Drink
Drink in the flame as you drank up sunlight!
Blossom and leaf in the furnace springtide!
Dance with stone in drunken frenzy!
Crack its bones in hot embracing!
Crush the veins and spill the heartsblood!
Drink! Burn and he born together!
Flow!
Free as you flowed in the world’s bright birthpangs!
Run as you ran before earth’s blood hardened!
Shining river, winter’s ending!
Ice is melting banks are bursting!
Feed the trees in brilliant blossom!
Flow! Burn and be born together!
Share the same ordeal
Shatter in the fire!
Shriven and cleansed in the furnace–
Be reborn as Steel!
All of a sudden he stopped, gestured sharply. Gille and Olvar downed their torches into the extreme ends of the trench. Small flames caught in the kindling, crackled and grew a little, sending up thin threads of steamy smoke. The fuel was too damp, too fresh; it would take time to catch. A little sigh of sympathetic disappointment went up from the watchers. But Kunrad stood, back bent and blade-tense, listening and looking out across the lake. The trees on the slope opposite bowed their heads as if they heard him, and across the wide waters lines of grey ripples arose and grew long, like the wake of a ship invisible. The first fingers of the gust riffled his hair, and with a shout to the men below he sprang down, straight on to the top of that mass of caged fire, and plunged down the torch like a spear into the back of some great beast.
At his shout the team crouching below hurled themselves into the channel and with frenzied speed tore away the stones and wadding they had so carefully set there. Then they sprang back as another voice spoke, loud and urgent. The rising lake wind rushed among the watchers and broke like a wave against the wall.
Into the centre slot it blew deep, and sang a whining, wheezing song in the vent; over the wall it flowed, and drew the air along, up and through from the vent below. Where Kunrad’s torch broke the layer, flame fountained manhigh, with an eerie howl, as if to devour the summoner. But Kunrad was already away, stabbing down with the torch, springing aside from the spray of smoky flame that spewed up as he shouted for the next channel to be opened. The wind plucked at the flames, and flattened them; but as it roared through the channels beneath, the newly opened vents, they straightened and spread, and others rose to join them like a field of deadly flowers, fiercer and faster than the torches could ever have lit. Many, perhaps, of the onlookers understood that this was the first fire, left smouldering among the charcoal far below until fed anew by the channeled force of the wind. Yet still it seemed like magic, and so it was told in their tales a thousand years on.
Another note, a deeper one, sang in the wall; another joined its voice in eerie thrumming harmony with the first, and another, as Kunrad opened the breath of fire all along the trench, still chanting, skipping and stamping between the flames as a child might among rain-puddles. His soaking clothes were steaming now, and the sweat on his cheeks glittered in the malign glare of the fire-spouts. His voice joined in the weird harmonies of the rising wind as it both sang in the vents and skipped and dipped over the rim. The angle of its coming he had had no time to observe and calculate properly, but the eerie music that shivered through the trench told him how well he had guessed. A trail of fire whined at his heels, but he was almost at the end now. Olvar followed his master along the rear wall; at no small risk to himself, for this was the lee edge, and the flames roared over his head. A wet rag shielded his streaming copper cheeks, an arm his eyes from the blazing air and stinging sparks. Beyond the blaze Gille watched them both, tense and scared, ready to spring but never moving. The whole huge trench hummed and roared with the dual breath of the wind and Kunrad was above the last wide vent, truly dancing to the whistling song now, whirling and yelling like a man possessed. Suddenly the onlookers screamed in horror. The men below, poised on the edge of panic, moved one whit too fast and tore the channel clear. Even as his torch touched it the red worm’s tongue darted out and licked across his sleeve, as if to drag him down. His shirt blazed. With main strength he tore it bodily off his back. It fluttered away in the updraught like some agonised bat and crackled to flying ash in an instant.
The furnace sang a deep dragon chorus. The hillside shuddered to the music. Kunrad hurled himself onward, but the surface gave beneath him at the edge. He landed, swaying, as the flame boiled up. Gille sprang, right across the flame-breath at the angle of the trench; Olvar reached out. His shirt smoked; Gille yelled as a spark caught his face. But their hands closed on Kunrad’s, and together they fell forward off the wall’s end and on to the muddied slope below. Men emptied the water-butts bodily over them as they rolled, and their clothes spat steam. There was a unison sigh from the watchers.
