- Prologue -

Nadel Bresquet usually managed to cut a colourful and stylish dash wherever he went, but for once, he lacked quite a bit of his usual exuberance. It was hard to be exuberant surrounded by rock, shadows and battle-banners, far beneath the ground in the audience chamber of Lord Cinderbeard. The stark ulititarian surroundings drained the liveliness from Bresquet, and almost from the start, he wished he had not come.

The lure of financial gain was enough to overcome his reluctance, however. The Murgands, stocky, squat bearded giants with a natural affinity for stone and metal, had a lot to offer - if they could be convinced to part with it.

"We are unwilling to supply star-metal to those who may be...unsuitable", grumbled Cinderbeard. "There are many rituals to carry out for its safe extraction..."

"My Lord, we appreciate the precautions - we have studied the subject in great depth", assured Bresquet. "The Reclamationists take great care to ensure that restored technology is fully functional - and safe."

"Don't see why you need to do it at all", snorted the grey-skinned, bald-headed giant. "We've all done just fine wthout the Old Devices since The Rage. Why bring them back?"

Ever the salesman, Bresquet seized an obvious opportunity, and his unease melted away at once.

"Choice", he declared, grinning so that his teeth shone out from the small area of black beard framing his mouth. "Right now, there isn't any, but that's going to change soon."

"For the worse, I suspect", growled the Murgand. "Your kind could scarcely control your machines the last time, if the scrolls read true."

"Not this time", insisted Bresquet, getting well into his salesmanly stride. "This time, the Reclamationists will maintain absolute control over the product - construction, distribution, the whole deal. We'll be the sole manufacturers, and the sole source of supply."

Cinderbeard's hairless eyebrow flexed upwards. "You've clearly thought this over."

"You don't trust to luck when you're in business", confided Bresquet, as though his words were some great secret.

"Few truer words have ever been spoken", said the Murgand, no stranger to the world of business himself, "but I'm still far from convinced. What else do you offer in support of your request for the star-metal?"

"Two words", said Bresquet confidently. "Jaglundar's Rock."

Lord Cinderbeard lunged forward in his throne, almost - but not quite - leaving his seat. "What mean you, little man? What claim do you have over the Forge of Legend?"

The Murgand chieftain's whole manner grew suddenly darker, even threatening, but Bresquet pursued his "sales pitch". "We have as much of a claim as anyone else who sails past. But who amongst them is prepared to actually stake that claim? Are you?"

"No", snapped Cinderbeard. "It is every chieftain's dream to reclaim the Forge of Legend, but nearly an entire generation of our finest was lost when the Enemy came. The Clan of Cinderbeard is nowhere near strong enough, even though nearly two hundred years have passed."

"I quite understand", said Bresquet. "Any man, even a mighty warrior, would take all the time he felt he needed to consider a second engagement with such an enemy. It would probably take the massed ranks of...what? Three, four Clans?"

"Each of which would seek to claim the Forge for itself, leading to conflict, and more bloodshed", added Cinderbeard wearily. "We may as well wait for the Enemy to die of old age..."

"But what if you had allies who had no plans to assume ownership of the Forge of Legend?", suggested the Reclamationist emissary. "Allies who have only a simple request - and would be most interested in entering into a contract with the Clan of Cinderbeard for your entire output from Jaglundar's Rock for the first ten years, at very favourable rates..."

Things would go one of two ways now, that Bresquet knew. Cinderbeard would either agree, and call his battle-lords around the table to plan their actions, or he would refuse the alliance, his honour impuned by the suggestion of an alliance with non-Murgands, and have the Reclamationist thrown out of the colony. Cinderbeard's hand was straying towards the long-handled hammer-axe that stood propped up against the side of his throne, and Bresquet got the feeling that, if the alliance was refused, he would be leaving Cinderbeard Hall in more than one piece...

"Tell me more, Reclamationist", the chieftain eventually said. "I would know what makes you think your forces are equal to the legions of the Murgand race."

Bresquet grinned again, and had his smile been any broader, his teeth would have encircled his head like a halo of pearls.

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