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He had spent a long time trying to secure his tentstakes in the loose, damp ground. "What Morgenes seems to suggest," the archivist said, "is that what makes the three swords special—no, more than special, powerful—is that they are not of Osten Ard. Each of them, in some way, goes against the laws of God and Nature." "How so?" The prince was listening intently. Isgrimnur saw a little ruefully that these sorts of inquiries would always interest Josua more than the less exotic business of being a ruler, such as grain prices and taxes and the laws of fireeholding. Strangyeard was hesitant. "Geloe could explain better than I. She knows more of these things." "She should have been coming here by now," Binabik said. "I wonder if we should be waiting for her." "Tell me what you can," said Josua. "It has been a very long day and I am growing weary. Also, my wife is ill and I do not like being away from her." "Of course. Prince Josua. I'm sorry. Of course." Strangyeard gathered himself. "Morgenes tells that there is something in each sword that is not of Osten Ard—not of our earth. Thorn is made from a stone that fell from the sky. Bright-Nail, which was once Minneyar, was forged from the iron keel of Elvrit's ship that came over the sea from the West. Those are lands that our ships can no longer find.

" He cleared his throat. "And Sorrow is of both iron and the Sithi witchwood, two things that are inimical. The witchwood itself, Aditu tells me, came over as seedlings from the place that her people call the Garden. None of these things should be here, and also, none of them should be workable … except perhaps the pure iron of Elvrit's keel." "So how were these swords made, then?" asked Josua. "Or is that the answer you still seek?" "There is something that Morgenes is mentioning," Binabik offered. "It is also written in one of Ookekuq's scrolls. It is called a Word of Making—a magic spell is what we might be naming it, although those who are knowing the Art do not use those words." "A Word of Making?" Isgrimnur frowned. "Just a word?" "Yes .. . and no," Strangyeard said unhappily. "In truth, we are not sure. But Minneyar we know was made by the dwarrows—the dvernings as you would call them in your own tongue. Duke Isgrimnur—and Sorrow was made by Ineluki in the dwarrow forges beneath Asu'a. The dwarrows alone had the lore to make such mighty things, although Ineluki learned it. Perhaps they had a hand in Thorn's forging as well, or their lore was used somehow. In any case, it is possible that if we knew the way in which the swords were created, how the binding of forces was accomplished, it might teach us something about how we can use them against the Storm King." "I wish I had thought to question Count Eolair more carefully when he was here," said Josua, frowning. "He had met the dwarrows." "Yes, and they told him of their part in the history of Bright-Nail," Father Strangyeard added. "It is also possible, however, that it is not the making of them that is important for our purpose, but just the fact that they exist. Still, if we have some chance in the future to send word to the dwarrows, and if they will speak with us, I for one would have many questions." Josua looked at the archivist speculatively. "This chore suits you, Strangyeard. I always thought you were wasted dusting books and searching out the most obscure points of canon law." The priest reddened. "Thank you. Prince Josua. Whatever I can do is because of your kindness.