The Forge in the Forest Read Online Free Page B

against the iron and gave a single convulsive heave. With a scream of stressed metal, a shower of sparks, a loud triumphant ring, the blade tore free. The anvil, cracked now from top to foot, fell slowly into two and clanged upon the tower's dark stones, hissing in the reviving rain. " So cleaves the smith's own blade !"
    Then Elof laughed weakly and turned to Roc and the others, and embraced them; clumsily, for he would not set down the sword. "Thank you, my friends, thank you! I am sorry it had to come so fast, and without explanation. And Roc, I'll craft you trinkets enough to pay for a fine new anvil…"
    Hjoran and Marja stood dazed and speechless, but Roc, more hardened to strange matters, simply shook his head in wonder, and set to gathering up Elof's tools. "That's no matter. Leave this where it lies for now, and let's be off here ere the heavens start some more smithying of their own!" He chivvied the others off down the stairs, clapped Elof on the back as he passed and exclaimed at the soggy thump his hand made. "Do you come back with us, man , you're soaked to the skin! We'll find you a stoup of mulled wine and a warm bed!"
    Elof shook his head, still exultant. "I thank you, but no! I've trespassed enough upon you all for tonight. I'll turn back to Kermorvan's house and my own bed, and leave you in peace."
    "As you will!" said Roc, putting his arm around Marja.; "My respects to his lordship, and we'll be cheering him when he comes out onto the steps tomorrow."
    "You're not coming to the ceremony?"
    "What, to hear a crew of windbag syndics spouting for hours?" scoffed Roc. "I'll leave the formalities to you and Ils, you've the heads for them. Sooner pass the time in the alehouse, if there's any to be had in these days!"
    Elof chuckled with the others. "If there is, I'll be bound you'll find it! Save some for us, afterward!" Letting the others press on ahead, he lingered in the musty darkness, finding its cool quietude pleasant after the storm above. The blade in his hands was cool also, and the gauntlet at his belt; scarcely conceivable it seemed that such forces had flowed through them not long since. He thought back to the moment of fire, to the brief glimpse he had gained deep into the matter of the sword. It was indeed no metal. Long black strands had glowed within it, coiled and twisted, set thick in a hard dark binding substance; glossy and lustrous they had seemed, like the locks of some long-dead beauty set imperishably, save that the blade's edge was finer than the finest hair. He stopped by one of the great stairwell windows, where stormlight yet glimmered, and held up the sword to gaze again. But its surface was once more a mirror impenetrable. A thought struck him, and he looked at the hilt, tilting it in the light. Once more it glimmered with racing cloud patterns, but they seemed gray no longer; they were black, potent as the storm-clouds whose living force had flowed into the blade's reforging. "I never named you before," he said softly. "I cannot have been sure of you, indeed. But now I am, and for the darkness that clings to you I will name you. The Bringer of Darkness be, Herald of Night, Gorthawer in the Sothran tongue, and may you fall ever upon the eyes of my foes!" On impulse he slashed at the air with the sword Gorthawer, and a voice sang in the darkness, high, exultant, clearer than of old. It spoke words to him that fired his blood, made him forget a moment wetness and chill and the weary walk that lay between him and the bed he yearned to collapse on. "A dark road lies ahead," he breathed. "But at least I have won back one true companion on it. I wonder what others I may find?"
    Chapter Two - The Casting
    The wind came howling across the Marshlands with a million savage voices, driving dark clouds in a swathe before it, scything down the brown reeds of autumn in its path. Again he cowered fever-ridden behind the rattling door of his forge, hearing on the blast the echoes of ancient battles