Chapter 4
That night, Atlas and Torgrin’s faces filled my dreams, horrible memories haunting me.
I woke feeling as if I hadn’t slept at all.
When I headed down the stairs, Cillian wasn’t waiting with my morning mug of coffee, and I soon found out why when I reached the forge.
A line of young men stood outside the shop, all the way down the street.
I elbowed my way through the crowd to Cillian, who was at the counter frantically writing up orders. I greeted him, and he immediately came around the counter and pulled me aside.
‘They’re here because of the tournament! I’ve already secured a month’s worth of work in half an hour.’ Sweat beaded on his brow, and his cheeks were flushed. ‘How would you like to work full time with me for one month for half the profits? We will split everything straight down the middle.’
I wiped his brow with my sleeve.
His eyes widened.
‘I suppose I could make the swords.’ What was another month’s delay when I’d already been waiting ten years? I couldn’t refuse this big-hearted man anything.
He let out a loud whoop and gave my shoulders a squeeze. I couldn’t help smiling at the goof.
We took twenty more orders and then had to turn the rest away. Even with both of us working full time, completing everything before the tournament would be challenging. There were items Cillian already had that we could rework, but most would need to be made from scratch.
What had I gotten myself into? With both forges firing constantly, I was drenched from head to toe in sweat the moment I entered the workshop.
Cillian was relentless with his hammer, churning out armour and helmets so fast he was a blur.
He allocated all the orders for swords to me, and I quickly set to work.
Soon, the forge was unbearable. I did my best to keep up with Cillian, but he didn’t suffer from the heat as much as I did.
‘You wear too many clothes,’ he declared. This was not a helpful observation, as working naked wasn’t a safe option for blacksmiths.
The next day, the pretty laundry girl came to the back of the blacksmith’s cottage while we had our morning coffee and fed the horses. She waited while Cillian went inside to retrieve his laundry.
When he came back, he ordered me to add my clothes. I grumbled at him, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
The amount of clothing I owned was pitiful, and I had been washing them in the stream on my free days. It wasn’t the best way to clean clothing, but I didn’t think asking Millie to wash my sad, worn-out workwear was worth the coins.
When I returned, Cillian was giving her instructions on how to alter one of his shirts. He gave her a few extra coins for her trouble, and she took my tiny pile without saying anything to me.
‘Thanks, Millie,’ Cillian said with a big, infectious smile.
I snorted at her reaction. The poor girl almost floated her way down the street.
‘What?’ he asked me, pretending to be oblivious to his effect on the poor girl.
‘You have all the fillies eating out of your hand,’ I said, throwing his words from the day we met back at him.
‘Clearly not all,’ he muttered as he walked away.
Two days later, Millie returned the laundry and Cillian’s altered shirt, which I discovered was for me. The quality stitching and the cut of his old blue shirt were skil fully done.
The sleeves had been removed, creating a short tunic for me.
Millie had removed some of the front and back to expose more skin.
She had also sewn on binds that crossed between my breasts and tied around my waist, which was rather flattering and would stop any fabric from gaping when I leaned forward.
Millie waited for me to change, and when I returned, she checked her work.
‘It fits well,’ she said, gathering her things.
‘Here – take this,’ I said, handing her a decorative hair fastener that I had made. I’d intended to keep it for myself, but it was a fair gift for her exemplary work.
‘Thank you!’ She placed it in her dark, curly hair with a smile. ‘Goodbye, Caris.’
Millie had left my clothes neatly folded and smelling like a meadow beside Cillian’s. Perhaps I would engage her to wash my clothes in the future.
I gulped down the coffee that Cillian had left for me. He must have started early, as he did most mornings now. Wearing my new sleeveless shirt, I hurried to the forge to thank Cillian for his thoughtfulness.
I was grinning stupidly as I entered the forge, and two sets of eyes turned to me as I skipped through the entrance. I stopped when I saw who the early-morning visitor was.
The captain’s eyes travelled from my face to the exposed skin of my arms and collarbones, then took in the leather breeches covering my long legs.
His scarred face gave nothing away, but I was sure he couldn’t recognise me as the girl he had held by the river nearly ten years ago. She had been small and weak. Now, my arms were muscular, and my legs were thick and long, making us the same height as I stood eye to eye with him.
‘Here she is!’ Cillian exclaimed, and I moved to stand beside him. ‘This here is Captain Torgrin.’ Cillian was a good actor. He had warned me not to trust the soldiers in Murus, so I followed his lead.
‘Good day, Captain.’ Did he detect the slight shake in my voice?
‘I believe you’re a master swordmaker?’ His voice was deep and soft, just as it had been years ago.
‘I’m not sure about being a master, but I like to make quality swords,’ I said.
‘Yes, I have seen your work, and like I said – a master swordmaker.’ He motioned to one of my swords lying on a workbench.
Torgrin and I stared at each other silently. Did he remember? Was he pretending too? If so, why? Was he hiding something? Or someone?
The stillness grew, and I looked away from Torgrin’s piercing dark eyes.
Thankfully, Cillian broke the awkward silence.
‘He is here because Lord Warwick heard about your skill and would like you to make him a sword for the tournament,’ Cillian explained as Torgrin continued to watch me.
‘I was telling Captain Torgrin that you don’t work for me.
It’s your decision if you have the time to do the work. ’
I was touched that Cillian left me to decide, while well aware that making a sword for Lord Warwick would be good for Cillian’s business.
‘I have limited time, so if you want something intricate, it will cost Lord Warwick more.’ I crossed my arms and stared back. I didn’t usually haggle on price, but Torgrin’s stare pressed against my chest, sharp and unyielding, turning my usual confidence into a brittle shield.
‘Lord Warwick only wishes to have his family crest included in your design, and he will pay ten times your normal rate for the inconvenience of delivering it on such short notice.’
That left me speechless. It was an excessive amount of coin, and I hesitated. What if it wasn’t up to his lord’s standards?
Cillian nudged me with his elbow. Was I mistaken, or had Torgrin’s eyes narrowed at the contact?
Sounding more confident than I felt, I said, ‘I’ll do it.’
‘Thank you. Caris, is it?’ he asked quietly.
‘Yes,’ I said, swallowing hard as my stomach somersaulted at the sound of my name on his lips.
‘I will tell my lord the good news.’ He didn’t smile but nodded politely to us both before leaving the forge.
Cillian whistled low. ‘Wow, that man is intense.’
‘I suppose he has to be to command soldiers as young as himself,’ I murmured, ignoring how rattled I was by Torgrin’s sudden visit.
Cillian wrapped his arms around me and lifted me off my feet, which surprised me, considering my size. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked.
‘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 soldier delivered 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 – that was 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.