But those parts Prim had to guess at and see in her mind’s eye, for, as Weaver had sung, the whole top of it was surmounted by an iron dome of curving plates riveted together, rough and ready like the battle helms that Beedle smiths hammered out in their forges and issued to Beedle sergeants. From the rim of it, chains and straps of iron depended and lower down were connected in a haphazard improvised style to more ironmongery that encircled the walls, clasping plates over windows and doorways. From this distance it put her in mind of how it looked when a carter piled a lot of assorted cargo on a wagon and then threw loops of rope around it every which way, tying a knot here, bending a rope through another rope there and hauling it tight, not caring whether the web had any order or symmetry about it provided it served its purpose. She almost wondered whether its very crudeness had been intended to mock the beauty of what it enclosed.

Beneath her feet the anvil shook. She whirled about to see that the Chasmian had turned about and was now headed her way! But during the few moments that she stood paralyzed with shock, it diverted to one side and stepped over toward the huge curved plate of iron she had noticed earlier, leaning against a cliff. She had assumed it was a portion of the great dome that for some long-forgotten reason had never been used. And perhaps it was; but the Chasmian intended to use it now. The giant gripped the plate between its claws and rotated it to show its concave side. This had a length of chain riveted in place like the straps on the back of a warrior’s shield. The Chasmian slung it over its shoulder.

While it was thus occupied Prim had a clear view north up the road to the bridge. The white figure had by now advanced from the far side of the Chasm all the way up the bridge to the first gatehouse. Calmly he raised his hands, and the bridge began to grow ahead of him. He strolled forward, planting his bare feet on newly made bridge deck that had not existed moments earlier. Beneath that, the supporting arch mounted at a pace to match. The near stump of the bridge had become tinged with chaos, like Mard’s arm where it had been cut. It began to extend itself north, reaching across the gorge to join up with its other half.

The Chasmian picked up a chain link that had been lying discarded on the ground for millennia. It had been made by taking a rod of iron as thick as the body of a full-grown man and looping it round. The giant reared back and slung it directly at El. For the white figure on the bridge could only be El himself. El saw it coming and with a casual flick of the arm made it falter in its flight and crash down upon the bridge. There it did damage. But El had the means to repair it and so this did not much slow him. The Chasmian threw other things, with similar results; the bridge, on the whole, continued to heal itself. The gap narrowed. El advanced.