"Now!" he cried, "Strike! Each time I move the wedge, strike!"
Blow by blow the wedge moved along the sword, biting into the blade, cutting through the thin metal. Twice Durondel I resumed the sword to the fire to reheat it before striking was complete and the sword lay with its two cutting edges hammered into splayed strips of still fire-hot metal upon the anvil..
"It is a wonder," Thoron exclaimed, bending forwards to study the strange star-shaped blade.
Durondell laughed and tossed the sword hilt deep back into the fire. "That is nothing but fancy forge work, any smith can do that. Now comes the task to test the Master Armourer of Elundium. Stand back lest the black metal strikes out."
Carefully, with the shortest blunt-nosed tongs, Durondell
withdrew the black splinter of steel from the furnace. Sullen and brooding, glowing dark red, it scattered sparks across the anvil. Durondell took a deep breath and swung his hammer.
Thoron leapt back as blood-red sparks fountained up, and blocked his ears as the metal screamed out, echoing all his worst nightmares.
Durondell laughed and struck again and again, flattening and drawing the splinter, changing its shape until he had fashioned it into a long thin strip, twice the length of the sword. Taking a cold chisel from the cooling tank he cut the strip in two and placed both parts beside the sword in the forge. Wiping his blackened, burned hand across his forehead he stepped back and motioned to Thoron to feed the fire with the wood they had gathered.
"I have never worked with black metal before," he said to Thoron, taking him out into the noonday sunlight. "It is Nightmare steel fashioned in the darkness of the City of
Night, but caution warned me and prudence armed me well.
Look!"
Durondell lifted his old spark-scarred leather ap.r.o.n and showed Thoron where two thin slithers of black metal had pierced through the leather. Thoron gasped, looking at the Ammourer"s chest, expecting to see blood on his shirt. Durondell laughed and opened his coa.r.s.e woven shirt to reveal a smooth sheet of shining metal that rose and fell with each breath.
"Steelsilver!" Thoron gasped, reaching out to touch it.
Durondell smiled. "In my youth it was my triumph against the darkness. Then this forge rang night and day to the sweet music of my hammer. I had found the secret of steelsilver and forged all the battle coats for the Warhorses."
"A steelsilver cloak would render a warrior unbeatable in battle," Thoron whispered.
"I lost the secret when the horses" battle coats were finished. This fragment is all that remains and I kept it in memory of my true power. Come, the forge will be hot enough now to reforge the sword."
"Would steelsilver have made the sword strong enough?"
Thoron asked as they pa.s.sed through the doors back into the smoke-hazed forge.
Durondell smiled, picking up his long-handled tongs. He gripped the hilt of the sword and pa.s.sed it to Thoron.
"I would have used steelsilver but its strength was to defend against the darkness, not to attack. It would have made the sword shine and given it the sound of larksong as it cut through the air. The new power in this reforged blade will be to use the Nightmare"s own steel against him, it will shine
enough from the honing stone and yet be black enough to
penetrate the malice. Now, hold the blade steady across the anvil while I laminate the black steel inside the sword and the new steel on the outside. It will take all my skill to weld them together."
Thoron held the sword with the fire tongs while Durondell
217.
placed the thin strips of black steel inside the blade and eased them together with soft, carefully aimed blows from the flat blemishing hammer. The black steel hissed and spat as the blade closed about it. Quickly the Armourer hammered on the new steel and thrust the sword back into the fire, working furiously at the bellows until the blade glowed white hot.
Calling forward two of the hors.e.m.e.n he gave them strong fire tongs. "When I lay the sword on the anvil hold it steady, no matter what happens."
Thoron helped draw the sword out of the forge and held it -I steady while the hors.e.m.e.n clamped their tongs beside his.
Durondell swung his heaviest hammer down over his shoulder and struck the blade, sending it buckling up into the air.: "Hold it steady!" he shouted, striking again.
"Why does it fight against us?" Thoron cried, struggling to keep the blade still.
"Light against darkness. Good against evil!" Durondell shouted above the tortured screams of the metal as his hammer struck again and again along the length of the blade.
Showers of blood-red sparks flew up to the roof of the forge, driving back the circle of hors.e.m.e.n that had gathered to watch the reforging. Gradually the hammer blows lessened and their crashing changed from harsh screams to notes or sweet music. The steels had welded together, rough hams mered but fast stuck. Durondell laughed and pushed the blade back into the fire.
"Now for the tempering," he cried, pulling an old charred wooden anvil out of the far end of the forge and placing it beside the fire. Blinding smoke enveloped the Armourer as he hammered the blade across the wooden anvil, cooling the hot metal in the heavy oak sap.
"The sword is reforged!" he shouted, carrying the still-!
smoking blade out into the winter sunlight and putting it into Thoron"s hands.
Thoron tested the cutting edge against his fingers and unhooked a sharp stone from his belt.
218.
A:.
:d
"Hone it well until it shines!" Durondell laughed. "Hone it until the moment the Lord of Owls takes to the air!"
Thoron gripped Durondell"s hand and thanked him for the reforged sword before he climbed slowly up into Equestrius"
saddle.
"Do not thank me until the sword has pierced the Nightmare"
s heart."
"All Elundium will thank you then," answered Thoron grimly.
"Then hurry, horseman, and deliver the sword before time blunts its edge," urged Durondell.
Equestrius snorted and neighed fiercely, turning away from the forge and cantering across the edges of Mantern"s Forest and the great road that led to World"s End.
219.
Light at Clatterford
Kyot walked alone in the gardens of Clatterford, listening to the haunting cries of the peac.o.c.ks as they strutted, shadows long, across the lawns. He shivered and pulled his cloak tighter against the winter chill and turned towards the house.
"Without revenge!" he muttered for the thousandth time, waiting for the darkness to cover his confusion and hide his misery. He felt unsettled and unsure of his purpose and ill-at-ease in the company of the beautiful Lady of Clatterford.
Sighing, he watched the colours deepen as the sunny slipped out of sight behind the crystal halls, reflecting in countless soft glowing patterns as darkness crept forward covering everything. "Clatterford, beautiful Clatterford!" he cried, clenching his hands together, "show me my purpose!"
"Kyot?" a voice whispered in the darkness at his side. Kyot jumped and spun round. "Why do you hide out here and walls alone amongst the peac.o.c.ks?"
Kyot could see the slender figure of Eventine against tl~e darkening sky and smelled the cold night damp on the cloth o"
her cloak.