My Master and His Master (4)

But I hadn't been invited to this country by Azvaldo, my master in smithing, simply to rekindle our old friendship.

I had come to this dwarven country to help him in the contest over the throne.

But what kind of situation could make a master smith of Azvaldo's caliber need my help?

After hearing the details from him, I couldn't help but smile at the sheer capriciousness of fate—yes, I really did.

There were several master smiths competing against my damn dwarf master, but the one probably in the lead right now was Rajudor.

Yes, he was the dwarf who had taught magic to Kaushman Fiedel—my master in magic, Azvaldo's disciple in smithing, and, to top it off, my partner in mischief.

According to Azvaldo, though, Rajudor's skill as a smith—strictly as a smith—was probably the lowest among the master smiths participating in the contest for the throne.

So why was Rajudor leading the contest for the throne?

The answer involved mithril, a rare metal that dwarves valued above all else.

To dwarves, mithril was a symbol of kingship.

That was because mithril was a metal that, in principle, only the dwarven king could forge.

The reason was that working mithril required tremendous heat, and only one furnace in the dwarven nation could provide it; by decree, only the dwarven king could operate that furnace.

No one knew how it accomplished that, but apparently the furnace was a dwarven secret treasure that drew heat from a true flame deep underground.

Ah, perhaps that's where the elven myth came from: the story that dwarves stole a fragment of fire from nature itself and imprisoned it in a furnace.

Magma? The mantle?

My scant knowledge wasn't enough to uncover the truth, but it was certainly the sort of technology that elves could reasonably view as dangerous.

Yet in this contest for the throne, Rajudor had actually demonstrated that he could work mithril without using the dwarves' secret treasure—the furnace.

Thus, Rajudor, who had until then been thought the least likely to claim the throne, suddenly surged to the front of the contest.

Even if his skill at smithing was a step below the others', that one achievement alone—his ability to work mithril—was enough.

Apparently, after returning from the human country, Rajudor sought out dwarves with a talent for magic, took them on as disciples, and kept making magic items.

Thus, most dwarves regarded him as a skilled and interesting, but utterly eccentric, man who made useful things that only some people could use.

But if Rajudor won the throne, the dwarven nation might become a country where the few people able to use magic items and those gifted in magic were the ones favored.

The dwarves with old-fashioned ideas rebelled against that possibility, gathering together and seeking a way to oppose Rajudor.

In other words, they began experimenting with processing mithril themselves, without using the secret treasure.

Rather than trying to crush their opponent, they were trying to process mithril themselves. I thought that was very much in keeping with the dwarves.

So did that mean Azvaldo—my damn dwarf master—was also part of those old-fashioned dwarves?

"No, even if only a few people can use it, there's no denying it's an interesting technology in its own right. ... I certainly don't dislike it. Still, this time, I have a reason I can't give up the throne."

Because his ideas differed from theirs, he had remained neutral and apparently wound up fighting both factions alone.

Of course, there were other master smiths besides Azvaldo with similar neutral views, but they too were trying to pursue the throne on their own.

Having heard all that, I realized how Rajudor—Kaushman's master in magic—had secured enough heat to process mithril.

Most likely—no, almost certainly—Rajudor had etched magical formulas into his own furnace and converted it into a magic item.

But naturally, making the furnace itself function as a magic item required an enormous amount of magical power.

Moreover, he had to keep channeling magic into it continuously for as long as the furnace was operating.

No single mage could possibly do that, which was why Rajudor had gathered disciples with a talent for magic and taken them in.

In other words, Rajudor had been setting his sights on the dwarven throne ever since he returned to the dwarven country—or perhaps ever since he taught Kaushman magic in Odine.

If he had been thinking of a way to process mithril since then, he was an extremely formidable opponent.

If his own talent for smithing fell a step short of that of the other master smiths, he would use his talent for magic to overturn that disadvantage.

Personally, I found him to be one hell of a man.

Though this time, he was my enemy and rival.

"So you figured that if I helped, you could draw more output from the furnace than it was designed to produce—enough to process mithril?"

He had probably sought my help as the final push after countless rounds of trial and error.

Even though he was my master, he'd placed an awfully great deal of faith in me.

From what I'd just heard, it was clear how tremendously important processing mithril was to the dwarves.

Bringing an elf in to witness it would probably have provoked even more opposition than the use of magic itself.

"Yes. I want to show every dwarf in this country what happens when dwarves and elves join forces. I want to show them just what my disciple and friend is capable of."

Azvaldo's gaze was utterly serious as he said that.

When we parted in Vistcoat, he had made me a promise.

'I will become the greatest smith in the dwarven nation, take the throne, and make it possible for elves to come visit.'

That was the promise he'd made.

To keep that promise, Azvaldo was pursuing the throne, intending to show the dwarves—through the contest for the throne, the smithing arena they valued most—what would happen when dwarves and elves joined forces.

Yeah, that was good.

I wanted to tell Kaushman.

Your master is one hell of a man.

But my master is even more so.

Rajudor had gained the weapon of magical knowledge in the human world.

But what Azvaldo—my damn dwarf master—had gained was a damn elf like me as his disciple, and a purpose.

Now, if those two came into conflict, which would prove stronger?

The outcome would most likely be settled by who claimed the dwarven throne.