Emancipation

[Corwin]

Of course.

[Anastasia]

I'll see to it.

[Anastasia]

Meanwhile, Gond steps in and says, "Sit down, be comfortable," he invites.

[Corwin]

Seira makes herself comfortable in a plush armchair, gesturing at another in welcome.

[Anastasia]

You remember.

It stands before you, in your hands. A solid, heavy sphere of lead. It looks utterly mundane, just the right size to sit in your big, calloused hand. You pick it up, regard it. Yes, you think. This will do as a core. A core no magic can touch.

It will not suffice.

"Master," You say, attention turn from the sphere, torn from your forges, turn from the great quenching barrels. He is everything and nothing, endless and encompassing all you can imagine. In him you see everything you could ever wish to know, yet it slips from you the moment you realize it.

You must improve lead, create a new material to suffice for your desired purpose.

"Master," You bow your head to him, "That is your will?"

There is no reply from the Incarnation before you, yet you sense his gaze. He watches you and waits.

You understand without another word. A test. It is not advice but a command.

Lead. Adamantine. Steel that will not rust. Blue ice. The essence of the runes of strength. A pint of blood from a mage slayer champion. Ten petrified eyes that will never see again. Unliving heartwoods. A droplet of your own blood, drawn from your own finger. All are tossed together into the forges, your hammer coming down on it again and again.

You sense his presence. He watches you.

You work. A metal as gray as the clouds of deep winter, lightless and bleak. A mere droplet sized pebble of it is made, carefully picked and held up to examine. Even forged roughly, it is smooth and without a single flaw to it.

That will suffice.

"Master?" You turn back to him, his presence still here.

Create. That is your share of seeking the Answer.

"Yes, master," You reply and yet..."But why this?"

It is necessary. Forge only this metal until you have enough to sheathe your entire forges one thousand times over. Cast it all as ingots and store it until my command. Until that time, you may use it but no other may.

You merely nod to that.

You have done well, Gond. The actions of Chaos have borne fruit, Elyssa contributes towards the Answer, and in that your own work improves.

At this Gond looks up, "Are we close?"

Yet the Incarnation of Balance is gone, as if he was never there.

---

"It's about like that," Gond rumbles, "Don't kid yourself into thinking they're friendly, or that they're hostile. They act according to what they seek and how that serves that purpose."

[Corwin]

"Have you noticed any change in them at all over the years you interacted with them?" Seira asks curiously. "Changes in talking patterns or the like?"

What's that metal?

[Anastasia]

Nothing you recognize. Whatever it is, you're certain you've never seen or heard of it before.

"No," Gond says, "They've always been as they are. Some of us aren't even sure if they can change the same way we can change." He rubs his chin at that.

[Corwin]

"I see. Hey, what was that metal you made? I can't say I recognize it, so it's probably still waiting for the right time to be used?"

[Anastasia]

"I never named it," Gond replies, "It's still waiting to be used. It stops magic completely, like an antimagic field in metal form."

[Corwin]

"Did you run a field test against appropriate opponents? Make an armor or a shield from it and seen what happens?"

[Anastasia]

"Yes, it works flawlessly," Gond agrees, "It's a little fragile for a metal, just suitable to holding the shape of a blade or armor, but it does exactly what it should."

[Corwin]

"Would you be willing to sell me enough of it for two suits of plate? It'd be nice for Elle and Lagann to experiment with something new."

[Anastasia]

"Absolutely not," Gond says immediately, "The Incarnation told me I may use it but none other may." With a frown, "You don't ignore the command of an Incarnation."

[Corwin]

"Oh! So he didn't actually give the command to you yet!"

[Anastasia]

"He has not. It still sits, awaiting," Gond says, "To what end I don't know."