Outside, in the hallway, Anna had had enough.  "What the hell is going on, here?"  She planted herself, and crossed her arms, refusing to move another inch until someone explained everything to her, her dark eyes blazing with repressed anger and fear.

Eriel said, "Aegan Smithdanovich, this is Anna Helldove -- a mercenary of... ill repute."  Her tone was still acerbic, and Aegan wondered at the cause of it.  "Anna Helldove, this is Aegan Smithdanovich of Vridara, apprentice sorcerer to Master P'Arkon the Dual Minded, and Gahle liSear of Prophecy."

Anna scowled, arching one eyebrow dangerously at Eriel  The 'ill repute' comment struck a cord within the woman, but she wisely held her tongue.  "That gives me a name -- and nothing else."

Aegan held up a hand to forestall Eriel's caustic reply.  He looked the mercenary in the eye, noting that she was only a few inches shorter than himself, and built very... solidly.

He said, "Last night, there was a Prophecy.  It names four people who must journey to the 'Halls of the Pixie Queen' to find something out about the ograns.  If we fail to do this thing, then Rakore vill fall, and vith it, all the vorld."

She growled, "And I'm one of these people named by Prophecy?  Are you sure?!"

Aegan nodded.  "Aye.  The Baron-and-the-Bishop has named you as the Cargdin Mithral.  I feel it, in the Prophecy, though I do not know all his reasons."

"So what the hell was the point in shattering that metal?  And then not being able to shatter it the second time?!"  She took a step closer to him, ready to lay him out flat if he said something wrong.  He was one of the biggest men she had ever met, but she knew how to take down bigger men than herself.

She fought back an image of Doom Rex, who was almost exactly the same height and build as Aegan.

Though she appeared to be radiating danger and anger, Aegan was unphased, feeling that he could take her in hand-to-hand combat -- and for some reason, most people overlooked hammers as weapons.  His grip tightened on the haft of the hammer in his right hand.  "Shamathmae krielmaul is a form of metal that, when struck by a light force, will shatter.  When struck by a great force, it will, instead of shattering, cold-forge itself into a stronger metal that is nearly indestructible.  In the common tongue...  I believe you call this metal 'adamantine'."

She said nothing, but some of the fire was going out of her eyes, to be replaced with something that blazed equally bright:  curiosity.

Aegan continued, noticing that he had also caught Eriel's undivided attention -- and Sir Bridar's, as well.  "There are stories of cold-forging mithral, and it is a fable oft-told in Vridara, among smiths and metal vorkers.  The stories are all false, though, for no one has ever done it.  More often, shamathmae mithral is used to describe someone's soul.  Some have the shamathmae -- cargdin -- soul.  It can be broken and shattered with a single light blow, but it is strengthened into something unbreakable with a strong strike that should shatter lighter metals."

Sir Bridar asked, "How common is this... cargdin... mithral?  Or whatever it was that Dwarfendale shattered?"

Aegan swallowed, having not really contemplated the price of that bit of adamantine.  "One bar, alone, is worth..."  He performed some mental calculations.  "At least several hundred pieces of gold."

Anna made a face, the mercenary in her counting coins.

The giant elf, slightly stooped in the corridor, but seeming even more dangerous for it, said, "Uncommon, then."

Aegan said, "Very much so."

The elf nodded, his orange eyes uncannily wolf-like in the dim light of the corridors.  "Anna Helldove, let's see about getting you your weapons back.  And then we'll see what else you three will need, before we send you to Rilan."

Anna scowled, clearly not liking or fully understanding the situation, but the Baron-and-the-Bishop had practically ordered her to accompany the Gay le Seer, or whatever-he-was.

Sir Bridar led them quietly through the corridors of Lok Giran, and they passed a few dwarves who only nodded in greeting.  One stopped the giant elf, though, and spoke with him for a few moments in the dwarven tongue.  The predatory desert elf answered in the same tongue, and then they clasped forearms before parting with slight smiles on their faces.

The stories of the corridors changed with every way, small stories for small corridors, and great stories for great corridors.  After the two humans had begun to feel completely and thoroughly lost, Sir Bridar led them through a guarded doorway into the armory.  The roof was out of sight above in the narrow, despite chandeliers of supernatural light high above.  The walls were covered in suits of metal all the way up into the darkness, and far down the long room into a dim gloom.  Weapons of all shapes and sizes were stacked on the main floor, and boxes and chests and quivers and pouches were everywhere, seemingly at random.

