The Hammer of the Sun (42 page)

Only where Elof s new fortifications stood were the raids blunted, for they rarely dared afford the time to lay siege to a town so defended, and the labyrinthine barrier as it spread blocked the quick influx and escape upon which their strategies depended. When Nithaid could fall upon such a band of raiders heavily engaged against a town, or trap them between the slender garrison of the barriers and his own army, he wiped them out to a man; but otherwise he was left floundering with his heavy forces from place to place after reivers who darted in and out like fish nibbling a bait. Only by surprise and good fortune could he intercept them; and he seemed to be having less of both. In many places he left garrisons, but one might fall into undisturbed idleness, another be overwhelmed by unusually large numbers, another worn away by repeated harassment; all were equally destructive. Often he had to face minor mutinies among his levies when they heard of their homelands being pillaged while they were kept chasing some elusive threat halfway down the border. All this grew worse, and his standing, which by Elof s creations and his own fierce energy had been greatly enhanced of late, began once again to suffer. Even his own warriors grew louder in their grumbles, and more ready to remember that for all his claims to Ysmerien blood he held the throne by the right of a usurper only, and that through an Ysmerien great-grandfather his children had a better right than he. Even at his court, since he was so often absent, this came to be said openly, and less than eagerly discouraged by his sons. So Roc reported, for as often as ever he went abroad to aid in the fortifications, and Elof was left to his lone and gloomy labours.

It was from one such excursion that he returned, early in the next winter that was the seventh of Elof s thralldom, and found his friend seated at their table with a great mass of filament before him, and a strange smile on his face. He was clad as if to celebrate in some of the fine garments that Nithaid had sent them; but Roc did not fail to notice how stiffly and gingerly he rose, nor that his crutches were new and of steel, nor that the end wall of the forge had a stained and blackened cast to it, as from the passage of great heat. As Elof offered him his hand in greeting he took the arm instead, and saw Elof wince as he gripped the bandages beneath; looking closely, he saw that his friend's cheeks had a sheen to them as of new scarring, tight and papery.

"You've been doing it, haven't you, you daft
bastard?" Roc hissed, gripping harder in his anger. "Going
down there to work, and all by yourself - fired your bloody clothes, didn't you -
eh
?"

"It was the only way…" said Elof faintly, and sat down, clutching his arm. "The only way untried… The lesser the wound, the slower it is to heal, so it is with me, I think. No grave burns, but many scorches, that is all… And it is done, Roc! Done! I have burned the rock-oil with minerals to its finest form, and spun it into thin chains of matter, crystals finer than thread. Was that not worth a flaying from the fires? The filament is made anew! And with it our hopes!"

Roc shook his head resignedly. "The filaments, maybe; but all the rest? How'll you come by the materials you need? Crystals take time to grow; and where can you find enough gold for…"

"That taxed me also!" said Elof, smiling darkly once more, "But no longer. Nithaid is returned, have you heard?"

"Aye; he had me to the palace, to quiz about the state of the fortifications. He is hard-pressed, that one; he leaves the field only to tighten his grip on the heartlands, and raise more money for the campaigns. It's rumoured he plans a new minting of coinage…"

"He does," said Elof, still smiling. "But he has need of my aid with it. Last week that slime-ridden lord his treasurer came calling on me with great chests of gold, his knees knocking at the very sight of me; but still he demanded that I use my arts to so debase the stuff as to increase it by a quarter, and leave even the minters unable to tell. Wonderful, is it not, to what heights I am elevated in the hands of this king? He makes me his thrall, his murderer, and now his counterfeiter; a noble advancement, is it not?"

"Tell him you can't do it!" urged Roc, outraged. "It's no more than the truth -"

"I sent word back that I could, and would," rejoined Elof.

Roc shook his head in surprised disgust. "But man… can you do it?"

"I believe so - though that reflects less on the skills in me than the lack of them in the coiners. They would scarce notice if the gold were debased by half, so long as it took their die-stamps prettily enough."

