The Door Into Fire

'Forging swords,' he said. 'I got tired of breaking old ones. At one point Hearn offered me Fandere — he thought that since the legend says that Earn forged it, it might be a little more amenable to the Power — but I just couldn't. That sword is older than the first Woodward, and I knew I would destroy it. It was just as dead to the touch as all the others. So finally I apprenticed myself to old Darg the blacksmith. You remember Darg—'

'I certainly do. The old one-eyed gent with the lovely daughter. I think you had ulterior motives.'

Herewiss laughed. 'No, not really. Meren got married a while after we relieved one another of the Responsibility. The twins will be coming to the Ward for fostering soon, since Mother left no love- children behind her. Goddess, I miss them — they're nine now: though Halwerd always reminds me that he's a quarter-hour older than Holmaern. He helps me with the forging sometimes, working the bellows. I put a forge together up in the north tower, and he watches me working the metal, and asks a thousand questions about tensile strength and temper and edge. He has a blacksmith's heart, that one, and he's going to have to be Lord of the Brightwood after me. I don't think he really approves.'

'The business with swords made of griffin-bone and ivory and such — I take it that didn't work.'

'No. What use is a sword of ivory? It seems that it has to be a working sword. Yet a real sword is an instrument of death — and to make it carry life—'

'You'll find a way.'

'I wish I had your faith in me.'

Freelorn stretched a little, discomfort and concern flickering across his face. 'Well, whatever — you'll keep trying. Where are you going now? Back home?'

'I'm heading east.'

'From here?'

'From here.'

'But Herewiss — listen, it was a brilliant idea to head this far east — even if they'd had their supplies intact, they wouldn't follow us this close to the Waste. But another fifteen miles or so will take you right up to the Stel—'

'I don't intend to stop there, Lorn. On the way down here I came by some interesting information—' Briefly he told of his encounter with the innkeeper's daughter, and what she had told him. Freelorn nodded.

'There's an Old Place like that down by Bluepeak in Arlen, just under the mountains,' he said, 'though it must not be as haunted, or whatever — the Dragons took it as a Marchward some years ago, and there are human March-warders there too. This place, though — if the Dragons won't go near it, I don't like the idea of your going there. What do you want it for, anyway?'

'There are supposed to be doors, Lorn. It could be that I could use one of them to go across into a Middle Kingdom where males have Flame, and train there. Or if there's no door that goes there already, I might be able to make one of them do it—'

'How?' Freelorn said, all skepticism. 'Worldgates are supposed to be a Flame-related manifestation, since they're partly alive, aren't they? I mean, you need wreaking to open them. When Beaneth went to Rilthor, even though it was Opening Night and a Full Moon, she still needed Fire for the Morrowfane Gate. And there's that story about the Hilarwit, and Raela Wayopener, and it's always Flame—'

Herewiss listened patiently. He had had this argument with himself more than once. 'So?'

'So! I don't think you can do it like that! You need control of Flame, and you haven't got it—'

'You could be right.'

'And-what?'

'What you're saying is true, Lorn, for as far as we know. According to the old stories, which usually have truth in them. But each instance is different. And if you're going to quote examples, well, what about Beorgan? Despite her expertise and her power and all the information she had access to, she still couldn't have had all the facts. Why else would she have bothered trying to kill the Lover's Shadow, when He was just going to come back?'

'She was driven,' Freelorn said, 'by her desire for vengeance. It blinded her.'

'Maybe. That's not the point. The point is that I have to try. There's no telling till I do. It may be that those doors are set to turn to the use of whatever mind or power comes along. And it may not. But it's a place of the Old wreaking, which was always Flame-based, and damned if I'm not going to try tapping it.'

'Herewiss, you're not seeing what you're getting into—'

'Lorn, are you scared for me?'

Freelorn, who had been warming to the prospect of a good argument, opened his mouth, shut it, and scowled at Herewiss, a dark stabbing look from beneath his bushy eyebrows. 'Yes, dammit,' he said at last.

'Then why don't you just say so.'

Freelorn made a face. 'All right. But I spent a lot of time in the Archives, and I know more about Flame and its uses from my reading than most Rodmistresses do—'

'Reading about it and having it are two different things. No, Lorn, don't start getting mad. Do you think I don't appreciate all the research you did? But theory and practice are different, and I'm not a usual case. And look at us: half an hour together, after almost a year apart, and already we're fighting.'

'Tension. I'm still nervous from two nights ago.'

'Fear. You're afraid for me.'

'Yes! You want to go poking around in some bloody pile of stones in the middle of nowhere and nothing, a place that was there since before the Dragons came, for Goddess's sake! — and which they won't go near because it's too dangerous. Damn right I'm afraid! How would you feel if our positions were reversed?'

Herewiss gave the thought its due, and did his best to put himself in Freelorn's place for a moment. 'Scared, I guess.'

'Petrified.' 'And how would you feel if our positions were reversed?'

Freelorn sighed and let his hunched-up shoulders sag. 'Scared too, I suppose.'

'Yeah. But I have to go.'

Freelorn nodded. 'You have gotten a little too big to sit on.' The sudden bittersweet memory rose up in Herewiss: the day after Herelaf died, and Herewiss drowning in a dark sea of pain and self- hatred, wanting desperately to kill himself. Trying and trying to do it, first with the sword that had killed Herelaf, then with anything that came to hand — knives, open windows. Freelorn, filled to overflowing with exasperation, fear for Herewiss, and his own pain, finally knocked Herewiss down and sat on him until the tears broke loose in both of them and they wept to exhaustion, clutching at each other.

'I have,' Herewiss said, setting the memory aside with a sigh. 'Well, then, I'm coming with.' 'Of course,' Herewiss said.

Freelorn's eyebrows went up. 'You sneaky bastard—'

Herewiss grinned. 'It was a good way to make sure you realized what you were getting into before you said yes.'

Freelorn grinned back. 'I'm still coming with you.'

'And the rest?'

'They're with me. We couldn't stop them from coming along. This is better — much better than you going alone.'

'Yes, it is.'

(And what am I, then?) Sunspark said indignantly.

(An elemental, Spark. But people need people.)

(I don't understand that. But if you say so . . .) It went back to its grazing.

'And besides,' Herewiss added, 'I can use someone else who's well- read in matters of Flame and such — you may see things about the place that I wouldn't.'

'I don't want to see any "things".'

'Lorn, please.'

'Did you talk to Segnbora?'

'Yes. Very interesting person. She should be of great help to us too. How did she happen to join up with you? She didn't mention.'

'Oh, it was in Madeil. It was how I found out that my surcoat had gone. We were in this inn, drinking quietly and minding our own business, when in come a bunch of king's guardsmen looking for me! Well, the lot of us got out of there, with the guards chasing us in five different directions. I went down a dead end, though, and the one who'd followed me cornered me there. I was pretty hard pressed, he was a lot bigger than I was, and just a little faster. And all of a sudden this shadow with a sword in its hands just melts out of the alley wall, and fft! the guy sprouts a hand's length of sword under the breastbone. It was her; she'd followed me from the inn. There she stands, and she bows a little. "King's son of Arlen," she says, "well met, but if we don't hurry out of here you're going to be neck-deep in dungeon, with King Dariw's torturer dancing on your head." It seemed a good point.'