"You have ridden hard and fast through the great world of Elundium, giving little thought to rest and comfort and yet you hesitate on my threshold stone? Come forward, Thoronhand, be not afraid."
"You know my name!" Thoron whispered, looking into the smoke-filled forge.
"You are as much a legend as I," laughed Durondell, emerging through the smoke to take Thoron"s arm. "How could I forget the sword I forged long ago for Nevian to give
to you, the last Errant Rider of the Granite Kings, who has come back from the shadows of the City of Night. I knew you by the hilt of the sword at your belt."
Thoron looked down and took the hilt, drawing the sword I from its sheath. "Nevian bade me to show you the blade and
ask you to reforge it, strong enough to shatter stone."
Durondell frowned, took the sword from Thoron"s hand and walked towards the white hot furnace. "Each blade I have fashioned has served a purpose in the making of Elundium, but to reforge strong enough to shatter stone. .."
Turning to Thoron he held up the blade. "Only a King could lift the sword if I do as you ask. Only a King would have the power to carry it into battle."
Thoron smiled, ruffling Eagle Owl"s chest feathers. "I ride upon the Lord of Horses and Nevian said that Eagle Owl will carry the sword, for he is the King of Battle Owls and pledged to it. The blade is not for my hands, but for my grandson, Thanehand, who runs hard on Krulshards" heels."
"The Master of Nightmares!" Durondell whispered, running his fingers along the worn cutting edges of the blade. "It will need all my skill and more to forge a blade against the Master of Nightmares, much more."
"What will you need?" Thoron cried. "If it is within my power the hors.e.m.e.n will fetch it."
Durondell smiled, pointing to a small pile of seasoned oak splinters stacked beside the forge. "I will need a forest of fuel
to fire the forge. Would your hors.e.m.e.n gather wood for me?"
"It will be done!" Thoron cried, motioning to the long column of hors.e.m.e.n to scatter through the nearby forest.
"Gather only fallen boughs," Durondell shouted. "Touch nothing that lives, it will spoil the molten steel."
Turning back Durondell rummaged through the tall stands of steel, ringing his hammer on each length, searching for the perfect note. Darkness was falling and the first horses had returned, pulling long heavy wind-blown boughs behind them, before he found the piece of steel he sought and laid it
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beside the forge. "The steel must be fire warm for one night.
Come, warriors, and rest and talk of battle days before the Nightmare ran loose in our fair Elundium. Tell me of the Granite City and the tall towers that mark the pa.s.sing daylights with their pencil-thin shadows. Tell me of the Granite King who keeps the sunlight pure and bright."
"The King has gone!" Thoron whispered. "Vanished without a trace, and the Granite City has been laid to ruins by a mighty Nightbeast army. Nothing remains but broken stone.
The Nightbeasts are spreading terror and fear far across Elundium."
"Then we must hurry with this blade and forge it with strength against their shadows. You will be my striker when I split and laminate the blade. Be at my side as the new sun rides clear of World"s Edge. Be ready!"
Long after the last horseman had fallen asleep Durondell returned to the forge and banked up the furnace in preparation for the forging. Pausing, he picked up the prewarmed sword and examined the blade, smiling in the soft glow of the fire. "Tomorrowlight I will open your heart and temper you with a new strength for the task ahead."
Putting the sword back into the charcoal cinders he frowned; this sword would need more than steel to make it Kingworthy. It would need something with more strength than ordinary steel that he could hammer into the blade.
Looking into the heart of the fire he whispered out every metal known to him, in his head, balancing and blending them
to make a sword that would shatter stone. Threads of gold and slivers of silver, tumbles of bra.s.s, coils of copper. Sighing, he shrugged his shoulders and walked out into the cold night to watch the stars, but no matter where he looked the answer he sought remained hidden. Far away on the edge of the night wind he could hear a single swan"s voice, clear and haunting, calling to him through the darkness.
"Durondell - I have what you seek. Come to me, come to me."
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Durondell spun round, following the swan"s voice in the darkness. "You have what I seek?" he whispered, a frown creasing his forehead. "But where are you? Where will you land on such a dark night?"
Durondell pa.s.sed the forge trying to remember each lake and waterway chat crossed the world of Elundium. Many were too narrow or weed choked for swans to use but Here was the mirror lake chat legends named as Clearwater, and chat would shine as bright as daylight on a star-filled night. That was the only stretch of water the swans could land safely on. "Equestrius, Lord of Horses," he called, softly leaving the forge and hurrying through the horse lines, "will you carry me to Clearwater, for the key to the forging of this sword is in the swan"s voice."
Equestrius snorted and knelt for the Master Armourer of
Elundium to climb upon his back, and then cantered into the i darkness beyond She forge. For what seemed an age the Armourer clung on tighdy letting Equestrius have his head and find the shortest route through narrow valleys and tight copses of tangle-trees until they slowed to a trot and crossed the water meadows chat stretched along the banks of Clearwater. Blinking his eyes against the water"s glare Durondell looked for the swan.
Ogion heard the dbunder of Equestrius" hooves and swam into the shadows of the wide sandy bank then waded ash.o.r.e.
Statue-like he waited on the steep sandy beach. Durondell climbed stiffly to the ground and knelt before the Lord of Swans.
Lifting his eyes he saw the broken splinter of steel in the swan"s beak. "Black metal!" he whispered, reaching out a trembling hand towards the broken spear blade chat the swan carried. "You carry the strength for the new sword!" he cried, closing his fingers on the black splinter. "There is nothing in my forge to match it."
Ogion hissed, drawing his head back from the Armourer"s hand, holding Durondell"s eyes with a hard stare. Durondell
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dropped his hand to his side, brushing his knuckles through the dew-wet sand. "Nevian has asked me to reforge a sword strong enough to shatter stone. A sword of Kings, to be used by Thanehand against the Nightmare, Krulshards."
"Thanehand!" Ogion hissed, seeing now how their fates were mixed. He allowed the Armourer to pick up the broken black metal spear blade. "Forge it hard to avenge my Queen!"
Ogion hissed before he entered the water and swam out into the centre of the lake. Dawn had begun to break and the first blackbirds stirred in the trees. Ogion beat the still water beneath his dark wings and rose up into the first shaft of sunlight, then turned towards Swanwater, flying high across the rolling hills of Elundium.
The broken spear blade weighed heavy in Durondell"s hands as he wrapped the black metal in the tail of his cloak and remounted Equestrius. "Tread carefully, for we carry a rare treasure to the forging and we must not lose it on the way!"
Equestrius snorted and arched his neck, keeping to the centre of the way, well clear of the shadows, as he retraced their path back to the forge.
"Strike the wedge squarely, and with each blow see the Nightmare"s death!" Durondell instructed, giving the heavy forging hammer to Thoron.
"But . . ." Thoron whispered, his eyes straying to the roaring furnace where the black metal splinter bubbled and hissed in the heat of the fire.
"Close your ears, warrior, to everything but the sweet song of the hammer and look to nothing but the wedge as it opens the blade. Are you ready?"
Thoron nodded silently, flexing his fingers around the smooth polished handle of the hammer. Durondell turned to the forge and gripped the hilt of the sword between the 1onghandled tongs and laid it white hot across the anvil. Tiny star sparks fizzed along the blade and fell burning on to the
floor. Taking the sharp wedge in his free hand he balanced it on the cutting edge of the sword, squeezing the fine to hold it steady.