Chapter Twenty-Two: Aim

"Your aim needs some work, boy."

I looked up from where I instinctively clutched my left hand to my chest with crushing strength. My poor fingers, caught between hot metal and a hammer by an ill-timed, poorly-aimed hammer strike, were already throbbing with agony and holding them so tightly did not really help, but I could not bring myself to let go.

Brickit sighed in sympathy for what I was feeling and with a small groan I doubled over, resting my head on my knees as I waited for the pain to fade. Finally he sat beside me, and after a few minutes of letting me suffer he nudged me with his elbow.

"Let me see," he ordered. "Come on, Edmund, give me your hand and I'll let you know if you'll get to keep some or all of it."

I uncurled just enough for him to inspect my fingers. They simultaneously felt on fire and flattened and I gasped as he ruthlessly forced my hand to unclench. Seeing stars for the second time in just a few minutes, I bit my lip to keep from crying out . . . or just crying.

"Aye, it hurts, but it won't last forever and you've probably felt worse learning to swing a sword," he said, ignoring the tears in my eyes and the sweat on my face as he felt down the length of each finger on my left hand, flexing and curling each one in turn. "Naught's broken, though you might wish otherwise. You shouldn't lose any nails."

I couldn't help but make a sound of revulsion at the thought.

He chuckled. "We've all done worse, Spawn, and so will you in time. You got the lesson over with early in your career: keep your fingers out of the way of a swinging hammer. We'll get you something cool to keep it from swelling and you'll be right as rain."

As good as his word, he sent an apprentice to fetch a bucket of fresh water and he had me soak my hand in the cool liquid. I sighed in relief as a chill gradually replaced the pain. Tired and miserable, I sat hunched over with my hand in the bucket. He left me for a few minutes and came back with the piece of steel I had been shaping. It was cold and gray by now, and Brickit leaned over to hold it at my eye level.

"'Tis a good start," he said. "But it won't do. See here? The tang's not long enough for the balance you want. Don't forget who and what you're working with and who and what you're making this for. Hold up your hand. The dry one, Spawn. I've no mind to get wet."

Resisting the urge to splash him, I obliged. He pressed his hand against mine to compare the sizes. His hand was wide and his fingers stubby, the skin rough with calluses and scars and burns. In contrast my hand was slight and my fingers long and fine.

"See? They keep trying to make a knife for a Dwarf, not a Son of Adam. You've got to keep in mind that you're making this for the Nancy and I assume his hand is larger than yours, and will just get larger."

I nodded in agreement.

"So the blade must balance against the hilt. See here."

He drew his knife and held the elegant blade beside my rough first attempt. I wondered at my temerity at thinking I could make something a fraction so beautiful.

"The weight of metal and wood and leather must be considered, the cross-guard and pommel and grip, to oppose the weight of the blade."

I stared, trying to take this all in. Brickit displayed the knife I had started.

"It's well shaped. Nice and even. You've an eye for this sort of thing, Spawn."

If it was the truth or just an attempt to lift my flagging spirits, his kind words were what I needed to hear. I smiled, my jaw a little less painful than the day before, the ache in my hand lessened as I reached for the hunk of steel. I turned it this way and that, examining my own handiwork and looking at what was right and wrong with this first attempt. It was a good start. It was well shaped. The Chief Smith had praised my work.

I would do better tomorrow.

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"Better," grunted Brickit, looking hard at the fledgling blade I held tightly clamped with pincers, "but it's too thick to be flexible and balanced. Narrow the blade, Spawn, and don't forget it's for Nancy, not for Baia!"

I didn't sigh or grumble as I thrust the hunk of steel back into the fire to reheat. Rather I glared at the glowing white blaze, annoyed with myself for forgetting to keep so many factors in mind. Balance, weight, shape, flexibility – each aspect had its own demands that had to be met, and my complete inexperience was hampering me. I shifted my glare from the fire to the Chief Smith.

"Show me what I have to do," I said, and it was as much ordering as imploring him to help me. He cast me a look, gauging my mood and fatigue, and slowly shook his head.

"Take a rest first," he replied, relieving me of the hammer I gripped. "Rest, a drink, sit for a spell. You've been going all morn. I'll come back and we'll work on it."

I wanted to argue, but he was right. I was worn out. Reluctantly I nodded and he shooed me off and away from the forge. I dragged my arm across my forehead, wiping at the sweat and dirt gathered, and I wondered if I would ever really be clean again in this life time.

