Carving the oak log was just as painful as smithing the night before, though in a different way. Rather than his shoulders burning, Enzo felt every inch of his forearms on fire. Gripping the log for hours on end while whittling away, then sanding it down and presenting it to Tobias, was exhausting. Being told to do it again - better this time - was infuriating.

“Don’t know what to tell you, son,” Tobias said as he shook his head and handed the chunk of wood back to Enzo. “It’s you who’s got to wield this thing. The handle needs to be straight, and without major flaws. Last thing you want is your hand getting stuck as you try to regrip.”

Enzo groaned and sat back down at the workbench. Hours had passed since he’d confidently strode into the workshop with the sturdy log from Lea’s shop.

He’d started the project with delusions of intricate patterns carved into the wood. He’d even drawn them up quickly, and showed them to Tobias. Ancient runes inlaid with gold, rings and patterns all across the length of the handle. Truly, a masterpiece. Tobias had responded with a shrug.

Now, Enzo understood why. It’s my first weapon, and I thought I was going to make something special. At this point, I just want this damn thing to be good enough to use.

Behind him, Tobias sat at the forge and worked on the eggshell fragments. He ground them carefully, ensuring each shard was ground into a fine, dry powder before adding them to a mixture of ground charcoal, iron and silver. He thoroughly mixed each batch, taking great care to create a homogeneous mixture before finally pouring it all into a rectangular mold.

In the end, the old smith filled two of the molds with the mix and set them in the furnace. He poured in more fuel, a mixture of charcoal and wood, then shut the doors and sealed them with the same clay they’d used to build the rest of the furnace. All the while, Enzo slowly scratched and scraped away at his handle.

Night came quickly, and before Enzo knew it, he was up later than he’d been the night before. Tobias had long-since finished his work with the dragonstone, only returning to the workshop to add fuel periodically. The log looked good now, though. Finally straight, he’d sanded it down until the knots in the wood no longer caught on his gloves when he ran them over each spot.

Enzo stood and stretched. Leaning over the workbench for hours has done a number on my back. I’ll show the work to Tobias and collapse in bed whether he approves or not, I can’t do any more tonight.

He shuffled into the back, where Tobias sat at the table in his living room, reading a book. The old smith looked up with a warm smile on his face as Enzo entered the room.

“Finally done? Let me have a look,” Tobias said as he took the handle from Enzo. He stood and swung the wood, testing its weight and balance. Satisfied, he placed it down on the table. “Well done, son. I’ll finish attaching the hammer head in the morning, should be ready to go by the time you finish warming up.”

Enzo nodded his thanks, exhausted. He trudged back through the workshop and out into the village, slowly making his way back to the barracks. He kicked off his shoes the moment he was through the door to his room and fell on the bed.

Please, if there is a God, let it rain tomorrow and save me from training before dawn with Gunnar.

===========================================

Cornelia sat in her basement, stumped. She peeled oranges while she thought, keeping her hands busy and preparing the final ingredient in her winter brew.

The winter wheat harvest had gone quite well, and she’d had enough to make a good mash for the concentrated dragon mana, as well as a nice ale. The orange peels would add a nice touch of citrus to the beer that was sure to sell well at the Winter Festival in Baybreach, but the fire whiskey was proving to be a problem.

This ancient still is nearly as old as I am. Still, it worked just fine the last time I used it. What’s going wrong this time?

She’d gone through her notes, checking the fittings at each joint and ensuring the gaskets that kept things watertight were in good condition. The burners were working properly, and she’d even taken the time to source some peat to add to the filtration. The damn thing just wouldn’t stop overheating. She spat to the side and cursed under her breath.

As it stands, I’ve already wasted one vial of that awful mana and there’s nothing to do with this disgusting soup.

Cornelia placed a bucket at the bottom of the large condensing tank and pulled the plug. A thick, burnt orange sludge slowly drained from the tank. It stank of fermented wheat and fire, causing Cornelia to flee the room. As she climbed the stairs and escaped to her roof, the crisp, cold air of the night helped clear her mind.

Maybe I’m going about this all wrong. The mana is probably reacting with the heat of the still and over cooking the brew.

When she’d regained her composure, Cornelia climbed back down into the cellar. She collected all the ingredients for a second batch and brought them to the room. Then, with great effort, she lifted the large still and brought it up as well. A cold breeze swirled around the branches of the oak tree that was her home, sending a shiver down her spine.

Let’s be done with this quickly. I hate the cold, even if it is a necessity.

She loaded the new batch into the still and started the fire again. As the wood caught and started to build heat, Cornelia blew the cold wind along the outside of the first chamber of the still. It took a little practice, but after a few minutes, the mash blend was bubbling nicely.

She smiled as she watched the fire whiskey evaporate through the first pot, through the peat filter and into the second chamber. With another trick of the wind, the second chamber dropped temperature to match the outside. Drops of concentrated fire whiskey began to form throughout the condensing chamber.

Happy with the progress, Cornelia returned to the main floor of her home and collected a blanket and a book. On the way back to the roof, she grabbed a firefly lantern from the front doorway and prepared for a long, chilly night.

Knew I could get it to work properly, she thought smugly to herself. As she settled in and continued the magical process, the first flakes of snow began to fall.