Beyond the Burning Lands by John Christopher Read Free Book Online

to be touched by ordinary mortals?”
    He was joking, as we both knew. He had never spoken disrespectfully of the Seers or the Spirits but like most dwarfs I do not think he took them seriously. Dwarfs were interested in real things: in goods and victuals and their own craftsmanship. The Spirits, like the campaigns of the army, were affairs with which they did not concern themselves.
    â€œThe object of a sword,” I said, “whoever makes it, is to wound or kill. So since it is meant to strike it may be touched.”
    I unbuckled the sword from my belt and gave it to him. Rudi drew the blade slowly from the scabbard. He held it up to the light of the fire, one hand under the hilt and the other supporting near the tip. He moved it slightly, tilting up and down, so that the edge gleamed. Then, gripping the hilt in his right hand, he plucked a hair from his beard with the left. He flicked the blade lightly upward and the hair parted.
    â€œAre the Spirits dwarfs?” he asked.
    It was not a question to which he would expect an answer. He weighed and hefted the sword, turning it this way and that. I said:
    â€œYou approve, Rudi?”
    He nodded, his eyes intent. He said:
    â€œWe make as good swords here as in any city in the land, and better than in most. This is not boasting; our cousins in Romsey and Basingstoke and Alton would acknowledge it. But we make nothing like this, nor could. The temper of the steel. . . . And the working of it. I would give much to see the forge on which this blade was beaten out.”
    I visualized him in the laboratories and workshops of the Sanctuary. I doubted if he would be shocked and confused as I had been when I first saw them. I could imagine him putting questions to Murphy and deeply pondering the replies. There would be no opposition from the dwarfs if the Seers declared the Spirits wanted machines built again. Although lacking the imagination to seek such a thing they would accept it readily enough. But of course what dwarfs thought was unimportant.
    Changing the subject, I asked him about his family. He had three sons, two fully grown and skilled metalworkers, though not in armory. The third, much younger than the others, was called Hans and I knew Rudi had hopes that he would follow him—perhaps one day be Master Armorer in his turn.
    I spoke of this and Rudi shook his head.
    â€œHe does not choose it.”
    â€œI am sorry to hear that. But what would he do instead?”
    There was a pause before Rudi said: “He has always been a strange one, and the strangeness has grown. Do you remember once you asked me if I would have wished to be a warrior?”
    I remembered it: a cold winter’s morning much like this, with the Contest only a few days off. I said:
    â€œYou reminded me that you were Master Armorer. It was a foolish question.”
    â€œNot foolish. Even a dwarf does not smile all day long or every day; and even a dwarf can have vain dreams. But it is true that in the main I am content. If you asked the question of my son, though, there would be a different answer.”
    â€œBut he knows such a thing is impossible.”
    â€œTrue. It does not stop him watching the soldiers with an envious heart. And he will not settle to a trade.”
    â€œHe may do so in time.”
    â€œI hope so. He is almost your age.” He hesitated. “Captain, may I ask a favor of you?”
    â€œAny I can grant. I cannot make a warrior of him.”
    â€œI know that. But you will ride out with the army next summer?”
    â€œIf the Spirits will.”
    â€œThe army takes no polymufs with it even as servants. But once or twice dwarfs have gone, as part of the baggage train. If this could be permitted for Hans . . .”
    â€œYou think a campaign might cool the fever in his blood?”
    â€œIt is possible. And if not, it would make him happy. Or happier, at least. He is my youngest.”
    â€œI will see to it,