CHAPTER TWELVE

 

 

“Ustnar! How’s the axe?”

“Fine.”

From Ustnar, that was a real compliment, probably the closest that he would ever come to a show of enthusiasm. His expression, however, remained as impassive as ever.

Barra was another dwarf, but his thick hair and bushy beard were almost white. He looked almost as wide as he was tall, his torso and limbs rippling with muscle. Despite the season, he was stripped to the waist, wearing only a kilt and sandals. He was covered in sweat and must have stepped outside to cool down.

Beyond the door against which Barra stood, Konrad glimpsed an incandescent glow and could feel searing waves of heat blasting from the furnace.

It was the day after Wolf and Litzenreich had agreed to join forces. Ustnar led Konrad through the city streets, across many of the bridges of Marienburg, and he did not say a word. Konrad had saved him from the skaven below Altdorf, but that seemed to count for nothing, certainly not for an acknowledgement. The dwarf must have believed that they were now even. He had liberated Konrad from a similar situation beneath Middenheim, although he had gone there to rescue his brother from the skaven. But Varsung was already dead, and so Ustnar and the two dwarfs with him had saved Konrad. The other dwarfs, Hjornur and Joukelm, were now also dead.

The armoury stood almost alone in a run-down area of the city, and all the nearby buildings were either boarded up or burned out. The forge itself must once have been derelict, but much of it had been mended with new planks of wood. Repairs were still in progress, and another dwarf was on the roof, replacing some broken slates. He looked young, but was probably twice Konrad’s age. There was a raven sitting on his shoulder, as if supervising the work.

“Konrad wants a sword,” said Ustnar, nodding to Konrad.

Barra said something in the dwarf tongue, speaking very rapidly. Ustnar replied with equal speed, gesturing at Konrad. Although he understood some of the language, Konrad could make nothing of their exchange, although it was evident that Barra was angry.

Barra studied Konrad for a while, then slowly nodded. “Can you pay?” he asked, in Old Worlder.

Konrad patted his pocket, and the gold crowns that Wolf had given him jingled together.

“Barra’s favourite sound.”

“A special sword,” said Ustnar.

“A good sword,” said Konrad.

“Barra only makes good swords. Everything Barra makes is the best.” He gestured to the curved bars of metal lined along a pole by the door; they were what he must have been producing that morning. “Even horseshoes.”

Having completed his task, Ustnar turned and walked away. Konrad and Barra watched him leave the courtyard.

“Barra would rather make a weapon than anything else.” He ran his hand over the row of horseshoes, clanging them against one another. “But Barra has to make a living.”

“I want—”

Barra held up his hand and Konrad became silent.

“Barra knows what you want. Barra knows better than you what you want. Barra will make what Barra wants, which is what you want.”

“But—”

Another silencing gesture, and Konrad obliged.

“What do you know about swords?”

“I know how to use them.”

“You pull your sword from its scabbard, you fight, you kill, you put your sword back in its scabbard. What else do you know?”

Konrad was silent voluntarily, and he shrugged.

“Barra knows everything about swords. Barra knows what nobody else knows. And what Barra doesn’t know, nobody else knows.”

“I know how a good sword feels,” said Konrad, holding out his right hand, imagining that he was gripping a sword hilt. It was the same with a horse, he supposed. He could handle any kind of mount, and he could soon tell which was the best sort of animal to ride, but he could not explain how he knew. There was a bond between rider and horse, just as there was a union between a swordsman and his blade.

“But Barra knows how to make a good sword, a great sword. And Barra will make one for you, aye?”

“Yes,” agreed Konrad.

Then Barra added: “If Barra thinks you’re good enough for one of Barra’s swords—”

“What?”

“Lodnar!” Barra shouted up to the dwarf on the roof. “Two swords!”

“What?” Konrad repeated. “I’m going to have to prove myself before you’ll make me a sword?”

