Parts of it were broken or rusted, but most of it was the non-rusting kind. Its shape was a surprise. It didn't look like a mountain, but something made by giants, broken off and stuck into the ground.
It was wonderful to stand here, beholding the mightiest magic in the entire world. Still, Alyar wasn't satisfied. He felt he must go closer, even—possibly—touch it.
"You'd better stay here. Bru, if anything happens to me, take the girls and run. You can get back to the beasts by going down the river."
Bru was dismayed. "Don't go any closer! You saw what happened to the magicians' dish!"
"They were trying to steal iron." He unloaded the metal he was carrying, smiled at them, and went on.
He'd only covered a hundred man-lengths or so when he heard the distorted voice, coming from over his head. He looked up, then stood rooted as the Iron Fley came spiraling down toward him. He tried to think the purest, most serene thoughts he could, though the fervent wish to be somewhere else kept intruding.
The thing paused a few lengths away. "Advance and be recognized," it said.
He took a faltering hop forward. "Halt or I'll shoot," it said, and he stopped.
"Advance."