"Yeah-the Necklace of Harmony!"

"You went to the temple and looked at the statue of Ils. You yourself said therewas a silver necklace on the statue. You yourself said there wasn't a rumor intown to the effect that the necklace had been touched, much less stolen. It'snot the Necklace of Harmony."

Thrusher bit his lip and looked away in thought. It was just as well that hedidn't look at his commander's face. Walegrin had been present at the moment thesmith added the bits of silver to the molten metal. He could truthfully say hedidn't believe the metal was the Necklace of Harmony, but after seeing the burstof white-hot flame he knew it was no ordinary piece of jewelry.

The whine of Balustrus' grinding wheel dominated the courtyard. The furnaces hadbeen sealed; the piles of crushed ore glittered in the sunlight. Everyoneawaited the results of the latest grinding. It seemed to Walegrin, as he turnedaway from the sound, that it was different this time. The metal shrieked like anagonized, living thing.

Thrusher gave him a sharp nudge. The courtyard had become silent and anapprentice was running toward them. It was time, the youth shouted, for Walegrinto witness the tempering of the blade.

"Luck," Thrusher added as Walegrin rose.

"Aye, luck. If it's good we can start thinking of leaving."

Balustrus was polishing the freshly ground blade when Walegrin entered the hot,dusty shed. The bronze man's tunic was filthy with sweat and dust from thegrinding wheel. His mottled skin glistened more brightly than the metal.

"She's a beauty, isn't she?" he said, giving the blade to Walegrin while hesought his crutches.

Fine, wavy lines of black alternated with thicker bands of a more silvery metal.The old Enlibrite sword he kept rolled in his mattress had no such striationsbut Balustrus said an iron core would ultimately yield a better steel; so muchcould be learned from the Rankan armorers. Walegrin thumped the flat of the newblade against his palm, wishing he knew if the metal-master were correct.

"We've done it, son!" Balustrus exaulted, grabbing the blade back. "I knew thesecret would be in that silver."

Walegrin followed him out of the shed to one of the smaller furnaces which theapprentices had already fired. The youths ran when the men approached.

"But there was no silver mentioned on the pottery fragment; and there's nosilver in ordinary steel, is there?"

The metal-master spat on a weed. "Wrigglies never did anything without a spell,lad. Spells for cooking food, spells for bedding a whore. Big spells, littlespells and special spells for steel. And this time we've got the steel spell."

"With respect-you said that last time and it shattered in the brine."

Balustrus scratched his rutted chin. "I did, didn't I? But this .feels right,boy. There's no other way to explain it. It feels different and it feels right.And it has to be the silver-that's the only different thing this time."

"Did the silver have a 'steel' spell on it?" Walegrin asked.

The metal-master thrust the blade into the glowing coals. "You're smart,Walegrin. Too bad it's too late; you could have learned-you could make your ownsteel." He spat again and the weed fell over. "No, it wasn't a steel spellnothing like that. I don't know what the Wrigglies put on that silver. The Torchbrought the necklace here right after the Prince announced the bell. I could seeit was old, but it was plain silver and not valuable. I thought he'd want it forthe inscription; silver pressed on bronze is quite elegant. But no-the Hierarchgives out that this is the Necklace of Harmony warm off Ils-no saying how hecomes to have it. He wants me to melt the silver into the bell: 'Let Ils tremblewhen Vashanka's name is called!' he says in that priest's voice of his-"

"But you didn't," Walegrin interrupted.

"Not sayin' I didn't try, boy. Put it in with the copper; put it in with thetin-the damn thing floated to the top everytime. I had a choice: I could castthe bell with the silver buried in the metal and know that the bell would crackas soon as the Torch struck it. You can imagine the omens that would bring-andwhat it'd bring to me as well. Or, I could set the silver aside and tell theTorch that everything was exactly according to his instructions."

"And you set the silver aside?" Walegrin covered his face with his hand andturned away from the both the metal-master and the furnace.

"Of course, lad. Do you think the heavens're going to open up and Vashanka stickhis head out to tell Molin Torchholder that Ils' silver isn't in the bell?"

"Stranger things have happened of late." Walegrin faced the metal-master'ssilence. "The silver should have melted in the bronze, shouldn't it?" he askedsoftly.

"Aye-and I set it aside very carefully when it didn't. I'll be glad to see thelast of it. I don't know what it is that the Torch gave me-and I'll wager hedoesn't either. But it is Wrigglie-work and it'd have to be spelled or it wouldhave melted-see? So you come asking for Enlibrite steel. You've got the ore and,all things being equal, steel is steel. But it isn't, so I know we need a spell,a spell for hardness and temper. No-one alive would know that spell, but hereI've got silver that doesn't melt with a mighty spell on it-

"And, oh, it feels right, Walegrin, it feels right. She'll take an edge likeyou've never seen."

Walegrin shrugged and looked at the metal-master again. "If you're right, howmany swords can you make?"

"With what's left of your ore and my necklace: about fifty. And as it's mysilver, lad, I'll be taking more for myself. There'll be about twenty-fivefor you and the same for me."

The blond officer shrugged again. It was no worse than he had expected. Hewatched as Balustrus wrestled the dull, red metal from the fire.

There were conflicting theories on the tempering of fighting steel. Some said asnowdrift was best for cooling the metal, others said plain water would suffice.Most agreed the ideal was the living body of a man, though in practice onlyImperial swords were made that way. Balustrus believed in water straight fromthe harbor, left in the sun until it had evaporated by half. He plunged theblade into a barrel of such brine and disappeared in the acrid steam.

The blade survived.

"Get the old sword," Balustrus urged and with a nod Walegrin sent Thrusher afterit.

They compared the blades for weight and balance, then, slowly, they tested themagainst each other. Walegrin held the old sword and Balustrus swung the new. Thefirst strokes were tentative; Walegrin scarcely felt them as he parried them.Then the metal-master grew confident; he swung the new metal with increasingforce and uncanny accuracy. Deep green sparks fell in the late afternoon light,but Walegrin found himself more concerned with the old man who suddenly nolonger seemed to need crutches. After a few frantic moments Walegrin backed outof range. Balustrus stopped, sighed and let the blade drag in the dust.

"We found it, lad," he whispered.

He sent the apprentices into Sanctuary for a keg of ale. The soldiers and theapprentices partook lavishly of it, but Balustrus did not. He continued to sitin the courtyard with the fresh-ground blade across his hidden, crippled legs.It was dark when Walegrin came out to join him.

"You are truly a master of metal," the younger man said with a smile, setting anextra mug of ale beside Balustrus.

The metal-master shook his head, declining both the ale and the compliment. "I'ma shadow of what I was," he said to himself. "So, now you have your Enlibriteswords, son. And what will you do with them?"