“Aye. Ustnar brought you here, which counts for something. But you have to show you are worthy of Barra’s art.”

“And the horses who will have those nailed to their hooves,” said Konrad, gesturing to the horseshoes, “are they all worthy of your art?”

“That is Barra’s craft,” said Barra. “Blades are Barra’s art.”

Although he felt annoyed with Barra, Konrad was also amused by the idea of having to prove himself. He watched as the young dwarf climbed down the ladder. When he reached the ground, the raven flew from his shoulder and returned to the roof directly above the door. Lodnar was slimmer than Barra, his beard dark red. He went inside the armoury. Haifa minute later he returned holding two blades which he gave to Barra, who then presented one to Konrad.

It was an excellent sword, well balanced, properly weighted, with good keen edges which were parallel almost to the tip, which was as sharp at the cutting edges. Its handle was bound with soft leather, and Konrad went through a few swift manoeuvres with the blade—more for Barra’s benefit than to test the sword. The weapon was one he would have been happy to own and use in combat. He was tempted to ask for a price. There seemed no need to have a sword specially forged when this one was more than suitable.

“Very fancy,” commented Barra, once Konrad had completed his imaginary duel. “You move like a warrior, and from your scars you must have been in a few battles. But how well can you fight? Try a few passes.” He raised the sword in his right hand.

“You aren’t worried that I might kill you?”

“You kill Barra, and Barra can’t make you a sword.”

“But if I do kill you, does that mean I would have been a good enough swordsman for you to make me a blade if you were still alive?”

Barra laughed and suddenly thrust his sword at Konrad’s belly. If Konrad had not blocked the blade and turned it aside, he would have had six inches of steel in his guts. Barra could have pulled back before striking—but would he have done?

They fought, and Konrad hardly held back at all. It was more difficult fighting an opponent whose blade came at a different angle than one who was the same height. Barra was an expert swordsman, which was rare for a dwarf; axes were their chosen weapon. His technique was not very stylish, and he tended to swing the blade as if it were indeed an axe, but his anticipation and reflexes were very fast. It seemed that he was doing his best to injure Konrad, and that he did not care too much whether it was a fatal wound.

To unnerve the dwarf, Konrad suddenly switched his blade to his left hand and continued fighting. He maintained his guard and did not go on the offensive, and after half a minute resumed fighting with his right hand. He feinted to the left, drew back swiftly as Barra’s sword came chopping down at his arm, and made as if to pass his sword back to his left hand. Barra quickly moved to counter the next stroke, but then Konrad sprang forward, his blade outstretched and still in his right hand. He leaned back a moment later, and there was a red cross upon Barra’s chest, two intersecting lines of blood marking where his heart lay.

Barra stepped away, and he gazed down at the blood which mingled with his sweating flesh. He lowered his sword.

“I’m not surprised you have to make your living with horseshoes,” said Konrad. “How many customers do you kill?”

“Not many,” said Barra, and he smiled.

“But if you made Ustnar prove himself, I’m amazed that you’re still alive.”

“Sometimes Barra is surprised Barra is alive.” His smile became a grin, and he handed his blade to Lodnar. “Barra will make your sword, Konrad. But you tell no one, ever, who made your blade. Understand?” His expression had become serious once more.

Konrad nodded, realizing this must have been why Barra and Ustnar had argued: because Konrad knew who had made the dwarf’s axe. Barra was not for hire; he chose those for whom he would make his weapons.

“Give Lodnar some money” Barra turned and walked into the armoury.

Reluctantly, Konrad returned the sword, and he stuck his hand into his pocket.

“How much?”

Wolf had given him a handful of crowns, finally admitting where they had come from. It seemed that the ancient dwarf temple had not been entirely devoid of treasure. The huge lens through which light had been directed from the mountain into the depths below had been made from semi-precious stone. Although split and fragmented by Anvila’s gunpowder, it had been worth a considerable amount.

