Chapter 432: The Forge of Purpose (3)

"The mace belongs to the troll. Good choice, he knows what he wants." Dorrik said, turning the weapon in his hands. "Crushing weight, unyielding. It will never tire, and neither will he. A healer who carries a weapon of war, there is a certain poetry in that, don’t you think? He will mend what he can and break what he must."

He set the mace down and lifted the axe, running his thumb along the blade’s edge. "The dwarf gets an axe, of course. I would not insult him with anything less. It will cleave through stone and steel as though they were air. His ancestors will feel its edge from the halls of their afterlife, and they will know their bloodline has not been forgotten."

Dorrik glanced at me, "I should know some of his ancestors... stubborn old goats, they would be smiling in their graves with the thought that I finally made a weapon for a dwarf."

Like — well, like magic — a sword emerged next from the invisible flames of the forge, simple and elegant, its blade catching the light of the fire and holding it. Dorrik held it up and squinted along its length, checking for flaws that I could not see.

"The young man’s sword," he murmured. "He is angry. He is lost. But anger can be a tool, if it is sharpened properly. This blade will guide his hand until he learns to guide it himself. He will find his purpose, or he will die trying. Either way, he will not be forgotten."

A bow followed, its limbs curved and smooth, its string made of the same golden light that filled the forge. Dorrik plucked the string once, and the note it produced was pure and clear, hanging in the air like a held breath.

"The bow is for the young woman. She has the eyes of a hunter and the heart of a builder. Every arrow she looses will strike true, not because the bow is enchanted to be accurate, but because she already is. The enchantment is merely a recognition of what she already possesses."

Finally, he reached for the shadows of the Shades and the black stone of Coin. The shadows he wove into the darkness itself, shaping them into three pairs of bracers that shimmered with an inner light that soon vanished completely, leaving them looking like night given form.

"For the Shades," Dorrik said, and there was something like respect in his voice. "Their weapon is absence itself and the long cold night. Let these amplify what they already are. They will move unseen, strike unheard, and vanish before their enemies understand what has happened."

The black stone he held up to the fire, and he let the light of the flame sink into it. When he set it down, it had become a small, gleaming pendant that seemed to pulse with a rhythm of its own.

"And for the last of the Anhalim." Dorrik’s voice was softer now, almost reverent. "A memory given form. This pendant will hold the weight of her people’s history, and she will be able to draw strength from it when she needs it most. She carries a civilization in her soul. The least I can do is give her something to carry it in."

With this statement Dorrik sagged, as if he had become weakened, and I looked at him with concern, and he brushed it off with a raised hand.

"I will be fine lad, the forge did most of the work... Your own project on the other hand is going to take much more from me. These weapons are just the extensions of the warband’s soul, and they will grow with them, if used well."

He turned to look at me, and for a moment, I saw the weight of his age in his eyes. "There is something about you that my soul recognizes, even if I don’t fully understand what it is..." he sighed, and gestured to the weapons. "Take them. Give them to their wielders. And then begin your journey."

I gathered the weapons carefully, feeling the warmth of the Unending Flame still radiating from each one. They were lighter than they should have been, and they hummed with a quiet power that I could feel in my bones.

With the minor electricity running below my skin, I held these weapons in the air with a slight magnetic field, and Dorrik clicked his tongue when he noticed this trick.

Lightning has endless application, and I was just too focused on survival before to explore the mysteries of lightning, but I was rapidly catching up.

"Thank you," I said, not bothering to hide the awe inside me at such a casual display of profound magic from the Stoneborn. There had been no great signs or commotion in the heavens, but I was aware that I had just seen some of the most ingenious application of laws beyond what I had seen a Sovereign perform.

Dorrik waved a hand. "Thank me by surviving, and making sure these weapons find their purpose. And I should be thanking you... your descent woke me from my slumber, else I would still be in the heart of my mountain, waiting for the world to end... this time, I get to see something different... oh, before I forget."

He reached his hand into the flame and drew out a grey robe, trousers and underwear, before tossing them out to me.

"I have a great sense of style, but the clothes you wear are not meant for your stature."

The smile on my face was so genuine that the Stoneborn chuckled and turned towards his forge. I observed him for a moment before I nodded, and I turned to leave.

"Elric."

I paused at the threshold.

"The compass will guide you. But it will not protect you, that is why that first sword I created in my forge is yours, you can use it to defend yourself at least... just flail in the direction of the enemy, it will cut something at least. The places you must go are dangerous, and the things you must find are all extremely powerful, and they will be guarded by powers that do not wish to be disturbed. Be careful. Be clever. And when you cannot be either of those things..." He paused, and I saw the ghost inside him press against his skin one more time before settling. "...be fast. The world is ending after all."

∞

I stepped out of the mountain, and the cold air hit my face like a slap. The sky was beginning to lighten in the east, and the warband was already stirring. The whole night had gone into that forge, and the horses were already at their feet, and a sense of vitality and purpose was radiating from the camp.

The tiger, Battle, was the first to see me, so she nudged Ruggah, who rose to his feet, his single golden eye fixed on the weapons hovering beside me and casting a glow that pushed back the fading darkness.

"You have them," he gasped in astonishment.

I smiled as I walked into their midst. "I have them."

With a gesture, I lightly set the weapons down beside the fire. They glowed in the morning light, each one distinct, each one tied to the warrior it was made for. The warband gathered around, and I saw the awe in their eyes as they looked at the god-forged weapons.