Warcry (18 page)

CHAPTER 26

ATIRA MARCHED OVER TO THE BIG MAN AND stood there, silent, until he looked at her.

She returned his stare.

“Well, now.” Dunstan straightened up and put his hands on his hips. “You still want to try your hand, eh?”

“Yes,” Atira replied, her eyes straying to the fire, where the metal was heating. “I want to . . .” Her voice faltered, and she bit her lip, not certain how to put the feeling into words.

The apprentices had stopped their work, and the forge had gone silent but for the roar of the fires.

Dunstan gave her a long, considering look, then slowly nodded. “Well enough. But as I said, this—” He gestured to the blade. “This is earned, m’girl. You want to start, you start with the basics.” He turned and gestured. “Garth, come here, lad. The rest of ya, get to work!”

The hammering started back up as one of the lads came over, staring at Atira. “Yes, master?”

Dunstan put his hand on the boy’s shoulder, then looked over at Heath. “You’ve time for this?”

Atira looked over her shoulder at Heath. He gave her a smile. “There’s no problem. We’ve some time.”

“Garth, Atira wishes to learn,” Dunstan rumbled. “What’s the first lesson of the forge?”

The boy frowned, then grinned. “Same as we first learn as babes, master,” the boy replied.

“And what’s that?” Dunstan said.

“Hot.” The boy pumped up his chest and deepened his voice. “It’s all hot. Assume it’s all hot, and you can’t go wrong. Wear your apron. Lift everything with tongs or use your gloves. Fire is our friend, but it’s also a betraying backstabber who’ll turn on you in an instant and cost you dear.”

Atira nodded.

“Garth, this is your apprentice,” Dunstan said. “Teach her your skill.”

“You’ll need an apron,” Garth said. “I’ll get ya one.”

Atira didn’t smile, though there were grins to be had around the shop.

“Atira,” Heath called. He’d settled on a stool by Ismari’s worktable. “You’ll want to take off your weapons and armor.”

Atira nodded and went over, unbuckling her sword-belt as she went. She gave Heath a quick look as she disarmed. “You don’t mind?”

“No, not at all.” Heath leaned back against the wall. “Better this than dealing with my mother and the wedding. But we can’t stay all afternoon.”

Atira nodded, starting to remove her leather armor. “Just give the word, and we’ll go. I just want to try—”

“You can stop stripping now.” Heath coughed and lowered his voice. “Or I am going to have to challenge every male in this room to mortal combat?”

Atira paused in the middle of raising her undertunic. Her hands were just over her breasts. She’d been so intent, she’d forgotten that Xyian women did not . . .

Garth was standing in front of her, mouth open, his eyes bulging.

Atira lowered her tunic.

Heath’s eyes danced. “Although it would be a sight to see—you wielding a hammer, your breasts swaying and gleaming with—”

“Enough of that,” Ismari said firmly.

“Yes, ma’am,” Heath said meekly. But Atira noticed that he shifted on his stool, adjusting himself. He’d just have to ache. She had other desires for the moment.

She took the apron from Garth, following him as she tied it on. It covered her chest and was so long it brushed the tops of her boots. Made of thick leather, it smelled of the forge, burnt and stained with soot. It came with thick gloves.

“My job is nails,” Garth said, leading her to his area in the corner. “But I’m starting to practice on chain.”

“What is a nail?” Atira asked.

Garth frowned at her as if he thought she was teasing him. But his face cleared as he showed her one. “This is. See the point? And the head?” He pointed at the flat part.

Atira nodded.

“So, first I make sure my fire is hot enough.” Garth pointed at the small hearth by his side.

Atira looked back at the hearth where the apprentice was pumping the bellows, but Garth shook his head. “No, no, we don’t need that hot a flame. Now, ya feed this charcoal, ya see?” He reached into a bin at his feet and pulled out a few pieces, feeding it to the flames. “But not too much. We has ta buy charcoal, and you don’t want to burn so much that the nails end up costing ya.” Garth looked at her seriously. “Ya need to be fast and good to master this. Fast enough you don’t waste the heat, but good enough you make quality, understand?”

Atira nodded.

“Well, then.” Garth reached for his hammer and another tool. “Let me show you first. You take a length of wrought iron.” He picked up a rod with a gloved hand. “And you strike off just what ya need.” He tapped the rod with a sharp blow. “Then put it into the fire for a heat,” Garth said, “and you pound out the point.”

