myself each time but I had been experimenting again. These simple glass globes could be lit by anyone, provided that they knew the proper command word. I had initially created them with Penny in mind, but now that they were finished I was considering making more for our rooms in the castle. They might be useful for lighting the streets of Washbrook too, but I doubted I’d have time to start mass producing them.
“Those are really nice!” Dorian said looking at the enchanted glass.
“No not the lights… I made those weeks ago,” I told him. “This is something I think you will really appreciate.” I moved over to one of the long workbenches set along the wall. The top of it was covered with a large canvas drop cloth, concealing what lay beneath it. Dorian looked over my shoulder curiously. “You remember how I enchanted your armor?” I said reminding him.
“Of course, the damn stuff still hasn’t started rusting,” he remarked.
“This is like that… only better.” I drew the cloth back, revealing a beautiful set of armor. Unlike most of the armor currently in the keep this was actual plate armor, crafted from carefully shaped and articulated steel plates. Armor of this type was still extremely rare in Lothion, and usually reserved for the very wealthy. Technically I was currently one of the wealthiest nobles in Lothion, but given my outlaw status I really had no way to spend my money, or even access it, since most of it was still in the Royal Bank. But I hadn’t bought this armor; I had carefully crafted it over a period of two weeks.
“Holy… Mort where did you get this?!” Dorian exclaimed. I found myself pleased with his shock and surprise.
“I made it,” I said modestly.
“Seriously… where did you get it?” he repeated. Even as he implied that I had lied about the source he ran his hands over the greaves, marveling at the lovely maroon lacquer that had been applied there. The breastplate and vambraces were similarly adorned with matching patterns, highlighted by gilding around the edges and a golden hawk in the center of the breastplate.
“I made it Dorian. Look at the colors and the design,” I replied.
Recognition lit his face as he realized that the colors and design matched the Cameron arms. “It looks like your livery! How? You couldn’t have bought this.”
I was beginning to get exasperated with his continuing disbelief, “One more time… I made it.”
“Even your father couldn’t have made something like this!” he exclaimed. A look of embarrassment crossed his face as he realized what he had said. My father had died a few months prior, right before our battle with the army of Gododdin.
I gave him an even stare, “If he’d ever put his mind to armor crafting I don’t doubt but that he could have done so.”
“Sorry Mort, I wasn’t thinking. I just meant… well your father was much more skilled with metal and he never produced anything like this. How did you?” Dorian’s hands were still examining the armor.
I didn’t have the heart to get angry. Dorian and I had been friends most of our lives, and I wasn’t the only one to have lost his father. Instead I took up a small piece of scrap metal. “I have a lot of advantages my father didn’t have.” I set the metal in the cold ashes of the forge and heated it with a word and my power. Within a minute it was glowing brightly, close to the melting point.
“Normally I use the forge for heating the metal, but since it isn’t lit at the moment it would take too long to show you,” I continued. “ Na’Pyrren Ingak mai Lathos,” I intoned softly, blowing on my palms, and then I reached into the forge and pulled out the fiercely glowing piece of metal… with my bare hands.
Dorian flinched visibly when he saw me touch the metal with my naked skin, but he kept his tongue. If I didn’t know better, I’d think that he was getting more used to casual displays of magic. “Is that really necessary?” he asked. “There are plenty of tongs for that here.”
“The spell isn’t just so I can pick the metal up without being burned,” I replied and then I began kneading the metal with my fingers, as if it were a piece of very stiff clay. I had imbued my hands with an unnatural degree of strength and hardness, for even as hot as it was the iron would have been impossible to mold without using a hammer and anvil. I shaped the metal into a rod by rolling it between my hands, reheating it as necessary, and then I bent it into a circle, joining the ends with a simple lap weld. It only took me a couple of minutes since I was able to shape the metal quickly with my bare hands.
“Why did you set it in the forge if you were just going to use magic to heat it?” Dorian asked.
“Habit… and I didn’t want to burn the workbench or risk damaging the anvil,” I said as I twisted the hot metal into a spiral.
Dorian watched the glowing orange iron in my hands with fascinated eyes. “What is that supposed to be?”
“Nothing,” I replied, “I was just making a point. Using magic I can shape metal almost like a potter shapes clay. It makes a lot of things vastly easier when you don’t have to use a hammer and tongs to do everything.”
“You always had clever hands,” Dorian remarked, “but somehow I thought you’d be doing something more productive than sitting around here creating new forms of art.”
“Oh ye of little faith,” I intoned solemnly, “that’s what this is.” I gestured at the armor still quietly gleaming on the worktable.
“Something like that would take one of the king’s finest armorers half a year to make,” Dorian stated, yet his face was full of doubt.
“I’m not going to try and convince you. Hold still for a moment.” I walked past him and picked something up from the table behind him.
Dorian’s head twisted to follow me. “Wait a minute there Mort! Don’t be doing anything strange now!”
I laughed inwardly. Have I mentioned that my friends trust me implicitly? “Relax! I’m not going to use any magic on you.” I bent over and reached for his ankle but my fearless friend sidestepped with an almost comical hop.
“What’s that?” he asked nervously.
“A tape-measure… hold very still or it might strangle you,” I remarked sarcastically. Taking another step I began measuring him carefully. After a moment he relaxed, although we did have an awkward moment with the ‘inseam’ measurement. I won’t go into that though.
“I’m still patiently awaiting your full explanation, are you planning to make another set of armor like that for me?” Dorian asked. Although he hid it well I could almost hear the secret desire in his voice. What warrior wouldn’t want a set of armor such as was lying there on the bench in front of him?
“Not exactly,” I said mysteriously. I knew the vague answer would drive him crazy but I couldn’t help but draw things out. “I copied one of the sets we stole from the king when we liberated my goods from his warehouse, but now that I’ve finished with it I think it could be improved.”
“How so?”
“Well, to begin with the enchantments I add give an exceptional amount of strength and integrity to the metal, so I think I can redesign some of the joints and remove some of the extra pieces they used to guard the underarms, the inside of the elbows et cetera.” I pointed to the wings that flared out past the piece of metal that guarded the elbow.
“You mean the couter?” Dorian asked, pointing to the articulated metal joint. I guessed that must be its proper name.
“Yes, the elbow and knee couters particularly,” I answered excitedly. I was glad to finally know the actual name for them.
“The ones at the knee are called poleyns,” he chuckled as he corrected me. It wasn’t often Dorian got the upper hand when it came to intellectual knowledge, but he knew the warrior’s craft far better than I did. Of course he was raised to it. “You shouldn’t get rid of the wings on them,” he added seriously.
“But they aren’t necessary,” I insisted. “The chainmail in those places will be strong enough to prevent any weapon from piercing the wearer there.”
Dorian sighed. “Mordecai, you are so smart that sometimes I forget how ignorant you can be. Those wings aren’t to prevent a cut or stab. What do you think a man wearing this sort of armor fears most?” He paused to give me a chance to answer but I wasn’t playing his game so I waited him out. Eventually he continued, “He fears the mace and the axe. Those wings are to keep a crushing blow from destroying his knee or elbow.”
“Oh…” I replied intelligently. “Does the same thing apply here?” I pointed to the round disks that were mounted below the pauldrons that protected the shoulders.
