Young Writers Society

The grumpy, seemingly-young woman soaked the scalding hot blade in magically cooled water. "This will be the finest blade I will have forged in nearly a cen-- a very long time," she said to a cat.

The large feline had long, pointy ears and an extremely long tail. Her silvery pelt was lined with darker splotches, like the shadows of the moon, and her misty green eyes glimmered like the ocean deeps. "I know how old you are, Sinestra," the WereCat replied. "And we both know that I'm not even a tenth of your age."

"Hush," Sinestra Hopkins-Jones growled. "Not so loud! You aren't too powerful to be tied up in a sack and tossed in the river."

"Hmmphf. That's what you think."

The WereCat stood and then arched her spine, stretching after having sat by her old friend's side for hours. The afternoon sun was quickly passing, and the redness of the hot blade was fading.

"What do you think of it, Christine?" Sinestra asked, hanging the sword from a rack as she magically cooled it.

"I think that you need to get to work with the smiths that Harnon sent to you."

Sinestra sighed and held the blade tightly in her hand. "This blade will only ever be held by one bloodline, and it shall be held by the men of a line not yet born. It will be passed down from one generation to the next until destroyed on the field of battle."

"And what battle will that be?" Christine asked. "Or, rather, when?"

"Not for a long time," Sinestra answered. "It's bloodline wil betray it in the end. Untergang, I name it; Doom. For great doom shall come to its final wielder from one who betrayed him." Sinestra tightened the bun her dark brown hair was wrapped in.

Christine sighed. "And you say that I speak in riddles... I'll fetch the pesky Dwarves." And with that, she leapt away from her comfy swan-feather cushion and deeper into the city of Owl Tree.

__________

Aidor surveyed the forge as he stepped inside, heavy boot buckles jingling softly against his worn, gray leather. Christine followed, Divor just behind her. The forge was large with more than enough space to maneuver here to there and back again twice over. The roof was made of enchanted wooden slats that stopped rain or snow from falling in but allowed smoke and steam to easily vent out. The thick walls were made of strong bricks held together with black mortar.

At the heart of the room was a rather large furnace, bright embers giving the room a dim light. Connected to that furnace was a large set of bellows, where a young dryad was busy keeping the fire as hot as he could. Hammers, tongs, and a dozen other tools lay on a large stone slat that worked as a table, and there were two anvils to either side. A large pit nearby was full of water, and there were various molds along one wall where weapons and tools would be made.

Sinestra was at the molds, pouring silver into two molds. "Dwarves," she said, greeting them. "I hope you're ready to work. We have many hours until dawn, and the full moon shall soon be rising."

Arms folded as he gave one more slow glance around, Aidor's gaze finally halted on the smith. He gave her nod and a quiet "aye" as he sized her up. "Ready we are, if you tell us what it is we'll be doin'."

Sinestra muttered some words in an ancient language as she stood over a pile of blue and green gems. "We are making relics tonight," she said after completing her incantation, "and they will last for thousands of years."

The ruddy dwarf's keen but aged, gray eyes flicked up to the giant woman's face a moment as he stepped closer; Divor followed. Both peered at the gems, Divor frowning. "What sort of relics?" he asked.

"You saw the map when you met with Harnon, yes?" Sinestra asked. She did not wait for a reply. "I created that map. These relics will make that amazing tool look like a toy."

Sinestra waved one hand and a steel platter appeared; a moment later, the gems floated to rest upon it. She took a chisel into one hand and a hammer in the other.

"One day, long from now, magic will be nigh on extinct," she said as she honed in on her work. "There will be those of Dwarvish blood that remain, but for a time your works will be attributed to man. You will become a myth. But there will be those that remember and those that believe. The blood of the Dwarves will run freely through the Misericords and the valley beyond the mountains, and the Elven bloodlines shall flow in the North. But if all goes as it should...these relics, this pair of rings, shall save magic forever. Thanniel, Strength's Daughter, shall go to the lesser line of Men that shall come to rule the world. For a time, I will keep it safe. The other, Duvainthel, Beautiful Darkness, shall be kept by the greater house."

