Dream II - Chapter 18

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Race: Saurian

Bloodline Powers: Improved Strength, Rending, Firebreath
Greater Mysteries: Fire (Noble) 4, Wind (Noble) 2, Sound (Advanced) 1
Lesser Mysteries: Heat 4, Oxygen 4, Embers 4, Pressure 4, Current/Flow 4

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Air blasted out of the bellows and into the forge.  Almost instinctively, Sam tweaked its oxygen balance ensuring that that coke flared with life. White light flashed as the fire burned hotter than he had ever thought possible.

Heat washed over Samazzar, stinging his eyes and drawing a cough from him as it attacked his already dry throat.  Even with magic coating his body, it was hard for him to handle the blaze.

The blacksmith that Sam and Dussok worked for, Henry Etanne, made his own coke, using the saurians to control the heat and oxygen while Henry used his mastery of the mystery of metal in order to remove impurities.  The result was the searing white heat of the forge  that managed to dwarf even the molten rock of the magma vents.

“Five more seconds Dussok!” Henry shouted.  He was a big man, his shirtless body gleamed with sweat despite him standing almost ten paces from the blazing forge.  Henry bulged with hard-earned muscles from a decade and a half slaving over the forge.  Sam wasn’t sure whether or not the blacksmith had used an elixir, but it hardly mattered whether the man’s strength and stamina were natural or a product of alchemy.  Only a fool or a hero would challenge the huge smith to a contest of strength.

“I can feel it,” he continued excitedly.  “I don’t think I’ve ever gotten the forge to burn this hot before.  Already it’s absorging The electrum plating isn’t just melting into the falling star iron, it’s actually combining with it and becoming something else.  If we can just-”

“Now!” Henry yelled, lunging forward despite the heat as he snatched his hammer, its head made from the polished molar of some long forgotten beast that Etanne claimed had prowled the lands in the age of the gods.  “Pull it out now before the metal overheats and becomes brittle!”

Dussok, lunged into the forge, the tempered tongs in his hands almost immediately glowing red hot as he clamped down on the rectangle of metal seated in a nest of blazing white coke.  He ripped it free from the forge, sending another wave of heat that would have been unbearable without magic pulsing through the smithy.

“To the anvil,” Henry said hurriedly, gesturing with the heavy hammer like it was as light as a quill.  “Quickly now!”

“And Sam,” he continued, pointing with his hammer in the general direction of the chest where he kept the most precious of his crafting materials.  “Grab the phoenix flight feather.  The metal feels different this time.  It’s practically singing to me.  I think this is it.”

Samazzar perked up excitedly, running over to the chest and opening it.  He pushed aside crystals and ingots of fantastic metal before finding the brass case at the bottom of the container that held the Smith’s prized position.

Behind him, Sam heard and felt the first clang of bone on metal as Henry began working the slug of metal.  He turned and jogged back over to where Dussok was holding the glowing alloy in place while Henry banged away at it.  Just as he was approaching, Etanne called out to him without turning around.

“Put the feather in the center of the slug Sam, the metal should be hot enough to activate its residual energy.  If we work quickly, I should be able to fold the metal around the feather and use it as a core for the artifact.”

Samazzar’s hands moved swiftly, slipping the phoenix feather onto the top of the glowing chunk of metal as Etanne’s hammer was at its high point.  The maul fell, sending sparks dancing around the smithy as it slammed the feather deeper into the soft alloy.

Heat erupted from the blow and the anvil flared white with heat.  Almost immediately, the sheen of sweat covering Henry’s bulging muscles evaporated, replaced by a flood of water as his body tried to compensate for the stifling heat.

The strike didn’t damage the feather.  The metal around it bent and deformed as Sam expected, after all, it was being pounded by a hammer made from supernaturally hard ivory, but the feather itself simply began to glow brighter with each successive strike.

Somehow, despite no one feeding the forge more fuel or oxygen, the temperature in the smith only rose.  Almost without thinking, Samazzar reached out with his mind, draping a cocoon of heat control around Henry as the man beat away at the mind bogglingly precious lump of iron and feather in front of him.

