The Forge in the Forest

by Michael Scott Rohan

  However unwillingly, Elof was in sympathy with Kermorvan. He of all men could not easily seek out evil among such evident craft and care and love of fair things. And his first fears had received a sharp setback, as a group of Guardians appeared to bring food. They no longer seemed so weird to him, so unnatural; their long limbs and strange hands and feet were simply different, shaped by and for their tree-borne lives as he would shape his tools. As well hate the sleekness of a seal because the sea shaped it, or the large wise eyes of the duegar in the shadows under stone. And among the Guardians he was startled to see their old folk, and their children. These were of all ages from infants to youth, and very fair in their fashion. The sun ran molten bronze in their hair and their freckled skins, and set green lights dancing in their wide eyes. They were livelier than their elders, and a merry word could often win a shy smile, as Tenvar soon found out. And through them the adults lost some of their reserve, and would talk. To Elof the childlike quality Ko-rentyn had mentioned seemed more an alert but unformed intelligence, verging on the animal in its disregard of all but things immediate or imminent; even the oldest, with lined faces and graying hair, seemed no less casual and heedless than the young. The coming feast was all they cared about, at which they would be both servers and guests; they seemed to find equal delight in both, and would talk of little else in their harsh gusty voices. So ere long Elof left them, and went to lie in the shade and clear his troubled mind. That the Guardians should have children and grow old accorded very ill with his first wild guesses about this castle, and left him muddled and unsure.

  All that day long the travelers rested, eating and drinking as they would. Korentyn came to see that they had all they wished, but otherwise left them to themselves. They slept as well once more, and on the morrow rose again as late as they pleased. The Guardians showed them sweet springs and pools around the hillside beneath the tower where they might bathe. Though the water was cold as the rock it flowed from, it cleansed them of the taints of travel, and brought a tingling life back to stiff limbs. On their return their old garments were gone; laid out in their place was rich garb of the fashion the castle folk wore. Elof was startled to see the black tunic and hose of a smith laid out for him, the more so as they were heavily woven with thread of silver and gold about wrist and collar, a pattern of characters and symbols he found strangely familiar. Yet it was not until he ran his fingers over the meshed bullion that he remembered. He fetched from his pack the ancient crook-tipped rod of bronze he had once used as a cattle goad, and which he guessed must once have been something more. He stared in astonishment at the semblance of the characters before him; they were the same as on that rod, and in the same order. Only the arrangement was different, the pattern laid out round the collar and repeated in two halves at the wrists. Black distrust welled up in him once more; had he not set some of these characters upon the mindsword itself, that dark distortion of his inborn craft? Those characters had channeled virtues of compulsion and command. With narrowed eyes he stared hard at the broideries, but could see no shimmer of living light deep within them, nor could his fingers trace out in them the thrill of presence that lay within the rod. Which was, after all, as it should be; the more potent the pattern, the more bound it was to the material and shape it was meant for, and if transferred or copied it should be meaningless. Tentatively he lifted the tunic and drew it slowly over his head; he relaxed as he felt no influence, no trace of difference come over him. But in smoothing the material down, his fingers told him one more truth; it was not new, it had been worn before, and trimmed to his stature. What smith had passed that way before him, wearing about him as a token that strange patterning? And where was he now?

  One by one the others of the company appeared in their finery, some uneasy, some, like Tenvar, positively strutting. But every head turned when Ils appeared in a billowing gown of white kirtled with silver, for nothing could have contrasted more with her habitual black jerkin and breeches or kilt; its flowing line lessened the square duergar frame, and set off her curly black hair and her sparkling eyes. Tenvar went so far as attempting to kiss her hand, before he caught the dangerous gleam in her eye and thought better of it. Only Kermorvan was missing, and Elof was about to remark on that when footsteps sounded on the upper stair. Into the gallery stepped Korentyn, about his shoulders tunic and heavy mantle blue as dark seas, and with him Kermorvan, clad exactly as he, but in green; about their heads were fillets of gold set with gems, about their throats collars like ropes of rare metals wrought and twisted. To Elof's eye those jewels shimmered and flashed like sunlit water; strong virtues dwelt in them, that wove about their wearers an enhancement of their kingliness and power. The Guardians hid their eyes as from the sun and made obeisance; after a moment Elof and the other travelers bowed also. And when at that night's dinner the two lords led the travelers down the steps into the Hall of the Tree, a loud fanfare and music of instruments heralded their coming, and the whole lordly company bowed as reeds to the imperious wind.

  All the travelers were seated at Korentyn's own table, set now upon a high dais beneath the tree; on the right of his tall chair he placed Kermorvan, beside him the lady Teris, and on the left side Elof and Ils. There was much ceremonial about the dinner, but little solemnity; the talk was soon flowing merrily enough, not least with Gise and Merau Ladan holding forth on hunting. Only Elof was silent, gazing around at the bright folk of the court, trying to imagine the burden of a thousand years of memories in his own mind; was there enough of any man to fill such a space of lifetimes? It felt almost beyond his understanding, like so much else in this place, and that irked him. He could not accept it as blindly as the others seemed to; he must keep his distance from it, study it as dispassionately as some trial piece simmering at his forgefire. Then he would judge it, not before. But his dark thoughts were interrupted by Korentyn, pouring wine for him and smiling in his wise way which disarmed all ire. "Well, sir smith? This is very old wine, will you not try it? Your new garb becomes you well. I trust it is to your measure?"