"By half -" exploded Roc, and then he began to chuckle. "You'd better be right, my lad!"

"About the coiners?"

"About your plan! Make the best of that gold, for I fear you're going to need it! But whence comes the other stuff?"

"I sent word I needed that for the coining. The first boatload arrived this morning." Roc stared at him wide-eyed, and exploded into laughter.

"He's fostered your felon's instincts only too well, I see!"

But Elof's smile did not change, and Roc understood suddenly that it was rigid with self-disgust. "He has. And if one day it should lead me to forget that I am a mastersmith, and no common assassin, be it upon his head."

The winter that came was harder even than those before, and it was among banks of snow and bitter winds that Elof entered the eighth year of his thralldom. He scarcely noticed; he was too busy, labouring with Roc upon the king's gold, or by himself in the depths of the furnace chamber. Roc was glad to see that his burns were healing, and that he took no further such risks; he seemed to feel now that he had greater cause to keep himself as whole and ready as he could. Only at times, when he could not sleep of a night, he would go stand hip-deep in the snow that not even the rising earthfires could dispel now, and gaze long into the skies, whether clouded or frost-clear; and for that Roc hardly had the heart to rebuke him. But he saw no more wings. It seemed that Kara had vanished as mysteriously as she had appeared. Chests of gold went ashore and were received at the mint without complaint, the more so as Elof had set within the tainted gold a potency which might cloud a prying mind; the new-made blanks rang as clear and heavy as any pure gold between the dies. Upon one face, as was customary, the sign of the Sun between the Horns was set; but upon the other was shown Nithaid in his armour bestriding a dying Ekwesh warrior, for he wished the coins to embody the confidence of his realm and rule.

"And so it does!" said Elof bitterly. "For it is as false at heart! More false even that he himself suspects!" He let the coin slip through his fingers onto the table, and from there roll unregarded to the floor, and wiped one hand against the other as if to shed the taint. Then, gathering his crutches, he heaved himself upright, swung towards the door and slammed it behind him in an icy blast of air. Roc looked after him and shook his head sadly; but he did not neglect to pick up the coin and stow it carefully in an inner pocket.

Elof floundered out through the snow, climbing laboriously to the summit of the hill, drinking in deep draughts of the clean air as if to wash out the clinging taint of dishonesty. A cold north wind had scoured the sky to a dome of onyx traced with diamond, glittering and hard. The oaks looked suddenly aged, for the snow clung to their bare branches in place of missing foliage, and they drooped beneath its weight. In summer this little grove was a place of peace for him, a green shade where he could lie and be lulled by the drone of insects and the thousand shifting shadings of the broad leaves. Stark and cold now, it held little promise of peace for him; and yet it helped strangely to lean his aching head against the coolness of the gnarled bark, and know that somewhere beneath life and growth went on in hope, readying for the spring that was not far off. He had done well to spare these ancient trees.

You did well indeed.

Elof jerked back from the trunk as if it burned him, and barely kept his balance on his crutches. The voice was impossibly faint and distant, vast as a wind over infinite forests, the susurrus of unnumbered tossing treetops, and blowing like them in gusts that came and went; yet he heard each word clear in his mind, and knew who it was who spoke. "You again!"

/
indeed. I am glad you remember me. Moss and creeper invade that cunning forge you built in my realm. Dead leaves blow over the floor, gather and rot to fertile earth. Seeds swell and split among the crannies of the walls; roots slither under flagstones, small beasts tunnel beneath the cold hearth. In the spring gales the roof shall fall at last. You may wall out the forest, but you cannot keep it at bay for long
.

"What do you here, so far from that realm?" demanded Elof, seeing his breath smoke against the trunk. "If you've come only to mock me -"

/
have not come anywhere. 1 am here, as I am where stands even the smallest sapling of a tree. And I do not seek to mock you, or enchain your heart as before. As the world is now we have common cause; and I speak only to bring warning
.

