“Fools all, down to the last man,” he said. “I’m sorry for them, sorry they came to such an end, but mad, too, because they wasted the opportunities Galaphile and the others gave them in forming the First Council. They lost sight of their purpose, of the reason for their being. I can’t forgive them that.”
He spit into the darkness. Smoke looked up at him and blinked, startled. Shifter never moved. Kinson looked from one to the other, wild-haired recluse and his pet moor cats, and wondered what living out here for any length of time did to your mind.
“When I left the Druids, I went to the Hadeshorn and spoke with the spirits of the dead,” Bremen went on. He sipped at his ale, the creases of his weathered face deepening with the memory.
“Galaphile himself came to me. I asked him what I might do to destroy Brona. In response, he showed to me four visions.” He described them one by one. “It is the vision of the man with the sword that brings me to you.”
Cogline’s angular face squinched down on itself like a fist. “Am I supposed to help you find this man? Am I supposed to know him?”
Bremen shook his head. His gray hair looked as fine as silk in the candlelight. “It is not the man, but the sword that requires your attention. This is a talisman that I must forge. The vision reveals that the Eilt Drain will be transformed by the forging and made part of the weapon. The weapon will be anathema to Brona. I don’t pretend to understand the particulars as yet. I only know the nature of the weapon that is needed. And I know that special care must be taken in its forging if it is to be strong enough to overcome Brona’s magic.”
“So you’ve come all the way here to ask me about it, have you?” said the other, as if the curtain had just been raised and the truth revealed.
“No one knows more about the science of metallurgy than you. The forging process must be a fusion of science and magic if it is to be successful. I have the magic—my own and that of the Eilt Druin—to incorporate into the process. But I need your knowledge of science. I need what science alone can provide—the proper mix of metals, the correct temperatures of the furnace at each melding, and the exact times of curing. What form of tempering must be used if the metal is to be strong enough to withstand whatever force is directed against it?”
Cogline dismissed the matter with a wave of his hand. “You can just stop right there. You’ve already missed the point. Magic and science do not mix. We both know that. So if you want a weapon forged of magic, then use magic. You don’t need anything from me.”
Bremen shook his head. “We have to bend the rules a bit, I’m afraid. Magic is not enough to accomplish the task. Science is needed as well. Science brought out of the old world. Brona is a creature of magic, and magic is what he has armored himself against. He does not know science, does not care about it, has no regard for it. For him, as for so many, science is dead and gone, a part of the old world. But we know differently, don’t we? Science lies dormant as magic once did. Magic is favored now, but that does not mean that science has no place. It may be necessary in the forging of this sword. If I can implement the best techniques of old world science, I have one more strength on which to rely. I need that strength. I am alone with Kinson and Mareth. Besides us, there are only two more who are allied with us, one gone east, the other west. We are all. Our magic is but a fraction of that of our enemy. How shall we prevail against the Warlock Lord and his minions without a weapon against which they cannot defend?”
Cogline sniffed. “There is no such weapon. Besides, there is nothing to say that a weapon forged of science— in whole or in part—would stand any better chance than one forged of magic. It might just as easily be true that magic is all that can prevail against magic, and that any form of science is useless.”
“I do not believe that.”
“Believe what you choose.” Cogline rubbed irritably at his hair.
A scowl twisted his thin mouth. “I left the world and its more conventional beliefs behind me a long time ago. I haven’t missed them.”
“But both will catch up with you sooner or later, just as they catch up with us all. They won’t go away or cease to be simply because you reject them.” Bremen’s eyes fixed on the other.
“Brona will come here one day, after he has finished with those of us who have not hidden away. You must know that.”
Cogline’s face hardened. “He will rue that day, I promise you!”
Bremen waited, saying nothing, not choosing to challenge the statement. Kinson glanced at Mareth. She met his gaze and held it.
He knew she was thinking the same thing he was—that Cogline’s posturing was vain and foolish, that his thinking was patently ridiculous. Yet Bremen did not choose to challenge him.
Cogline shifted uneasily on the bench. “Why do you press me so, Bremen! What is it that you expect of me? I want no part of the Druids!”
Bremen nodded, his face calm, his gaze steady. “Nor they of you. The Druids are gone. There is no part of them left to be had. There are only the two of us, Cogline, old men who have stayed alive longer than they should, conjurers of the Druid Sleep. I grow weary, but I shall not rest until I have done what I can for those who have not lived so long—the men, women, and children of the Races. These are the ones who need our help. Tell me. Should we have no part of them either?”
Cogline started to answer and stopped. Everyone sitting at the table knew what he was tempted to say and how foolish the words would sound. His jaw muscles tightened in frustration. There was indecision in his sharp eyes.
“What cost to you if you choose to help us?” Bremen pressed quietly. “If you would truly have no part of the Druids, then consider this. The Druids would not have helped in this—indeed, chose not to help when they had the chance. They were the ones who determined that their order should stay separate and apart from the politics of the Races. That choice destroyed them. Now the same choice is given to you. The same choice, Cogline—make no mistake. Isolation or involvement. Which is it to be?”
They sat silent about the table, the Druid, the once-Druid, the Tracker, and the girl, the night enfolding deep and calm about them. The big cats lay sleeping, the sound of their breathing a soft, regular whistle of air through damp nostrils. The air smelled of burning wood, food, and the forest. There was comfort and peace all about. The four were cocooned away in the heart of Darklin Reach, and if you tried hard enough, Kinson Ravenlock thought, you might imagine that nothing of the outside world could ever reach you here.
Bremen leaned forward slightly, but the distance between himself and Cogline seemed to close dramatically. “What is there to think about, my friend? You and I, we have known what the right answer is all of our lives, haven’t we?”
Cogline snorted derisively, brushed at the air in front of him, looked off into the darkness, then wheeled back irritably. “There is a metal as strong as iron, but far lighter, more flexible, and less brittle. An alloy really, a mix of metals, that was in use in the old world, conceived of the old science. Iron mostly, tempered by carbon at high temperature. A sword forged of that mix would be formidable indeed.” He looked sharply at Bremen. “But the temperatures used in the tempering are far greater than what a smith can generate in his forge. Engines are needed to generate temperatures of this magnitude, and those engines are lost to us.”
“Have you the process?” Bremen asked.
Cogline nodded and tapped his head. “Up here. I will give it to you. Anything to send you on your way and end this pointless lecturing! Still, I cannot see its use. Without a kiln or furnace hot enough...”
Kinson’s gaze wandered back to Mareth. She was staring directly at him, her dark eyes huge and shadowed beneath her helmet of short-cropped black hair, her face smooth and serene. In that instant, he thought he was on the verge of understanding her as he had been unable to do before. It was something about the way she was looking at him, in the openness of her expression, in the intensity of her gaze. But then she smiled unexpectedly, her mouth quirking at the comers, and her eyes shifted from his face to something she saw behind him.