The backup forge shop in the western corner of the foundry was empty, abandoned by the daytime blacksmiths who had fled the choking heat of the night shift.
At the center of the earthen floor stood a six-hundred-pound star-iron anvil, its polished face dented and scarred by decades of heavy forging. Lin Tao laid out three rods of cold-drawn star-iron on the anvil face, beside a pair of brass measuring tongs and a small leather pouch containing crushed fiery red stone. The anvil had been cast from meteoritic iron alloyed with three percent nickel, giving it an unbending rebound stretch that amplified every hammer strike.
Lin Tao checked the time against the water clock on the wall.
Two hours remained before the third watch. Just then, the Conclave elders would initiate the main royal smelt.
“Tie Shan,” Lin Tao said, picking up a four-foot steel measuring rod. “We need a sound signal rod. It must be twenty-four inches long, half an inch in width, with a narrowed tip ground to a sixty-degree cone-shaped point.”
Tie Shan picked up the heaviest piece of star-iron stock, weighing it in his calloused right hand. “Too thick. Needs hammering.”
“We can’t use the fire forge,” Lin Tao told him, his voice low and firm. “Heating the metal will disrupt the crystal-clear grain of the star-iron, lowering its internal sound speed. We must cold-work it directly on the anvil.”
