The Hammer of the Sun

by Michael Scott Rohan

  Elof chuckled, and turned away up the slope. "Now who's turned impatient? If we must, we must. I've hauled open doors enough for one day. Let's go and see whether there's any sign of the holes above, or those chimneys; I could use a breath or two of clean air…"

  He looked back when he reached the stairs, but Roc was still engrossed, and not listening. "If the wheel still moves," he muttered, "It might just be…" He thrust the spear-shaft through the spokes of the wheel, and leaned upon it hard. Nothing happened; the wheel showed no sign of stirring. But Roc, brushing his hair from his eyes, was not to be thwarted; now he was throwing his whole weight upon the spear, dangling from it almost as his feet left the ground.

  "Leave it, Roc!" called Elof. "Later's soon enough."

  "No, by Hella! A moment more!" gasped Roc through clenched teeth. Elof wondered if the bad air had gone more swiftly to the shorter man's head. "I'm getting there…" And indeed there was a faint sound, a hum, a groaning of ancient wheels at the edge of hearing; and beyond that the deeper rumble that he had felt in the walls. "It's moving… shifting…"

  Elof sighed and turned back to help; but then his glance fell upon those fireplaces in the walls. They did not really look like… Something, a flash of understanding, seemed to whirl around in his head. He shouted aloud, and sped for the wall in great swinging leaps. As was bound to happen, his crutches skidded from under him on the grimy slope, but he flung himself forward and, even as the dark door moaned and squealed into movement, he crashed against the wheel, clutched at a spoke and sagged down so that his weight blocked Roc's leverage. "No!" he yelled. "Don't you see? Those aren't fireplaces! They're air-vents, and this muck, it's soot-"

  "What?" bellowed Roc, but he dropped from the spear and let it clatter to the floor.

  "That's not the furnace; we're in the furnace!"

  There was a sudden sharp hiss, and Roc stumbled hastily back as a jet of white fumes burst around the rim of the door. Then Elof's weight told, the wheel sank back that vital fraction and the rumbling died away. Roc staggered over, coughing and contrite. "Belly of Hel, what was I going to do? What was I going to do? They'd have seen us on the mainland and never known it, one flash, a wisp of smoke and farewell smiths -"

  "And a brace of hot cinders down Nithaid's fat neck!" coughed Elof, and fought to keep from laughing hysterically. "Powers, these vapours, they've got me too! They must pool here like water -"

  Roc hauled him loose and got his crutches under him, and they more or less dragged each other up the slope. When they got out into the open, they sprawled gratefully on the cold grass under a sky grown murky and showing few stars, Roc still muttering reproachfully to himself "Why didn't I bleeding well see?"

  "Those vapours are cause enough!" coughed Elof, hugging his ruined legs.

  "Maybe; but you saw…"

  "I was further up the slope, they took longer to get to me. And even on crutches I'm taller than you. Ach, we should both have realised at once, from the soot; but it's so ancient it's congealed, halfway to earth. Or the door mechanism - meant to be opened from above, and for good reason. We weren't expecting it, that was half the trouble; who'd have thought of so vast a furnace? What'd he ever use it for, that's what puzzles me!"

  "Aye, me too! I've seen forges no bigger than that, he could've worked in there -" He stopped short, and they looked at each other. "Don't suppose he did, do you?"

  Elof shook his head in awed disbelief at the image of some huge figure standing silhouetted against the fearsome glare from that open door, hammer rising and falling as the vapours swirled around him, labouring away at… "That block! In the floor! It could be an anvil!"

  "Those things on the shelves - stuff he wanted kept warm, ready to hand! Powers! What sort of a creature can he have been?"

  Elof shook his head again. "Not human! No creature of flesh and blood could live long in such a furnace at its full heat, among those vapours. No, the idea's impossible! Unless… yes…"

  "What?"

  "A dedicated smith. Very dedicated. Ready to go down and work there - before the furnace had cooled… Yes, he might have achieved a great deal. A very great deal…"

  Roc smote his brow. "Aye, he might, if he'd no mother-wits! And two good legs to get him out whenever his clothes took fire!" He seemed to see Elof's wince in the darkness, for he added, more gently. "No point in sparing you that truth. For it's as true as that you saved my life there once again, legs or no."

