It rained and rained through the ruined city of Ironfall.
A hundred years ago this had been the capital of the steel making industry in the kingdom - forges that never slept, and smiths that never rested. It was black ash and charred debris, deserted houses, and corroded metal protruding out of the ground like on broken bones.
One man was going little by little across the ruins, his boots making a splash in puddles of mud.
This was Kael
Not a scalp-looking chap himself--broad-shouldered, and scarred down the arms, and with a month-old growth of hair. He bore the stamp of one of those unsuccessful military men who have been thrown out after getting rid of kings.
His stomach rumbled and he drew his shredded cloak about him harder than ever wythinwiki shifting to shipping In two days he had not eaten.
The purpose of Kael however was not food. He was here, of a memory.
A forge.
The illustrious forge of his grand-father.
He swung down a little alley in which weeds had even grown up between cobblestones By the edge, stouped where the roof caved in, And the chimney crackd, was a smithy. A blurred sign still waved in the breeze, with letters so indistinct that it is not easy to be sure as to what it said:
Thane's Forge.
As Kael stood before the doorway he gazed most intently at it.
As a boy he had not been here. His grandfather had been a hardheaded man with his mumbling ways and his talk of forging with soul and of a craftsmanship that will last longer than an empire lasts. At that time Kael had believed that he was just an old man who was stuck in the past and was grumpy.
But the memory of that forge came after the war… and the memories of armies crumbling and of kingdoms falling could not undo it.
He forced open the stinking door
within it the smell was of dust, rust, old ashes. Tools and workbenches were smashed. The big anvil was there still in the center, and it was split down the middle.
On the far wall there was the forge itself, all black and cold and chipped with bricks and with the open mouth of iron like an open dead beast.
Kael moved up and swept ash away with his hand.
At one moment he even nearly laughed at himself. What did he anticipate? That the forge would burn itself to produce food and a power?
But this he noticed was something strange
Inside the forge, amid the ash, there was burning something.
The one-ember trick
Kael frowned. His fingers touched the soot and he cleared away a little to discover a small piece of coal that glowed orange faintly.
Impossible. No flame could last years, not to say decades. But… this ember was alive. Nobly alive....
He struck it up.
The world blowing up.
Fire crawled up his sides and around him, and he felt its hot lick upon his skin. To scream was impossible, but he endeavoured. The blaze was not burning him--it was pouring into him, as into his blood drains, red liquid metal.
Projected images darted against his mind.
An anvil over which a hammer is beating, the heavens rumbling with each stroke.
A sword Parting mountains.
A head that kings sent on their knees.
A place where one fused creation in the flame of creation.
At the conclusion of the visions, Kael fell on his knees choking. Then his entire body shook.
Pumping had ceased to be non-productive.
Hottest flame of fire consumed its mouth-- a steady burning, but colder than cold. It was humming, like it had life itself, like it had been waiting on him.
A growling voice boomed in his mind.
Blood of Thane, he is back again.
Kael froze. his eyes darted about, but no one was at the forge.
Now the voice was in the flame itself.
I the Life Work of Fire I made the weapons of demons and gods. My final master was your grandfather skin wenky Now," you are."
Kael was beating his heart. His grandfather? Telling him that the forge was special had always been something his old man had said, but Kael had never believed him.
His throat contracted. You mean that you-want me to forge?
The flame throbbed
"Yes. I hunger. Give me steel and I will show you strength. Give me blood And I shall give you wonders."
Kael dried up.
This was crazy a speaking forge? A torch to require steel and blood?
And yet… this is what he wanted.
He felt hunger, he was helpless, he was neglected by the world. The war had masticated him and spat him out. This was a time when the kingdoms did not mind about such a veteran as he was.
But this forge is one that might make all the difference.
His hand closed into a fist
It is so, Master Sean Dubh, replied Sean to his master, it is so. Come, 2010 comet-that-but-left-no-trace-what-can-you-see.
He went through the destroyed work-shop and got a half-shattered sword, which lay amongst some rubble. Its edge was nicked and its handle fractured, but it was steel.
He drove it to the forge and threw it into the fire.
The fire sprang into flame. Immediately it melted; it burned a red-hot color. Fire was blazing out of the orc, leaving twisting runes of smoke in its wake which Kael could not decipher.
It was whispered in his mind by the forge.
"Hammer. Shape it. Shapen it, and I will give it life."
Kael hesitated. And he was not a smith. Just a soldier who knew how to swing a blade not make one.
However, his hands were moving regardless of the collapse of the topic given: The forge moved like a guide.
He grabbed the old hammer on the bench. It was rusted, yet in his hands, it fit.
He hit the molten metal.
Clang.
The explosions reverberated against the remains as thunder.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
And with every blow he felt like being filled with fire. The metal submitted to his hands, which re-modeled it, made it finer-shaped, more smooth.
There were hours so like minutes. Kael was feeling the burn in his arms, the beads of sweat on his brow, but still he could not stop. It was like something better than him was causing his body to make that movement which he was making it.
Last of all, he thrust the blood in the blade into the water. Steam hissed.
At lifting it, his breath caught.
The sword was flawless
The edge was steel, flashing bright like it could cut the freedom of the air. Odd runes gleamed in the blade
And then the sword woke its eyes upAnd said,--Well, you may go now, friend.
Two burning crevices of glow on the surface of the blade stared at him.
There was the voice of the steel saying, Whisper.
"Master."
Kael dropped it in surprise and the sword fell rattling on the floor.
A weapon..... alive…
Laughter flicked up in the fire of the forge.
What is first made? A sharp word with a stroke. It is small now but it will increase. †searching in as you will.
Kael looked at the forge, and back toward the sword. He trembled in his hands.
This was actual. This was authority and power.
He was not a soldier anymore. He was not a ruined man picking weeds. He had been a blacksmith who knew how to make weapons animate.
And in a world where empires, sects, and tyrants were in power… it meant that he was the most wanted man in the world, Or the most valuable.
One last time the forge whispered.
"Forge, Kael. Forge and the world will kneel.
And Kael resumed the sword in his hand.
A slow smile convulsed his face.
"Then we shall get the name of Thane remembered in the world."