Deglan did remember. The boy had been born sickly and lame. Deglan’s best efforts had not seen him out of childhood. They had placed him in one of these barrows on a day much like this one. Four hundred years ago.

Faabar spoke and Deglan held his hand, listening. “I am happy…to be here with him…and all the others. We…knew…them all. My sword, Deglan. Please…my sword.”

Deglan looked around for it and was startled to find the Forge Born coming forward with the weapon in hand. It bent slowly and placed the hilt gently in Faabar’s hand, then rose and drew back. Faabar smiled and pulled the blade close to his quaking chest. His hand squeezed Deglan’s, strong to the end.

“It has been…my…honor, to call you…friend. Continue to serve. It is…a worthy life…”

Faabar inhaled sharply and shuddered to stillness.

Deglan’s face tightened in grief, body rocking with sobs. He bowed his head and wept.

“May the rain fall and wash you with Water. May the wind blow and take you to the Air. May the grass grow and embrace you to the Earth. May you know no more flames and be free of Fire.”

It was a long time before he finally turned his head. The Forge Born still waited.

“You did this,” Deglan accused, unwilling to release his friend’s hand and wipe the ugly sorrow that clung wetly under his nose. “You burned him with your damn hands.”

“No worse than he already suffered,” the thing answered.

It was true. And Deglan knew it. He turned back to Faabar and found his blurry gaze resting on the steel blade of the sword. His mind suddenly turned to the empty scabbard on the Forge Born’s back and rage flushed his face, boiling the already hot tears.

“You cannot have it!” he screamed, not turning, placing both his small hands protectively over the great blade. “I’ll not let you take it from him!”

There was a long silence. When at last the Forge Born replied it was standing in front of him, cradling a large rock in its metal fingers.

“I have no use for swords,” it said and bent to lower the stone next to Faabar. It turned without further comment, retrieving another stone from the grass and placing it next to the first. Deglan watched with numb perplexity as the thing worked.

“What are you?” he asked, knowing he sounded the fool.

There was the slightest pause. “I am Coltrane.” And then it went back to building Faabar’s cairn. Deglan would have laughed if his heart was not encased in suffocating pain.

“You did not know him,” he stated.

“No.”

“Then why?” Deglan growled. “Why bring him here? Why bury him?”

The thing with a name stopped then and regarded Deglan with its horribly blank face. “Because it is all I can do.”