Sat was lying on her bunk. She was tired after the fight. Sat found her mind drifting…
She was a servant for the blacksmith, twelve years old at the time. The blacksmith was a horrid old woman. Fat and mean tempered, no one argued with her, because she was loud and scolded.
The blacksmith had gone for tea, or something, Sat couldn't remember. But she did remember working the forges, fanning the embers. When the blacksmith had gone, Sat was bored.
She had picked up the hammer and was forging a small dagger. It seemed very simple, watching the blacksmith make one. It was easy, so easy. She got the blade perfectly thin and strong. She folded the metal over and over itself, strengthening it.
The door had slammed open. Madame Roiseour was in the threshold, staring.
And from then on, Sat was the one who made the blades for all the girls. The blacksmith had been sacked. Sat was provided with a room to herself, and some pocket money every month was provided.
Sat lay on bunk, staring at the ceiling.
At the beginning, Sat just made daggers and swords. It was simple, and Sat had nimble fingers. But before long, she was adding decorations and ornamentation. Then battle axes, hatchets, and pikes were made.
People gave her extra money for a nice, well-made, custom sword. Sat hoarded everything she could get: bits of metal, money, anything.
Then Sat's armor fell apart after use for three years. She decided to make her own. She was fast, and she wanted to keep her advantage. She chose leather over plate steel. She made thin but strong metal cuffs for her forearms and shins. And finely tooled leather sandals for comfort and flexibility.
Sat wanted to protect her face, so she made a mask. It tied with a ribbon at the back, bought at the market and spelled for resistance and strength.
When she was finished, it was a marvel. Silver, her favorite color, was used. Delicate silver wire decorated the breastplate, which laced in the back. The sandals were silver, and oiled to perfection. The mask was silver, and plain. Sat had gotten a Nothing Sorcerer to magic to so it would never shatter or dent. It had cost a small fortune, but worth it.
Sat was the envy of the parade ground and training field. Everyone admired her armor, and some were quite envious.
It served her well against the girls of other houses.
But she had no sword.
Sat was on the bunk, memories flashing by. Then she decided to go to sleep.