The Chaos Balance

LXVIII

Nylan turned the heavy blade with the tongs, then brought the smaller hammer down behind the edge of the cherry-red metal, once, twice.

Clunnng! Clunng!

Although the sun had barely cleared the eastern hills and the dawn breeze had not quite died out, sweat poured from Nylan, even while he worked in only trousers and a leather apron.

He raised the hammer again, using each blow to narrow the base of the blade edge. Should he add a blood gutter?

No. Too much time involved, and that would involve totally reforging each blade.

“What do you think you’re already doing?” he murmured.

“Ser?” asked Sias, pausing in pumping the bellows.

“Nothing. Nothing.” Nylan turned the blade again, checking the heat in the metal, both by eye and with his order senses.

Dust rose from the broader fields to the west of the corral where Ayrlyn and Tonsar worked the squads through a series of mounted drills, trying to drill the levies into anticipating the Mirror Lancer moves and developing quicker responses.

“So…the angel smith works blades, and the angel healer works men?”

Nylan glanced up from the anvil to see Fornal, mounted, looking at the coals and then at the darkening iron of the blade Nylan worked.

Sias, hands on the bellows, looked imploringly at the smith.

“You can get some water. Take a quick break,” Nylan told the armsman/apprentice. The lanky blond man bowed to Fornal and eased off toward the well behind the dwelling.

“You train them well in discretion, too, I see.”

Knowing Fornal would take awhile to get to the point, the smith eased the blade back onto the forge coals.

“What are you doing to that blade?”

“Fullering the edge and case-hardening it.” At least, that’s what Nylan thought smiths called narrowing the cutting edge and adding a thin layer of hardened iron/crude steel.

“I would have said that was a waste two eight-days ago.” Fornal frowned, and the stallion sidestepped. “But none of your levies broke. Some died, but they didn’t run.” The black-bearded regent forced a smile. “You will give me trained armsmen…but they will never attack Westwind, will they?”

It was Nylan’s turn to frown in puzzlement.

“They see what two of you do, and the word is already out. They say, ‘Best leave the angels alone.’ Or ‘Better on our side than the other.’”

Nylan shrugged and wiped the streaming sweat out of his eyes. “We’re trying to throw the Cyadorans back.”

The regent nodded. “You may well, but Lornth will never be the same. For that, angel, I cannot say I am pleased.” Fornal’s lips curled. “We must choose between black angels and white demons, and neither is to my liking. Still, for better or worse, you keep your word, and that is far more than one can say about the white demons.”

After a moment, Nylan asked, “Where are you headed?”

“We think they will scout out Jirec. The locals have followed your example in Yisara, but…if we take out the scouting party, that will incline them in that direction-and remove more of the demons.” Fornal smiled briefly. “Your levies will go out tomorrow.”

“We’ll be ready.”

“Good.” Fornal gave a quick nod and turned his mount back toward the mounted squads that gathered by the barn barracks.

Nylan eased the blade off the coals. He could harden at least a handful, perhaps more, and that would help, maybe make then strong enough to shatter a few more of the white lances.