Both dwarves were silent. The younger one eyed Sinestra on the verge of suspicion. Aidor gazed at the gems though and slowly stroked the end of his beard. "Rings of great power..." he murmured to himself. "Metal forged to the hardness of rock. Brackets for the stones that will never bend." He looked up past his wild eyebrows at the woman with a hint of skepticism. "Such a magic will be all in your care. My cousin and I can only design you two pieces with a beauty worthy of encasing it..."

Sinestra offered the older Dwarf a kind smile. "Humbler words have never been used by a Dwarf. Please, Master Dwarf, take the greater ring and prepare its shape however you see fit. When the time is right, I shall add the gemstones, and together we shall encase them in this fine Elven silver. Divor shall take the lesser."

Aidor smiled back a little, and after a moment gave a slight nod. He felt satisfied as he glanced over to Divor and moved without any more talk to find a piece of charcoal.

The next three hours, the Dwarves spent sketching their designs onto pieces of slate, drawing and wiping away and redrawing. The young Dryad moved about the forge like a mouse, tending the fire, bringing pints of ale now and then with a shy glance at the dwarves and never a word. Finally, after the moon had crept past midnight and the glow of the forge climbed like fire of the walls from the floor, Aindor grunted softly to himself and straightened as he examined his work.

Sinestra had kept working on the gems, magically cutting them, refining them, preparing them for what she knew their destiny would one day be. She would most likely live to see it, for time held few restraints over the Healer. After centuries that would forever define not only Misericord and the North, but that world forevermore, she would stand on the seashore one last time before succumbing to the waves, becoming dust...

She pushed the thought from her mind, now engraving the Elvish runes deep into the sapphires and emeralds. Softly, she chanted something in another language, none, neither living nor dead would now recognize, before returning to the Common Tongue. Softly, she said:

Great jewels from beyond the Western Sea,

from the great mines beneath the mountain's face,

deep were you in the rock, so deep in the ground;

now, at long last, you shall be crowned.

Thanniel, my child, you shall go to the lesser race

while Duvainthel shall belong to a nobler caste.

Safe will you be until the time is ripe,

then destroyed to save magic, and set things right.

When her chant had ended, she looked to the moon, sensing that the in would be gone in the next few hours. "It is time, dear Dwarves, for the rings to be made."

Both dwarves turned with their slates and handed them for her to see. Divor's was more simplistic and geometric, as Dwarven works tended to be. Sinestra nodded, for she had known for years what he would create.

Aindor's design was of a different sort. Elvish and ornate, his ring was nobler and more important, as it would always be. The Healer and smith smiled as she took both of their designs from them. "Perfect," she said. "The silver has been smelting for days now. We've kept it hot and ready just for this moment."

Behind her, leaning against the wall and watching his shoes as he waited, the young dryad perked up and straightened with a soft rustle. He drew his hands from his baggy pants pockets and stepped to her side just behind her to peer at the charcoal sketches around her shoulder. He had large, round eyes, a pale green like that of a swamp, that the forge fire reflected in brightly. He blinked silently at the drawings.

Sinestra raised both of her hands, and the melted silver lifted and swam through the air. Two small rings formed, and she mentally made the jewels set in place before keeping them intact with more melted silver. Magically, she cooled and hardened the rings, and two faint wisps of light same from her mouth, going into the gems. Each gem now had a faint glow.

"They will grow stronger with time," she said weakly.

While the stout dwarves stared in awe at the new rings formed without forging, the dryad beside Sinestra looked up at her face anxiously. He shifted a little closer and touched her elbow with his smooth wooden fingertips.

Sinestra looked at her friend. "I'll be alright," she said to him quietly. "I'm always alright." She took the rings into her hands and held them for a few moments. "Master Dwarves, your task is complete. If we meet again, remember that you have done this world a great service."

Sinestra summoned a small box and placed the rings in it, side by side. "I must be off," she said. "I can reach the Elves before dawn. And then..." Sinestra paused and took a deep breathe. "And then we shall fight a war that will define an era."