Atira watched as the metal responded to Garth’s blows, tapering into a point. Garth lifted the piece and thrust it into a bucket of water at his feet. Steam rose with a great hiss.

“Then another heat.” Garth thrust the other end of the nail into the fire with his tongs. “And you make the head.” He waited a moment, pulled the nail out, and placed it on the anvil. His hammer danced again, forming a flat top. “Then ya cool it again,” he said, thrusting it back into the bucket, then lifting it to show her. “It’s still hot,” he cautioned as he set it down in a wooden box with other finished nails. “But that’s it.” Garth grinned. “Easy, eh?”

“I thought that of mounting a galloping horse, until I broke my leg,” Atira said absently.

Garth’s eyes went wide. “You can mount a galloping horse?”

“Show me again,” Atira said.

Garth hammered out a few more nails, then paused, wiping his brow with his wrist. “Now you,” he said, holding out the hammer.

Atira reached for it, taking it in her gloved hand.

HEATH WATCHED IN AMAZEMENT AS ATIRA STOOD there, listening to the boy, concentrating on his every word. He was even more amazed when she took up the hammer and chisel and whacked at a piece of metal. She was an amazing sight, striking the metal and then listening carefully as the lad coached her.

“Surprised?” Ismari said finally. She stood close by at her bench, finishing the polish on the smaller of the rings.

“She always surprises me,” Heath answered softly. “But this . . . this is unexpected.”

“Ah.”

Heath glared at Ismari. “And what does that mean?”

“Nothing.” Ismari picked up the larger ring and started to polish it. “It just seems to me that your lady friends in the past didn’t. Surprise you, that is.”

Heath snorted.

Ismari shrugged. “I am simply making an observation.”

Heath smiled ruefully. “Well, it doesn’t matter, Ismari. I doubt she’ll stay. She’s talked about going back to the Plains. She doesn’t like the city. Or our ways.”

“And she’s been in the city for how long?” Ismari said. “Give it time, Heath. You never know what—”

“Heath, look!” Atira was standing before him, waving something in his face. “Look what I did!” She was smiling, covered in sweat and soot, stinking of the forge, wisps of her hair surrounding her head. Dunstan and Garth stood behind her.

The nail was slightly crooked, and the head didn’t really appear round, but Atira held it up as if it were the Sword of Xy itself.

“Well, look at that.” Heath plucked it from her gloved hand, then promptly dropped it. “Damn!”

“It’s hot.” Atira gave him an exasperated look, then knelt down to retrieve her nail.

“I know, I know,” Heath shook his hand, trying to ease the sting.

“Let me see it,” Ismari said with a sigh. She grabbed his wrist. “Not bad. You had the good sense to let go.”

“About all the sense he has,” Dunstan laughed. “What does every apprentice learn, very first thing?”

“It’s all hot!” came the ringing cry from the lads.

Heath joined in the laughter, even as Atira retrieved her creation from the floor.

“Keep it, lady,” Dunstan said. “As a memento of your day at our forge.”

IT WAS A BIT LATER, WHILE ATIRA WAS PUTTING her armor back on, that Garth approached with a few of the other lads behind him.

“My thanks for the lesson, Garth of Xy.” Atira smiled at him as she strapped on her sword-belt.

“You are welcome.” Garth seemed nervous. “Lady, may I show you some of my work?” He started talking faster, keeping an eye on Dunstan, who waited with Heath and Ismari. “I’ve been practicing with my chain links, ya see, and I was thinking—”

“Firelanders wear armor,” one of the others blurted. He was smaller and younger than Garth. “And they go around naked.”

“Let me tell it, Laric,” Garth said. “See, lady, we wanted somethin’ to sell, and we thought that maybe . . .” He put his bundle on the worktable and pulled back the leather. “See—”

“What’s this, then?” Dunstan’s voice boomed, and the lads all flinched.

“Armor,” Atira said. “At least, I think it’s armor.” She lifted a piece from the pile of chain on the table. “It seems rather . . . small.”

“What in the blazes?” Ismari asked as she lifted another piece. “What is this supposed to be?” She held up the piece with two hands, and a faint blush came over her cheeks. “Oh.”

“And this is the top, I suppose?” Atira asked. “Not sure what it’s supposed to protect.” She raised an eyebrow at Ismari, who laughed.

“Or how you keep it from chafing,” she sputtered. “Really, boys. I think perhaps your imaginations have run away with you.”