Already it was hard to breath in the room.  The heat sucked all moisture from the air, and all Samazzar’s magic could do was redirect heat away from the person it protected.  His control over the mystery helped, but there simply wasn’t anywhere for the scorching air to go.

Thinking fast, he ran out of the forge, careful to maintain the grip of his spell on Henry.  Out front was a water pump and a number of buckets that the smith used for quenching iron.  Samazzar worked the pump, filling two buckets before running them back into the forge.

Dussok nodded at him in relief, and almost at the same moment, both of them began directing the heat around them directly into the brackish liquid.  The water hissed, filling the room with steam, but its effect was palpable.  Almost immediately the temperature surrounding all three of them dropped almost ten to twenty degrees as their magic did its work.

“Turn,” Henry grunted, hammer rising and falling rhythmically as he worked the metal.  In between blows, Dussok flipped the glowing chunk of metal over, replacing it on the anvil just in time for it to absorb the smith’s next strike.

Sweat glistened off Henry’s face and chest as his work filled the entire smithy with an unending cacophony.  As Samazzar listened closer, he felt that he could almost tell the difference between each blow by sound alone as the ringing of the hammer on metal almost turned into a song or melody.

Finally, when he was almost ready to run back out to the pump to refill the water bucket’s Henry broke his silence, shouting to be heard over the constant sound of bone on steel.

“Sam, grab three lumps of coal from the everdeep seam.  Use my mortar to turn them into a fine enough dust that they can dissolve in water.  The alloy needs more carbon.”

Samazzar nodded, grabbing one of the two buckets and refreshing it from the pump before running back into the smithy and diving into Henry’s chest once again.  Barely five seconds later he emerged holding three fist sized black rocks, each far heavier than was warranted by its small size.

Henry continued his work, beating and shaping the red-hot metal while Samazzar placed the first lump of coal into a stone basin.  He grabbed a nearby stone rod and began pressing down on the black rock with smooth circular motions.

It took almost ten seconds before a brittle ‘crunch’ heralded the coal cracking.  The stone split into two, and he went to work almost immediately on one of the halves.  After the first break things went much quicker, and before too long, Samazzar found himself breaking up and grinding down a mess of pea sized gravel.

Then it was only a matter of repeating the process for the second chunk of coal.  Barely a minute after he started, Sam found himself looking down at what looked like dark, coarse sand.  He gritted his teeth and pushed harder with the pestle, straining his shoulder for almost another minute until all that remained was a fine dust, each grain almost too minute to make out individually.

He stood up, grabbin the basin in both hands and turning back to the anvil.  Already the fresh bucket of water at Henry’s feet was almost empty, while the one he hadn’t refilled had long since run completely dry.

“Carbon coming through,” Samazzar called out, only to be answered by a grunt from the smith.  Dussok shuffled slightly to the side, opening space for Sam to squeeze through with the bowl full of coal dust.

In between hammer blows, he spread handfuls of the black powder over the glowing surface of the metal slug.  He couldn’t see the feather anymore, Henry had already pounded it into the comparatively soft core of the alloy.

By the time he had emptied the first basin, the metal was noticeably darker.  Henry’s constant hammer blows had melded the everdeep coal, a reagent of moderate power in and of its own right, into the metal beginning its transformation into steel.

Dussok watched on in wonder, igniting a spark of both pride and jealousy in Samazzar’s heart.  Barely a day or two ago his sibling had awoken the advanced mystery of metal.  Almost certainly, Dussok could see some portion of the miracle that was taking place atop Etanne’s anvil.

As for Sam?  It wasn’t like his time in the smithy was a waste.  The barely restrained fire of the phoenix feather was worth studying in its own right, but the way the air and oxygen interacted with the coke as it was force fed into the forge was fascinating.  Henry had only managed to make an alloy from the famously hard to work falling star iron by creating a fire without flame, a concept that Samazzar was struggling to completely understand.  He had seen the smithy do it dozens of times by now, but something deep inside the saurian whispered that if he could actually comprehend how Henry managed to create the fire without flame, that would be the final step he needed before he was ready for another baptism in the mystery.

