Trella.
Esk kar thought of his woman lying upstairs. Now everyone knew she’d been freed, that he’d taken her for his wife. Despite her objections, he’d insisted on freeing her and marrying her before he left. She would act the slave no longer. He was glad of that.
18
Esk kar found Trella dressed, sitting on her stool and combing her hair. Only seven days since the stabbing, she was ignoring the advice of Ventor and everyone else in the household. He stood in their bedroom doorway. Her face lacked color, either from the injury or confinement indoors, and she had to move slowly so as not to disturb the bandages, but other than that, she looked remarkably well. The young heal quickly. She had just passed into her fifteenth season.
He enjoyed watching her comb her hair. Perhaps because the long tresses were her most beautiful feature, or because she obviously enjoyed the task. She saw his reflection in her tiny silver mirror and smiled, but the determined look stayed in her eyes. She would not return to bed.
When she tried to change hands, Esk kar saw a moment of pain on her face. He moved to her side and took the comb. “Let me help you. You don’t want to open up your wound.” It gave him pleasure to run the comb awkwardly through her hair, using his other hand to guide and straighten the wavy strands. He’d never combed another woman’s hair, thinking it unfit for a man. Now he no longer cared what anyone else might think.
“You don’t make a good handmaiden, Esk kar,” she said, smiling to show her appreciation. “I’ll have Annok — sur finish it.”
“My hands are clumsy,” he agreed, putting down the comb. “You should not be out of bed yet. The healer said…”
“I know what Ventor said. I was here when he said it. But the wound has closed, and there’s no need for me to stay in bed like an old woman.
Besides, I have a gift for you.”
“A gift?” Presents were rare among the villagers, but even rarer among barbarians. “What kind of gift?” He couldn’t keep the interest out of his voice.
“One you’ll like. I was going to have it on the table when you came home this evening, but now you’ll have to get it yourself. It’s under the bed.”
Puzzled, he stooped beside the bed. At first he didn’t see it, the shadows blending with the dark material. As soon as he touched it, he knew what it was, and he brought it out from under the bed, then unwrapped it. A magnificent bronze sword glinted against the black cloth.
He held it up to the light, turning it this way and that, amazed by its feel and how it seemed to merge with his hand. Esk kar had never seen such a blade, forged so fine that it seemed a single edge from tip to pommel. The bronze metal looked darker than usual, except at the edge, where the sharpener’s wheel gave it a brighter glint that reflected the sunlight.
The hilt, encased in hardwood and criss — crossed by tough leather strips to improve the grip, was longer and wider than usual, to better balance the long blade’s weight. The pommel, a simple large ball of bronze, looked hard enough to crush a skull. His eyes returned to the blade. Though wider and thicker than his old sword, the weight was less, with a shallow groove down the center for a blood channel. The guard differed, too, with a strip of slightly angled metal designed to protect the hand, but flat enough to allow the weapon to be carried comfortably across the back.
“By the gods, Trella, what a weapon! I’ve never seen such workman-ship before. Where did it come from? What did it cost?” Esk kar swung the blade through the air. A true horseman’s weapon, meant more for slashing than thrusting.
She smiled at him, like a mother watching a child play with a new toy.
“Master Asmar made it right here in Orak. Do you remember our meeting with him?”
Esk kar remembered it all too well. They’d called on Master Swordmaker Asmar to inquire about weapons for Orak. To his embarrassment, Esk kar discovered he knew even less about metal smithing than he did about bows. He hadn’t known bronze weapons were a new improvement, a method of working with metals less than a hundred years old.
Asmar had sighed, then explained that with the discovery of bronze, the sword became the warrior’s preferred weapon, replacing club or axe.
Before that, swords had been made of copper. But copper weapons were soft, didn’t hold an edge, and tended to shatter, so fighting men continued to rely on more dependable weapons. Bronze changed all that. A far harder metal, bronze kept its sharp edge, and a bronze blade could cut right through a copper one.
Daggers and knives, weapons not intended for use against metal, were still made of copper. But copper swords were rare now.
How the ores were discovered, mined, and turned into metal, how that metal was forged, beaten, and shaped, the entire swordmaking art proved a mystery to Esk kar. He hadn’t known bronze could only be made by combining specific amounts of copper and tin, and that these elements required the work of many slaves to dig the veins of metal from the earth.
The two ores, each soft and flexible alone, could then be heated and combined. The resulting molten metal was poured into a mold where it cooled into the desired shape, hardening in the process into a metal far stronger than either of its original parts.
“Yes, I remember Asmar. I remember I had to spend the whole day listening to him and watching him work his magic so the next time someone spoke of swordmaking, I’d understand what they were saying.” After that, Esk kar promised himself to never again take any craftsman’s trade for granted. He’d learned more than just the Mystery of Bronze.
“This sword seems cast for my own hand. When did Asmar find time to make such a master blade?”
Asmar and his family labored all day and long into the night, often working by the light of their forges, to produce all the swords, lance tips, arrowheads, and battle — axes Orak needed. Every day smoke from Asmar’s fires rose into the sky, as he and his helpers created weapons.
His battle — axes, easier and cheaper to make, remained a favorite of many. With its simple bronze blade attached to a wooden handle, it would be very useful in defending the wall. While a sword took months to master, a villager could be trained to swing an axe in a few days.
“I told him to make you a new sword,” Trella answered, “one befi tting the man who would save Orak. Asmar said he’d already begun working on a master weapon, but it would take many months and be very expensive.
We haggled over the price, but he finally lowered his demands.”
Leave it to Trella to bargain down the cost. Esk kar hefted the sword again, and itched to test it against the training posts. He remembered his manners in time.
“This gift, it’s the most valuable thing I’ve ever owned, and I have no words to express my thanks.”
Her smile vanished. “The cost is nothing if it saves your life. Take it with you when you ride across the river. That’s why I gave it to you today, so you can test its strength.
“But, remember, the sword is nothing and another can always be made. Don’t do anything foolish because you have it. It’s only a lump of metal. If the sword helps you return safely, it will have achieved its only purpose.”
He nodded, remembering those he’d seen die because they’d grown too attached to one weapon or another. “I’ll use it well, Trella.”
Esk kar tossed the weapon on the bed and took her in his arms. “Now, how can I thank you? Perhaps you could return to your bed, as the healer ordered, and I could show you how much I appreciate your gift.”
“I don’t think I would get much rest, and there is much to do. Besides, I thought you would be glad to see me up and around.” She turned back to her table and sat down.
“I like you better in bed,” he said, moving his hand to the back of her neck and rubbing the muscles there with both hands. “You give me much less talk and much more pleasure though you moan and cry out loud enough to wake the dead.”
