The rules of combat 8/10

A few days later Jennifer Jane took her Dad's drawing and went through the Witches' Home to the George and Dragons.

"I don't think much of your new troll," she said to the landlord.

He laughed. "He actually got as far as telling someone his name the other day, apparently he's called Gordon. He's a bit of a joke at the moment and no one takes any notice of him."

Jennifer Jane gave George the drawing for his new sword and he went off to see the blacksmith. She stayed at the Inn for an hour talking to the landlord about the new troll.

"Just wait until he gets himself sorted out and starts asking riddles. He won't stand a chance. When Lurgin was killed we went under the bridge and took them all. Three blooming great books full there were, so now we know all the answers."

Jennifer Jane looked thoughtful. "That gives me an idea, I think I can solve your troll problems for a long time. How many riddles do you think there are in those books?"

"Must be thousands, it'd take years and years just to ask them all."

"Right," said Jennifer Jane, "I'll have a word with Gordon on the way home and see if I can sort him out but I'll just pop over to the blacksmith first and see how George's new sword is coming along."

As she approached the smithy she could hear voices and the occasional clang of a hammer striking metal.

"It'll have to be tighter than that"....clang....clang.

"If you put the spring in now, I'll tap down the edges to hold it in place."

Jennifer Jane walked in just as George said, "that should do it."

The new sword didn't look very impressive. The metal was black and covered with marks from the blacksmith’s hammer. Otherwise it didn't seem any different from George's old sword. Jennifer Jane said so.

"Oh yes it is," said George with a grin, "stand right back."

Jennifer Jane got well out of the way, even though the blade wasn't sharp yet, she could see that it would really hurt anyone it hit.

George made a few gentle cuts and thrusts just to get used to the balance and then swung it as hard as he could from side to side. The blade slid along a rod fastened to the hilt and whistled as it cut through the air. The sword was now about five feet long and anyone standing within six feet of George would have been seriously hurt. As George completed the stroke the blade slid back up to the hilt, returning to it's normal length.

"Clever ain't it," said the blacksmith.

"Right I'll just sharpen the edge and polish things up a bit and we'll be ready for business," said George.

"If that don't do for that old witch, I don't know what will," said the blacksmith.