The industrious sounds rang out from two of Morgy’s forges.  Baneck worked in the one, and Granholm and Torsar toiled next door.

Baneck took the warning – a pebble tossed by Honee – as a sign, and quickly poured the molten iron onto the sparkling scale sitting in the stone basin.  No sooner had he done so than the liquefied metal quivered with the earth-shaking impacts of a human-sized body, tromping along with draconic strength, at Morgy’s imminent arrival.

The elder Lichner men, having also felt the vibrations, came over, just as Baneck’s sponsor stepped under the roof of his forge.

Without pre-amble, Morgy walked right up to him, her amply curvaceous form appearing bigger and more imposing to match her mood.  “What did you do to this metal?!”

She was holding up the ingot he had given her.  It had a slight scorch mark on one side.

Without waiting for him to answer, she continued, “I did everything I could to test its strength; and the most I could do is make this little burn.  The torch I used – and it was an expensive thing – was as close as a mortal can come to fire in its purest form, hotter even than the breath of a red dragon!”

Baneck’s expression, which was already dangerously amused in the face of her upset, beamed with enthusiasm.  “Really!”

He took the shiny block from her hand.  “Well then!  The frost-steel fared pretty well.”

“It fared better than any metal has a right to!  Frost-steel?  You’ve named it?”

“Now I know I’m on the right path.”

Torsar took the ingot from Baneck, and examined it himself.  “Ho-ho!  I’d certainly say so!”

Morgy studied Honee for a moment.  Baneck saw Honee look from Morgy to himself, then from Morgy to Torsar.

The sly dragon looked with her own eyes, back at the overweight scalawag.  She reached out, and lifted the gleaming object from under his shirt-collar – – a coin-like piece of bright, silvery metal worn on a thin chain.  Its glistening surface and etched runes shone clearly in the daylight.

“The tingle of magic within this bauble,” she said, slyly looking back at Baneck, “is the same as the frost-steel.”

She eyed the similar outline under the collar of Baneck’s own shirt.  “And what are these, pray tell?”

“They protect a body from heat.  It helps us work good and close to the fire.”

“Is that a smile of appreciation showing itself on your features?” Torsar asked.  “I don’t think you can hold it back.”

“As such a powerful substance is created out of the blue?” she asked Baneck.  “I hope you appreciate the gravity of the situation.”

“And now what are you working on?” she continued.

“Some very, very wonderful things.”

“My orgite is being put to good use?”

“Very much so.”

<*>                                                          <*>                                                      <*>

It had taken four days to push her group back to the north, and reach the game trail; then another three to march northeast to the Hunters’ Camp.

Banacheck and his dwarves were not there; and she waited anxiously for five days for them.

Now, in the seclusion of a tent, Fawnlum explained her plan, with Gritcomb holding the piece of twine stretched tight between his fingers.

“I see what yer sayin’.”

A series of ‘aye’s’, and grunts of agreement came from the circle of bearded faces, sitting in at their little meeting.

“But we’d need strong wire to pull this off, and we don’t have the means or time to make any here.”

“My wizard has a spell that makes normal twine as strong as chains.”

The dwarves’ faces lit up, and they turned to Lucas.  Their eyes gleamed with more enthusiasm, as he affirmed the claim with a nod.

They turned back in their huddle, and start mumbling, pointing at the strand, and drawing weird little marks in the dirt.  Their devious chuckles started getting louder, as their whispers became more animated.

Banacheck looked up at Fawnlum.  “We’re goin’ to town, Missy.  Now, here’s a job for you long-legged youngsters.”