03 - God King by Graham McNeill - (ebook by Undead) Read Free Book Online

the shadows of the forest. Were it only the larger greenskins
behind them, Cuthwin wouldn’t have been worried, they were strong but not too
clever.
    But goblins were cunning and would find their tracks swiftly. On his own he
could evade them without trouble, but with a wounded dwarf in tow…
    That was going to be a challenge.
     
    “Hand me the tongs, son,” said Govannon, squinting in the smouldering orange
light of the forge. His hand grasped air until Bysen placed the warm metal in
his hands. The furnace was a blaze of light before him, the roar of its heat and
the hiss of water droplets from the powered wheel that worked the bellows acting
as a sounding guide for him as he thrust the tongs into the hot coals.
    Govannon felt the metal and clamped it hard, drawing it out and placing it
upon the anvil.
    The stink of hot iron burned the air and its orange-yellow colour told him it
was just right. His sight was all but destroyed, but his sense for the metal was
just as strong.
    “Looks good, da,” said Bysen. “Forging heat right enough.”
    “Aye, I can tell, lad,” nodded Govannon, handing his son the tongs and
feeling on the workbench for his fuller. Its curved, walnut grip slipped into
his hand and he hefted it to get the weight right before bringing it down in a
short, powerful arc onto the iron bar. He struck several blows, swiftly
establishing a working rhythm as Bysen turned the bar and drew it out, gradually
lengthening the metal. They’d done the hard work earlier, working with strikers
and other apprentices to work the cold lump of iron into a long bar from which
to shape the blade.
    It was to be the sword of the Empire’s Grand Knight, for Alfgeir had earned
great accolades in his defence of the realm in the Emperor’s absence.
    “Turn it again,” said Govannon. “Once with each strike.”
    “Aye, da,” said Bysen. “Once each, aye, da. Like you say.”
    Govannon worked the fuller along the length of the iron, working by instinct
and earned skill. The bar was a blurred outline of yellow gold before him, and
he could only tell Bysen was turning the bar by the sound of the hot metal
scraping on the anvil. Counting his strokes, he adjudged the iron to be the
right length. He had taken Alfgeir’s measurements and tested the weight and
balance of his currently favoured blade before laying a hammer to the metal. The
Grand Knight of the Empire preferred a weapon with the weight slightly towards
the tip, requiring a stronger arm to wield it, but delivering a more powerful
blow when it landed. The ore that formed this sword had come from the mines of
the Howling Hills, Cherusen land, which meant it was freer from impurities and
should produce a blade of great brilliance.
    “Look long enough?” he asked.
    “Aye, da,” said Bysen. “Just right, da.”
    Govannon wiped a meaty forearm across his brow, blinking away salty beads of
sweat as they dripped into his eye. Just for a second, he could see the outline
of his son clearly, a giant of a boy, nineteen summers old, but with the mind of
a child.
    Grief and guilt welled in the smith’s heart.
    It had been at Black Fire when everything had changed.
    Govannon and Bysen had been fighting in the heart of the Unberogen lines,
smashing greenskins down with powerful strokes of their iron-headed forge
hammers. After hours of fighting, the day was almost won, and the warriors of
the Emperor’s army were hot and close to exhaustion. Victory was so close, they
could almost touch it, and that alone kept them fighting beyond the limits of
endurance.
    A shadow fell over their sword band and an abominable stench rose up as a
monstrous, rugose-skinned troll crashed into their flank. Taller than three men
and growling with a throaty roar of idiot hunger, it swung a tree branch as
thick as an oaken beam. Six men were bludgeoned to death with a single blow.
    Many ran from its horror, but Govannon and Bysen stood firm, their hammers