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... acing a taller man with soot on his sleeves.

Both had aprons on, both looked seconds from swinging hammers at each other.

"Look, Rhian," Borik shouted over his shoulder when he noticed him, "tell this grease-handed clown that his so-called tempered edge couldn’t cut warm butter!"

The other smith scoffed. "And you tell your master here to stop selling doorstops to students and calling them weapons."

Rhian stood there awkwardly, watching the two grown men hurl black ...

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