From the other side of the narrow room careened a tall ladder on a rail system, with greased wheels at the top and bottom of the ladder.  An older, grizzled dwarf with several scars interrupting his beard slid down the ladder, and looked up at Sir Bridar.  "What the fork do ye want, ye mangy backyard dog?"

Sir Bridar's orange eyes lit up, but his countenance was angry.  "More out of life than you, you nasty piece of garbage that even a fungus wouldn't touch!"

The dwarf grunted up at the elf, and then swept in the two humans, and the sylvan elf with his dark eyes.  "Well, iffen a fungus would'nae touch me, then it would get up and run screamin from these three.  They dinnae look like they could hurt an orc, let alone a piece of scum like yourself, Sholkhan."

He looked them over with measuring eyes, and Eriel blushed at the intense gaze that figured her measurements.  She started to protest, when Anna took a menacing step forward.  Though unarmed, the human woman conveyed menace.

Anna Helldove said, "You will keep your eyes where they belong, shorty, or you'll wind up about an inch shorter than you'd planned."

The dwarf grinned fiercely up at the woman, and responded, "Only an inch?  Ye dinnae have the dugs to take me down no further?"

She bared her teeth, and said, "One more comment about any part of my body, and I'll roast you, little man."

The armorer grinned even more fiercely, and Aegan detected a very dangerous gleam in his eyes.  "Really, lassy?  You'd moan in heat for me, so hot burn yuir loins?"

Anna blindly reached for a long-knife she wasn't carrying, and found Aegan's large arm across his chest, blocking her from going after the old dwarf.

Sir Bridar and the dwarf both burst out laughing, stunning Eriel into confusion, and irking Anna all the more.

The armorer said, "I like her, Sholkhan!  I like her.  Where'd ye fine such a fine, spunky lass?"

The huge elf chuckled, and turned his orange eyes over the group, before responding.  "These are instruments of Prophecy, Granif."  He gestured, and said, "Granif Stoneknuckles, Mastersmith of Lok Giran, Knight of Rakore -- I present to you Aegan Smithdanovich, Eriel Enelidalithan, and Anna Helldove."

Anna realized that, of course, the Reeve of Rilan would have to have an impressive intellect, as well as the size and strength of a desert elf, to be the Baron-and-the-Bishop's enforcer.

Granif was suddenly all business.  "Hrm.  These plates ye wear might be functional, lass," he said, tapping on one of Anna's thigh greaves, "But ye need some chain under em."

Anna pulled her leg out of his reach, scowling.  She said, "I prefer the silence of leathers.  Chain makes too much noise -- like you."

Granif ignored the insult, and grunted.  He turned to Aegan.  "What of you?  Big young humans typically want full plate, shields, and long swords."  He looked critically at the sledge hammer hanging down in Aegan's hand.  "But you're not typical, are you?"

The human said, "No, mastersmith.  I'm not.  A chain shirt will work just fine, if you have padding to go with it."

The mastersmith noticed the smithing scars on Aegan's forearms, and nodded to himself.  He went down one of the few narrow aisles in the armory, and disappeared into the dim gloom.  He returned but a few moments later, carrying a large wad of silvery cloth in his hands.  When he got closer, Aegan could see that the cloth was chain, but made of such fine links that he doubted a sewing needle could get through them.

The mastersmith handed the chain shirt over to the journeyman smith, and watched critically as Aegan held it in his hands.

No chain shirt Aegan had ever seen had been as finely crafted as the one he held in his hands.  Each and every link was made of beaten mithral, instead of wire-drawn mithral.  The flatter disc made the chain distribute blows better, and contributed to the almost cloth-like feel of the shirt.  To his callused hands, the metal armor felt like very rough cloth that was matted up and slick with grease.  His eyes told him that the metal was, indeed, mithral.

Aegan quickly calculated how long it would take a smith to make such a shirt.  Were he to try it, it would take him most of a three month's solid work, from sun-up to sun-down.  The cost of the raw metal alone, plus the cost of time put into it, would be on the order of at least a thousand gold pieces.

He looked up to meet Granif's cool appraisal, and said, "I can't."

The dwarf, apparently understanding, said, "Yes, you can.  A weight o the world rests on your shoulders, now.  Ye will take that shirt, an wear it without padding, up under your clothes, as a gift from ole Granif Stoneknuckles."

Mastersmith Granif turned to Eriel, and in a mocking voice, said, "Well, lil thing?  Did ye want a suit o mail, or a suit o webs?"

