Chapter 6

He found himself breathing easily. There was no sensation of breathing water - somehow the skin he'd borrowed let him breathe normally. It had been an odd sensation, feeling the skin roll over himself, and shaping to his form.

He had no complaints on how it felt to be swimming - the feeling was incredibly stimulating, the sensation of water sliding on his borrowed skin was amazingly sensual. He spared Debra a moment's thought, wondering if he could craft a similar skin for her to experience this without anyone requiring her giving anything dear away.

He followed the animal before him - the male of the original couple. Esfalan felt it was odd that he did not know the other's names, after expending so much magic so close to them, but the situation was what it was. Down they swam, only a few tenths of a mile from the shore, down to the floor of the ocean in the dark. Esfalan saw the silvery light of the surface of the water tinted through deep mustard water far overhead, and felt his ears and body pressed upon on all sides. Esfalan suddenly wondered how he would fare if he lost his guide through the deeps.

Banishing the thought, he gave a moment's reflection to how long he'd been under the waves, when the animal in front led him through a fissure in the undersea rock, into the side of a mountain.

Spots of luminescence limned the tunnel walls, lending a ghostly, eerie feel to the tunnel they swam through. Esfalan gave a mental shrug; tunnels into sides of mountains seemed to portend significant events in his experience. This one went on for hundreds of feet, until suddenly he was in a large underwater cavern - and the surface of the water in this cavern was both close and brilliant silver. Esfalan and his guide broached the surface, and pointed noses and whiskers left a tiny pair of bow waves across the otherwise still surface.

The cavern was so large it was hard to make out detail. Esfalan had the impression of hundreds of dwellings along the walls of the cavern, built into the rock, with terraces and ramps between levels. His guide was leading him to a small promontory in the water, made of the same dark granite as the rest of the rock by the shore had been. Esfalan wasn't sure, since he had not noticed any smell while in the animal skin, but the air here was sweet and fresh to his nose.

His guide coasted up a small ramp made of slick marble, leading to the door of the medium-sized hall on the promontory rock. Gracefully, he stood, and split the animal skin over his shoulders. By the time Esfalan had, somewhat less gracefully, begun the process, the other had finished.

At last, Esfalan stood, dry and unclothed, with a small bundle of animal fur in his hand. His guide tied it somehow to his hair - it was light, and rested on Esfalan's shoulderblades.

At the silent question in Esfalan's eye, the other laughed gently. "Where all are unclothed, none are unclothed." Esfalan gave a silent nod, and together they strode to the door.

As they entered, letting themselves in and shutting the door behind them, Esfalan wondered why, if this were the demesne of the King of the Reach, why it was that things were so informal, even casual.

His guide led him down a hall, to a room where a man was working behind a desk, and three others were attending him. Esfalan blushed slightly, and corrected himself - two men and a woman, slender of bust, but the curve of breast and hip was unmistakable.

It was a moment before the man behind the desk looked up, and saw Esfalan's guide. "One moment," he said, distractedly, and turned back to his work. A moment later, his eyes wide, he took in Esfalan, standing calmly by the door to the small room.

"By the Foam and the Sickle, an Elf is standing in my study." The comment caused the other three in the room to react sharply. Heads snapped up to stare at Esfalan.

"Why is an Elf in your study so unusual?" Esfalan managed to keep a level tone under the weight of the stares he was receiving. He saw that his guide was relaxed, and took his cue from the other.

"I have not seen any from above the waves in more years than you've been alive," the other began, then frowned. "You have a presence of great age, yet you do not look ancient. How is this possible?"

Esfalan gave his best enigmatic smile. "In the face of what is, perhaps it is better to accept what one's senses are telling one and act as if it were so." He recalled Avatharel saying much the same to a young fileman in the shock of his first battle, when he disbelieved the enemy could come at them again after the horrific losses the Elves had inflicted. His smile deepened to one of genuine affection for that long-ago boy-soldier, and then turned wry as he recalled the all the years that soldier had to have been dust for.

"Are all elves so wont to fountain forth their emotion?" This was from the female in the room.

