‘I was until you decided to squeeze me to death.’
He put me down with a laugh, and I shook my head and smiled.
‘I guess I have to behave myself now that I’m working alongside a master swordmaker!’he teased.
I snorted, which made him laugh again.
We were about to get to work when I realised I didn’t know Lord Warwick’s family crest.Fortunately, an hour later, a soldierdelivered a detailed drawing.It was a beautifully woven circle of leaves with a large oak tree.
Inspired by the intricate design, I set to work.
†
Each day began with fire.I set the billet in the forge and waited for it to glow, bright as the noonday sun, hot enough to shape.Then the hammer and I found our rhythm.Stroke by stroke, I lengthened the blade, thinned the edges, drew out the hexagonal core that gave it strength.
‘Why not diamond?’Cillian asked, watching the steel take form.
‘Hex cuts through the gaps in armour but still slices clean,’ I said, and proved it – dragging a sharpened blade across parchment.It split like silk.
‘Won’t it be brittle?’
‘After grinding, I’ll quench it in oil, not water, and temper it in the flames.It’ll bend before it breaks.’
I took a blade that I had finished and polished to a high sheen and placed it on the assembly bench.He watched me as I slid the cross-guard over the tang, fixed the grip in place, then fastened the round pommel at the end.The balance felt right in my hand.I gave it to him.
‘Try it.’
He took it carefully, wrapping his fingers around the hilt.‘The grip’s longer.’
‘So you can swing with both hands.Even in gauntlets.’
He gave it a testing arc.Even one-handed it moved like it belonged to him.‘It’s light,’ he breathed, half in awe.
‘The heavier pommel balances the extra weight of the blade,’ I explained.
He handed it back, eyes bright.‘I’ve never seen a sword so well made.’
That quiet wonder in his voice –thatwas what carried me through the long days, forging sword after sword in the blur of weeks before the tournament.
Two nights before the tournament, I completed Lord Warwick’s sword.I paid a messenger to inform Torgrin that his lord’s sword was ready and that he could pick it up the following day.
Cillian said it was the most perfect sword ever made, and we needed to celebrate its creation.I don’t know what had gotten into me, but I agreed to let him take me out.
The tavern in the city centre was crowded, with more visitors arriving in Murus daily ahead of the tournament.Many young men saw the tournament as an opportunity to show their skills with a sword or a bow, and from the talk around us, some longed to impress Captain Torgrin and Captain Atlas and join their ranks.
Cillian found us a table towards the back and ordered a jug of ale from a buxom barmaid.She gave him a cheeky wink and was back faster than I thought possible through this heaving crowd.
‘I’ve never had ale before,’ I told Cillian, unsure as I looked at the brown liquid in the jug.
‘So many firsts!What else haven’t you tried?’His thick lashes lowered as he looked meaningfully at my mouth.
My breathing hitched a little.‘None of your business.’
‘I think we should make a list of things you would like to try.Now that the work is done, we have time to explore new things.’He smiled and winked.
‘Cillian …’ I shook my head.Was he flirting with me?
His smile grew.‘Drink!’He handed me a large mug, and I took it by the handle.