“Ten crowns,” Lodnar replied. “That’s to make sure you’re serious. Bring some more tomorrow.”

Konrad counted ten gold coins into the dwarf’s palm. Lodnar pocketed the money and then began to ascend the ladder. The raven flew down onto his shoulder as he climbed.

“Will it be ready tomorrow?” asked Konrad. Lodnar glanced down at him. “Barra was right. You don’t know much about swords.”

 

When Konrad returned early the following morning, he found Ustnar standing in the courtyard with Lodnar. Lodnar was doing all the talking. The raven was up on the roof above the door, gazing down like a living emblem. And Litzenreich was in the forge with Barra. Konrad began to sweat as soon as he stepped into the heat, but the wizard seemed as comfortable as the dwarf.

“We were discussing your sword,” said Litzenreich.

“What’s it got to do with you?” Konrad asked. If he was not allowed to tell Barra the kind of weapon he wanted, why should the sorcerer have any influence on the blade?

“If you are to be with me,” said Litzenreich, “you must have the best sword there is. We are going into Altdorf, and you cannot even begin to guess the powers possessed by those we will be up against. You will need all the help you can get. You need a special sword.”

That was what Ustnar had told Barra the previous day, and now Konrad realized exactly what “special” meant.

Warpstone…

“I’m having nothing to do with that stuff!”

“It is a little late for you to worry about that now,” Litzenreich said, “do you not think?” Not wanting Barra to overhear him, he walked out of the smithy, gesturing for Konrad to follow.

“I don’t want any more of it corrupting me,” said Konrad. “And if Wolf knew what you were doing—”

“Do not tell him.”

As far as Wolf was concerned warpstone was “evil”, and he had closed his mind to all other possibilities. Galea must have explained the origin of warpstone to him, just as she had revealed its source to Konrad. Or did she tell different stories to everyone who visited her mysterious island? Konrad had not spoken to Wolf about Galea and her revelations. It was almost as if he had absorbed her wisdom but was unable to discuss what he had learned.

“If that sword has warpstone in it,” he said, “I won’t touch it.”

“You think I want to lose what little warpstone I have?” said Litzenreich. “I have a small amount which came from those skaven on the bridge, and I am putting it to its best use. I need you, Konrad. You need a sword. Your sword needs warpstone. You must fight Chaos with Chaos, there is no other way.”

“But I am Chaos! I’m part of it. I’m so tainted by warpstone that the skaven can smell me!”

“We are all part of Chaos, and Chaos is part of us all. Warpdust in the sword will help balance your unwanted Chaotic tendencies. If you believe you are already damned, what have you to lose? But this could be your salvation.”

Konrad stared at Litzenreich, knowing that he could not be trusted, but realizing that it was a risk he must take.

“And with the warpstone,” added Litzenreich, “you will have much more chance of succeeding with your mission in Altdorf—whatever it really is.”

The wizard evidently suspected that Konrad had other reasons for venturing up the Reik than to save Emperor Karl-Franz, and Konrad wondered if Litzenreich had his own secret mission to the Imperial capital.

Was he really returning there in order to find more warpstone? He was obsessed with the substance, and Konrad well knew that the wizard would do anything to obtain more supplies. He had already been arrested in the capital, charged with treason for his work with warpstone. If discovered in the city, he would face a death sentence. No one else would willingly return under such circumstances, but warpstone fever seemed to blind Litzenreich to any danger.

Finally, Konrad nodded his agreement.

“Tell him to proceed,” said Litzenreich, and Lodnar went into the forge.

Litzenreich and Ustnar stood outside, but Konrad moved towards the door, watching as Barra and Lodnar set to work.

Barra selected a number of strips of metal from various piles within the armoury: one of bright steel, one of dark iron, one which seemed to be silver, one that could have been bronze, another with a bluish tint that Konrad did not recognize. All were approximately the same dimension.

