden change in the music of the stream.
Well, smith? Upon what do you labor such long hours?
Elof smiled tautly. "A casting in silver, Lord of the Forest. A jewel, a gift, for a great lord."
/
do not doubt it will be worthy of him. Yet have a care, abroad in these woods so late without the Guardians. You are aware I have other subjects; for many the night is their province. Upon the path to the castle you will be safe. But never stray from it
! There was a sudden rustle, and Elof ducked sharply as a wide shadow swooped down upon him. But it passed and settled with a flutter upon a branch ahead, a huge owl that stared at him with glittering eyes topped by feathery peaks like horns, a stare cold and unnerving. Elof caught his breath and swallowed, hard. He nodded.
"I hear you, Lord Tapiau. I will keep to the path. Good night!" But his smile was grim as he made his way through the last of the trees, grim as the satisfaction he felt. He would keep to the path, indeed, the one he had trodden since the beginning. Tapiau had at last dropped the mask a little; but though that was interesting for many reasons, it meant he must be swift now, swift as the work allowed. And as ruthless. He clutched his cloak around him; the frost seemed to settle on his heart. Somewhere within him that seam of iron still lay, that callous streak which had let him forge the mindsword at another's great cost. He hated it, yet now he must summon it up and turn it to a greater good. That also would be an achievement of mastery.
The next morning all stood ready; he could not hold back. The sheet copper had been rolled into cylinders, rods of iron set within and the whole set in small jars of sand-fused glass, into which Ils added a strong solution of corrosive. From these, pitch-coated threads of twisted copper led into a stone bath full of a foul-smelling solution; a heavy spearhead shape hung within, of the purest gold they could attain. On a bench sat a crucible of the gray mineral, powdered fine and mixed with eggwhite and other substances, and beside it a light and intricate framework of silver, polished to a mirror shine. Roc and Ils watched in astonishment as Elof took it up and, referring
to the
litter
of scrolls
and slates upon the next table, dipped a fine brush in the mineral powder and began to trace minute rows of intricate characters upon it. Then, donning a glove, he touched the remaining copper threads to it. Roc exclaimed as a shower of tiny blue sparks arose, but Ils' face brightened with sudden understanding, and she nodded sagely as Elof fastened the threads tight to the frame and with long tongs lowered it carefully into the bath. He watched a moment, motioning them to silence, until he saw a faint bubble rise and burst upon the greasy surface. Then he began to sing softly, under his breath at first, but rising now and again into words they could make out.
Awaken! Wake!
From nightbound depths
What long lay hid
Let it arise
To blind the day!
From tomb, a voice From time, an hour From pattern, form From weakness, power.
To darkness, light, In embers, flame, From dust, a tree, Silence, a name.
The stillness stirs, Its loss regains; What was, returns What is, remains.
At length he smiled at them and sat back. "It begins!" he said.
"And what, exactly, might
it
be?" inquired Roc sardonically.
Elof's eyes glowed darkly. "A thing our late master never dreamed of! A coating of gold finer than the thinnest foil or leaf, a blending of metals finer than pattern-welding, more precise than alloying. I read of it as a method of extracting difficult ores, but saw how it could be made to act for me. In these threads flows a force that bites as fiercely as the corrosive spawning it; do not touch them bare-handed! It seeks to pass through anything, but water and most metals especially. And in flowing through that bath, from point to frame, it will carry with it minute particles of the gold. Little by little they are settling on the frame, more thickly upon the characters I traced. And other layers will follow, gold, silver, copper, chrome and other rarer metals; and upon each I can set its particular virtue." He laughed. "On every particle, almost, if I so desired!"
Ils tapped her large teeth and nodded. "I should have remembered; the like method for ores
is
indeed known among us, and no doubt for work like this, if needed. But the virtues you
set
upon
it
, well, they baffle me…"
Elof stood abruptly, and peered down into the tank. "Only a part of
it
," he muttered. "A small part… Meanwhile there is more to be done. Roc, that wide mold-flask I made, and the fine clay; I have the wax armature ready here. We are not finished our casting yet!"
