watch and learn,’ said Declan.
Jusan watched closely as Declan used a long iron hook to pull the clay out of the furnace. Waist high and six feet on each side, the furnace had taken a day and a half to construct, and flaming coals spilled out as Declan pulled the slag out, inspected it, and put it back in the coals. ‘Just a moment longer …’ Declan muttered.
Jusan smiled at his teacher and nodded. He had a wide face and large brown eyes, and often reminded Declan of an owl as the smoke made him blink furiously. The boy was also starting to grow out of his gangly stage and his strength was approaching that of a man. He watched with interest as the mass of steel collected at the base of the furnace was revealed. Declan silently studied the pile of cooling steel, then turned to Jusan with a smile. Declan nodded once. ‘Go fetch Edvalt.’
The master smith arrived shortly after and knelt to inspect the smouldering blue-grey mass. He leaned forward until the heat threatened to singe his eyebrows and then sat back on his heels wearing a satisfied expression. A single nod indicated to Declan that he had passed the first stage of his goal: creating the steel.
Declan used large tongs to pull the slag from the bottom of the furnace and hurried to the larger of the two anvils in the smithy. While the steel was cooling, he quickly hammered it into an almost perfect cube, then moved it to the anvil where the work would be finished.
Jusan grabbed a bucket and poured water over it. Steam rolled off the hot metal as Declan retrieved a length of heavy paper and slid it under the metal, quickly wrapping the slag. For a moment the three smiths halted and prayed silently to the ancient god of the forge, Hagama.
When Edvalt’s father was a boy, smiths had performed a ritual with the prayer, but the One God’s priests had named many smiths heretics and burned them since then, and now the words were never uttered aloud.
Jusan handed Declan a pot of clay, and he applied a thick layer to all sides of the steel cube while Edvalt turned it. When it had cooled enough for the clay to be sticky but not hardened, Jusan passed the young journeyman a large jar of ashes, which Declan layered over the cube as Edvalt continued to rotate it. The ashes, clay, and paper would keep the air from the metal as the next step commenced, for the balance between air, heat, and carbon dust was vital for the final step in fashioning the steel.
Declan nodded to Jusan. ‘Bellows,’ he said quietly.
Jusan stepped away while the other two smiths picked up their hammers. Edvalt handed the tongs to Declan while Jusan pumped the bellows to encourage the fire back to its hottest point.
Declan thrust the block into the flames and watched as the paper caught and the clay quickly hardened around the steel. He waited for the perfect moment, then returned the glowing mass to the anvil.
The steel they produced was called ‘jewel steel’, or ‘precious steel’, in the secret language of the smiths. It was a mixture of iron sand and carbon dust that produced a steel of remarkable strength and durability. This part of the process was not a secret – any competent smith could create respectable steel – but the forging of jewel steel required an artistry that few smiths possessed. Edvalt was one of those few, and Declan was determined to become his equal.
‘Jusan, tongs,’ Declan instructed.
Jusan hurried to take the tongs from Declan, who glanced at Edvalt and then brought his hammer down on the cube, causing steel, clay, and paper to erupt in a burst of brilliant sparks. Declan slammed his hammer with the precise tempo of a bass drummer as Jusan deftly turned the long ash-covered metal bar with the tongs. Declan alternated blows in perfect counterpoint: crash, turn, crash, turn; the timing was critical, for this was steel for a sword of rare quality, worth the price of a hundred lesser weapons.
Edvalt watched Declan’s every move. This was the sixth time the young journeyman had participated in the creation of such a weapon, but the first time Edvalt had given Declan responsibility for every step. From judging materials to the final polish, Declan alone would determine the success or failure of his first jewel-steel sword. If successful, it would be his masterpiece, and the weapon that would elevate him from the rank of journeyman to the rank of master smith. If he made one mistake, the forging would begin again from the very start.
‘Good,’ muttered Edvalt, the only encouragement he would give Declan in his decision-making. Baron Bartholomy, the future owner of this blade, had given Edvalt ample time to fashion the weapon, and if Declan made any misstep, the old smith had enough time to fashion another.
Edvalt and Declan shared a bond closer than that of father and son. Fathers and their sons often disagreed, but masters and journeymen had one purpose: to ensure that the knowledge never died. Declan was the son Edvalt had never had; his daughter was now grown and married, and except for a stillborn son, there had been no other offspring.
They pounded and folded the steel, until Declan indicated with a nod that Jusan needed to insert the lengthened blank into the furnace. With one long stride, the young apprentice thrust the blade deep into the coals and began to turn it.
Declan watched every glimmer and spark on the hot metal, then put his hand on Jusan’s shoulder. ‘Now,’ he whispered, as if speaking loudly might imperil the process.
The young apprentice returned the blank to the anvil. Again their hammers landed powerful blows, and the heavy lump of red-hot metal slowly lengthened into a long flat blank of steel.
Declan said, ‘Tongs,’ and Jusan gave him the long handles.
As Edvalt took a step back to watch, Declan flipped the steel over at an angle and struck hard, then he folded the still-glowing metal over on itself, beating the oblong into a square. Edvalt could fold steel in half the time, but Declan’s speed would come with practice. All that mattered now was the quality of the steel.
This was crucial in the creation of the great blades. Declan would double this steel a dozen times; hours of deft hammering and heating lay ahead of him, but with each fold the process continued until hundreds of layers of metal would be created. When he was finished, this blade would hold at least five thousand, each strengthening the sword.
When Declan was satisfied with the square, he plunged it back into the forge, and Jusan pulled down the remaining clay walls of the steel furnace. No one outside the smithy would witness the manner of this sword’s construction, from how the clay was moulded into the furnace, every piece crushed to dust, to preparing the coal bed and stoking the ashes, and how the bellows would be repositioned above the open forge when they were finally finished: the special steel required for the commission was one of the most closely guarded secrets in all of Garn. Even Jusan was allowed to see only part of the process; most of the finishing work had been done by Edvalt alone or with Declan as he mastered the craft.
Jusan would be Edvalt’s last apprentice and Declan’s first, and one day he too would move on and establish his own forge somewhere. Good smiths were always in demand, and often among the most important commoners in the world, particularly those who forged weapons for the barons. Smiths and millers could also rise in position, accruing wealth enough to challenge the barons. They might never command armies, or live in castles, but they could live a life of decadence only dreamed of by other commoners.
Declan was driven by two desires: to forge his masterpiece and to make no mistake that would reflect badly on his master. He was an orphaned child, the son of a murdered tavern wench and a nameless father, who had been taken in by Edvalt and his wife, Mila. His master was as close to a father as Declan would ever know. The smith was a taciturn man who rarely showed emotion, but he had always tempered his stern nature with kindness, and Declan had a fierce
