Declan nodded, and Edvalt looked at Jusan and said, You did well, too. Depart. Eat and rest.
The younger apprentice needed no urging as he was hungry and tired, and he exited through the smaller door to the hall outside. Jusan knew that his lesson was over; the secrets now passed between master and journeyman might be his to learn one day, but it was not to be today.
Declan was to be shown the final step for the first time: the secret key to mastering the art of creating the blade.
Bellows? asked Declan.
Edvalt nodded agreement and put down his hammer to seize the massive arms of the bellows.
Suspended by thick chains, each wooden arm was the length of a cart trace and as thick as a mans forearm, the large bellows bag fashioned from toughened leather. The old smith threw his considerable strength into pulling the arms apart, and the intake of air was like a giants gasp; then he pushed hard, sending a fountain of embers upwards into the copper and iron hood above the forge that kept them from igniting thatched roofs in the village.
Declan studied the hue of the blank and found the perfect spot within the embers. Then, without a word, Edvalt released the bellows, stooped to pick up a shuttle of coals, and deftly sprinkled them at the edge of the fire. Declan put down the hammer, picked up an iron, and, as Edvalt watched, began placing the new coals into the furnace, selecting spots where the new fuel would not lower the heat under the metal.
Then within seconds, Declan moved to the bellows. As he worked, the heat washed over master and journeyman in waves, but they ignored the discomfort, their attention focused completely. Perfect, Edvalt muttered.
Years of patient training only manifested when the steel reached the proper temperature. Declan suddenly dropped the bellows handles and ducked underneath them. Seizing a pair of heavy tongs, he grabbed the near-flaming metal as Edvalt released the coal shuttle and reached for his heavy hammer. Declan grabbed another hammer and, without any instruction, struck down. As soon as his hammer cleared the steel, Edvalts smashed into the now-malleable metal.
Perspiration poured from their brows, backs, and arms, yet the men continued to hammer in a rhythmic pattern born only from years of working together; the steel flattened out. Now we make magic, said Edvalt in the single most poetic statement Declan had ever heard from the smith. He had assisted Edvalt before in making this sort of rare blade, but until now had never been permitted to witness the final step.
Perspiration poured from their brows, backs, and arms, yet the men continued to hammer in a rhythmic pattern born only from years of working together; the steel flattened out. Now we make magic, said Edvalt in the single most poetic statement Declan had ever heard from the smith. He had assisted Edvalt before in making this sort of rare blade, but until now had never been permitted to witness the final step.
Edvalt went to a tool chest and lifted out a modest wooden box. Declan had noticed it on the first day of his apprenticeship and had often wondered about its contents, but he had never voiced that curiosity.
Edvalt opened the box and inside it Declan saw fine grains of something that looked like salt, glowing red-orange in the forges light.
Sand from the Burning Lands, said the master smith. You need to learn to do this alone, so come and stand where I am. This is the last secret of our craft that I can teach you.
Declan moved to the other side of the forge, the tongs and hammer ready. Flatten, Edvalt commanded, and Declan started to beat the red-hot metal, making it thinner on every blow.
Be ready, said the old smith as he placed the box next to Declan. When I say now, you must do three things very quickly: first, judge the colour of the steel. Then take a handful of sand from this box and sprinkle it down the very centre of the blade. When the sand sparkles like stars in the heavens, you must then fold the steel one last time.
Perspiration flowed in sheets down Declans face and chest, from both the heat and the concentration. He studied the metal, moving the blade around as he struck, then just as he judged it ready to fold, he heard Edvalt say, Now!
Declan put his hammer down and pulled the blade towards him as he grabbed a handful of fine sand; he felt the weight of it, measuring the amount he needed, and sprinkled the sand onto the flaming metal.
Smoke and flame erupted. Sand sparkled and flared into tiny bright pinpoints of white, and some stuck to the surface. More along the right edge! instructed Edvalt at exactly the same moment Declan decided he needed more on that side. The young journeyman felt exhilarated: he was creating the soul of the sword.
Now! Edges only! said Edvalt, and suddenly Declan understood the secret: the sand hardened the steel with each blow. The slightly softer, more resilient centre prevented the sword from shattering, while the extra sand at the edge created a harder steel that could be honed razor sharp.