He ran out to the pump, filling one bucket of water after another.  As Samazzar picked up both of the heavily laden containers, he smiled to himself.  Ultimately, he was beyond happy for Dussok.  He knew that the big saurian tried his hardest to understand the mystery of fire, but it never came as easily to him as it did Sam.

Metal?  That was something Dussok understood.  He could just see the easy comprehension on his sibling’s face once matters turned to a field that he could intuitively grasp.

Sam ran both of the buckets back into the forge, having to blink through the hazy steam that now filled the air.  Almost immediately one of the two began hissing as Dussok connected his magic to it, sighing in appreciation.

Then, Samazzar was in motion again, running back to the chest and workbench so he could begin grinding down the next lump of coal.  The process repeated itself for what felt like hours.  Sam lost count of how many buckets of water he had filled, and it was almost impossible to see in the smithy by the time Henry finally called, his throat dry and hoarse from shouting, for water to quench the slug.

Quickly, Sam filled a fresh bucket with water before running it back into the smithy.  Henry was five or so paces from the anvil, leaning on the haft of his hammer and breathing heavily.  As soon as he saw Samazzar, Henry stirred slightly, still panting for breath as he called out for Dussok’s attention.

“Quench!”

Dussok picked up the red hot cylinder of metal, struggling for a second with the iron forceps as he maneuvered it toward the bucket of water.  He plunged it downward, and in an instant, a billowing cloud of steam erupted from the container, biting at Sam’s scales and stinging his eyes

He pulled the rod back out.  It was still glowing with heat as Samazzar pushed the second half-filled bucket in front of Dussok and ran outside with the first to refill it.

When he returned, the smithy was noticeably cooler, but the atmosphere was choked with heavy steam.  After a moment of indecision, Sam activated his air sense in order to find his way through the cramped and treacherous smithy.

The third bucket did the trick.  Deep inside the metal, Samazzar could feel the essence of the phoenix feather calm and grow dormant as the heat diminished.  He let out a breath of relief, feeling the tension and adrenaline drain from his limbs, replaced by a bone deep exhaustion.

“Come on boys,” Henry croaked, his voice still hoarse as he approached.  “Let’s step outside for a minute and take a look at what we’ve made.  I can’t see a lick in here right now.”

Sam looked up to see that at some point the big man had discarded his hammer, and instead was wearing a pair of thick leather gloves that were brimming with enchantments. Gently, almost as if embracing a hatchling, Henry removed the chunk of steel from Dussok’s metal tongs and walked it out of the smithy and into the afternoon light.

He held it up, turning the glittering rod of dark silver around.  Finally he let out a low whistle, his eyes gleaming almost as brightly as the bar of metal in his gloved hands.

“So?” Sam asked eagerly, nodding toward the steel.  “Did it turn out to be as special as you thought?  I’d hate for you to have wasted that phoenix feather on nothing.  I know how much it meant to you.”

“Aye Sam,” Henry replied with a chuckle.  “You’ve such a deft touch with fire and air that sometimes I forget you can’t actually hear the song of the metal itself.  The feather wasn’t wasted.  What the three of us have made is beyond special.  This alloy isn’t fit for a king.  I can’t think of a single royal alive that’s worthy of it.”

“Boys,” he choked up slightly, blowing out a breath to steady himself before continuing.  “I’m not even sure what to call this metal.  It’s harder and more durable than anything I’ve ever heard of.  By the mysteries, if anything this wonderful has been crafted since the Godsfall, its creator has kept it hidden away from the world.  Otherwise every smith would be whispering stories about it.”

“I couldn’t have done it without the both of you,” he said, eyes misty as he smiled down at the both of them.  “Maybe that’s why no one has made anything like this.  Gathering the materials and practitioners of metal, wind, and fire together in the same spot is no easy task.”

“It doesn’t look like an ingot,” Dussok observed, peering at the rod of dark steel.  “What are you planning on doing with it?  Hopefully you aren’t content to just hang it on your mantle as is.”

“A part of me wants to do just that boy,” Henry responded with a ready smile.  “What we’ve made here is so perfect that actually using it almost seems like a shame.  But at the same time, not using a material this good to make a masterpiece would be a sacrilege.”

His speech was interrupted as a loud crack echoed from the smithy, startling both Dussok and Samazzar but leaving Henry unmoved.