"Web armor, if you have it, Mastersmith.  If not, some throwing daggers of the Song Goddess will do."  Eriel's confidence shone, and it took Aegan somewhat by surprise.

The young smith had been given to understand that she knew little of combat beyond hiding and spell-slinging.  But a great many things about the elf did not make sense -- including her irreverence for rank, at least with the Baron-and-the-Bishop.

Granif nodded, and went back behind a small counter.  From beneath the counter he pulled out a rolled bundle, and then set it upon the counter.  As he unrolled it, blade after blade was revealed, folded up within the cloth.  Most were of the finest steel.  Some were of silvery mithral.  Some were of some black metal that reflected no light at all.  All were throwing knives.

Eriel studied them, picking out two blades of steel with small holes perforating the center line.  She hefted the blades several times, while Aegan scowled.  The holes in the blade would weaken it, and allow air to flow through it; he felt it would make a poor throwing weapon with those perforations, probably missing its target more often than not.

The elf maid's next motions changed his mind.  With deceitful ease, she threw both blades into a wooden stand perhaps twenty feet away.  For the brief instant the two blades had been in flight, they had made an eerie whistle that reminded Aegan of that awful howl a storm made just before a tornado formed.  Both blades were sunk into the wood, each so close to the other that a sheet of parchment might have fit between them.

Eriel merely nodded at the mastersmith, and said, "They're adequate."

As she walked over to retrieve the two blades, Granif rolled up the remaining blades, and then stuffed it back under the counter.

Next, the mastersmith brought out some white, wool-looking material.  It was a thick mid-riff kind of shirt that Eriel tried on, after taking off her short robe.  Underneath she had worn a sleeveless shift that was tucked into her blue-dyed breeches.  Aegan blinked, and turned his eyes elsewhere from the form-fitting shift and breeches.  The wool-looking material had his attention, however, and he found out why as the illusionist and the dwarf bickered at one another.

The armor was made from the webbing of very large spiders, but required the ultra-fine tools the dwarves made to card and weave it.  The result was a form of padded cloth that could turn aside most short-blades, without interfering with Eriel's hand and arm gestures needed to complete her spells.

Aegan was quite glad when the elf put her short robe back on, and apparently it showed in his face, as the elf glared at him hotly.

Sir Bridar said, "This one has a decent composite bow, and some long-knives, back at the North Tower."  His gesture took in Anna, and the mastersmith nodded absently.

The grizzled dwarf said, "I'll have Loren put together journey-packs for them.  Where are they headed?"

The huge elf said, "From the sound of things, they're headed out into the Choranil, through Rilan and out to sea."

Granif turned to the three of them, and asked them, trying to figure out who the leader was, "D'ye know just where in the Choranil ye're goin?"

At the sheepish look he got from Aegan, the blank stare from Anna, and the hot look he got from Eriel, he threw up his hands in despair.  "Sholkhan!  They dinnae e'en know where they're goin, the krompshets!"

Eriel said, "Lord Prat knows where we're going, old dwarf.  As does Mistress Brin."

The dwarf turned his glower on her, though she seemed unfazed by it.  "Oh, there ye go, lassy. Just leave the location back wit Lok Magius, will ye?  Right bright yew lot are."  He snorted, and turned off to look down the aisles of weapons and equipment.  After a moment, he turned back.  "All right."

He said to the desert elf, "Loren'll pack em up standard stuff, but I'll send a wagon down wit some mountain-climbin gear, plus extra quivers, dry rats, an water.  An some other stuff.  Which ship they takin?"

Sir Bridar said, "The Black Holly II has just completed repairs at Rilan, and the Baron-and-the-Bishop is having it made ready."

Granif said in awe, "Galgiran's turds!"  He stroked his graying beard, thinking, as he eyed everything in the armory.  "I'll have to include a little something extra, then...  Follow me."

He led them all out of the armory, and through several more story-corridors.  After only a few twists and turns, he stopped in front of a door with two guards to either side.  All four guards looked at him as though they were ready to tear him apart, and none of them had any weapons.

Aegan realized with a start that their dark armor had ridges crafted into it, and the ridges were sharpened to razor lines.  Some of the ridges were mithral-enhanced, so that they would cut through even chain mail were the guards to close in and grapple with an intruder.  Their beards were braided, and tucked into their armor -- and that alone let Anna know that these were dwarven veterans of a higher caliber than any she had ever encountered.

The lead dwarf's blue eyes twinkled in the dim light, and he spoke with a hoarse voice.  Aegan realized that, at some time in the past, his throat had to have been crushed or nearly destroyed.  "What d'ye want, bastard."

