Chapter 12 #2
He nodded. “Most soldiers keep their weapons in their quarters. After all, if ye buy yerself a nice sword, ye daenae want anybody to be able to get their hands on it. There is another armory inside the keep. This one is used for training, mostly, and for storing the guards’ weapons.”
“I want a sword!” she cried, running toward the rows of glittering silver blades.
Hunter yelped in alarm and hustled after her, seizing her before she was able to touch the edges. “Ye must never come near these, Willow, do ye hear?”
She pouted. “Why nae?”
“They are very sharp and very heavy. When ye are older, I’ll have a fine sword made for ye, just like this. But until ye are bigger, ye just arenae strong enough to lift one.”
“I could try.”
He gave a wry smile and unhooked a sword from the wall. Setting it carefully point down, he peered down at her. “Still think ye could lift it?”
The sword was taller than her. Biting her lip, Willow reached up, trying to get her little hands around the thick hilt.
“It does seem very heavy,” she conceded, with bad grace. “Can I have a knife?”
“I think yer mother might rip out me innards if I gave ye a blade of any description. But ye will get one someday, I promise. For now, ye will have to be content with one of these.”
He hung up the sword and pulled out a short wooden training sword. It was plain, undecorated, and not properly weighted.
Training swords were always lighter than proper weapons, but the more advanced ones did have some heft to them. It was no good to become proficient with a wooden training sword only to learn that you have to start all over again with a proper sword.
“Look at this,” Hunter murmured, sinking down cross-legged. “This one is yers. Ye can take it back to yer rooms, and take it with ye if ye ever go away.”
Willow took the sword, lifting it with effort. “It’s heavy.”
“Aye. Ye have to practice to get used to it. Being a warrior means being able to fight, and ye have to be ready to practice it.”
“But I’m small.”
“That’s true. It can put ye at a disadvantage, unless ye are quick and clever.
But fighting isnae just a matter of practice.
It’s about what’s in here”—he leaned over, pointing at her heart—“and in here”—his finger lifted to point at her temple—“rather than the weight of yer fists. It’s about how hard ye are willing to fight to survive. It’s about what ye are willing to do.”
Her eyes went wide. “Ohh.”
He levered himself to his feet. “Come, let’s go outside, and ye can look at it in the daylight.”
She trotted obediently after him, closely inspecting her new sword.
“Now.” He turned to face her. “A sword is a very personal thing. It’s nae just a bit of sharp metal to swing around to protect yerself. When ye are older, ye can choose how ye want yer sword forged. The length of the blade, the material of the hilt, the style, the jewels, and so on.”
She blinked up at him, wide-eyed. “Jewels?”
He bit the inside of his cheek. Only lairds and their families, or rich merchants, could afford jewels on their swords. If Willow went around telling everybody that Laird MacCrimmon had promised her a sword with jewels in its hilt, there’d be talk.
“Only if ye are rich,” he managed. “But for now, I can carve up the sword hilt into any pattern ye like, to make it pretty. Then, it’ll seem like yers, eh?”
She nodded enthusiastically.
He sat down, and she took her place in front of him, expectant. Pulling out a short knife, he inspected the simple cross-guard.
“Well, what would ye like?”
Willow’s face scrunched up in concentration. “I daenae ken.”
“Well, ye could have ivy twisting around the hilt… but nay, that’ll make it hard to grip. Best to keep it simple. How about something here, on the part above where ye will hold it?”
She brightened. “A fox!”
A slow smile spread across Hunter’s face. “That’s an excellent choice. While I’m at it, I’ll show ye how to whittle, eh?”
“What’s whittling?”
“It’s using a wee blade like this to carve up a piece of wood, to make it into something else. Here, watch.”
Deftly, he used the point of the knife to gouge out a rough oval on the sword hilt.
“The ears will go here, and the snout below,” he explained.
“When whittling, ye have to be careful nae to dig too deep, or ye can ruin the wood and the carving. It’s very clever of ye to have an animal on yer crossguard, ye ken.
Warriors always did that, in the hope of getting the power of that animal. ”
Willow’s eyes widened. “Really? Do ye have an animal on yers?”
“Aye, I do. A wild boar.”
She wrinkled her nose. “A pig?”
“Oh, daenae get it twisted, lass. A wild boar is like nay pig ye have ever seen. They’re wild, aggressive, and very strong. They have tusks that can gore a man with one blow.”
“What’s goring?”
He cleared his throat. “Never mind. Here, look, I’m going to start putting in some details on the fox’s face now. Watch.”
She leaned forward, engrossed.
Movement caught his eye, and he paused momentarily, glancing over her head.
Daphne stood at a distance, watching, a faint smile playing on her lips. Hunter returned his gaze to his work and tried to ignore the pulse in his ears.