Screams and the ringing of an anvil filled the halls of the citadel as Cerythael and Pellam watched The Hunter work the fire and forge for the undoing of the strange blade he had been given by The Grandmaster.
"Who is he speaking to?" Inquired Pellam, who looked over to Cerythael rather confused.
Cerythael raised a finger to quieten the lad as they continued to watch Cynraede spread the coals spreading the heat evenly, muttering all the while in a tongue not heard for some time by The Man at Arms.
"Scream for your master. Your cries will not be heard here. I will drive you from the very steel you were born into." Cynraede spat, taking the shattered pieces of the blade that he had stacked to form a new billet. The steel replied in a tongue of malice and wretchedness.
"My masters bore you the markings you bear, tainted one. The masters who drove your Iaurmenel away. We woke the sons of the east, rallied their spears. What hope do you have mortal. You will fade like a flower under the sun."
He couldn't help but chuckle at this, noting the metal beginning to heat and glow faintly as the sweltering heat was taking its toll. "Call for your masters. Bid this world farewell!"
The billet was placed on the anvil gently as Cynraede began to bend it back over itself, grinning to himself as the shrill cries seemingly echoed within the halls from the blade. Roaring now to the disembodied voice. "Nidhin soged i nîr haer gîn!"* The young hunter roared as his hammer fell once more.
The steel sang its song within the halls. His shouts and curses in elvish and the twisted tongue of the east resounded off the walls, this time with no reply. No voice called back, taunted or even muttered defeat
Cynraede stared at the metal that laid clamped in his tongs upon the anvil, tears rolling down his cheeks while he caught his breath.
The darkness was silenced. At what cost.
*I intend to drink your bitter tears.