Meanwhile, Lodnar was heating up a small metal container in the furnace. It looked like a cast into which molten gold was poured to make into ingots. Removing it from the flames, he waited until it had cooled down before adding various oils and powders, mixing them up into a paste.

Barra examined the mixture, stirring it and adding a few more drops of thick liquid. He said something to Lodnar, and Lodnar went to fetch Litzenreich.

The sorcerer followed the dwarf inside, reaching behind his beard to produce an amulet which was on a chain around his neck. It was black, in the shape of an inverted pyramid—and must have held the warpdust which Ustnar had collected from the dead skaven on High Bridge.

Litzenreich removed the chain, opened the pyramid, and sprinkled grey powder into the paste. He shook the amulet with his one hand, making sure that none of the refined warpdust remained, then thoroughly stirred the mixture. He and Barra spoke in low voices, and the dwarf picked up the first piece of metal he had selected. With a small brush, Litzenreich daubed the warpdust mixture over the surface of the steel. He did this four times, and each time another bar of metal was placed on top, so that the potion formed a layer between the five different metals. Bound together with wire, it made a bundle approximately the size of a broadsword.

Replacing his amulet, Litzenreich left the forge. He stepped past Konrad, but then stopped and glanced down.

“What is that?” he asked.

Konrad looked down at the pattern he had idly been marking in the dirt with a stick. He had drawn the coat of arms on the bow and arrows Elyssa had given him, but the mailed fist had been too difficult and he had wiped that part away with his boot.

“Two crossed arrows,” he said. “Why?”

“Two?” said Litzenreich. “Or four?”

He bent down. Where Konrad had sketched the arrow flights, Litzenreich rubbed them away and added arrow points. The two arrows now had heads at either end.

“That’s still only two,” said Konrad, puzzled.

Litzenreich used his one index finger to draw two lines across the point where the arrows intersected, one vertical, one horizontal. He added an arrowhead at each end. The pattern was like the spokes of a wheel.

“The eight arrows of Chaos,” said the sorcerer. He stood up and showed Konrad the black amulet around his neck.

And on each inverted triangular surface a tiny pattern had been etched in gold: the same pattern which Litzenreich had drawn in the dirt.

“It is a symbol avoided by all but Dark Wizards,” said Litzenreich, then he turned and walked away. Ustnar followed.

When Konrad glanced down, Litzenreich’s amendments to the pattern had vanished. All that remained was what Konrad had sketched. He scuffed the design with his boot, trying not to consider whether the elven crest really included a symbol of Chaos, and glanced in through the door of the smithy.

Barra had placed the stack of metal sideways upon the glowing coals of the furnace. While Lodnar pumped a pair of bellows, fanning the heat, he studied the end of the bundle in the hottest part of the fire. This began to change colour as its temperature increased, and the substance between the different strips started to bubble and hiss.

Konrad moved closer, watching what the dwarfs were doing. They took no notice of him. Although he was several yards from the forge, the heat was extremely intense, and after a few minutes he stripped off his outer garments.

After a few minutes more, Barra used a pair of tongs to lift the metal from the forge onto the anvil, and began pounding a heavy hammer against the glowing end of the bar with regular strokes. He kept stopping, examining his handiwork, turning the five strips, then hammering again until he was satisfied. The metal had grown darker as it cooled, and he used pincers to untwist the loop of wire lower down the bar, then lifted the bundle back into the fire. This time it was the area from which he had removed the wire that was positioned in the hottest part of the furnace. When he deemed that the metal had reached the correct temperature, he again swung it across to the anvil and began hammering once more. He repeated the process until the whole bar had received the same treatment. It was longer than it had been, and wider, and the five different strips were now welded into one solid bar.

Then Barra and Lodnar went outside to cool down, each swallowing several cups of water. Konrad followed them and wished that it was a Kislev winter.

“You don’t mind working with warpstone?” he said to Barra.

Barra roared with laughter. “Albion, where I come from, is far to the north, where the children build castles out of warpmud. There’s so much warpstone there, it’s in Barra’s blood.” His fat fingers touched the cross which Konrad had made above his heart.