"Nay, lady," Esfalan responded. "I'm not yet well-schooled in hiding my emotions from empaths. I know of none above the waves, you see, none as long as your father has been alive, elven kind has kept no record of one in some two thousand years." It had been a guess, but an accurate one. There was a resemblance between father and daughter, one not hidden by curves under the skin.

"You have scored a touch," the father said. Turning to Esfalan's guide, he demanded, "Well, Selkie, how did he negotiate an escort?"

The guide - a selkie, Esfalan now knew - straightened from where he had been leaning against a wall. "By magery and by honor, Sire. He demonstrated the most amazing control and ability with magic I have ever heard of, and fashioned a box that makes music - beautiful music - in under an hour from what appeared to be nothing at all. As near as I can tell, my people will be enchanted by it for a thousand years, it is built so well. For his honor, he had brought a human female for us to enjoy, but when he found there was a way that would not require him to enslave her to us, he followed the other way."

Esfalan frowned. "She is not a possession, and I did not bring her as such. She is a traveling companion, learning some skills from me and also from a friend of mine, trading her assistance for the knowledge. I daresay she is fast becoming a true companion."

At the knowing smile of the King's daughter, Esfalan flushed. Mercifully, the girl did not speak.

"And why have you come, then, Elf?" The King was, Esfalan saw, pragmatic.

"The sea-metal, the black hard metal that lies on the ocean floor. My people are facing a tide of human refugees fleeing from a collapsing Empire, and I suspect there is more driving this collapse. The peoples of Feldare, the ones who should protect and preserve, have forgotten much. Some of what they have forgotten is in metallurgy, and I have reason to believe this must be fixed first before all, lest the remainder be swept under. Those who protect that which may be saved shall need armor and blade." Esfalan paused, then frowning, he continued. "My race has forgotten much, Highness, and I must teach this at the least."

The king frowned in his turn. "Know that the law I laid down, and the other Kings of other Reaches have also, was to prevent humans from gaining any knowledge of the metals that may be alloyed from the metals you seek. Are you proposing wholesale mining of the ocean floor? For if so, I shall deny your request, and hold you hostage against the knowledge spreading. Better steels are the first step toward militarism that the world above cannot tolerate."

Deep breaths, Esfalan thought, calmly. As was usual, when he directed intense thoughts inward, his fey stirred. Suggest that only an elite few smiths, easily controlled, and an elite cadre of commanders sworn to a purpose can get arms made from this metal.

Esfalan was startled. Did Avatharel color you as well?

There was amusement coming back. I share your memories and his. What better way to make mischief than to make war? So, to let us get to it the faster, so give this one what he wants for what we want.

Esfalan focused on the King again, aware of the odd look the King's daughter was giving him. Without surprise, he concluded that she'd found an unexpected emotional exchange from within him. "Majesty, if I restricted the knowledge of metallurgy and alloy steels to a select few, an elite cadre of smiths and officers, who go about and stiffen local resistance to a descent into barbarism, would that serve your aims as well as mine?"

The King of the Reach studied Esfalan for a long while. Finally, he spoke. "You, then, would be the Marshall-General of the new Age? For I do not believe you would want to be Emperor."

Esfalan bowed his head. "Captain-Commander would suffice for me. I have no desire for higher rank, as I could not command so many men directly. I have a gift, however, that must be shared, and it falls to me to train those who would command whole Armies."

"Elf, I do not know how you are called. Yet, I think you do yourself an injustice. You are the most accomplished mage in ten generations, or so says my door-guard, the Selkie there. You make me believe you truly are destined to save this world or another. Show me the alloy you would make from my metal."

Esfalan sighed. "I would have to draw another few elements from my meager store for it, and I doubt that the Selkie would like me to put the iron under my skin for our return trip."

The King regarded him. "I would risk much to see you do this thing, and yet I will not press."

"Would you settle for an alloy that will not rust? One that knives may be made from? Though, I should say that metallurgy is only an avocation. My vocation..." Esfalan paused, "My vocation is war and tactics."