After a moment Kunrad sat up, sought to speak and fell coughing. They gave him water, and he sighed harshly. Gille, dabbing his cheek, gave him a lopsided grin. ‘What’s so funny?’ growled Kunrad. ‘Have I no eyebrows left?’
‘They’re untouched, Mastersmith. But you stood in sore need of a shave before. Not now!’
Kunrad slumped forward. ‘I could not believe the fire could grow so swiftly as the old accounts suggested. I should have paid better heed. I might never have shaved again.’
‘Hear it!’ croaked Olvar, exulting. ‘The furnace-song!’
Kunrad rose to his feet in the twilight, his clothes half flayed from him, his skin glistening with the water; and some of the watchers gave a great wail. Many fled, careering down the paths to the castle; and even the overseers gave back in great shock. At his back the trench that was now a raging furnace roared in animal contempt at their terror, and darted insolent claws at the man who had dared to summon up its power. Smoke billowed up from the hilltop, so high that the newly fallen sun shone on it like a scarlet banner.
Under the fire-music Kunrad heard the crackle and spit of the ore. He knelt down as near the furnace as he dared to go, feeling as much as hearing the heat and thunder in the earth.
‘Enjoy your rage!’ he whispered. ‘Spill me my earth’s blood, press me out the wine of smiths! I have fed you almost to the limits of my own life. Now you must pour me out life in return!’
CHAPTER TEN
Ice and Steel
A HAND TOUCHED HIS shoulder, startlingly cool, and recoiled with a gasp at the raw patches of skin.
‘Are you all right?’ Alais breathed. ‘You’re all burned … Will it work as you wish?’
‘I’m well enough,’ said Kunrad, almost dreamily. ‘And I’ve done all I can, for now.’ She helped him to his feet, and he winced at her touch. ‘They’re not real burns, the most of them. They do smart, though. I could go down to the lake.’
‘Fine idea. I brought some salves and bandages. And your clothes. Lean on me.’
‘I’m sorry I weigh so heavy on you,’ he said, as they made their slow way downwards.
‘You do not. Not really, for such a great lump! As if you’ve been burning yourself up.’
‘Maybe I have. I feel as if I could just cast myself on the lake and drift away.’
When they came to the shore he clambered slowly down to an overhanging rock and dabbled his scorched feet awhile before lowering himself painfully in, gasping at the shock of the cool water. After a little while he rolled over on his back in the shallows, floating gently, and was startled to see how beautiful his handiwork looked, and how eerie. About the hilltop lay a high crown of blazing gold, and above it a veil of shimmering air in which the very stars seemed to dance. The strange tuned roar thundered like a great organ across the night. It was an awesome sight, one it seemed impossible he could have created.
‘All I sought was to build the best furnace I could with what was at hand,’ he mused, as he sat on the rock, letting the cool night wind dry him.
‘You did that, and more,’ said Alais. He felt her lon
g clever fingers slide the salve across his burned arm, and sighed as the stinging lessened. ‘You’ve made an emblem of power.’
‘I didn’t make it. Your people’s backs and limbs, they did the making.’
But your mind shaped it, your will drove them. You have wrought an amazing thing, Kunrad. You are an amazing man.’
He looked away, across the waters to where the castle brooded, with the hill-fire dancing along its white walls. ‘Am I, princess? I don’t feel it. Strange to see those towers, and think that only a few weeks past I lay a fettered prisoner beneath, with none but my poor lads to think of me.’
‘Not so!’ she said softly, and then, teasingly, ‘Merthian was, you may be sure! And the corsairs!’
‘I meant, with concern,’ he chuckled. ‘Nobody else at all?’
She tossed her hair back, and flicked a spot of salve on to his nose. ‘Not I! For there I was, thinking you’d settled your bill with my dear betrothed and gone jogging away happily back to your Northlands! And what did I care? I had my world secure about me. That’s what I kept telling myself. If I thought of you, I grew annoyed.’