Heath, Dunstan, and the lads were all standing there as if struck by lightning.

Atira quirked up the corner of her mouth and held the piece in her hand up to her chest.

The men twitched. Atira was sure Garth was going to faint dead away.

Atira and Ismari exchanged a glance as she returned her piece to the pile. “Well,” Atira said, taking a look at the links. “This seems well made. You fastened each link?”

Silence.

She looked back over her shoulder. “Garth? You fastened each link?”

The lad blinked. “Yes. Yes, I did. It’s practice, ya understand?” he blurted out, his face aflame. “We made a bunch of them.”

“Oh, I think I understand, all right.” Atira chuckled.

“But they’re of no practical use,” Ismari said. “You should be making full sets, not these scraps.”

“I’d give anything to see you wear it,” Garth whispered, his voice cracking.

“You aren’t the only one,” Heath muttered.

Dunstan laughed.

Atira glanced at Heath, thought for a moment, then smiled at the lads. “I’ll take one.”

HEATH HUSTLED ATIRA BACK TO THE CASTLE. HE had to keep her moving since she was still caught up in the magic of fire and metal, and talking of the forge. It wasn’t until they were standing in front of Marcus that he realized his mistake. They should have taken the time to at least wash.

“What in the name of the elements have you been doing?” Marcus glared at them as he opened the door of the Queen’s chamber. “You stink. And not of sex.”

There was a horrified gasp from behind him. Marcus rolled his eye.

Heath already knew his mother was in the room; the guards had warned him that she was on a rampage. “Lara sent us on an errand,” Heath said calmly as he ushered Atira in before him.

Anna sat with three of her ladies, pins in their mouths, staring at Atira as if she had swords drawn and was screaming a battle cry. Anna’s mouth was open in a look of pure horror.

Yveni and Aymu stood nearby, clothed in plain shifts, looking miserable. Heath suspected that the entire “dress for the wedding” idea was not going over well.

His mother’s look of horror melted into one of grim determination. “You both smell like the armory,” Anna growled. “I need you clean if we’re to have you ready in time. Best to get yourself off to the baths,” she said to Atira.

Heath opened his mouth, but Anna cut him off with a glare. “
Not
with you, young man. Amyu and Yveni need to bathe; they can take her.” Anna gestured to her assistants, who started to remove pieces of cloth from their victims. “Lara and Keir are still sleeping. Heath, we’ll fit you a new tunic. Now.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Heath said, accepting his role of sacrifice as Yveni, Amyu, and Atira made their escape. He waited until the door closed behind them. “Mother, you can fit me if you wish, but I won’t be wearing a new tunic. I’ll be armored.”

Marcus huffed in agreement.

“Armor? For a wedding?” Anna scowled at him, but then she frowned as he simply met her gaze with the same determination. “You think—”

A knock at the door saved him. Detros peeked in and gave him a relieved look. “There ya be, lad. A word, if you would.”

Heath gave his mother a smile and a shrug and slipped out before she could prevent him.

“I SWEAR TO YOU, IT HAS BEEN ENDLESS,” YVENI complained. “She has been at us since the Warprize secluded herself.”

“I don’t think she and the Warlord are napping,” Amyu agreed. “I think they are hiding.”

“But it’s just clothes,” Atira said. “You try it on, and it fits or doesn’t.”

“Oh no,” Yveni turned down another hallway and led them to a set of circular stairs. “They want to sew them tight to the body at the top, and long and flowing at the bottom.” She shuddered. “They have pins.”

“I am not wearing one of those things,” Amyu declared. “How in the name of the skies am I supposed to deal with skirts and swords?”

“We must,” Atira said as they trotted down the steps. “The Warprize wishes it so, and how can we not?”

“Where did you go?” Yveni asked. She wrinkled her nose. “You do stink.”

“Someplace amazing,” Atira said. As Yveni opened a door, they spilled out into a hallway. “A place where they wield the very elements to create metal. Weapons, and other things.” She paused, and held out her hand. “Look,” she demanded. “I made this.”

Yveni and Amyu gathered around and stared at the nail in her hand. “You made that?” Amyu asked in astonishment.

“Yes,” Atira said. She struggled to explain the feeling that gave her. The rising excitement of the idea of bending metal to her will. “They taught me. They showed me to use fire and tools to make it.”

Yveni gave her a look of amazement. “They make weapons?”