“And you?” Konrad asked Lodnar.

“It’s just another job to me.”

“What about Ustnar’s axe, does that have warpstone in it?”

“That’s confidential,” said Barra. “Between Ustnar and Barra. You could try asking him.”

Konrad knew he could try, but he also knew it would be a waste of time. “To work,” said Barra. “You coming back inside?”

Wolf had made it clear that he was conducting very delicate negotiations and that it was best if he ventured amongst the pirate lords alone. Neither Ustnar nor Litzenreich were Konrad’s ideal companions, and he knew no one else in Marienburg. He could have gone for a drink in one of the city’s many taverns, and after the intensity of the heat that would probably have been the best course of action. But he had become oddly interested in what Barra and Lodnar were doing, and so he said, “Yes.”

They went back within the armoury, where Lodnar placed the tip of a strong chisel a third of the way from one end of the metal bar, and hammered most of the way through. He did the same halfway along the remaining length, then beat both of the ends over and down, so making the bar a third as long but three times as thick. More of the oily warpdust paste was daubed between the different sections, and one end was placed deep into the red-hot coals. The process of heating and hammering, hammering and heating, resumed until the bar of metal had become one solid piece fifteen layers thick.

So it continued all day, and the next, and Konrad handed over ten crowns, then ten more.

Each evening Ustnar arrived at the forge, to take the warp paste and the metal in which the raw essence of Chaos had been captured to Litzenreich for safekeeping during the hours of darkness. Litzenreich and Ustnar stayed at a different tavern each night, and Konrad wondered if the wizard hoped that the odour of warpdust would attract the skaven, and he would thus be able to obtain more of the enigmatic substance.

 

By the end of the third day there were three hundred and sixty thin layers of metal welded together. Konrad had kept count, and each had warpdust between itself and the next layer. Every patina was very thin, but because of the different colours they were all perfectly visible. Barra referred to the metal bar as a “billet,” and it was approximately the same dimensions as when it had started out as five separate strips; the size of a sword.

“Tomorrow,” said Barra, “the real work begins. Assuming that the skaven don’t steal the billet away during the night. Once you carry it, they’ll be drawn to that sword like mice to cheese!”

Barra laughed, but Konrad did not. Then he realized that it would make no difference. The ratbeasts could already smell the warpstone which flowed through his veins. His sword would attract no more attention than his tainted flesh.

“It won’t only be skaven, of course,” Barra continued. “You will have such a wonderful sword, everyone will want it! You’ll have to kill more people, more non-people, just because of your blade. But because of the blade, it will be easier for you to defeat them. You need a good sword because you have a good sword; and because you have a good sword, you need a good sword.” He laughed again.

Although he was not sure how serious Barra was, Konrad knew what the dwarf meant. Robbers were more likely to choose their victims from amongst the wealthy, or those who appeared wealthy. If Konrad carried a blade which seemed to be valuable, he would attract more attention to himself. From the preliminary work Barra had put into the blade, Konrad already knew that it would be an exceptionally fine piece of workmanship.

“In that case,” he said, “make it look like any other sword—until it is drawn. I don’t want fancy quillons or an elaborate pommel, and the scabbard will be no more than functional.”

Barra had said he would make the sword the way he wanted to, but now he nodded in agreement. It would be several more days, however, before the sword was ready for its quillons and pommel.

The days passed, and Konrad was there for every minute, every hour, watching as Barra continued with his craft, his art, whilst Lodnar assisted him as he meticulously transformed the raw metal into a perfect battle blade.

The shape of the sword slowly appeared: the bevelled edges, the gradual tapering, the angle of the point, the groove down the centre of each surface. Twice the entire blade was heated in the furnace and suddenly plunged into a deep trough of water, which hissed furiously, giving off clouds of steam. This was the tempering process, by which the metal was hardened. All the time there was more hammering, filing and grinding, with a vast array of different hammers and instruments and tools used at the various stages; and in between there was always polishing and oiling, oiling and polishing. Barra never once took a single measurement. Everything was done by eye, by touch, by years of experience, by skill, by art.