“That’s the bricks of the forge shattering,” Etanne said matter of factly.  “We got it too hot, and even exposing it to steam is causing it to cool too quickly.”

“Oh no,” Sam replied worriedly, glancing at the door to the building.  “I know how much that cost and how long it took for you to have it built.  I’m so sorry-”

“Don’t be,” Henry cut him off.  “I knew it was a risk when I tried to forge the falling star iron.  Ordinary forges can’t handle those temperatures for long and I’m not a rich enough man to afford the sort of setup that can handle that kind of heat.  It would’ve been a shame if we had nothing to show for it, but that’s hardly the case.”

Samazzar glanced at Dussok, concern still in his eyes.  The big saurian simply shrugged back.  Neither of them knew how to process the smith’s starry eyed wonder as he turned the metal over in his hand.

“A sword,” Henry said at last, nodding as he stroked the still hot metal through a leather glove.  “I’ll use the slug as the core of a sword.  It’s too hard and has too much magic in it to hold a blade properly, but I just need to find another alloy for that.  Something worthy of coating this core, but not the same kind of priceless artifact.”

The man bit his lower lip, worrying at it for a minute or so.  Every once in a while he would whisper a word.  Sometimes Samazzar would even know the name of the rare mineral or ore that the man was mumbling to himself.  Finally, Henry nodded, the indecision clearing from his face.

“Godsbane steel,” he said firmly.  “That’s what we need.  Anything else wouldn’t do justice to what we created today.”

“Godsbane?”  Dussok asked, confused.  “I’ve been working here for almost six months now and I don’t think I’ve ever heard of godsbane steel.”

“You wouldn’t,” Henry replied with a chuckle.  “It’s normally only used by warriors on their third elixir, and even then it's fairly rare.  Supposedly it's what the lance used to slay T’aanar, one of the ancient gods was made from.”

“Of course,” he continued with a mischievous smile.  “I suspect that was a rumor made up by a smith trying to drive up the price on his wares.  Still, it’s harder than any rock I’ve ever seen, and it can hold an edge or an enchantment better than pretty much anything.”

“T’aanar?”  Sam asked, an inquisitive note in his voice as the name sparked a memory.  He knew that there was more written in his notes about the god, but the exhaustion from the forging process had robbed him of the details.

“God of something or another,” Henry responded, waving a hand.  “Died in some pointless war, apparently to someone using a lance.  History is hardly my strength.  All I know is what my master told me when he taught me how to work the stuff.”

“Still.”  Uncertainty filled the smith’s voice.  “I’ll need a new forge, and it’s not like the materials needed to forge godsbane steel were common.  Even before the supply shortages I doubt Vereton would have everything I’d need.”

“Oh,” Samazzar responded, deflating slightly.  “I didn’t know the supply shortages were getting that bad.”

“They are,” Henry said grimly.  “We have enough food for now, and I can get most of the iron I need because I’m a practitioner and the Patrician has made me a priority, but look up and down the street sometime.  A number of the smithies have empty forges with no fuel and no materials to work.  A lot of good people are out of work, and even more can’t get shoes for their horses or nails for their homes.  Unless something changes soon, things are going to start to get real ugly.”

“Still,” the smith continued, turning to walk back into his building.  “I’m not out of options.  I can send a message ahead to an associate of mine in Kaddrasall to the south.  Caravans aren’t getting through, but I only need enough for one sword.  Course, Kaddrasall is in the Grand Duchy of Atophel so they won’t accept parros.  That means rare materials and gold as trade goods.  The Patrician will want to send a runner there to handle the exchange, but I doubt they will be willing to travel that far without a skilled escort given how bad the roads are right now.

“What do you say?”  Henry questioned, stopping in the doorway to look back at Dussok and Sam.  “I know the two of you and that sister of yours can fight.  I’ll make it worth your while if the three of you agree to play babysitter.”

“Plus.” Etanne’s eyes gleamed in the darkened smithy.  “The parros are the least of it.  If you bring back those ingredients, you’ll get to help me finish off the sword.  You’ll be a key part of making the masterpiece that defines my career.  By the mysteries, you’ll be a part of the history of Vereton itself.”