The air in the smithing quarter was thick as soup, composed of smoke, sweat, and the ring of hammers. Antan seemed to have exhaled all his fury here, and the dwarves of the Ancient Hammer Commonwealth merely channeled it in the right direction. Valos stood leaning against the door frame of the main smithy, watching Thorgrim personally temper a blade for the new militia. His father would have called this a loss of face for a chieftain's heir. Valos saw in it an unprecedented investment in their collective survival.
«There it is. The real currency. Not gold, but steel and the will to forge it. And it seems we now have both.»
His reflections were interrupted by Corvus, who appeared with a long, narrow case in his hands. His usual stony mask was slightly touched by anticipation.
— From the dwarves, — he said curtly, unbuckling the straps.
From the case, he drew a sword. It was not the broad saber he was accustomed to, but a rapier. Its blade — long, faceted, and flexible, as if carved from gleaming ice — was made of the very steel the dwarves forged for themselves. But the true marvel was the hilt guard. It was an intricate, openwork weave of dark iron and shimmering mithril, resembling the outstretched wings of a bat or the intertwined roots of an ancient tree. It was not merely hand protection; it was a statement.
— Appraise it. Our new friends don't believe in half-measures. They either hand over an ingot or forge a legend.
Corvus did not answer. He took the rapier. The sword rested in his hand with an unnatural, almost unsettling lightness. He made a few test thrusts, and the blade sliced through the air with a soft, whistling sound.
***
He headed to the testing ground, an abandoned quarry on the outskirts of the city littered with piles of broken stone from old masonry. Approaching a boulder the size of a peasant's hut, Corvus paused for a second, assessing the target. Then came a single, lightning-fast strike.
There was no crash, only a pure, high-pitched sound of cutting stone. The blade entered the boulder like a hot knife through butter and emerged from the other side. A moment later, the massive stone, with a soft groan, split into two perfectly even halves.
«Holy hell,» Valos whistled inwardly. «They didn't give him a sword; they gave him a scalpel for dissecting boulders.»
But Corvus did not stop there. He tossed aside the scabbard and closed his eyes, concentrating. The air around the rapier shimmered, and it flew from his hand, hovering in mid-air. Its tip quivered and, like the beak of a hungry bird, darted toward another stone. The same pure sound of cutting rock rang out, and another boulder split in two. Corvus caught the hilt in mid-flight, and for the first time in many days, something remotely resembling satisfaction flickered across his face. «Metal kinesis. With this weapon, he can fight even unarmed.»
***
At the same time, another miracle was unfolding near the city's main wall. Balin, the stone artisan, stood with his powerful palms pressed against a pile of rubble. He spoke no incantations. He *spoke* to the stone in a language known only to him and the mountains. The ground beneath his feet trembled, and the fragments began to crawl toward him like iron filings to a magnet. Stones interlocked, layered, grew around him until, in place of the squat dwarf, a ten-foot stone giant arose with eyes like burning coals.
The colossus turned to the wall, which bore a crack from a recent earthquake. Its stone fingers, each the size of a mutton carcass, touched the damaged section. The stone of the wall came alive, flowing like honey, filling the voids and fusing the edges of the crack. As the giant's "body" was consumed by the repairs, it shrank, but did not weaken; rather, it concentrated its power. It would grow tall to patch a breach high above, then shrink to normal size to meticulously level the masonry at the base.
Valos watched this symphony of power: Corvus's flying scalpel and Balin's stone-dancing giant.
— So, Corvus? — he called out as he approached. — Satisfied with the gift?
Corvus lowered the rapier, and it once again assumed its deadly grace in his hand.
— It cuts. That is enough.
— Soon it will have something to cut, — Valos nodded toward the horizon, from which smoke plumes from burned villages were already rising. — And it's good that our walls will now hold a bit longer.
Balin, having returned to his usual form, snorted, brushing stone dust from his sleeves.
— "A bit longer"? Human, these walls will stand for a thousand years. Unless, of course, you decide to tear them down yourselves with your own foolishness.
— Alright, enough playing with toys. Time to end the morning show. Vigar sent a messenger. Again.
— He begs for aid?
— Worse, — Valos pulled a crumpled scroll from the folds of his doublet. — He demands. Demands that a "loyal vassal of the Crown" immediately advance to defend his lands before the "enemy burns his last mill to the ground." Desperation, I must say, has a distinct style.
— His army?
— Disbanded, slaughtered, or has joined the ranks of our necromancer friend. According to the latest reports, Vigar himself has locked himself in his castle with a handful of his personal guard and is praying to every known and unknown god. Our plan, strangely enough, worked. We are now the only force standing between his demise and the rest of the continent.
— And what did you reply?
— That we will, of course, advance. As soon as we finish reinforcing our walls and preparing our militia. In about a couple of days. If he lasts that long.
— They are coming here.
— Of course. Why storm the stone fortress of a mad baron when you can plunder a prosperous, well-fortified city full of supplies and refugees? — Valos cast a glance at the horizon. — Our necromancer, it seems, is not lacking in strategic thinking. He has gathered his army and is leading it straight toward us. By the most optimistic estimates, we have two days.
He turned and walked away from the wall.
— We have a meeting with an old acquaintance, Corvus. And, by the looks of it, he's coming to visit uninvited. I think it's time to prepare a proper reception. I hope your new scalpel doesn't dull on old bone.