Retreating to the furthest corner of the shop, I sat on the floor and bent my knees close to my chest, waiting for the aches to fade. I rested my head against the plaster wall and let out a long sigh, willing my body to take advantage of the moment of peace. As I stared at the soot-blackened rafters, my mind wandered to Mathe, my rhetoric teacher, and I tried to think of as many words for 'tired' that I could. It was a long list. Eventually it occurred to me that save for an extra 'r,' tortured was an anagram for tutored. I snorted. Mathe would be proud.

I wondered at the time and what my siblings were doing right now. Probably having tea. We did that a lot for some reason. I didn't particularly like the stuff, but I would not have refused some right then. Anything but that grainy beer. My letter to Peter should have arrived and I could only imagine his reaction. Poor Peter. I knew it would alarm and upset him, but better that he should hear it from me than anyone else. I still didn't know what Brickit had written to my siblings but I assumed I would find out eventually.

"King Edmund?"

I looked up and was pleasantly surprised to see Baia standing before me with a dewy tankard in her hands. I had not seen her since breakfast (waking me up didn't count since I rarely remembered actually seeing her) and I hadn't had a chance to talk and ask her how she was since the Werewulf attack. Before I could stand up and greet her properly she held out the cold tankard to me.

"It's ginger water, with a little early mint and honey. Gran made it. I thought you might like some."

"Thank you, my lady," I replied, grateful and touched at her thoughtfulness. I relieved her of its weight and she sat down beside me. I drank a mouthful of the spiced liquid. It had a sharp, sweet taste that was pleasant on the tongue and it went far towards cooling me and my sore fingers. After a few minutes I looked at Baia.

"How are you?" I asked. "You weren't hurt on this Seventhday past, were you?"

She shook her head, studying me closely. "Papa said that you were the worst hurt of us all. Does your neck hurt?"

"A little. Were you very scared that day?"

Nodding, she said in a serious tone, "I was very scared. I was afraid the Werewulf would eat us all."

"I was afraid of the same thing," I admitted, taking another drink.

"You?" she asked, awed. "But you saved Bess and Belleel! Mama told me that you ran right after the Wulf and didn't even wait for the archers."

"I'll admit it wasn't the smartest thing I've ever done, Baia, but I'm glad I did it. Would you like some?" I offered the tankard and she reached for it with both hands. We slowly savored the treat, sharing it between us.

"If you were so scared why did you chase after the Werewulf?" she asked softly.

I smiled, handing over the tankard. "Finish it, Lady Baia. I chased after the Wulf because as a knight it's my duty and as a king of Narnia I have to keep my people safe no matter how frightened I am."

"Uncle Brickit says you're part of the clan now."

"I'm greatly honored that he says so, too."

"I'm glad you're in our clan. That makes us really cousins." She smiled and leaned close to whisper, "Cousin Biss was very angry with Uncle Brickit that he did that, and Uncle Brickit said he's seen rocks that are smarter than Biss!"

I chuckled more at her expression than to hear Brickit lace into his suspicious and moody cousin. Baia giggled and I thought how well she would get along with Lucy. "You know, Baia, if we're really cousins then you're also related to my brother and sisters."

Her eyes flew open wide. "Even your brother with the yellow hair?"

"He's the only brother I've got."

She frowned, digesting this unforeseen and unsettling development. "But how can a Black Dwarf have yellow hair?"

"The same way a Black Dwarf can be a boy. Family is what we decide to make it."

After a few moments of quiet contemplation, Baia said, "I think I'll just count you for now."

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"Now," lectured the Chief Smith, "this is a respectable start and cold filing can work wonders, but that's not why you're here or what I intend for you to learn."

Brickit had collected me soon after the midday meal and he hovered close as he tried to cram years of knowledge and skill into me all in an afternoon. It was overwhelming and exciting all at once as he critiqued my latest efforts.

He lifted my third attempt, the blade that was too thick. "Better than the first two, especially considering the distraction of two masters trying to instruct you at once. But you can do better and I know you want to."

"La," I agreed quietly. I looked up at him, tired and determined. He seemed to recognize something in my expression. Perhaps he had been in my position once upon a time, because he nodded sagely and clapped me on the arm.

"So. Build up the fire, Spawn! I'll help you choose your metal and we'll get to work."