  "Ach, chalk it up to luck; we'll settle the slate at the end. I've done well out of it, Roc; I've got my furnace now. We'll rig that opening wheel again, and clear the air-shafts, and set the whole thing to work again! There's things I've been thirsting to try…"

  "Speaking of thirsting," interrupted Roc, "I've laboured enough for one day. Me for a drink and a bite and bed - down by the hearth as you've torn my fine bedchamber asunder! And the same for you, if you're wise…"

  "No. I've still got the stink of those fumes in my chest. I'll sit out a while longer."

  "As you will! But don't go to sleep in the frost, or it'll take more than that forge to unstiffen you come morning! Sleep you well!"

  The door clattered shut, and left Elof alone with himself beneath the clouds. He bowed his head almost to his knees, and sought to rein in his racing thoughts; of smithcraft, of pain and humiliation at his crippled state, of half formed, half dreamed ways of escape that the furnace might now make possible…

  Then he looked up.

  Roc came running when he heard the cry, and found him halfway to his feet, one leg kicking uselessly against the slippery ground, as he stared frantically into the night. Roc caught the faintest glimmer of something that came fluttering slowly down, like a dark snowflake. Then he jumped as Elof hurled away his crutches and plunged to his knees so hard that one splint broke, scrabbling furiously among the whitened grass.

  "What, man? What is it?" demanded Roc, horrified, as he stooped to help him; he snorted with surprise at what Elof held up with a gasp of triumph. "Is that all? A crow's cast-off?"

  The long feather shook in Elof's grasp, and he swept the skies with his gaze. "This is too great for any crow. Should I not know the pinion of a swan, none better? And what other swan have you seen in all the world that is black?"

  Roc sucked in his lower lip with shock. "Can you see anything?"

  "No… nothing. Not even a star… Kara!"

  The shout was so sudden, so anguished, that Roc jumped. But to Elof's own ears it sounded like a wail of weakness, and he bit it off; what woman would come to a call as miserable as that? "Help me up!" he muttered, devouring the feather with his eyes.

  "What can it mean?" Roc demanded, handing him back his crutches. "Is it a token, or…"

  "A token? Yes. But of what… Hope? Scorn? Roc, I…I know not what to think! But that she's here in these regions at all, this deep within the land, it may bode ill; does Louhi ready some sudden assault?" Swaying on his crutches, he clenched his fists at the skies and howled with sudden anguish. "Was it scorn she meant? Was it? A curse eternal light upon my helplessness, and upon him who brought it about! You stern powers of life and death, be my judges! Are the sorrows of men worth no more than laughter? Are we in our miseries mere playthings of your scorn? Then shatter, world, as in the end you must, and shorten all agonies! And the fires of Hella at your heart consume us all!"

  Chapter Eight - The Cleansing Fires

  The assault that Elof feared did not come. He sent a guarded warning to Nithaid, without saying why; it is some tribute to his standing with the king that he was taken seriously. Nithaid alerted his marchwardens, but they reported no signs of any great mustering of their foes. On the contrary, the Ekwesh armies were if anything dividing their numbers, avoiding battle and returning to their raiding habits. More often now they would strike in small bands at weaker targets, as they had at Elof s village in Nordeney; they seemed less eager than before to lay siege to strong places and larger towns. Nithaid was once more kept busy chivvying his forces fr
om one town to the next to reinforce the house-troops of his lords; but he had fewer pitched battles to face. To Elan Gorhenyon he returned an impatient answer.

  Elof was left furrowing his brow with worry. What then had been Kara's mission, if not to spy out some assault? For mission there must have been, and a grave one; Louhi would hardly have loosed her for less, knowing she might turn such freedom to her own ends. "Why did she come, then?" he muttered, staring up at the sky as it lost its deep sapphire lustre, and took on the misty sheen of a pearl. For three nights now he had waited, sitting cold and forlorn on a bench against the stone wall of the forge, sleepless even after long days of toil restoring the furnace; but he had seen nothing, not so much as the sweep of wings across the paling stars. "What was she seeking?"

  "Has it occurred to you," said Roc's voice behind him, "that it might've been you?"