Elof snorted. "Warning? What have you to warn me of, who set me such a snare?"

Heed me nonetheless! Too gravely stands the cause of life to let any enmity divide its defenders now!

"If you could bring some kind of help, I might believe you!"

You must believe me! I can give you no help; I must put forth the utmost of my strength even to speak, in this land of men that has slain its trees! I can only bear warning!

"Then… a message; could you not bear one to my own land, to Keryn Kermorvan its king? There are trees enough!"

But none to hear their voices. Few hear me, save at the edge of thought, who have not dwelt long in my

realm, or trafficked otherwise with the Powers. You have tasted the blood of the worm, that is a minor Power embodied; and you have your smithcraft, that is the gift of a power to men. Few have as much; in your Eastlands, none.

Elof caught his breath. "But you can see that land? Then do you tell me at least how my friends there fare! How stands their realm? I beg of you…" For a moment no answer came, only silence. Then in a sudden gust the great voice called again.

/
look, and it is well! Though trees are felled others are sown; the land is tended, and not laid waste. A land at peace, a land that looks to the coming years, a wise land; were all such, I would have less quarrel with your kind. I see men and duergar meet in harmony beneath the trees, and praise their lords who drew them from the west. Of the city I see little, among stone; but on the shore are stood two Watchers more. You would know their likeness. lean see no more
.

The sudden heat of tears over his cold cheeks startled him. "I thank you, Lord of Forests! It is more than enough! Of what then would you warn me?"

Of one thing more I cannot clearly see. For in the realms of the Ice less grows even than among the stones men raise. Yet something is stirring; moss and lichen feel it, and the seeds that sleep beneath the frozen ground, against the day of its withdrawing. They are my spies, and they bring me word. The Ice prepares to tip the balance at last, and this is the place appointed. Against Taounehtar I cannot stand, where trees are so few; but you who break the wills of powers upon your anvil, it may be that you can. It is laid upon you to try!

"But how? What will the Ice do? It is too far off to strike a spearhead against Kerys as against Morvan…"

It is nearer than you may think. Already Taoune's ground-ice gnaws the roots of my highland forests, and they falter. This winter will be long; but the next one will seem to have no end! Then, some time in the summerless months that must follow, the glaciers themselves will throw their weight upon the scales…

Abruptly the voice broke off, grew harsh and shrill as a stormwind.

One is here who listens! I speak no more, you know enough… reflect in care and fear!

The silence was as sudden and absolute as the slamming of some distant door.

"Wait! Who listens?" Elof whirled around wildly, searching the tree-shadows; he fought for balance and toppled into the crisp snow, his crutches clattering apart. The icy chill on his neck was so sudden it was terrifying; he felt his heart race, his breath grow shallow, so strong was the sense of presence, of being watched -closely, intently. His mind flooded with thoughts of those terrors, thin and shadowy, that stalked the outlands on just such nights as these; he had to get up, to jump up and run, and to know he could not was to live a nightmare. He fought to call for Roc, but his voice was dry in his throat; frantically he twisted about, grabbed his crutches and struggled to find a footing on the hill. But even as he somehow managed to rise he stopped, swayed as if struck, and reached out a hand not to strike, but unbelieving, to touch…

She stood there at the margin of the grove, a pale face atop a mantle of shadows, her eyes wide and gleaming. But what he read in them he could not be sure, whether it was love or hate, pity, disgust, scorn, all of these or none. She saw him in all his weakness and shame, broken, halting upon his crutches, and what she thought he could not guess. Another moment, another fraction of a heartbeat and he might have read the mystery of her gaze, fathomed the pools darker than the darkness that were her eyes so long lost to him, so dearly, so painfully remembered. But even as he reached out, her mantle became a flurry of motion; even as he cried out her name a great wind beat upon his face, a shadow passed over the moon. And when Roc, horrified, came running from the hut, he found Elof staring lost and empty-eyed at the distant skies.