The quillons were welded in place, solid steel, dark and functional, slightly upswept. The handle was wrapped in brown suede. It gave a good grip, being absorbent enough to soak up blood and sweat, and it could easily be replaced when it became saturated. The pommel was screwed into place on the end of the tang, a simple brass ball. Quillons, handle, pommel, they were as ordinary as could be. But the blade, the blade itself…

“Unless it’s a two-hander,” explained Barra, “a sword should be balanced about three inches from the quillons. The way a blade is made affects its balance, of course, the size and cross-section, but so does the weight of the pommel. Barra believes it is always best to have a small pommel, and this should be exactly right for the sword—and for you.”

Konrad was itching to hold the weapon, but Barra kept a firm grip upon it, explaining various points of its construction.

“By hollowing out these grooves on either side, the blade becomes lighter, yet without losing any strength. All the different layers of metal make the sword far more flexible and stronger. There is warpdust in there, as you know. There is also silver.” Barra sucked in his lower lip, baring his upper teeth. “Good for vampires!” he laughed.

“Yes,” agreed Konrad, reaching out towards the polished weapon.

“And because of all the layers,” said Barra, drawing the blade away, “the edge itself is far tougher and lasts longer. Resharpening is not too difficult, you’ll find. Make sure that it’s done evenly on both sides, slowly, a few inches at a time.”

“Yes, yes.”

“Barra will give you a whetstone, at no extra charge.”

Barra gripped the sword in his right hand, holding it up, turning it, inspecting it for flaws. It glinted in the red glow from the furnace. He walked outside, and Konrad followed. There was a wagon in the courtyard, and Lodnar was holding the blinkered horse which stood between the shafts. The animal seemed very nervous. Whatever was on the back of the wagon was hidden by a huge piece of canvas. Lodnar handed Barra a key.

“You must have heard stories of swordsmiths plunging new blades into living flesh to temper the metal,” said Barra, as he went towards the rear of the wagon.

Konrad nodded, and by now he knew what was under the canvas. He could smell it.

“It doesn’t work. Barra has tried it. Heat softens a blade, and although a body might seem soft it’s full of bones which can damage the hot metal. And after all that work, who wants that? A quenching tank filled with blood, however, can be quite effective.”

He pulled the canvas from the back of the wagon to reveal a cage—and inside the cage was a beastman.

The ugly creature roared at the sudden light, and rattled the solid bars with the claws of one arm; the lower joint of its other front limb had mutated into a curved blade. Over six feet tall, with a snake-like tail, it was covered in greenish scales. There was a crest of yellow spines on its head and its face was like that of a bird, with a sharp beak and tiny black eyes. Venom dripped from its fangs, and the claws and the talons on its feet were all razor sharp.

“This thing was captured last week,” said Barra. “It got into the city through the sewers and killed three children who were playing by one of the canals. Or at least Barra hopes it killed them before it ripped them open and ate their guts.”

“Why wasn’t it destroyed when it was caught?”

“Because it’s valuable. They’re used in sporting contests, battles against others of their kind, or against a pack of dogs, perhaps even against humans. Beast baiting. Sometimes fighting mutants are bred in captivity. It’s illegal, but there’s a lot of money to be made from gambling.”

“What’s it doing here?” asked Konrad, although he was beginning to suspect.

“I bought it,” said Barra, glazing up at his growling captive. “It may be a myth about plunging a red hot blade into living flesh, but it’s a nice idea. Barra is a traditionalist, as you’ll have noticed, which is why it takes so long to make a sword—and why Barra’s swords are the best. And, although Barra says so, your blade is one of the very best. Barra makes the swords, then they are gone. That does not seem right. Barra ought to use this blade before you do, because it was Barra’s blade before yours. Barra claims the right of first blood, to sacrifice it as an offering to Barra’s own gods—the gods of Barra’s ancestors, the gods of fire, of steel, of weapons.”

