Hour after hour the two heroes sat together and talked of their great project and the desire of their hearts. Nor could they readily agree by what road they should journey to Pohyola, whether by sea or whether by land.
“Twice have I sailed thither in a ship,” said the Minstrel.
“Twice have I made the journey in a sledge,” returned the Smith.
“It is nearest by water,” said the Minstrel.
“It is safest by land,” said the Smith.
“It is pleasantest to go thither by ship.”
“It is surest to ride thither along the shore.”
“Well, let this be as it may,” at length said Wainamoinen. “We shall not quarrel. If the land way pleases you, I say no more; but it is beset with perils, and we must be well armed. As you know, it is not the habit of minstrels to [[299]]carry weapons, and I have neither spear nor club. So get you to your smithy, kindle the fire in your furnace so long idle and cold, and forge me a keen-edged sword with which to fight wild men and savage beasts.”
The Smith obeyed. Once more the flames leaped up within his furnace, once more the black smoke poured from the roof-hole, and once more the song of the anvil rang out cheerily in the morning air. Into the fire the mighty wizard threw first a bar of purest iron, then upon this he scattered a handful of gold, all that remained of the Golden Maiden. He blew the bellows with might and main till the whole smithy trembled and groaned and the flames leaped up to lick the sky. Then he drew out the half-melted mass and held it upon the anvil while he beat and turned it, and beat and turned it, until he had shaped it into a wonderful weapon the like of which no man had seen before.
“Ha! this is indeed a sword well suited to a hero,” he said when it was finished.