  Elof looked around in surprise; his friend was as fond of his sleep as all other comforts, and rarely rose this early save at great need. "Of course; she turned aside to seek me out. Though whether out of scorn or spite or… something more, I still can't guess -"

  "No," said Roc, treading carefully. "I mean, that she didn't turn aside from her mission - that she fulfilled it. That a certain lady gave her the order to seek out you..."

  "I?" Elof laughed. "Surely not, Roc! Once, perhaps; but what would the warlord of the Great Ice want with me now? Why should she come hunting one crippled smith after six long years? How could she even know I still lived, let alone here of all places? And surely Kara would not…"

  "You won't face it, will you?" demanded Roc, less carefully. "The turn in the war, all your fine new walls and weapons, you can wager Louhi's taken good mind of those! Wouldn't be that hard for her to guess where they've sprung from all of a sudden, whose hand lay behind them! What more likely than yours? All but branded your name on 'em, you have, for those with eyes to read!" Elof was silent, and Roc pressed home his attack. "Then she'd have prisoners to torture, maybe even spies of Bryhon's ilk to call on; what'll they tell her? Rumours, aye, but think of them; some outland sorcerer, a cripple - she might think she'd done that… And Gorthawer, by the High Gate! Nithaid new-armoured and wielding a black sword! Then she'd know, all right! Do you ask yourself what she'd do then?"

  "Why have I been so blind?" demanded Elof of himself. "Why did I not see this for myself?"

  "Because you wouldn't credit that Kara could hunt you," said Roc sombrely.

  Elof shook his head. "Still I cannot! Not for Louhi! Not even after…" He bit his lip savagely. "Why would she show herself to us, if she was hunting us? I cannot credit it!"

  "And yet once she came close to slaying us all at Louhi's behest," said Roc quietly, "though bravely she broke that bond…" He grimaced, disliking what he had had to say. "But only with your help. That lost, why should she now have any greater strength?"

  "Because of what has passed!" said Elof, clutching his hand convulsively to his breast. "Long years, longer even than this unending thralldom, this imprisonment in a maimed shell! Can they all count for nothing at all?"

  Roc regarded him gravely. "In another man's mouth, and of any other woman than her, that might sound more foolish. Happen you're right, I hope you are. But dare you trust in that? And does it matter? Whether she hunted us by design or found us by chance, think you she could keep it from Louhi?" Silence fell, save for the small noises of the night. It was a long time before Elof finally shook his head.

  "No. You have the right of it. Louhi would crumble her will like a dry rind." He slammed a fist against the doorpost. "That was why she left the token! She couldn't help herself; but she wanted at least to warn us! To warn us we had been found, that something might follow… what, I wonder?"

  Roc rasped a thumb across his chin. "A strike like lightning, I'd guess; a sudden swift raid, to bear you off or slay you. Here! This raising they're about, maybe they're just limbering up…"

  Elof frowned. "Surely not! That would be folly for them; let the first strike fail, and they alert us all. Nithaid would spirit me away at once, perhaps to Kerys the City, and how would they find me again among all that great hive of humanity? Louhi will have something else in mind, something surer; slower, maybe - she thinks like the Ice - but more sure. I cannot guess what."

  "But we've got to!" Roc protested. "So we can do something; we can't just squat here and wait!"

  Elof rose up on his crutches. "Any move could be the wrong one, when we know so little. Save one; and that is to escape Louhi and Nithaid together! As we planned to. All Kara has done is make our need more urgent." He frowned suddenly, and thrust a hand within the breast of his jerkin. "Unless…"

  "Unless what?"

  "I… cannot be sure. But one thing I know; we have that furnace now, and no excuse for not using it!"

  He stretched his back, swaying alarmingly, and clapped Roc on the shoulder.

  Roc groaned. "Will you not even snatch an hour or two of sleep, lest you lose the habit?"

  Elof laughed. "Was it not you who was so eager to do something? Well then! Bestir yourself; the Ice itself is on our track!"

