The big elf shook his head sadly. "I won't trouble you with all the dark deeds Sifahir performed to become one of the most powerful wizards in Faerun. It would give you a hard time sleeping at night just to think of it. Anyway, I had the misfortune of attracting Sifahir's notice. Folks said I was the best blacksmith in a hundred kingdoms-they were right, of course-and Sifahir heard about me and decided he wanted me to be his own private smith. He sent an army of magical warriors to capture me, and they proved too much even for my axe."

His leaf green eyes grew distant as he continued. "For two centuries I was imprisoned in Sifahir's tower, forced to forge weapons for him and his minions if I cared to stay alive. After the first fifty years of trying to escape, I gave up all hope. Sifahir's magic was just too strong."

A realization struck Kern. "Brookwine and Winebrook-they were imprisoned by Sifahir, too?"

Primul nodded solemnly. "They had already been there for several centuries before I was captured. Both of them were mages of great skill, and Sifahir had chained them above the gates of his tower, harnessing and draining their magical power to fuel the vile defenses that surrounded his abode."

Listle spoke up, her voice heavy with sorrow and her demeanor uncharacteristically subdued. "Sifahir twisted their magic to his own evil purposes, century after century. I don't think we can ever understand what torture that must have been for them. That they survived at all is a wonder. I think it helped that they relied on each other so much, drawing closer and closer until the distinction between their personalities blurred, and they melded almost like one being. Together, they found the strength to survive."

"But not without consequences," Primul added sadly, pouring another cup of mead. "Once they were strong, handsome elves. Now their bodies are so fragile a good wind might blow them away. And the scars on their spirits are deep.

The green elf waved a big hand, dispelling the somber atmosphere. "But that is all ancient history. Sifahir had not counted on one of his prisoners being able to walk through walls of stone. Listle was the first person ever to escape from Sifahir's tower. And her ability was such that she took the rest of us with her. For which we shall always be in her debt."

Listle stood to bow deeply. "It was my pleasure, master-smith."

Kern scratched his head, trying to absorb this tale. He had never really thought much about Listle's past. He had known she hailed from Evermeet, but that was all. Seeing her in a heroic light would take some adjustment "Listle," he ventured, "you haven't told how you were captured by this Sifahir character."

For just a moment, all the spark and humor drained out of Listle. She went utterly white. A hand unconsciously crept up to grip the ruby pendant at her throat. Primul shot her a questioning look, one golden eyebrow raised.

"It isn't important," she said stiffly.

Kern decided to let it go. Obviously she did not care to relive the painful memory. Someday, Kern vowed silently, this mage Sifahir is going to answer for what he did to Listle and her friends.

"Besides," Listle said, resuming her typically brisk air, "we have more pressing things to attend to. Or have you forgotten about the Hammer of Tyr, Kern?"

The two took turns telling the elven blacksmith their story: the riddle of the tome, the plight of the clerics, and the predicament of Phlan. When they had finished, the big elf regarded Kern thoughtfully. "A warhammer for a quest, eh? All right, young human, follow me."

Primul led them down a side passage that opened into a small chamber, lit by the ruddy glow of a furnace. The smell of hot steel hung sharply on the air, and the walls were lined with all manner of tools: pincers and vises, hammers and bellows.

The green elf's smithy.

Primul gestured to a wooden workbench. On it lay the most beautiful hammer Kern had ever seen. Iron and silver were folded together throughout the weapon in a marbled pattern. A ring of silver encircled each head. The haft was etched with fine elven runes. Kern didn't even need to pick it up to know that the hammer was perfectly weighted and balanced.

"It's beautiful," he said reverently.

"Actually," Primul countered, "it's flawed. I was trying to forge a new alloy of hard steel and enchanted silver. But the two refused to mix. I can't guarantee that, given a hard enough blow, the hammer won't shatter. Still, if it's magical foes you're fighting, you'll find no weapon with a more potent enchantment than this. It's yours…"

Kern's eyes lit up in excitement.

"… if you pass a small test," the elven smith finished, displaying pointed white teeth in a sly smile.

"A test?"

"That's right," Primul replied. "After all, I'm not going to give a hammer to just anybody who wanders into my workshop, friend of Listle or not. I have to find out if you're worthy of such a hammer. Will you agree to the test?"

"Kern," Listle warned. "You might want to hear what the test is first, before you-"

He cut her off. The warhammer was too wondrous; he simply had to have it. "I'll accept your test, Primul," he said boldly, "and I'll pass it, too."

"Kern!" Listle groaned.

"We'll see," was all Primul said.

The big elf strode to the other side of the chamber. He halted before a table bearing a huge, rune-covered axe. The weapon gleamed eerily in the crimson forge-light.

Listle shifted nervously from one foot to the other. "I could have negotiated for the hammer, you know," she hissed to Kern.

"Bargaining isn't honorable," he whispered back.

"Would-be paladin!" she snorted.

"The test is simple, human." There was a deep, rumbling mirth in the elven smith's voice. "All you have to do is pick up that axe and lop off my head."

"What?" Kern thought he had heard the elf wrong.

"I'll even kneel to make it easier," Primul added. "And I won't resist you in any way. All you have to do is swing the axe. If you're strong enough, my head should come off quite nicely."

Listle crossed her arms, regarding Primul suspiciously. "That's it? That's the test?"

"Well, there is one more part," the big blond elf confessed. "After Kern has his swing, if I'm still alive and able, I'll try the same on him. Blow for blow. That's honorable enough."

"But my blow will kill you," Kern protested.

Primul shrugged his monumental shoulders. "Then the hammer will be all yours, human." His brow furrowed in a scowl. "You're not reneging on your word of honor, are you?"

"Never!" Kern didn't much care for chopping off the head of his host, but he didn't know what else he could do. He had agreed to the test. Perhaps Primul doubted Kern was strong enough to wield the heavy hammer. Was that the point? If so, Kern would prove him wrong, with fatal results.

"Let the test begin!" Primul bellowed. He knelt before Kern, bowing his head and holding aside his long golden hair so that Kern would have a clean view of his neck.

Kern hefted the heavy battle-axe. It wasn't his usual weapon, but he handled the weighty axe with ease. Besides, how much skill did it take to cut off someone's head? He certainly knew how to chop wood. How different could it be to chop off a head?

"Kern, you can't do this!" Listle hissed in desperation.

"I don't seem to have any choice, Listle," he said reluctantly. "He's the one holding me to my word."

Listle chewed on her lip in frustration.

"Do it, human!" Primul shouted.

Kern lifted the axe above his head, its sharp edge gleaming wickedly. He took careful aim at the elf's neck and steeled his will. Tyr forgive me, he murmured inwardly. Then he tensed his shoulders and swung the axe.

It was an exquisitely honed weapon, and it passed through Primul's neck cleanly.