"I want you four tae go take a flyin leap off the summit.  What I'll take three o the rings Dwarfendale had made for dwarven sailors."

Aegan understood none of the exchange, but watched as the lead dwarf drew back to consider Granif's words.  After a moment, he snapped his fingers -- a difficult task in those ridged gauntlets -- and motioned one of the other guards to go inside the room.

The guard stood before the door for a moment, and then it opened of its own accord, from within.  The door moved back, and then slid into the wall to one side.  Beyond was blackness, and the guard strode in without fear, and probably turned a corner to judge from the sounds his armored feet made.

The journeyman smith noted that the grappling armor was still just as strong as full plate, but had to weigh a good bit more.  The neck guards and braided beards could barely hide the immensely thick necks of the remaining dwarven guards.

Several minutes passed quietly, in which Granif and Sholkhan quietly traded spars and gossip in the dwarven tongue.

The other guard returned, then, with a small pouch.  There was a rolled sheet of parchment in the guard's other hand, which he presented to the lead guard.  As soon as the more junior guard had cleared the doorway, the stone door had rumbled out of the wall and slid back into place with almost no sound.

The leader looked over the scroll, and grunted, before handing it over to Granif.  "Seems Dwarfendale was expecting you.  I had the guard add the three rings to the pouch."

Granif chuckled with mirth as he read the parchment, and then stuffed it under his belt.  He opened the small pouch, and poured out liquid fire glowing with the warmth of the forge:  three rings, and four platinum amulets on short chains of platinum, the amulets being the source of the light; in the center of each amulet was a small citrine stone that glowed like the light from a forge.

Granif pulled out an amulet, and a ring, and held it out to Aegan.  He did the same for Eriel, and for Anna.  The fourth amulet, he handed to Aegan, and said, "I've already heard the tales of the Prophecy, boy.  Save this one for the Stolen Thief."

Each held the amulet in wonder, hardly paying attention to the rings.  Granif said, "Find a finger the rings fit on, before ye forget about em, moonin over a shiny like a dumb crow."

Aegan tore his eyes away from the platinum amulet with dwarven runes etched in in purest gold, surrounding the small glowing gem in the center that was flat-faceted by a master.  The ring in his fingers was of some kind of steel, blue-dyed in a strange pattern that reminded him of waves.  After two tries, he found that it wouldn't fit on the pinky of his smaller hand, and when he glanced about, he saw Eriel unable to get her larger ring to fit even her thumb.

With a glance at Granif to make sure it was all right, he switched rings with her.  Hers had been of a gold alloy, bevelled and faceted to richly catch the light with a motif like that of coiled ropes.  It fit his pinky rather well, though he head never before worn a ring -- or jewelry of any kind.

The mastersmith said, "Put the amulets on, ye knuckle-heads."  He held up one fist, as though he would sock any of them that would dare not to put the amulets on.

The short chain wouldn't fit over Aegan's head, and he found a clasp that was easy to work, though ingenious in its strength of construction and fine tooling.  The chain barely clipped around his thick neck, and the shine from the jewel set in the amulet shown before him, though he could not see the stone itself directly.

Granif said, "Aln non Morad'din."

The light from the amulets flickered and died, and the dead-end corridor with the four guards suddenly seemed cold and empty, compared to the warmth it had had.

The mastersmith said, " 'Aln non' is 'thank you', in the dwarven tongue.  Learn it.  If ye thank the Forge God, he'll reward ye with light, and warmth, whenever ye need it."

Aegan wrapped his tongue around the dwarven words.  "Aln non, Morad'din."

At first, he was afraid he had mispronounced something.  He couldn't actually see the amulet around his neck, but he saw a slight gleam in Granif's dark eyes, and then the amulet exploded into warm red-orange light.

Aegan ran his fingers over the stone, and was surprised to find the gem-stone almost too hot to touch.  He said again, this time with considerable meaning, "Aln non, Morad'din."  The light suddenly cut off.

The apprentice sorcerer gently ran his hands over the amulet, and then picked up the sledge-hammer from where he had leaned it against the wall.

The leader of the strange guards said, "Nook'kael dark aln, Morad'din."

Granif looked to the strange dwarf, and then nodded.

Sir Bridar beat him to the translation, though, and the big elf said, "Go with Galgiran's blessing."

Granif merely nodded, and turned to the rest of them.  "Let's get ye out, an on the dark road tae Rilan.  Tis a half-day's journey on foot, but I think wit hippotauns, we might kin have ye there afore midnight."