  The forge roared as he hauled a last time on the bellows lever, and light swelled among the heaped coals. He seized a bar of steel in his tongs and drew it out, sparking and sputtering white, just on the edge of burning itself; then he swung about on his crutches, laid it against the anvil's edge and snatched up a heavy hammer. Down on the steel he brought it in swift bouncing blows, never letting the metal settle as he twisted it this way and that, humming to himself all the while a tune, light and rippling and yet with an eerie undertone, that took on words in his mind.

  Hark to the words of the one that shapes you!

  Know you the sound that is struck into you!

  Look that you hold what is laid upon you,

  Fail you shall not nor the flames consume you,

  All the fires of earth restraining, All the heat of Hel enchaining,

  So at the last to my words you hearken,

  Hear that the moment I choose is come!

  The steel wormed and twisted beneath his ceaseless blows as if he tormented something living, till at last he laid it over the anvil's beak and stilled it with two smart raps before plunging it swiftly into the trough; and even then it seemed to shriek among the steam. After a few minutes he drew it forth, and leaning on his crutches he turned to the open door of the furnace. Very slowly and laboriously he clambered over the lip, swinging himself over by his hands and barking his weakened shins painfully; but he was all too used to that by now. He longed for a rail to help him down the steps, but any metal he could think of able to withstand the furnace would hold its heat too long, and be deadly dangerous. He had to make do with the rough handholds they had cut in the wall, and sockets for his crutches in the steps and the sloping floor beyond.

  "You all right?" echoed Roc's voice from below, as it had a hundred times in the last few weeks.

  "I manage!" was Elof's gruff reply, as it had been just as often. They both knew it was not true, but it suited Elof to act as if it was; before they found the forge he had grown at least partly reconciled to his condition, but the difficulties of working on it had revived all his raw resentment. "Here!" he said, when at last he reached the floor, and tossed the bar to Roc, who caught it deftly and began to clean and file it to a close fit with the mechanism he was working on. Elof hobbled slowly across the sloping floor to join him, then leaned against the wall, mopping his brow.

  "You're a fine artificer," he said more cheerfully, leaning over Roc's shoulder. "That's as good a job as 1 could have done…"

  "Save that you'd have had it sit up and beg!" puffed Roc, reaching for a finer file. A few strokes more, and he wormed his way on hands and knees into the reopened cavity till only his substantial rear protruded. "And how you made it so close a fit…"

  "I measured the bar closely to start with," said Elof. "I knew how the heat would expand it; and while it was hot I looked among the crystals in the duergar fa
shion, and saw where to lay each blow…"

  "… is quite beyond me, I was about to say." A chain clanked suddenly. "That's it! Snug and in place! Well, there's the air-shaft mechanism, counterweight and all! Your furnace is yours for the testing anytime." He reappeared, brushing grime out of his thick thatch of hair. "Whew! How'd you like your soot? Congealed, caked or just plain loose and powdery; do you take your fancy!"

  "There's a great deal of it…" remarked Elof thoughtfully.

  "Only just noticed that? Times were when we were working down here I thought we'd kill every fish in the Great River, bathing at the day's end."

  "Yes… but why? There's more here than there should have been if he was only burning coal or wood with the earthfires; and it's too pure, some of it. As if… as if the soot itself was part of what he was creating… almost as if he were seeking to reduce it somehow…"

  Roc raised his eyebrows. "Soot? What use might that be to a smith? More like a curse to this one!"

  "You did not study among the duergar, or in Morvanhal. The pure stuff of such a burning has many uses. For one, it may change steel, smelted deep among its very crystals; so was Kermorvan's sword made, that can hew plain iron unscathed. And when very pure it can be formed into many strange substances; it was Marja who reminded me of that, long since. Wood or coal will yield it, but more easily still stonesblood that is their cousin. The duergar know of many. Some of the true mastersmiths in Kerys of old made trial with the stuff, and I have many of their accounts among Amylhes' library; I may be able to improve upon their methods. In fact it was some of those I meant to try here first, for this furnace is so well suited… so that now, by all the Powers, I begin to wonder if that smith of old was not upon the same trail…" Suddenly he snapped his fingers, and reached up to one of the wall ledges so sharply that he all but overbalanced; clouds of soot flew up as he swept his hand impatiently along it. "Not that one…" he muttered, brushing another. "Nor this -"