"Come with me, Princess; we have other work to do."
Erkembalt led her to his workbench and cleared a space with one sweep of his arm, scattering wood shavings across the floor. Then he pulled three blades out of the bulging pockets of his leather apron and laid them out side by side.
None of the blades were finished. Their edges were blunt, their surfaces were dark and rough with forge scale, and none of them had handles, only a bare tang of steel where a handle would one day be.
"Three blanks, ready to become finished blades," Erkembalt said. "I've been working on these and a handful of others in the idle moments while I wait for steel to heat or cool, or dyes to set… There's a good deal of waiting in an artificer's life, you know," he said.
"Picking up small projects in between can help to keep your shelves stocked," Erkembalt said. "Not that you'll ever find yourself running a shop, I suppose."