The elf concentrated for a moment, then shrugged. "Have you any iron close by? I cannot sense any and I would not remove the magery that protects this place simply to bring iron and nickel in."

"Magery?" The third member of the King's party spoke for the first time.

The elf regarded the other for a moment. "I do not think there is any shame in not having noticed. It is a vast and old magic, one that you perhaps have perceived as being in the background for your entire life. Yes, there is magery protecting this cavern, protecting it from the movements of Feldare's crust, and possibly from direct attack. I would not wish to disturb it."

The one Esfalan had guessed was the court mage nodded, thoughtful. Esfalan was relieved the other didn't see him as a threat to his position or right to hold it.

"I have no ready store of iron. It rusts." The king spoke simply.

"Hmmm," Esfalan mused. "I'd purchased a journey here by crafting a music box. Perhaps musical instruments?" At the shake of the daughter's head, he gave a short smile, and then tried, "Glass? A device to look over far distances? Navigational aids? Mapmaking equipment?" All were met with a frown and a slight smile from the daughter.

"Calculating machines? Looms?" Esfalan was running out of ideas that didn't involve iron or steel. He shrugged, and waited.

"Knowledge, sir Elf," she said clearly. "Knowledge to do all these things for our own."

Esfalan nodded, slowly. "I would not take all your father's advisors from him. Lore is found in libraries on the mainland, working knowledge is found in the smithies and workshops. Knowledge of mana - magery - is something I can impart for a while for one who travels with me. And yet, as I have said, there is strife and discord, a pestilence far away on the surface, and an agent of the Old Enemy loose upon Feldare. I move down a dangerous road."

The elf paused, looking intently at the King's daughter. "I can take you to where you may find the knowledge, and educate you enough in the world of the surface that you may later continue to make your journeys to where lore is kept, with others of your own kind.'

She nodded, speculatively. Esfalan turned to the King of the Reach, and waited.

The response from her father was not long in coming. "And how may I trust you, Elf? I have but one daughter, and would take it ill if she did not return to her heritance."

"By killing any who try for the sea-metal, of course," Esfalan answered. "Trade for it only on the surface, and trade it for knowledge. As for her personal safety, I will swear to make every attempt to keep her whole and unhurt, save for any activity she chooses to enter."

The King gave Esfalan an intense stare. "Will you swear on an heirloom? Such a thing should be done in formality, in front of my Court."

Esfalan shrugged again, a wry inward smile at how often he used the gesture of late. "Aye," he stated.

And so it was that Esfalan found himself, a scant hour later, with the Selkie by his side before the King's court, an assemblage of noble lords and ladies wearing little in the way of adornment or decoration. And yet, the air was solemn and ponderous, as an event of great interest and rarity was unfolding before the throne.

The word of the event, and the circumstance of the Elf's appearance into their isolated world had spread through the undersea city like wildfire, and the populace had lined the shore of the underground grotto. The Court was held out of doors, on the island where the King's domicile and offices were, but in plain view of the entire population hundreds of yards away on the shore of the sea-lake.

A brief proclamation was read, the court-mage acting to amplify the words of the Herald and carry them to every person on the shore. The agreement was made - all the metal Esfalan could carry for the escort of the King's Daughter to the outside world, in search of knowledge.

The King spoke quietly to Esfalan, the words were unamplified, and died in the heavy moist air before they traveled far. "Elf, this is the trident of my office. It has powers we no longer understand, but oaths taken on it are somehow binding. There is a tale told of a malfeasance taken once, where vengeance on the oath-breaker was delayed for years, until he set foot in salt water, and was somehow killed by some unseen power that burned him from within. Him alone, and he had been in a press of hundreds crossing a salt estuary. Discount it if you will, and yet I believe this has a power to enforce oaths."

Esfalan nodded, and took the proffered trident. In a loud, ringing voice, he declared, "I am Esfalan, and part of Avatharel, Captain-Commander of the Mindirrhim, I will escort this Daughter of the Reach to the surface, and keep her from harm she does not voluntarily enter fully apprised of the dangers as best as I may. I will put my life before hers." With a nod to the mage, Esfalan asked quietly of the King, "Will that suffice?"

