“Let’s go,” I said, rising. “We can get something to eat before the next class.”
“Coming,” Rose said. She nudged me as we headed for the door. “You’re looking forward to forging, aren't you?”
I nodded. “Oh, yes.”
Chapter Eleven
Forging wasn't just my favourite class, I admitted to myself as we made our way down to the giant workroom. It was the only one I’d ever been any good at before discovering how my talents actually worked. I’d earned the two-star ranking I held. My sisters had leant the basics, of course, but neither of them had actually worked at it. The only first-year student I knew who’d earned a similar ranking was Akin.
He was standing by the door when we approached, surrounded by a gaggle of hangers-on. It was hard to believe he was related to Isabella, even though they looked very similar. They had the same blond hair, the same blue eyes, the same pale skin ... but their personalities were very different. He’d been friendly to me, although we were technically competitors. I liked him more than my parents would have found comfortable.
“Cat,” he said, stepping away from his cronies. Like Isabella, he’d acquired a circle of friends and allies. “How have you been?”
“Well enough,” I said. I’d enjoyed working with him, but I wasn't going to say too much in front of listening ears. “It’s good to be back.”
“It’s good to have you back,” Akin said. He sounded sincere. “I’ve been very busy.”
I had to smile. We were both TAs, charged with assisting our fellow students and teachers, but Akin had been on his own for the last week. I doubted he’d had any time to forge for himself, not when his workload had doubled. I had no idea what that would mean for his final scores, when the exams were held, but I wouldn't have blamed him if he felt overworked. Teaching requires a kind of patience that neither of us really possessed.
The door opened before I could think of a response. Magister Tallyman stood there, looking amused. He still wore a workman’s outfit, rather than teaching robes, but I couldn't help noticing that this one was new. And yet, it already had a large and growing collection of burn marks, patches and stains that no amount of magic could remove. His face seemed to have acquired a couple of new scars too, although it was hard to be sure. A lifetime in forgery had left him with little of his original face and hands left. I couldn't help wondering, as we trooped into the classroom, if I would end up like him. My hands were already scarred in places. How much of my face would still be mine when I turned thirty?
I pushed the thought aside as we took our places at the workbenches and surveyed the giant workroom. Magister Tallyman had been busy. Large bags of gemstones, pieces of wood and chunks of metal had been placed against the far wall, waiting for us to sort them into bins for later use; a dozen new tools had been positioned around the room, including two I’d never seen before. I figured they were devices Magister Tallyman had made himself. If they were in common use, Dad would have bought them for our workrooms at home.
“Welcome back,” Magister Tallyman said, softly. He raised his voice as the doors slammed closed. “How many of you have yet to complete last week’s project?”
Nearly everyone - Akin and a couple of the other boys were the only exception - put up their hands. I hesitated, unsure if I should raise mine too. I hadn't even started the project. I didn't even know what it was. But at least I had a good excuse for not doing anything ...
“Those of you who haven’t finished should be able to complete it over the next couple of days,” Magister Tallyman said. His voice boomed around the room as he jabbed a finger at yet another workbench. “Those of you who have finished can join me over here.”
I nudged Rose as Akin hurried to the workbench. “What are you doing?”
“It’s supposed to be a focusing device,” Rose said. One hand dropped to the wand at her waist. “But it isn't working very well.”
“Ouch,” I said. I knew several designs for focusing devices. I’d made them myself. But I had no idea which design Magister Tallyman wanted them to follow. “Do you have the plans?”
“In my locker,” Rose said. She stood. “I’ll just go fetch them.”
She hurried off, leaving me feeling at a loose end. I didn't think Magister Tallyman would want me to work on a simple focusing device, not when I had a two-star. Did he want me to assist the other students? Perhaps ... but he’d dragged Akin over to the workbench instead of putting him to work. Magister Tallyman wouldn't want the TAs to be too helpful. First-year was all about developing the skills magicians needed to build more complex devices in later years.
Rose returned, carrying a large wooden box. She put it down on the workbench, allowing me to see a cat’s cradle of string, metal wire and wood. I recognised it instantly, even though I hadn't seen the plans. The focusing device was perhaps the crudest known to exist, and one of the least forgiving, but it did have the advantage of being relatively easy - and educational - to make. And it was easier to repair, too. There was no way one could say that for an Object of Power.
“It’s not channelling magic properly,” Rose told me, as she placed it on the table. “It keeps coming apart.”
I studied the connections for a long moment. “You’re not putting them in place carefully enough,” I said. “The stress is causing the wire to pop out of the wood.”
“I see,” Rose said. She sounded doubtful. “But if I put in too much pressure, I break the wire.”
“Practice,” I said. I made a mental note to source some pieces of scrap wood and wire for her to practice on. Magister Tallyman wouldn't complain if I salvaged them from the waste bin, provided I made sure to cleanse them of magic before I took them out of the room. Akin could help me do that, if he wanted. “Right now, concentrate on getting the first ones into place before you do the others.”