  "Very well, my lord. But if you will forgive the question, whose was it once?"

  "Ah!" chuckled Korentyn. "So you noticed that? I hope you were not offended. From what I hear of you, he would have counted it an honor to have you wear it. Now what was his name? A friend, and it escapes me, shamefully… Thyrve, that was it! Thyrve, a northerner as you are by your speech, and a man commanding a boundless craft and skill. Why, even Lord Vayde respected him, who was himself a great smith. It was Thyrve's livery."

  "Livery?" Elof had never heard of a smith wearing any formal garb save his guild's.

  "Aye! He was the king's chief smith. Did you not guess that from the pattern?" For a moment the prince's kindly vagueness fell from him, and his eyes glittered as he gazed into infinite distance. "It lives in my mind, though long it is since last I saw it. Long since Keryn gave it secretly into the hand of Ase our sister, she whom we called the Deep-Minded, to take westward and hold there for his son. Is it not the symbol of the power the smith sets in the hand of the king? Is it not the pattern on the Great Scepter of Morvan itself?"

  How that meal ended Elof never knew. He must have eaten, held converse, taken his leave in some kind of dazed trance, for it was like an awakening when he found himself alone in his bedchamber, the bronzen rod cool in his clutching fingers. In the keeping of Ase it had been; but Kerbryhaine had cast out Ase with the other northerners, who had then founded the realm of Nordeney. So what might Asenby mean, where he had had his rough raising, but the settlement of Ase? A remote place where such a treasure might be hidden, and in time even forgotten, till it found such use as a gaggle of peasants might have for an instrument of kingship and command. Small wonder the Ekwesh chieftain had kept it from the sack of Asenby; his shamans could not have failed to know it for a thing of ancient power. A greater mystery was how Elof himself could have been so blind. Yet even as he remembered with a shudder how casually he had used it to tug and prod the huge cattle about, he fe
lt the shimmer and flux within it fade and shrink to a distant gleam; he thought of it in a king's hand, and to his inner eye it burned with a warm golden flame. Startled, he let it dim once more, overwhelmed by the strangeness of his destiny. For all he knew, the sole purpose of his whole existence might be to restore this heirloom of power to hands that owned it by right. But whose hands were those? He knew one with a good claim; but now he had found another. That was too good a recipe for strife. Decisively he wrapped the scepter in its soft leathers once again. Kermorvan was his friend, he would tell him before he told Korentyn; but he would tell neither yet.

  The days of ease that followed held no more shocks for Elof. Indeed, they seemed to lessen the impact of all that had passed, making familiar what had felt so strange. Resolve as he might to keep apart from the court, he soon found it would not let him. In truth, as Roc and Ils delighted in pointing out, the fault was his own. In his way he was fair of face, and his withdrawn, thoughtful manner, together with the rank and power his new garb suggested, brought him into notice among the ladies of the court, and great demand. At every turn he was greeted with a mixture of awe and breathless interest that few men could ignore, fewer still fail to enjoy, especially as young as he. Nonetheless it made him impatient; somewhere was Kara, and all the fair of Lys Arvalen could not for a moment take her place. Their attentions he enjoyed, but he found the courtly company and manners exhausting, suffocating, as rich and heavy as the garments and the hangings on the walls, and as dulled with age. Even Korentyn's unfailing kindness and courtesy began to seem bland, almost sickly. Worse, Kermorvan, who greatly revered him, was taking on the same airs, and losing or curbing those flashes of spirit, even arrogance, which had seemed so much part of him.

  "Ach, it's not so bad," protested Roc. "Might be this lass Teris that's taming him, and who's to blame him for that? You've just got a morning head on you, or it's stale you're getting."

  "Stale?" laughed Elof bitterly, ducking his head beneath the chill spring waters to clear it. "Worse than that! That feeling is with me still, that my past is slipping away beneath these trees! As if there's always been Forest, nothing but Forest, no place, no time beyond the shadow of these boughs that weigh upon my soul. And it grows worse! Even my craft fades, all the mystery and the scholarship. Small wonder, perhaps; among this world of things that grow, the arts that dwell in metal are scant service! What can I shape or smelt there, cast or hammer?"

  "Well, find yourself something else to do! Go hunting, like Gise; he's off already with that great lout Merau. Tomorrow I'm going myself, with Ils and the other lads, all save Arvhes and Tenvar who won't be budged from the court. Why not tag along?"

  "Hunting? What else have I done since I came here? Fisher, forester, hunter, gatherer, till my mind rots like the leaf mold!"

  Roc rolled on his back and kicked up water. "You've turned fisher and gatherer before, have you not, upon the Marshlands? You almost liked the life!"

  "Aye, but there I had my smithy to balance them, and a useful service to do. Here I've nothing."

  "You've your tools, and mine; you could tinker up something. What you need's a spot of hard work! Sweat all this holidaying out of your bones with some good honest craft."