The king and the mage were staring at the trident. Esfalan wondered what their concern was - the trident felt inert in his hand. With a start, he realized it was because the trident was inert in his hand.

Turning to the object he held, he tried to scan it, and felt... nothing active. Sighing, he drew forth mana from the surf crashing on the slope of the mountain far overhead, and fed a trickle into the trident. Esfalan felt the trident awaken, and felt the coursing of mana through ancient tiny paths in the crystalline object. And then he understood - it was, in a sense, a theravara, but meant to store mana or filter a flow of it into some pre-designed casting. Quickly, he determined there were battle-useful spells in it, to blast, to shield, to melt. And one that had some very strange effect that seemed to twist space and time at it's focus - adding the mana to that pathway, Esfalan felt something profound filling the air around him. Nodding, he understood.

He repeated the oath, this time quietly, and let the mana snap through the circuit within the trident. And he felt the oath settle around his shoulders, somehow a connection to that which was Feldare itself, and Esfalan wondered.

He committed the knowledge of the spell and the manner it was imbedded as mana-flow paths in the trident, incredibly intricate as it was, to memory.

Filling the trident to capacity with mana was the work of a moment's thought, and he handed it to the court mage. As it left Esfalan's hand, a strange light that had surrounded it faded, but the sense of its presence echoed in Esfalan's mind.

Esfalan saw the echo of the awareness in the court-mage's eyes. "You should find a mage to work with on the land," Esfalan told him.

Startled, the man nodded dumbly.

"You cast the spell on yourself?" the King asked, incredulously. "There was no need for you to have done that..."

The elf regarded him levelly. "There was need," he said.

"Goodbye, Father," the King's daughter said. "I shall return anon."

Esfalan approved of the short time, only a night, between decision and action, and approved of the quick farewells. Avatharel had endured many, and this was truly the best way.

The night before, the King had hosted Esfalan and the Selkie - whose name Esfalan still did not know - and discussed many things about the state of Feldare. The King of the Reach seemed satisfied with Esfalan's answers to questions about his personal life and ambitions.

As Esfalan unrolled the sea-animal skin over himself, the Selkie did as well; the half-pound lump of metal under his arm did not seem to cause a problem. The two of them slipped under the water in the cavern, and turned to wait for the King's daughter.

She simply walked into the water, carrying little save for an odd oilskin pack worn between her shoulders and her neck. She dove under the water, and Esfalan followed the Selkie as he dove after her.

As they swam, Esfalan noted the strong tail and flukes in place of the woman's legs, and considered his observation that the skin covering them was as pink as the rest of her. Esfalan felt that he now better understood much about the undersea kingdom they were leaving.

As they emerged from the water, Esfalan tried to seek out Debra, but was immediately stopped by the female Selkie who had lent him her skin. Esfalan very politely thanked her as he handed it back.

She smiled and told him he made a very beautiful female seal. Esfalan considered this for a moment, filing the name of the animal away. He cocked his head, as if listening to an inner voice, and nodded decisively.

"Madam. While I wore your skin, I was a female seal. You may expect offspring next summer," and he strode past the shocked Selkie to where Debra was seated.

Behind him, he heard the male Selkie gasping for air - first from laughter, and then from the blow the female had struck to his midsection.

Debra met his gaze with a certain cool welcome. She pointedly gave a flick of her eyes to his right, and he turned to see the still-nude Daughter of the Reach had followed him to stand before Debra.

He sighed. "Debra, this is..." Esfalan stopped, turned to his right, and queried the girl. "Do you know I still do not know your name, your father's name, nor the name of my guide?"

The other nodded. "I am Autonorë."

Esfalan waited for a moment, and when nothing more was forthcoming from Autonorë, turned back to Debra. "Autonorë and you have very much in common - for one, you are both princesses in search of mage-lore, and for another, you both made my acquaintance in need of clothing."