Rose nodded and went to work. I watched her, torn between admiration and envy. She’d learnt her lessons well, even though her touch wasn't sure. I offered a few words of advice as she broke down some of her earlier pieces of work and refitted them, but otherwise let her get on with it. I wanted to be doing something for myself. And yet, Magister Tallyman was still talking to Akin and the others. I didn't know what to do!
“It hasn't connected properly,” Rose said. “Why?”
I peered down at the wire. “You’ve blunted the nub,” I said. Whoever had threaded the metal hadn't done a very good job. It was starting to come apart. “Strip that whole piece out and start again.”
Rose looked pained, but did as she was told. I watched, sympathetically. I didn't really blame her for being annoyed - the project was finicky - but there was no choice. She had been strikingly lucky. If she’d left the mistake unfixed, the device would have come apart when she tried to use it. Or exploded in her hand. And it would take weeks for anyone to get used to a new hand.
Magister Tallyman strode over to our table. “Caitlyn,” he said. “Come with me.”
I followed him into a makeshift office. It looked as though someone had built a small shack in the workroom, perching it against the stone wall. Inside, there was a workbench, a pair of stools and rickety-looking supply cabinets and a single lantern, casting an eerie light over the scene. The scent of carved wood was suddenly much stronger. Magister Tallyman must have put the private workroom together in a hurry. I hoped that meant it was safe. The walls looked as if one cough would blow them down.
“I hear you made a sword,” he boomed. I knew what he meant. Anyone could make a sword if they put in the time and effort to learn how to forge, but only one particular sword would interest him. “Congratulations!”
“Thank you, sir,” I said. I’d heard that Sir Griffons had told everyone. If anyone had doubted my talents, when they’d first heard the stories, they didn't any longer. “It was a very complex piece of work.”
“So I hear,” Magister Tallyman said. “You couldn't even include a maker’s mark!”
I nodded, ruefully. Forgers were meant to
include a mark on their work, just to claim it as theirs, but I hadn't been able to attach mine to the sword. It would have disrupted the spellform, according to my calculations. I’d carved a mark into the scabbard - the scabbard wasn’t particularly magical - but it wasn't quite the same. And yet, the ancients had had some way to do it. The Family Sword had been marked by a long-forgotten maker. We knew nothing about him, not even his name.
“I had to leave it off,” I said, finally. “And the sword worked.”
“Yes, it certainly did,” Magister Tallyman said. He reached into his apron and produced a set of plans. “Do you think you could make this?”
I took the paper and examined it, carefully. It was odd, both more and less complex than the sword. I’d need a number of potions as well as an ample supply of metal and at least seven gemstones. I would have taken it for a Device of Power if the notation at the bottom hadn't made it clear that no one had managed to modify the original design to the point where a forger could make it work.
“I’m not sure,” I said. I’d have to break it down into a series of manageable chunks, then try to do them one by one. The entire project would have to be carefully planned. “What does it do?”
“It's a flying machine,” Magister Tallyman said. “Or, at least, it is the core of a flying machine. Or so we have been told.”
I frowned. “Sir ... do you want me to forge something without knowing what it does?”
Magister Tallyman looked irked. “Yes.”
I tried to keep the doubt off my face. Dad had warned us, time and time again, that we should never cast a spell without knowing what it did. There were thousands of horror stories of young magicians who’d accidentally killed or wounded someone because they’d cast the spell without taking it apart first. Even Alana hadn't dared to cross him on that. And I ... it hadn't mattered, I supposed. I could recite a spell until my face turned blue and nothing would happen.
And yet ... a flying machine?
The Thousand-Year Empire had been a place of wonders. All the stories agreed that the Eternal City had mastered the secret of flight, as well as many others. There had been flying machines exploring the globe, cloud-castles floating in the air, ships prowling the oceans, going where they willed without paying heed to wind or rain ... I knew there were sailors who would have killed for that secret. Dad’s clipper ships looked good, but they were terrifyingly flimsy when a gale blew up out of nowhere. A ship that could go anywhere would change the world.
“I’d have to work out the spellform,” I said. The spellform - perhaps more than one - would be far more complex than the sword. “And then we’ll have to see if I could put it together.”
“Of course,” Magister Tallyman said. “I’m not expecting you to do it in the remaining” - he made a show of checking the clock - “fifty minutes.”
I nodded, smiling. “When do you want me to do it?”
“I don’t think there’s much point in keeping you in the basic class,” Magister Tallyman said, bluntly. “You and Akin are already two or three years ahead of your peers. I think it would be better if you were to work here during lessons. And you’ll also have access to the workroom later in the day.”
“I understand,” I said. I felt ... I wasn't sure how I felt. On one hand, I was going to be isolated from my peers; on the other, I was going to get to use my talents. “Am I still your assistant?”
