The heat from the forge blasted Henry's face as he instinctively grimaced, holding the metal steady as Irwin, Sir Paulus' blacksmith, hammered and pounded the red-hot ore into shape. Sweat ran down the squire in rivers, as he resisted the urge to use one of his hands to wipe away a streak of perspiration that flowed right into his eyes; Irwin's hands, old as they may be, still swung the smithing hammer with the strength and force of a man half his age, as sparks showered from the struck metal with each blow. The cotton in Henry's ears did little to dampen the ringing noise, as his sweat had all but melted them from his earlobes; still, the squire forced himself to remain steadfast, maintaining a vise grip on the metal until Irwin finally nodded.

  "Looks good so far, young master," Irwin said, taking the metal tongs from Henry and placing the sheet back into the forge. "You didn't have to volunteer. I can get everything myself, you know."

  "It's my armor," Henry replied. "I'd like to have at least a hand in its forging."

  Irwin nodded. "I s'pose. Even still, young master, perhaps I should take it from here." He winked at the squire. "Your hands, though enthusiastic, are untrained and unskilled. I'm about to reach the most delicate stage, so I'll need focus, not help."

  Henry nodded, taking a step back. "Thank you, Master Irwin. If I may..." He tapped on the pocket on his pants leg. "When it's ready, can you call me over?"

  "Of course, Master Henry. It's the most important part, after all."

  The squire bowed and turned, taking off the heavy smithing apron and hanging it on the nearby coat-hook. He left the stuffy forge, stepping into the warm summer evening air outside.

  "Finally done?" Arthur sat outside on the low stone wall, bottle of mead in his hand. He offered it to Henry, who politely shook his head.

  "Almost," Henry replied, sitting down beside him. "Just one more piece left, and it's the finishing touch."

  The knight-apprentice raised a brow. "'Finishing touch?' Now this, I must see."

  "You lot gossiping like old ladies again?" Lyla emerged from a nearby building, dressed in more casual clothing. Henry still struggled to see her outside of her battle-plate, which had hidden a far more athletic form than he expected; her blonde hair was no longer tied into neat braid, but flowed freely down her shoulders.

  "Without you? Never." Arthur scooted over and patted the space next to him.

  Lyla rolled her eyes and sat next to Henry instead. "I know he's not going to try any funny business, now that he's a taken man and all."

  "Very funny," Arthur sighed. "How's Rebecca doing anyhow, old boy?"

  Henry shrugged. "Her last letter was just last week. She says Nezwick is teaching her quite some advanced spells, now that's she's gotten stronger and all."

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  "Let me know when she figures out a teleportation spell," Lyla grumbled, rubbing her backside. "My bum is still sore from all the riding I've done over the last few days."

  "I'd hope it's worth it!" Arthur sniffed. "Is it official, yet?"

  "Yes," Lyla groaned. "The transfer's official. I'm now continuing my own Trials under your watch now."

  "'My watch now, ...?" Arthur leaned in expectedly.

  Lyla shot him a dirty look. "I'd fall on my own sword before I call you anything of the sort."

  Henry smiled, but then frowned. "Don't you find it concerning how readily the Bureau agreed to the transfer, though? Most knights rarely take on more than one squire, yet Arthur's allowed to mentor the both of us."

  "I must be that good, then," Arthur scoffed.

  "Or more likely, the knights are spread more thinly than we thought." Henry shook his head. "Sir Paulus still hasn't returned from his duties, either. Irwin says he hasn't returned since we left."

  "I'm sure it's nothing. That's the knights' life, isn't it?" The knight-apprentice winked at Lyla. "So they say, anyhow."

  "Master Henry!" Irwin's voice called out from the forge. "I'm about to take out the breastplate! You'd best hurry in!"

  The three of them jumped off the stone wall, as Henry turned to the forge. "Well? You coming?"

  "For what?" Lyla asked, confused.

  Arthur simply nudged her towards the building. "Come along. You'll see."

  Together, the three of them entered the blistering hot forge, where Irwin gingerly moved the glowing breastplate from the forge to the anvil. "It's ready, young master."

  Henry stepped forward and produced the final piece from his pocket: the coin Sir Gallant had given him, the last time he had seen him alive. In the dim light of the forge, the crest of House Gallant glimmered and shone clearly.

  It felt like a lifetime ago, especially considering everything they had gone through just the past few weeks alone, but Henry still vividly remembered that moment, every detail of their last meeting.

  The entity's words whispered in the back of his mind. Sir Gallant still lives. I can show you where.

  He shook his head, banishing them. Whether he lives or not, I will find him. Someday. He pressed the coin, crest up, into the center of the glowing breastplate, where Irwin had previously shaped it to hold the coin perfectly. The gold piece hissed and sizzled slightly, but held firm as Irwin gently cooled the metal around it.

  "Aye, that's it, young master." The blacksmith ladled a few scoops of mineral oil over the entire plate, steadily bringing the steel's temperature down without the shock of cold water.

  Henry looked back at his companions, who nodded approvingly.

  "You honor him," Lyla said, her head bowed. "He'd be proud to see House Gallant lives on through you."

  Arthur clapped Henry's back. "Those colors will look good on you. When you earn them, of course."

  "I'll be finishing up in here, masters," Irwin grunted, heaving the breastplate over to the table. "In the meantime, I believe Miss Chappy needs some help preparing dinner in the kitchen."

  Arthur's eyes lit up. "She'd better be making that wonderful mutton pie of hers! It's to die for!"

  "I'm more partial to her potato mash instead," Lyla sighed.

  "Maybe she's making that roasted quail again?" Henry pondered.

  The knight-apprentice rolled his eyes. "Old boy, please. We just had that last night."

  "I heard she's still taking requests," Irwin chuckled. "Best get a move on to catch up with her."

  Henry cocked his brow, looking over at the blacksmith. "What do you mean?"

  He and Arthur glanced back, only to see Lyla already charging down the pathway towards the main house.

  "Blast." Arthur raced after her, shouting indistinctly into the night.

  Henry laughed and followed him closely, feeling the cool summer air on his face as he ran.