He reached up to the cage and slipped the key into the lock, turned it, then quickly sprang back as the barred door burst open and the reptilian mutant leapt free. Its ravenous jaws parted and its forked tongue rippled, loudly voicing its inhuman challenge.

Before its legs even touched the ground Barra darted forward again, the gleaming blade slicing through the scales of its deformed torso. A geyser of bestial blood erupted from the wound, and only then did the monster scream. The blade was so sharp it had not felt it slide through its repulsive body.

Spurting blood and spitting venom, howling out its anger and its agony, the brute towered above Barra. With a single slice of its mutated forelimb it could have split the dwarf in twain; a blow from its lashing tail could have crushed his skull.

The sword-limb slashed, but Barra dodged aside with agility, fending off the chitinous blade with the new weapon. The beastman’s jaws snapped, its claws grabbed, its tail whipped, and Barra answered every assault with a thrust or a slice from the warpblade. He seemed to have grown in skill as a swordsman, his expertise increasing to match the magnificence of the blade which he wielded.

The mutant bellowed more loudly each time that Barra spilled more of its poisonous blood, and it grew more reckless in its assaults. But every advance was in vain, and the brute was unable to defend itself; attack was all it knew, what every primeval instinct commanded.

Roars of defiance were transformed into cries of desperation as it suffered more remorseless punishment. The beast’s movements became slower and more clumsy as it was gradually cut to pieces, screaming out its alien agony as it slowly bled to death.

The dwarf did not hack at the thing, dismembering it by sheer force, but instead he carefully dissected its living body as a butcher would divide a carcass: flaying the outer layers, eviscerating the offal, carving the flesh, stripping the bones.

And the creature would not die. It was still screeching, still twitching, even though its body was a gory mass of flesh and blood and bones, when Barra ceased his vivisection and stepped back to examine the sword. Then he advanced once again, raised the blade and brought it down fast, severing scale and sinew, breaking bones and blood vessels in the final execution. The beastman’s head rolled away, still screeching, while the body kept twitching in an ugly parody of life.

Barra leaned the sword against the wagon wheel, and the blade was greasy with fresh blood. He moved back, gazing at the weapon, then gestured towards it.

“It’s yours,” he said, and he walked away towards the armoury.

“Here,” said Lodnar, and he handed Konrad a rag in exchange for the last payment of gold crowns.

Konrad walked across the cobbles, which were sticky with gore, and he took hold of the sword hilt in his right hand. Without lifting the weapon from the ground, he knelt down and slowly wiped it clean with a single downward sweep of the rag. As he did so, he saw the blade in close detail for the first time.

It was truly magnificent.

The surface was like quicksilver, seeming to shimmer if viewed from a slightly different angle. There were ripples upon the blade, like jewels with infinitely different facets, some of them whirlpools of iridescence which became more intense as they spiralled inwards, others coruscating prisms which radiated across the whole length of the metal.

The hollow down the centre was like a valley worn away over the aeons, revealing different strata of ancient rock: a whole rainbow of colours which had been formed from the original five layers of metal.

And the tip of the blade, so sharp, and the edges, so keen, they were a colour beyond the spectrum. Far more than the sum of their original hues, they had been multiplied by the addition of fire and air, by the water to quench and the coals to burn; the elements of the world. Every constituent layer of metal could still be distinguished where the blade narrowed at its killing edges: all three hundred and sixty levels, the five component metals tripled and doubled and doubled, then tripled and doubled once again.

Finally Konrad lifted the sword, feeling its weight, sensing its balance, holding the weapon firmly in his grip.

He raised the new sword high above his head, as though triumphant victory were already his.

It was as if the warblade had always been a part of him.