‘And then I came dripping in your window and turned it all upside down!’ he chuckled.
‘Yes. You stand in my debt. With a stiff rate of use!’
He winced as she wound the bandage round his shoulder and bound it tight. ‘There! At least your mail shouldn’t chafe. You’d better get dressed swiftly, so you don’t get a chill.’ But her fingers lingered on his bare skin. He reached an arm around to draw her in, but let it fall.
‘Princess, princess. I must go back to the furnace. It needs watching, and careful feeding. There is a substance in the charring of wood that stiffens iron into steel. It makes the metal more springy and better able to hold an edge, but if there is too much it turns brittle. In this fashion of furnace it forms in odd ways. I must go test the balance, add some other metals – and soon there will be slag to run off, waste and debris.’
‘So difficult,’ she sighed, drawing the arm back about her waist. ‘I hoped you could simply rest and let it burn.’
‘No, princess. And after that, of course, comes casting, shaping, forging – though there your local smiths can lend a hand. Till then, the steel cannot serve us. A week, at the least. Two—’ He laughed. They both knew how likely that was. ‘Ah, then we might achieve some real miracles for men to sing of. This above is only a beginning.’
‘But a bright one.’
Later, when they had eaten and rested, they sent the prentices for a swim, and sat themselves down to watch the flames. The greedy song of the vents had sunk to a low roaring hum, changing pitch only as the wind veered or flawed a little. Kunrad found it strangely soothing, and let his mind ease in its courses. The first indications were good. The flames were a fine colour, the coals burned steady, more fuel had been heaped in and the first tricklings of slag were being leached out along the channels below the vents.
‘Past midnight now. Not long till dawn,’ remarked Alais sleepily, leaning on his shoulder, where he had folded his cloak to prevent the mailrings digging into her face.
‘No. And we should have our first spillings of metal soon. And then … just give me that week …’
They nodded together, half into sleep, as the stars rolled across the sky above, and the River sank slowly from its height towards the horizon. It had fallen only a little way, though, when the new sound jolted them awake and to their feet, jarred and frightened; and Kunrad knew his wish was not to be.
It was the voice of trumpets, sounding from the hills about the lake. Shrill and swift, across the dark waters they rang, from the watchers set there; and they were echoed and answered in the towers.
‘The alarum!’ Alais spoke almost in a whisper. Instinctively they were clutching hands, like children before some mystery or danger. ‘But the scouts …’
Red beacon-flames kindled, and mirrors flashed with their greedy light, spelling messages the watchers could not read.
‘Overrun, maybe. Or simply overtaken. It could happen, in that awful country!’ Kunrad cursed. ‘Or they may only have fallen back to the watchposts. That would give us a little longer!’ He cast an anguished glance back at the furnace. ‘But how long?’
The girl pointed, wordlessly. Lights were awakening in the castle, and against the black waters of the lake the bridge was beginning to swing outward. Already there seemed to be movement in the gate. More trumpets sounded, and the shadowy cluster of men came pouring out across the bridge.
‘What’s happening?’ demanded Gille, running up to their side. Olvar followed, cursing as his ill-adjusted mail-shirt pinched him. Every man on the hill was awake, and fearful voices surrounded them. ‘They’re not running away?’
‘No,’ said Alais, her voice shaking. ‘They’re marching in order. That’s the advance guard.’
They looked at one another. A counsel of desperation, Kermorvan had called it.
‘Must be damn close!’ whispered Olvar. ‘What do we do?’
‘Wait!’ said Kunrad. ‘Until we know!’
Before long they heard hooves on the hill, and saw the shadows of riders toiling up the long path; almost every horseman they had, it appeared. As their leader crested the hill’s brow his silhouette against the greyly gleaming water was unmistakable.
‘Well, the dung’s flying good and proper!’ was Lord Kermorvan’s wheezy greeting, as he swung from his saddle. ‘And your home-made firemountain here? Any yield?’
‘All we would have needed!’ said Kunrad bitterly. ‘But not soon enough!’
