Chapter 38: New Fittings

Chapter 38: New Fittings

The four pieces struck together above the test stand with a sound Silas had never heard from his old weapon: one clean click.

He kept them suspended, suspicious.

Garrick stood beside the counter with his arms folded. "Well?"

Silas turned the assembled weapon sideways. The joints held. He separated the end piece, brought it back, and joined it again without the little scrape he had learned to expect.

"That’s better," he said.

The smith’s eyebrows rose. "You’re welcome."

Six days had passed since the order. Garrick had sent one request for a control measurement and two increasingly impatient notices that the work would not finish sooner if Silas kept asking. Silas had asked once. Apparently that was enough.

The pieces looked familiar until he brought them close. Their spiral shape remained, but the fittings were neater and the reinforced sections sat flush. Garrick had made small allowances for where Silas actually gripped them with the Talent, rather than where a person’s fingers would have gone.

On the counter, a separate sealed packet held the remaining eight hundred grams of adamantite. Silas checked the record and put it away before returning his attention to the weapon.

"How much harder can I hit with it?" he asked.

"As hard as you could yesterday." Garrick gave him an annoyed look. "More of it will stay in one piece."

Silas tested the weight through a turn. The set was different enough that he overshot and corrected it before it reached a jar on the counter.

Garrick moved the jar anyway.

"The joins won’t make the rest indestructible," the smith said. "And don’t decide that because they connect, you can block a war hammer across the middle."

"I wasn’t planning to."

"You plan very quickly."

Silas lowered the weapon into its case. Garrick watched him fit each piece into place, then leaned over the open lid once more.

"With proper companion materials, I could do considerably more," he said. "A whole design built to use the adamantite, instead of putting it where these parts need help. Something you could keep for years."

"That sounds expensive."

"It would be." Garrick straightened. "This is already better equipment than most first-years ever put their hands on. Learn to use it before buying the next one."

Silas paid the agreed balance. He had expected another surge of pleasure at being able to afford it. Instead, he found himself impatient to get to the practice ground.

Ferrow had allowed a handling check after that morning’s remedial session. By the time Silas arrived, she was putting away the lighter weights while Bram tried to untangle two carrying straps.

"Still got all your fingers?" Bram asked, seeing the case.

"I didn’t forge them myself."

"Right. That would help." Bram pulled the wrong loop and made the knot worse. "New set?"

"New fittings."

Ferrow directed Silas to the screened lane and checked the weapon before letting him begin. The first passes were slow: separation, alignment, reconnection. He had to stop anticipating the old hitch. Twice, he added a correction the new fittings did not need and spoiled his own approach.

On the third sequence, he let the parts settle before turning them.

The longer weapon reached the padded target squarely. He withdrew, separated it, and brought the pieces back into their individual holds.

"Again," Ferrow said. "Keep the return close."

He did. After several repetitions, she raised a hand.

"That’s enough for the first session."

Silas wanted another attempt. He closed the case before she could notice him considering it.

His hands had done little during the test, but his back and legs still felt the time spent standing. He sat on the bench, drank, and waited for the familiar heavy nausea to begin.

It never quite arrived. By the time Bram had finally sorted the straps, Silas could stand without wishing he had remained seated.

He glanced toward Ferrow. She was watching him.

"Better?" she asked.

"A little."

"Good. Keep it a little for now."

He mentioned it to Kerr at his next check. She was pleased with the improvement and considerably less interested in his suggestion that it might justify longer weapon sessions. She adjusted his course, kept the rest intervals, and confirmed his restricted clearance for the extraction assessment.

Two mornings later, he found his team beside a stretcher on the practice ground.

Alden was checking the straps. Mira stood with one foot resting on the low rail, tightening the support around her ankle. Bram had brought a small roll of padding that looked as though it had been cut from an old coat. Silas stopped at the marshal’s table to have the protective sleeves on his spiral pieces checked before joining them.

Alden looked up when Silas approached.

"Rooke."

"Cross."

Bram glanced between them. "I’m pleased we’ve covered names. Does either of you know why our patient has a handle in his back?"

"For replacing the weight," Mira said. "Don’t pull it."

Bram took his hand away.

The dummy wore a soft training jacket over a heavy, jointed body. Small indicators marked its head, chest, and one leg. Silas crouched to read the attached condition card.

Leg injury. Possible neck injury. Conscious but unable to walk.

"He’s going to be a nuisance," Silas said.

Mira lowered her foot from the rail. "Try not to tell him."

Ferrow called the teams together before he could answer.

They would recover their assigned casualties and reach the collection point within the allotted time. Injury readings, route decisions, combat expenditure, and handling all counted. The enclosed course used low platforms, movable partitions, and controlled obstacles. Blue cords along the marked routes stopped the exercise if pulled. Marshals occupied the main junctions; the dummy recorded what happened to the dummy.

"Your opponents are senior students," Ferrow said. "They will use the equipment and force permitted for this assessment. They are still trying to prevent you from completing it. Don’t mistake restraint for cooperation."

She explained the pursuit rule as well: once a team withdrew from a guarded route, one defender could be released to follow. Taking the longer path would not guarantee them an uninterrupted walk.

She showed them the route board.

A wide passage led nearly straight to collection. Two defenders held the far end. The alternative looped through a service lane, a timber crossing, and an awkward loading entrance.

Silas followed the longer line with his eyes. "I’d use the service lane. More turns, but we can keep the stretcher moving."

Alden was looking at the wide passage. "Two against two, with the others carrying. If we push them off the exit, we’re through."

"And if we don’t?" Silas asked.

"Then we lose some time finding out." Alden tapped the longer route. "This loses it whether anyone fights us or not."

Mira leaned in to examine the turns. "We should at least see the defenders before deciding."

Bram adjusted the padding under his arm. He seemed about to say something, then let the others finish.

Silas noticed. "What?"

"The long way has a narrow turn," Bram said. "We’ll need to carry differently. That’s all."

"Can we?" Alden asked.

"Yes. I think so."

Their signal sounded.

They lifted the casualty carefully, Bram at the rear and Mira at the front while Silas and Alden covered. At the first junction, they could see both defenders.

One stood in the open with a padded sword. The other waited a few steps behind him, shield angled toward the stretcher rather than Alden.

Silas looked at the width of the lane, then at the gap they would have to make.

The defenders had no reason to chase a quick victory. They only had to keep making him spend mana.