A circle with radiant arms, a sword at its center

A melted crown, and I upon a mountain peak,

Pulsing red with every heartbeat.

- From the stacks of Corbell library, Author unknown.

First, the kindling caught fire, and deep yellow flame billowed up the forge flue in a smoking haze. I tossed the brand in after the crackling mass, and started throwing chunks of hardwood on top of the burning sticks. turning from the flames, I signaled to one of the boys. He began pumping the bellows slowly, and the brush burned faster and hotter. As the process continued, I carefully added either kindling or block, watching through squinted eyes, feeling the glow as it built heat upon heat, pushing needles of warmth into my bare chest. All three of us were stripped to the waist against the blaze and, careful not to burn ourselves, we carried on with the slow process of awakening our furnace from its cold sleep.

After a time, a thick bed of glowing wood char covered the fire pan, and I switched to adding only the hardwood blocks. I motioned to the other lad to bring up a scuttle of hard coal, and began feeding that onto the Mephistophelean bed. Satisfied, I turned the feeding over to the lads, stepping back from the lava-like glow of the building furnace. Dwayne entered the smithy with a call to attend Chord at the tower, and to bring my blade.

I instructed the boys to keep after the fire until at least a four-inch bed was built, and left to find Chord. Harold met me at the keep door, still limping, his left leg neatly wrapped in fresh bindings. Again shame washed over me.

"I am sorry, Harold. I should have been faster to come to your aid yesterday. How's the leg?"

"Mage Chord waits in his study, first room up," said Harold. "If you hadn't done for me, I would be dead now," the words stumbled out. "The leg heals. Burlie hunting is dangerous. We don't do it for sport, boy. Enough of this. Ah, I talked to Tenaman, the salt and oil vendor in the village. He agreed to send up those barrels you were asking after. He does ask that you complete his hinge order as soon as you can."

I thanked the Seneschal, promising to complete the order, then made for Chord's study. The wooden treads creaked, their hollow groans echoed up the winding passage as I climbed. The scant light from the small windows in the outer wall provided only a weak illumination to guide my steps, but I found the correct door, knocked, and Chord bade me enter.

The mage glanced over my shoulder at the blade. "Place that thing on the table, if you would. There is something I would try."

I did as asked, seating myself beside it. The room was large and filled with clutter. Piles of scrolls and odd containers of blown glass littered the otherwise undecorated interior.

Chord produced a small pouch, and opening its drawstrings, procured a pinch of powder which, with a short incantation, he flicked at the sword. The dust glittered and sparked as it touched the blade. Chord nodded, and faced me thoughtfully. "The one who instructed you in the compounding of this blade told you nothing of it?"

"Nothing," I said.

Chord folded his hands, and leaned towards me taking a hesitant breath. His eyes wandered across the length of the sword between us. "I will tell you an old story. It is the oldest story we have of our land, a myth of our world's founding.

"There was a battle long ago for the legendary Green Lands, goes the tale, in which Nuada, god-king of the Tuatha De took the land from King Fir Bolg. Having lost an arm in the battle, Nuada the Eternal called for his mage, some say physician, Dian Cecht and his artificer, the god Credine. They replaced the missing limb with an arm of silver. Our story tells that during this, the fascinated Credine had opportunity to carefully inspect Nuada's enchanted sword. Later Credine surreptitiously copied it, for the blade could take the life from any it was drawn against.

"King Bres later replaced the great Nuada, and such oppression of the people followed that Credine stole the crown of the Green Isle, and using the sword, divided the skies and brought his household here. Intending to mark it as his for all time, Credine called down the light of the heavens and smote the crown, infusing it into the land. Some say the stolen artifact revenged itself, catching Credine in the lightning. Others, that beings called the Aos Si' corrupted his workings. Either way, Credine's essence fused with the land and the sword was destroyed. It is said only the sword could conduct the essence of its maker, as ever it could take the life of any man, and that Credine's force forever roams the Ley lines of this world, where it remains bound, and the source of all magic."

Chord stopped, glanced at the sword before me, and continued. "This is a very old myth. Yours is a very new blade. Still, it sets me to wondering again about the place of your origin. Your steel absorbed something of the Burlie's essence when you saved Harold, I am certain of it. This first band on the hilt indicates the marriage of man to steel. It is why no one but you may wield it. But see, there is a second marriage band, at the hilt end. What else bonds to it, or to you, I cannot tell. The runes on it speak of binding and release, of fire and of making--and this," he said, pointing at a figure centered on the hilt, "is a symbol for king, or crown. I had seen these when first we met, but looking into the glyphs, I have found nothing like it in my researches."

"What is that powder you sprinkled at it?"

Chord smiled. "You wouldn't want the details, but let us say Burlie dust. It evoked an interesting reaction from your weapon, yes?"

I remembered the bloom of energy I felt after the encounter and the heat crossing the dais, which intersected a Ley line, I had been told. I brushed such ghostly thoughts aside and watched Chord as he rose from the table.

"This weapon was not made to chase off highwaymen. The mage who ordered it wrought has something else in mind for it, or did until you bonded with it. You may not have seen the last of him, so keep your eyes open. I will try to determine more as I can."

Chord gazed speculatively at me, as if weighing my worth. "Tonight I will bargain for the force needed to assure the farm's crops. I want you to be present. There are things you must be conversant with as you work here now. Also I want you to dig up a barrel of clay from behind the forge, and bring it to the cave."

With this, the mage dismissed me. I left unsatisfied, feeling the weight of the forged steel that had adopted me even more acutely. What was it I had wrought?