his father smoothed the blade by hand with two small, flat rocks, one limestone and the other agate.
“Only one small spot where my hammer mark shows, but in spite of that, it’s one of my best swords.”
“May I hold it?” Merlin asked.
His father gave him the long, round tang. Even though the blade wasn’t fully sharp, it was still dangerous, as the wolf discovered when Merlin killed it. He held the sword carefully and felt its heft, smooth metal, and bevels. “Beautiful.”
“Now for the hardening. Bluster them bellows, and we’ll be done in no time.” His father put the blade back into the coals and pulled out three glowing pokers, which he had placed there earlier. The familiar hissing sound filled the room as the pokers were pushed into the slim barrel of quenchant to warm it in preparation for the blade. His father used a recipe for the hardening quenchant passed on secretly by Elowek: sheep fat mixed with beeswax, salt, and snake blood.
When the blade had been heating for a while, his father asked him, “Would you get the hardening stone? It’s about time to test the blade.”
Merlin let go of the bellows and turned to the stone wall behind him. Feeling with his hands, he found a small, squarish rock about waist level. Working it out of its hole, he reached into the crevice, grabbed the wire inside, and pulled out a small metallic stone threaded onto it. Here was their secret lodestone, which his father employed to judge the proper time of quenching so the blade would be as strong as possible. This was another trick Elowek had taught them.
The lodestone was a miracle in that it was attracted to the iron like a thirsty horse to water. And only when the blade was at its perfect heat did the lodestone stop being drawn to the metal. Elowek had bought it at great price from a blacksmith in Lundnisow, and Merlin was never allowed to take it out without his father’s permission.
Merlin handed the lodestone to his father, found the bellows again, and resumed lifting, pressing down, lifting, pressing down until his father called to him.
“We’re ready. The lodestone says the quenching should happen now.”
Merlin backed up against the wall and waited, because this step was dangerous to both the blade and anyone standing nearby. Once, flaming grease had exploded from the barrel and caught his shirt on fire. He never forgot the burn or the word-whipping from his father.
And sometimes a blade would crack or bend beyond repair. His father suspected either uneven heating prior to putting it in the fat or an inner fault of the iron, which was shipped in from Brythanvy especially for their swordsmithing. Merlin remembered that once a blade had shattered into eight pieces when quenched. Holding his breath, he sent a prayer to heaven on his father’s behalf.
“Here we go …”
A great sizzling and a smear of flames shot out of the darkness of the barrel. Bitter smoke of burnt fat and wax swirled around Merlin. After several moments, the flames died down, and his father pulled the blade from the barrel for a quick inspection before returning it to the fat. “Perfect. No cracks. No warping,” After a longer wait, his father tested the hardness of the blade with a file, and then whooped. “Done!”
“Before we temper it, can you tell me what happened to Mother in Atle’s sinking boat?”
His father sighed, set the sword down, and pulled his stool close to Merlin. “The tide headed out as I watched from some brambles. To save her I left my sword and armor behind, and, with only my dagger for protection, I ran out past the warriors and dove into the waves.”
“Didn’t Atle and his men try to stop you?”
“In those days I was a fast swimmer,” Owain said.
Merlin could hear the pride in his voice. It made him proud too, to imagine his tas speeding through the water to save the woman he loved.
“By the time they retrieved their bows, I had swum too far away, and they didn’t have any boats nearby. I climbed in, unbound your mother, plugged the leak as best I could, and she and I both bailed. We had neither oars nor sail, so we drifted for two days.”
“Atle didn’t come after you?”
“Yes, he did, but a fog rose on the water. His men searched for hours, rowing and sailing back and forth. Sometimes they were so close we could hear their oars