Spell of the Witch World (Witch World Series) by Andre Norton Page A

his mouth tighten as if he wanted it not.
    So I rode from Coomb Frome, but at the gate another joined me. And I said:
    “Have you learned where your lord now lies? Which way do you ride to return to his standard?”
    “He is dead. The men of his following—those still living—enlisted under other banners. I am without a lord.”
    “Then where do you go, swordsman?”
    “I am without a lord, but I have found a lady. Your road is mine, mistress of powers.”
    “Well enough. But which road and where?”
    “There is still a war, Lady. I have my sword and you yours. Let us seek where we can best harry the Hounds!”
    I laughed. I had turned my back on Coomb Frome. I was free—for the first time I was free—of Aufrica's governing, of the wretched survivors of Wark, of the spell of the dragon cup, which henceforth would be only a cup and not any lodestone to draw me into danger. Unless—I glanced at Jervon, but he was not looking at me, but eagerly at the road ahead—unless, I chose to make it otherwise. Which at some future day I might just do.

DREAM SMITH

T HERE ARE MANY TALES which the song-smiths beat out in burnished telling, some old and some new. And the truth of this one or that—who knows? Yet at the heart of the most improbable tale may lie a kernel of truth. So it was with the tale of the Dream Smith—though for any man now living to prove it-he might as well try to empty Fos Tern with a kitchen ladle!
    Broson was smith in Ghyll, having both the greater and the smaller mysteries of that craft. Which is to say that he wrought in bronze and iron and also in precious metals. Though the times he could use tools on the latter were few and far between.
    He had two sons, Arnar and Collard. Both were, in boyhood, deemed likely youths, so that Broson was looked upon, not only in Ghyll (which lies at river-fork in Ithondale), but as far off as Sym and Boldre, as a man well fortuned. Twice a year he traveled by river to Twyford with small wear of his own making, wrought hinges and sword blades, and sometimes brooches and necklets of hill silver.
    This was in the days before the invaders came and High Hallack was at peace, save with outlaws, woods-runners, and the like, who raided now and then from the wastes. Thus it was needful that men in the upper dales have weapons to hand.
    Vescys was lord in Ithondale. But the Dalesmen saw little of him since he heired, through his mother, holdings in the shorelands and there married a wife with more. So only a handful of elderly men and a wash-wife or two were at the Keep and much of it was closed from winter's midfeast to the next.
    It was in the third year after Vescys’ second marriage (the Dalesmen having that proclaimed to them by a messenger) that something of more import to Ghyll itself occurred.
    A trader came down from the hills, one of his ponies heavily laden with lumps of what seemed pure metal, yet none Broson could lay name to. It had a sheen, even unworked, which fascinated the smith. And, having tried a small portion by fire and hammer, he enthusiastically bargained for the whole of the load. Though the peddler was evasive when asked to name the source, Broson decided that the man was trying to keep secret something which might well bring him profit again. Since the pony was lame, the man consented with visible (or so it appeared) reluctance to sell, leaving in one of Broson's metal bins two sacks of what was more melted scrap than ore.
    Broson did not try to work it at once. Rather he spent time studying, thinking out how best he might use it. His final decision was to try first a sword. It was rumored that Lord Vescys might visit this most western of his holdings, and to present his lord with such an example of smith work could only lead to future favor.
    The smelting Broson gave over to Collard, since the boy was well able to handle such a matter. He had determined that each of his sons in turn would learn to work with this stuff, always supposing that the