A new idea grew in Walegrin's thoughts. The Prince had turned to Balustrus,metal-master, to cast the bell for Vashanka. Now he, Walegrin, would approachBalustrus to make Enlibar steel-for the Prince, perhaps, but not Vashanka. Apattern of fortune might emerge-might be stronger than the S'danzo curse. Heimagined himself with the Prince; the two of them together might make oneirresistable force.

"Did you see this bell of the metal-master's? Is it worthy?" he asked Thrusher.

"Worthy of what?" Thrusher replied, not following Walegrin's thoughts at all.

3

Dawn's first light pierced the shadows and sent the denizens of the nightscurrying. The streets of Sanctuary were almost quiet. Flocks of seabirdswheeled silently over the town, swooping suddenly as, one after another, thehouses opened their doors to jettison nightslops into the street. A cowled,burdened monk slipped out the upper window of a tavern and disappeared down astill-dark alley. The brief moment of calm magic faded; the day had begun.

The establishment ofBalustrus, metal-master, was among the first in thearmorer's quarter to come to life. A young woman opened the upper half of thefront door and struggled to raise the huge, dingy slops-ewer to her shoulder.She froze, nearly dropping the noisome thing, when a man stepped out of theshadows. He wore a monk's garb, but the cowl had fallen back to his shoulders. Awarrior's tore held his straw-blond hair over his brow.

Walegrin had had three days' rest and washed the desert from his face, but hewas still an ominous figure. The woman gave a small yelp when he took the ewerfrom her and carried it some distance before upending it. When he returned tothe doorway, the metal-master himself stood there.

"Walegrin, isn't it?"

If the young soldier was ominous, then Balus-trus was positively demonic. Hisskin was the color of mottled bronze-not brown, nor gold, nor green-nor human atall. It was wrinkled like dried fruit, but shone like metal itself. He washairless, with features that blended into the convolutions of his skin. When hesmiled, as he smiled at Walegrin, the dark eyes all but vanished.

Walegrin swallowed hard. "I've come with business for you."

"So early?" the bronze man chided. "Well, come right in. A soldier in monk'scloth is always welcome for breakfast." He hobbled back from the door.

Walegrin retrieved his sack and followed him into the shop. A single oil lampset over a counting-table cast flickering shadows on the metal-master's face. Herested a pair of iron crutches against the wall behind the table and seemed tohover there, unsupported. Walegrin's eyes adjusted to the dimmer light. He sawthe price sheets nailed to the wall and the samples of bronze, iron, tin andsteel; he saw the saddle-like perch in which the metal-master sat. But his firstimpression of the eerie place did not change and he would have left if he could.

"Tell me what you've got in your sack, and why I should care?" the metal-masterdemanded.

Forcing himself not to stare, Walegrin hoisted the sack to the table-top. "I'vefound the secret of the steel of Enlibar-"

The bronze man shook with laughter. "What secret? There's no secret to Enlibarsteel, my boy. Any fool can make Enlibar steel-if he's got Enlibar ore and Ilsigalchemy."

Walegrin untied the sack, dumping the blue-green ore onto the table. Balustrusstopped laughing. He snatched up a chunk of ore and subjected it to an analysisthat included not merely striking it with a mallet, but tasting it as well.

"Yes," the wizened metal-master crooned. "This is it. Heated and ground andtempered this will be steel! Not since the last alchemist of Ilsig sank into hisgrave has there been steel like the steel I will make."

Whatever else Balustrus was, he was at least mad. Walegrin had first heard thename in the library at Coombs, where he'd gotten the shard of Enlibrite potteryIllyra had read. Kemren, the Purple Mage, had been supposed to read theinscription and Balustrus would make the steel and both men swell in Sanctuary.Kemren had been dead when Walegrin arrived in the city, but not Balustrus.

It was said the metal-master had been mad when he first came to the city, andSanctuary had never improved anyone. He claimed he knew everything about anymetal but he made his living mending plates and recasting stolen gold.

"I have another ten sacks like this one," Walegrin explained, taking back theore. "I want swords for my men and myself. I don't have much gold; and fewerfriends, but I'll give you a quarter of my ore if you'll make the swords." Hecontinued refilling his sack.

"It will be my priviledge," the cripple agreed, touching the stones one lasttime before they disappeared. "Perhaps when you have the swords you'll tell mewhere you found this. At least you'll tell what friends you have that it was theGrey Wolf who forged their weapons."

"You've no need to know where the mine is," Walegrin said firmly, lookingdirectly at Balustrus' legs. "You couldn't go there yourself. You'd have to sendothers; you'd spread my secret around. Already too many people know." The sackthumped to the floor. "When can I have my swords?"

The metal-master shrugged. "It is not like telling a cloth-cutter to make atunic, boy. The formula is old; the ore is new. It will take time. I must meltand grind carefully; tempering is an art to itself. It could take years."

Walegrin's blue eyes came alive with anger. "It will not take years! There's warin the north. Already the Emperor has called for men to fill the legions. I willhave my swords by summer's end or I'll have your life."

"I have," the metal-master said with bitter irony, "been threatened by experts.You'll have your swords, my boy, as soon as I'm ready to give them to you."

The blond soldier had a ready reply, but withheld it as commotion rose in thestreet and someone hammered loudly on the bolted doors.

"Open up! Open up in the Prince's name! Open your doors, merchant!"

Walegrin snatched up the sack. He glanced around the room, aware for the firsttime that it offered no hiding places.

"You look as if you'd seen a ghost, boy. If you don't want to see the Prince'sman, just step behind the curtain. Take your ore with you. I'll be but a momentwith these fools."

Unable to force coherent words through his tight throat, Walegrin simply noddedand, still clutching the sack, eased behind a curtain and into a darkpassageway. He could see narrowly into the room he had left without, he prayed,being seen in return.

Balustrus struggled with the heavy bolts. He got the door open just before thePrince's man threatened to break it down. Three men immediately surged past: twohuge brutes in dirty rags and a third man in common dress.

"Balustrus? Metal-master?" the third man demanded.

The man might be dressed commonly, but he wasn't common. Once Walegrin'ssuspicions were aroused, other incongruities became obvious: clean, fresh-curledhair; sturdy boots with gold buckles; hands that had never been truly dirty.

Unreasoning fear gripped him. He did not pause to wonder why a Rankan lord, forsuch the visitor must be, would enter the metal-master's shop in such adisguise; he knew. The S'danzo curse and his false friends in Ranke had merged.By sundown he'd be just so much meat on the torturer's rack. They'd have hissecrets, his steel and, if he got lucky, his life.

"...It has cooled without a crack," Balustrus said when Walegrin had regainedenough control over his fear to listen again.

"My men will come for it this afternoon," the lord said, resting his forearms onthe table where Walegrin had spilled his sack of ore.