Ils stared at the delicate waxen shape he lifted from a high shelf. "But what living use could that be?"
Elof grinned wolfishly. "A strength against my fears that my will has found! When it is complete, and wields its power—then you will understand!"
In the weeks that followed the castle saw little of him. Ever more often he slept on the hard hearthside, seldom returning even for food. Yet when Ils or Roc brought it him, the only ones he would suffer, they most often found him huddled motionless over one of the bubbling stone baths, as if he could watch or will the invisible flow of matter within its depths. Only his lips moved, and the words he spoke came not to their ears. More than once Ils bade him sharply have a care, for many of the liquids were fell poisons, unsafe even to breathe. Certainly in this time he grew pale and ill to look at, his brow furrowed, his eyes and cheeks sunken. But all he would do was shrug, turn perhaps to his books awhile, and demand to be left alone. So the days passed, and ever more chill blew the Forest winds, till the frost lingered long into the morning. It was in the early hours of such a day that Elof watched the last coating, which was of silver, take shape upon his work. And though it was no more than a dull gleam deep in the brown liquid, he knew when it should be ready. He took the longest tongs he had, and lowered them delicately, very delicately, beneath its surface, for the bath of silver held the most deadly poison of all. Then, taking a firm grip, he stood a moment, and for the first time since the beginning he chanted aloud, harsh, yearning, defiant.
Dark is the moment, great our need, Fierce is the fire that bids me heed, Burning bright in my breast, Drives me from life, from death— Unbinder! Unchainer! Burn with that flame! Renewer! Restorer! Be that your name! Break you the bonds that hinder my quest! Arise from the shaping to me!
Then with a single smooth effort he drew the metal forth, upward, straight up till the metal threads drew taut and snapped amid a rain of sparks, boiling the poison beads to vapor as they showered back into the tank. Though the work had grown heavier, he held it for long, long minutes unmoving above the tank, until no more of the venom fell. Then he washed it carefully many times in water distilled and set aside for that purpose. Only then did he dare take it in his gloved hands and scrub it gently clean in the trough, running his eyes across the perfect surface, the smooth, even coating over the steel that showed no trace of the myriad layers of many metals, the thousands of characters, traced out beneath. He could have lingered over it, rejoicing in its beauty and smoothness, in the completion of long months of labor. But the flames blazed yet within him; he allowed himself one curt nod before he turned to his bench and the fine work of finishing.
Thus it was only that same afternoon that a message arrived at the court, to the effect that Elof would be honored if he could show Prince Korentyn, and with him Lord Kermorvan, his forge, and the first fruits of his labor. Ils, who had delivered the message, came puffing back up the hill to the forge, with Roc on her heels. "They're coming!" she gasped. "Any moment, with Roc!"
Elof nodded. "How did they take it?" he asked.
"They seemed amused. Kermorvan wondered why you couldn't just come down, but Korentyn said it was a courtesy he owed you. He likes you, I think, Elof."
Elof nodded again, somberly. "I know."
"Teris wanted to come, but I said it would be too crowded. Just as you ordered, Elof. Now would you mind giving me some warning what harebrained scheme it is you're planning?"
Elof rose, and shook his head dismissively. "Better you have no part in it, should it fail, you and Roc. And perhaps should it succeed, as well. Silence, now! They come."
Kermorvan's voice rang out across the clearing, and a moment later his tall outline, swollen by the fur cloak he wore, blotted the cold light from the doorway. Elof stepped out to greet his visitors, and Kermorvan stared. "Kerys' Gate! You've changed, these last few days."
"Since I saw you last? Weeks, rather, even months. And so have you." For he thought Kermorvan's face was fuller, the look in his eyes no longer intense but relaxed, amused, like a watcher at some entertainment, a spectator at the margins of life. "But enough of that for now! My lord Korentyn, you do me great honor."
Korentyn smiled. "Not so! You honor me, and if truth be told I welcome the distraction; winter is a dull time, and I am leaving on a hunt tomorrow. Kermorvan promises me you can work marvels."