When he was through, he went to the bellows and began working them. “Your turn now,” he said to the armorer. “I’ll pump for you. If you were taught the Runes of Sertig, now would be the time to recite them.”

The first blade was glowing. As its wooden handle burnt away, the armorer yanked it from the fire with tongs, laid it on the anvil, and hammered vigorously, muttering in dwarvish. The barbs and jagged edges sank back into the parent metal. When that blade cooled, he thrust it back and took another. When all were done, he took the first, bending it around the horn of the anvil and then pounding that bend flat. The Marshal meanwhile plied the bellows at the armorer’s command, sweat pouring down his face, and talking in jerky phrases.

“Those had to be … Siniava’s blades … special troops. If you’d heated them … the forge would … explode. Takes Gird’s power … or Falk’s … or a dwarf if you can find … to call on Sertig. If you find … more like that … must master the demon inside first … before the fire …”

“Will they explode an ordinary fire, a campfire?” Arcolin asked.

The Marshal nodded. “Ordinary fire … they fly out to kill. And the fire … goes wild. Buried … they work through … the ground … seeking blood prey.” He coughed in a gust of smoke, then spat. “Siniava … was not a good man.”

“Who put the demon in the iron, I wonder,” Arcolin said. “What if someone is still making blades like these, though Siniava’s dead?”

“That would be … most unfortunate … if you find such … send for me. Dangerous.”

“The metal’s safe now?”

“Only fire sprites like forge-fire,” the Marshal said, stepping back from the bellows and wiping his face. “And Sertig, of course. These were pure malice, hammered into the metal by—I would guess—an artificer-priest of Liart.” To the armorer, he said, “If you have other stout arms to pump the bellows, the metal’s now safe enough without me here.”

“Of course, Marshal,” the armorer said. “I’m sorry, I just …”

“No apologies needed, but in a camp full of healthy young soldiers, I see no need to sweat longer than I must to let you work safely.”

“Come out in the cool, Marshal,” Arcolin said. “Have some refreshment.”

“My thanks.” The Marshal walked with Arcolin to the edge of the temporary drill field, where Burek was now organizing the troops for supper. “It’s been too long since I saw these colors in the south. You and Halveric Company were the core of resistance to Siniava and even before that … the whole Mercenary Code, I understand, began with your Duke and the Halveric.”

“Yes,” Arcolin said. “Aliam had set out years before what he thought was right, and taught Kieri, so when Kieri formed his own company, that’s how he fought.”

“Well, I’m glad to see you back. I suppose with the Duke now king in Lyonya, the Halverics won’t be back at all …”