Almost involuntarily, Debra gave a twitch with the corner of her mouth, then she shook her head. "Well, elven-mage, just... manufacture some cloth." She accompanied 'manufacture' with a small twist of her fingers.

Giving her a slight smile, Esfalan explained, "Debra, there are hundreds of thousands of tiny fibers that make up a thread, and tens of thousands of threads in a yard of cloth. If I undertook this, we would be here come winter; this is why looms and spindles are used."

Autonorë had been listening, standing unconcerned with her lack of clothing. "Can you not make magical constructs that would then make the cloth?"

Esfalan was rocked, considering her words. After a few moments' thought, he mused, "This is something to try at our campfire tonight, with some beginning lessons in magery. Debra, I know your clothing store is minimal, and yet Autonorë is of similar build to you. If you will, please lend her clothing. She shall ride Nelaur and I shall trot."

The three made their goodbyes to the Selkie clan, and gave and received assurances that a return visit would be welcome. As they began to move away, Esfalan apologized to Autonorë for the need for her to ride, explaining that the lack of shoes would probably hurt Autonorë more than the saddle soreness would. She had looked at him with startlement, and asked, "Did you not know that horses are the gift of the God of the Sea to mankind? We have similar beasts under the waves. I can ride this horse."

For the hours they traveled that day, Esfalan pondered what her words meant, given the context of the origin of Feldare that Avatharel had learned from Hrosz.

The three had returned to Ehladriel, the introductions were made to Verothlen and Cormorlan, and Autonorë was given a room in the Citadel very near to Debra's. Together, the two women went off to find Autonorë clothing and gear.

Esfalan made his way back to the smithy where Eritsral was waiting. Together they discussed the differences in the coal steel and the steel that Esfalan was making.

"It's about making it supple and spreading the blow of impact while keeping it's shape." Esfalan was speaking of the steel for his armor. "The sword steel needs to be able to hold more of an edge, while flexing less since it shall be thicker, but this must be light enough to wear. What happens is the trace amounts of other elements dissolve into the molten metal, then when it cools, helps form metal crystals with different properties - the extra metals are made of little pieces, and the little pieces fit into the lattice the iron and coal particles make in the steel. They can be packed more closely than the big iron pieces can, and so act like small pivot points in the metallic crystals, letting the crystal deform further before shearing, and letting the crystal be bent further before it would not spring back."

The smith nodded. "A steel like that would make good springs, too, for carriages and lorries, and reduce the weight of the carriage so the same number of horses could haul more goods." Esfalan nodded, pleased to see the smith found practical advantage for non-military use so quickly.

"Very good, but the steel for spring-making needs to be soft and workable at lower temperature. Armor steel needs to be flexible and hard. The hard part of achieving this will be smelting the ore and making the steel. It must be done unexposed to air. I think, for the sake of speed today, I will do the smelting, but in the future, you shall either have to do it in a blanket of dead air or in the absence of air, and that shall require you to build a different type of forge."

The smith nodded, thoughtfully. "There is something in air that reduces the iron and can contaminate the steel with dross."

Esfalan smiled at him. "It's the part of air that we need to breathe. Remove that part, and the steel will be well-made."

The smith laughed. "I think it's time you showed me how you can make this steel." Esfalan picked out an air of expectation, tinged with minor doubt, carried by the other elf's words. Did you expect less?

He readied himself, and then Esfalan opened a long, large flow of mana to the surf at the ocean shore, and pulled a large amount. While he was waiting for the flow to arrive, he found the iron that the dwarves had delivered, in four large bins, and with some of the stream of mana, lifted four ingots of about twelve pounds each out of one bin.

"Do you have ingot molds?" he inquired of the dumbstruck smith. The man shook his head 'no', but went inside to fetch something. He came out a moment later with four large crucibles balanced in a stack.

"Would it not be easier to draw wire from rods?"

The smith looked a little wild-eyed, but answered gamely enough. "It would, but if you can do what you seem to be about to do, I will saw and hammer the rods from the crucible form, and then draw the wire."