‘Ah well. Always in the fall of the dice, eh? You did your level best. Now we’ll have to do as much. That’s why I’m up here!’
‘How long have we got?’ demanded Alais.
Kermorvan tugged at his moustaches. ‘There’s the sticking point. Scouts, such of ’em as got away, say there’s a big force coming upriver, as you’d expect. Could be landing in a day or two. But there’s something else, a vanguard maybe that was landed early and’s been moving overland from the south, fast. That’s what got the scouts, them that didn’t run fast enough. But how large, how swift, that’s hard to say. We just know they’re coming hard. Could be the whole force, even, and the river just a feint.’
‘But why?’
‘Surprise, most likely. Save a long siege; they must know that’s dangerous for them. But it could be a worse purpose. The scouts – well, the messages are garbled, but they say there’s men and something more than men. Something fell, they say, something cold.’
Kunrad and Alais exchanged glances. ‘Her! The Ice-witch!’ exclaimed Alais. ‘It has to be!’
Kermorvan nodded, watching his foot soldiers march out along the shore below. ‘That’s what I thought, too. Dunno what the bitch expects she’ll do to a castle, though!’
‘Her arts are Winter’s,’ said Kunrad, ‘if the legends are true. Winter freezes water and cracks stone. One such as her might; they say some are more powerful than others. But Winter also chills men’s hearts.’ He shivered suddenly in his mail, and remembered the careful padding and venting he had designed to keep his own armour at a stable warmth. He cast a quick look at the furnace in which he had sunk his hopes. ‘The River roll them off to Hella! Do we have a few hours more, at least? We could bleed off what metal there is, and work it in the castle!’
‘Can’t promise you a thing, lad! The scouts that got away were the ones that didn’t linger around to count.’
‘Then we’ll try it! Better that than see it all to waste! Hoi, Gille, Olvar! All you men’ His voice echoed across the hill. ‘Every man jack who’s still up here! Up to the wall and the vents! We’ll tap her as she stands!’
Men ran this way and that in shouting confusion, jostling among the legs of the horsemen as they sought to watch the approaches. ‘Quiet!’ bellowed Kermorvan. ‘Quiet! Or I’ll have your heads! Silently, sod you, how’d you expect us to keep watch?’
Everyone froze momentarily at his furious voice;
and in the unnatural moment of silence that followed the night seemed to pulse and throb like a driven heart. Then Kunrad realised it was more than the blood in his own ears. There really was a sound, soft, thudding, unrelenting. Riding the wind, it echoed off the hills; it pulsed across the lake. The night was alive with drums.
‘Well,’ said Kermorvan quietly. ‘That’s it. They’re here. Ferlias! From the south, there, if I mistake not?’
‘Cut around and come up between the hills,’ said Ferlias grimly. ‘And that’d make it the main force, most likely, and the ships a feint. As we suspected.’
‘So be it! Fat’s in the flame. Order the guard deployed around the base of the hill here, and along the shore. Stall the outlaw swine as far from the castle as we can! Now, let me see – archers. Send me up every one you can spare from the battlements, every second man, say? And then get you within and captain the castle against our retreat, understood?’ He turned to his daughter and Kunrad. ‘And best you go with him!’
Alais glared at him in the furnace light. ‘Why should I, and not you? Do you tell me there’s no hope in what you’re planning?’
‘I’ the long view, damned little,’ admitted the old man quietly. He rubbed her shoulders awkwardly. ‘Castle’s our best hope, but only if we can stop them sweeping over it. It’s worth the try. My lads down there, they may be more than half of ’em peasants, but they’re game! And the corsairs may be better armed, but they’ll not have the discipline; it’s not in their nature. If they’re coming by straitened paths and along the shore, they’ll be strung out and straggling a long way back. I can hold the lads together long enough to break the first assault, I’m sure. That may count for much, if it stops ’em dead.’ He raked down his hair, as the chill wind whipped at it. ‘And at worst we’ll leave such scars upon ’em as will give the Southlands a better chance when the time comes! But there’s little more you can do, my lass, you or the Mastersmith. And if I should happen not to return, well, Ferlias may need some leadership there within.’
The Castle of the Winds Page 36
