More days roll by. I end up spending the majority of my time sitting in Columbus garden, despite the creeping frost and lack of flowers. That being said, I have little choice, given the others' attitudes towards me.
I don't blame them. I would feel exactly the same.
The second order comes in six days after my return to Aureus Castle. Interestingly enough and contrary to my predictions this order is for a thirteen-year-old boy just beginning to undergo puberty.
"He's beginning to train in the army and his family aren't rich enough to afford a good-quality sword." Riordan explains to me in her office with Minnie Indran (the Everdale nominee) standing by my side (she doesn't seem to mind the upper-class company I've had recently). "You will meet him tomorrow - he's accompanied by his mother, of course."
I bite my lip. Making blades for teenagers - especially male ones - is incredibly frustrating. What fits upon forging will be much too short and small after a six-month growth spurt. Even worse for young boys; their hands grow at an alarming rate.
"Are they expecting a sword to last the entirety of his training?" I ask her.
"You'll have to ask."
"Honestly, why can't the overseers just give us the information!" Minnie complains as we exit the conference room. "Having to fuss around with bringing a child!"
The child, by the name of Peter, arrives as promised the next day. He seems fairly nervous but tenacious nevertheless, and I take a few measurements before telling him he can go. His mother, Setra, holds the realistic expectation that a couple of years is the best she can hope for.
"That was fast." a voice says behind me as I walk down to the forging workshops.
I'd forgotten how deep and rumbling Chief Solomon's voice is. "There was no need for further questioning."
"You didn't ask about affinities? No sparring? No sword preference?"
"He won't have one." I answer to the last question. The boy is thirteen, and as a child of ordinary background probably never had any swordplay beyond regular rough-and-tumble with a couple of friends.
To my surprise, an expression of approval crosses his face. "I understand." he says, and turns to leave, before stopping. "Ah, I forgot to ask. How was your visit?"
Hasn't he spoken to Chester yet? "It was -" and we remain in conversation for the next twenty minutes.
***
"Is that - it?"
Theodore is momentarily too surprised to direct any animosity towards me.
"I saw yer last entry! Aren't you going te do anything with it?"
"Doesn't need doing." I insist.
On the workbench lies a small gladius, its hilt and handle both unglamorous, both made of poplar core, embroidered only with straight edges and 'Peter Brussels'. The size of the handle is roughly one-and-three-quarter hands wide - firstly to accommodate a little growth and secondly because training usually begins with two-handed techniques as a cadet's strength develops. The scabbard is made of brass, though weakly charmed with magnetism to hold a blade in place (you'd be astounded how many blades get broken by poor storage), again carved with Peter's name. The blade is naturally also charmed with corrosion and warping resistance, in the event he does drop his blade.
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Saviour of Neither
Random"There is another, master... But the soul of the Devil resides too within him and the resulting destruction will spell the end of us all." The magical people of Ceatha Tor believe that those that are amoral should be named and shamed: this is indica...