  "Work?" sighed Elof. "What meaning has labor here? And what place for it? How could I begin it without furnace, forge or library?"

  Those may be found.

  Elof twisted round sharply in the water. It was a voice clear and unhuman as before, but of a wholly different timbre. And it had not come from any of the trees around the pool, but from the rocky source of the spring itself. "What is it?" barked Roc. "What d'you hear?"

  "The spring! The falling water…"

  What you need, you may have. Did I not say that in my realm men may live wholly as they wish? You have only to ask, and your needs shall be met. There are metals enough in these mountains, and the hall has many ancient books of lore. Some will treat of your craft; smiths have labored in Tapiau'la ere now. Build your forge where you will. May your work bring you peace of mind.

  "I heard something," muttered Roc. "A ringing… almost like a song… water in my ears, maybe!" He shook his head to clear them.

  "No," said Elof, swimming up to the base of the little fall, and listening to the water hammering upon the stone. He felt suddenly alive and excited, his mind flooding with thoughts of what precious books a smith of old might have carried with him as he fled. And below them stirred the germs of a venture deep and perilous. "Tapiau spoke. He suggested, as you did, that I can try my craft here; I may, indeed. He has many voices, as he said. But how many eyes, I wonder, and ears?" To that the waters made no answer. Yet in the weeks that followed he was to hear the voice of the Forest again.

  It was a time in which he grew increasingly alone. Roc went off on his hunt, and with him Bure, Borhi and even Ils; Arvhes and Tenvar seemed happy to lose themselves in courtly pleasures. Kermorvan was with Korentyn, plying him with questions about Morvan and other ancient lore, or with Teris; how serious that attachment was Elof could not guess. But though Elof could have found company enough in the court, he shunned it. An idea had been set in his mind, a spark lit that would not go out; his craft would not leave him be. He had found his purpose, and till he achieved it he could not rest.

  Korentyn gladly gave him leave to search through all the castle's store of books, but at first his search seemed likely to be fruitless. It was chiefly chronicles and romances of old that had been well tended, and in some cases recopied; fascinating as he found many of these, they were distractions he had no need of. Books on almost any skill or craft he found dirty, neglected, in some cases even crumbling to fragments, as leaves to mold upon the forest floor. But he cleaned and patched what he could with fine cloth or parchment scraps pared thin, and drew rich rewards. There were a few elementary books, but his capacious memory already held all they could offer. It was lost works he hoped for, texts as rare and arcane as those upon which the Mastersmith had mounted his most deadly guard. Elof was not disappointed. From beneath a disorderly pile of histories he recovered one full scroll of the Ircas Elyn, an exhaustive treatise on symbols the Mastersmith had known of, but could never find. He had not dared hope for the Skolnhere-Book, yet he found an excellent copy on fabric, with many interesting marginalia, lying forgotten atop dust-lined shelves. The rarest work of all he found was the minor but fascinating Daybook of Ambrys, an accomplished armorer of Morvannec a century or so before Korentyn's day; smiths valued it chiefly for its brief quotations from even more obscure tracts, and its illustrations, so finely drawn they were a copyist's nightmare, for they could not be copied with blocks. It was one of these that caught his eye, and set an idea danc-

  ing in his mind. But it danced with doubt and fear, and a chill of revulsion at the cruelty he could not now avoid.

  Nevertheless, that same day he went to Korentyn and sought leave to build a forge. To lessen the risk of fire, it would be made all of stone, and well beyond the castle walls, in a clearing by a stream on the slopes above. As he had expected, leave was given gladly, and more; Al-mayn remembered that some equipment still remained from an old smithy, and Korentyn called upon the strongest among the alfar to labor for him. Under Elof s direction, in the weeks that followed, they willingly stripped a wide square of the clearing floor to the bedrock, while others hauled down great chunks of granite, raw and iridescent, hewn from the mountainflanks above. The walls they raised were crude, but thick and strong, fit to bear the single great slab he set across them as a roof, like some monument of old; he would have no wooden beams, he said, lest they scorch. The slatted shutters he made of slate for the same reason, hinged upon pins of iron he hammered out on a riverside rock. He hung more slate upon an iron frame to make a door, and stacked outside it the firewood the Guardians brought him. His high hearth was built of dry stone, and around it were set a quenching-tank of pitched slate, and stone slabs and benches to work at. Last of all, dragged up the slopes by a crowd of laughing alfar, came
what he had salvaged from the old smithy: a bellows engine, much restored and given new leathers, and a great anvil of a shape strange to him. Ancient and rust-cloaked it was, yet when he smote it with his hammer it rang true, sharp and defiant against the Forest's infinite whisper.

  With these they brought such tools, clamps and vises as were still usable, and also the store he had found there, a very hoard of metals and gems in all stages of working, many rare and precious. They told him cheerfully that the mountains held as much more of such toys as he could desire; if he would sooner hunt dull stones than quick beasts they would gladly take him. With that, laughing, they took their leave, not lingering for his thanks, leaping with startling strength for the pine boughs overhead. Elof looked after them, and nodded to himself, thoughtfully; such a hunt among the mountains might serve many ends.