Warcry

can’t go wrong. Wear your apron. Lift everything with tongs or use your gloves. Fire is our friend, but it’s also a betraying backstabber who’ll turn on you in an instant and cost you dear.”
    Atira nodded.
    “Garth, this is your apprentice,” Dunstan said. “Teach her your skill.”
    “You’ll need an apron,” Garth said. “I’ll get ya one.”
    Atira didn’t smile, though there were grins to be had around the shop.
    “Atira,” Heath called. He’d settled on a stool by Ismari’s worktable. “You’ll want to take off your weapons and armor.”
    Atira nodded and went over, unbuckling her sword-belt as she went. She gave Heath a quick look as she disarmed. “You don’t mind?”
    “No, not at all.” Heath leaned back against the wall. “Better this than dealing with my mother and the wedding. But we can’t stay all afternoon.”
    Atira nodded, starting to remove her leather armor. “Just give the word, and we’ll go. I just want to try—”
    “You can stop stripping now.” Heath coughed and lowered his voice. “Or I am going to have to challenge every male in this room to mortal combat?”
    Atira paused in the middle of raising her undertunic. Her hands were just over her breasts. She’d been so intent, she’d forgotten that Xyian women did not . . .
    Garth was standing in front of her, mouth open, his eyes bulging.
    Atira lowered her tunic.
    Heath’s eyes danced. “Although it would be a sight to see—you wielding a hammer, your breasts swaying and gleaming with—”
    “Enough of that,” Ismari said firmly.
    “Yes, ma’am,” Heath said meekly. But Atira noticed that he shifted on his stool, adjusting himself. He’d just have to ache. She had other desires for the moment.
    She took the apron from Garth, following him as she tied it on. It covered her chest and was so long it brushed the tops of her boots. Made of thick leather, it smelled of the forge, burnt and stained with soot. It came with thick gloves.
    “My job is nails,” Garth said, leading her to his area in the corner. “But I’m starting to practice on chain.”
    “What is a nail?” Atira asked.
    Garth frowned at her as if he thought she was teasing him. But his face cleared as he showed her one. “This is. See the point? And the head?” He pointed at the flat part.
    Atira nodded.
    “So, first I make sure my fire is hot enough.” Garth pointed at the small hearth by his side.
    Atira looked back at the hearth where the apprentice was pumping the bellows, but Garth shook his head. “No, no, we don’t need that hot a flame. Now, ya feed this charcoal, ya see?” He reached into a bin at his feet and pulled out a few pieces, feeding it to the flames. “But not too much. We has ta buy charcoal, and you don’t want to burn so much that the nails end up costing ya.” Garth looked at her seriously. “Ya need to be fast and good to master this. Fast enough you don’t waste the heat, but good enough you make quality, understand?”
    Atira nodded.
    “Well, then.” Garth reached for his hammer and another tool. “Let me show you first. You take a length of wrought iron.” He picked up a rod with a gloved hand. “And you strike off just what ya need.” He tapped the rod with a sharp blow. “Then put it into the fire for a heat,” Garth said, “and you pound out the point.”
    Atira watched as the metal responded to Garth’s blows, tapering into a point. Garth lifted the piece and thrust it into a bucket of water at his feet. Steam rose with a great hiss.
    “Then another heat.” Garth thrust the other end of the nail into the fire with his tongs. “And you make the head.” He waited a moment, pulled the nail out, and placed it on the anvil. His hammer danced again, forming a flat top. “Then ya cool it again,” he said, thrusting it back into the bucket, then lifting it to show her. “It’s still hot,” he cautioned as he set it down in a wooden box with other finished nails. “But that’s it.” Garth grinned. “Easy, eh?”
    “I thought that of mounting a galloping horse, until I broke my leg,” Atira said absently.
    Garth’s eyes went wide. “You can mount a galloping horse?”
    “Show me again,” Atira said.
    Garth hammered out a few more nails, then paused, wiping his brow with his wrist. “Now you,” he said, holding out the hammer.
    Atira reached for it, taking it in her gloved hand.

    HEATH WATCHED IN AMAZEMENT AS ATIRA STOOD there, listening to the boy, concentrating on