“Not sayin’ I didn’t try, boy. Put it in with the copper; put it in with the
tin-the damn thing floated to the top everytime. I had a choice: I could cast
the bell with the silver buried in the metal and know that the bell would crack
as soon as the Torch struck it. You can imagine the omens that would bring-and
what it’d bring to me as well. Or, I could set the silver aside and tell the
Torch that everything was exactly according to his instructions.”
“And you set the silver aside?” Walegrin covered his face with his hand and
turned away from the both the metal-master and the furnace.
“Of course, lad. Do you think the heavens’re going to open up and Vashanka stick
his head out to tell Molin Torchholder that Ils’ silver isn’t in the bell?”
“Stranger things have happened of late.” Walegrin faced the metal-master’s
silence. “The silver should have melted in the bronze, shouldn’t it?” he asked
softly.
“Aye-and I set it aside very carefully when it didn’t. I’ll be glad to see the
last of it. I don’t know what it is that the Torch gave me-and I’ll wager he
doesn’t either. But it is Wrigglie-work and it’d have to be spelled or it would
have melted-see? So you come asking for Enlibrite steel. You’ve got the ore and,
all things being equal, steel is steel. But it isn’t, so I know we need a spell,
a spell for hardness and temper. No-one alive would know that spell, but here
I’ve got silver that doesn’t melt with a mighty spell on it-
“And, oh, it feels right, Walegrin, it feels right. She’ll take an edge like