Ozhobar moved to the forge, holding out his hands to the heat. ‘Are we ready?’ he asked the black-bearded Brek.
‘It is mostly assembled, Oz. A few minor additions will be needed to the helm.’
‘Then let us go through,’ he said. Aware of his earlier discourtesy, he bowed to Karis. ‘After you, General.’
Karis moved through to the rear store-room. There, set on a wooden frame, was a curiously wrought breastplate of polished iron, with bulging shoulder-guards and a raised, semi-circular neck-plate. Brek walked to a nearby workbench and came back with a huge helmet which he fitted inside the neck-guard. ‘It looks like a huge beetle,’ said Forin, with a deep belly laugh.
‘Put it on,’ said Karis.
‘You’re joking!’
‘I never joke. Put it on.’
Forin stepped up to the frame. Brek removed the helm, then lifted the breastplate clear, placing it over Forin’s broad shoulders. The jutting shoulder-guards made him look even more enormous. The open sides were protected by chainmail, which Brek hooked into place. ‘Now the helm,’ said Karis.
The large, conical helmet was lowered into place, then hooked to the neck-guard. Forin’s green eyes shone with humour as he gazed out of the slitted visor. ‘I feel like an idiot,’ came his muffled voice.
‘How appropriate,’ observed Ozhobar.
‘What did he say? I can’t hear a damned thing in here.’
Lifting a heavy broadsword from beside the black forge, Ozhobar swung it over his head and brought it down hard against the side of the helm. Forin staggered and almost fell; then he whirled on the Weapon Maker. Ozhobar struck him again. This time the sword snapped in two.
‘Remove the helm,’ ordered Ozhobar. Brek climbed on a bench and lifted the helmet clear.
‘You whoreson!’ stormed Forin. ‘I’ll break your . . .’
‘You are alive, idiot!’ snapped Ozhobar. ‘Had you not been wearing the armour, I would have cut your head from your shoulders. I do not know how strong the Daroth will prove, but I am stronger than most men and I could not dent the metal!’
‘He’s right,’ said Karis. ‘How does the armour feel?’
‘Damned heavy. But the helmet needs padding; it felt as if I was inside a town bell. I can still feel it ringing in my ears. Also we’ll need eye-slits at the sides. The helmet isn’t made to turn with the head; the head turns inside it. We need side vision.’
‘That is already in the design,’ said Ozhobar. ‘As Brek said earlier, we still have to complete the helmet. That said, I am pleased with it. If it meets with your approval, General, I shall have the Armourer begin work on the others.’
‘What about protection for the arms?’ asked Forin.
‘I am developing a complex design of interlocking arm plates,’ Ozhobar told him. ‘The first set should be ready by next week. The elbow section is the problem at present, but I will find a way around it. How are the axes?’
Forin shrugged. ‘At first I thought they would prove impossible to wield, but we are getting used to them.
The men improve day by day. Why did you design the blades to flare at the base and tip? They look like butterfly wings.’
‘As indeed they were intended to,’ said Ozhobar. ‘The problem with the simple half-moon design is that when it smashes through the ribs it can catch within the body. The butterfly design will help to prevent such a possibility. I hope you have also noticed that the upward flare of the blades allows it to be used as a stabbing weapon.’
‘An axe is not a stabbing weapon,’ objected Forin.
Ozhobar moved to a bench at the rear of the room, lifting a black short-handled axe. Holding it like a spear, he suddenly threw it at a nearby door. The upper points of the head slammed deep into the wood. Ozhobar walked to the door, wrenching it open. Two shining points of steel had completely pierced the door, and were jutting like dagger blades from the wood. ‘My axe is also a stabbing weapon,’ he said. ‘It just takes a little imagination to see it.’
‘Your point is well made, Oz,’ said Karis. ‘And I am delighted with the armour.’