Magister Tallyman gave me an odd smile. “I think, rather, that I will be assisting you,” he said. “And that leads neatly to a different question. Do you remember the sword I showed you?”
I nodded, wordlessly.
“It would be nice if it could be repaired,” Magister Tallyman said. “Would you like to try?”
I blinked. The sword had once been worth a king’s ransom, before someone had thought it would be a good idea to pry out one of the gemstones. Now, it was a worthless chunk of metal that would shatter if someone crashed it into a mundane blade. I supposed the remaining gemstones might be worth something ...
“I might,” I said. In theory, the sword could be repaired. In practice ... I wasn't so sure. I had managed to prove, at least to my own satisfaction, that the spellform could not be adjusted once it was in place. Everything had to be preset before the final rune was cast or everything would go horribly wrong. “But I don’t know if it would work.”
“You may try,” Magister Tallyman said. “And if you succeed, you may keep the blade.”
I gaped. “Sir?”
“It’s useless at the moment,” he reminded me. “And if you’re the only one who can get it to work ...”
I wondered, numbly, what my father would say to that. A sword that was worth a king’s ransom ... perhaps more than a king’s ransom. And it would be mine, if I managed to repair it. I had no idea if I could, let alone if I could use it. The blade might well be blood-bonded to a family that had no connection to ours, making the sword unusable. I might not even be able to carry the blade if I didn't have a trace of their blood in me.
But we could sell it to them, I thought. And they’d want it ...
“I can try,” I said. “Do you know anything about its history?”
“The blade was sold to me years ago,” Magister Tallyman said. “It passed through several sets of hands before coming to rest in mine. Whoever originally owned it ...”
He shrugged. “I don't know.”
I frowned. There might be no way to find out, either. The family might not even be based in Shallot. Or it might have died out in one of the wars. Or ... the blood might have become so diluted that the blade wouldn't recognise the descendents of its original owner. There was no way to know, save for having everyone in the school try to lift the blade ...
And that assumes we can actually repair it, I thought, ruefully. It may be impossible.
But I didn't blame Magister Tallyman for wanting to try. The sword wasn't the only Object of Power that was broken beyond repair. My family had a small collection in the vaults under the hall. If we could mend one, we could mend others. And who knew where that would lead? Dad would certainly want me to try too. The family would have a very definite advantage if we were the only ones who could repair otherwise-useless artefacts.
“I’ll try,” I said. I’d have to be careful. The sword might be dead ... or there might be enough magic left in the blade to cause an explosion, if I did the wrong thing. “Thank you, sir.”
Magister Tallyman nodded. “Work on the project plans now,” he said, nodding to the worktable. “And good luck.”
I sat down and studied the plans closely. They were fascinatingly complex, so complex that I suspected there was a simpler way to channel the magic. It was how it always worked, according to the tutors. Someone made a discovery by figuring out a very basic way to do something, then someone else improved on it until the original design was lost under the bells and whistles. I’d have to work out how the design channelled magic before I could determine what was truly important and what wasn't. There were just too many additions and offshoots that didn't quite seem to make sense.
The bell rang ... I jumped. Had it really been an hour since I’d sat down to work?
Someone knocked on the door. I rose, putting the papers to one side and stepped out of the workroom. Akin stood there, looking tired and hungry. Behind him, I could see Rose clearing away her tools. The rest of the class was already heading out of the door. Isabella was the last. She shot me a nasty look before leaving.
“Dad gave her a proper roasting,” Akin said. He sounded oddly amused. “He said it was all her fault.”
“Oh,” I said. I wondered if I should feel sorry for her. But how could I? She’d been maximally mean to me ever since we discovered we were sharing a dorm. “What did you say?”
“Nothing,” Akin said. “I was two rooms away and I could still hear the shouting.”
“Ouch,” I said. “What did he say to you?”
“Not much,” Akin told me. “He just said he expected me to do well a
t school.”
Rose joined us. “Lunch?”
“Lunch,” I agreed. I had a free period afterwards, while the rest of the year went to Protective and Defensive Magic. Maybe I’d come back to the workroom and start inspecting the sword. “How did you get on?”
“She’s doing fine,” Akin said, before Rose could answer. “She just needs a little more confidence.”
I nodded. I’d been nervous too, when I’d started. The prospect of seriously hurting myself had never been far from my thoughts. But I’d learnt to overcome it.
“Let’s go,” I said. “Or else there’ll be nothing left for us.”
Chapter Twelve
“My techniques did not fail, at least,” Magistra Haydon said, calmly. Her green eyes were pensive. “That is some small consolation.”
I said nothing as I sipped my herbal tea. Magistra Haydon had tried to bring out my powers ... but she’d been thwarted by the simple fact that I had no powers. She had to have found her apparent failure more than a little frustrating. Not everyone took Magical Growth seriously as a subject, even though she had had some successes. Her enemies must have taken heart from her problems.
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