Two days of ore left Corvain's back knotted and raw. Now he stood in the yard behind the stone guildhall, the borrowed armor strapped over his leathers. Stella had earned his labor and handed the harness over, dented but sound. Corvain had one day left. He climbed onto his black Friesian and found he could barely move. The breastplate hung wide on his frame. The straps had been set for a broader man. When he tried to raise his lance arm, the plate slid and pinched. He shifted in the saddle and the whole harness swung loose. He could not couch a lance like this. He could not even turn to guard his side. He dismounted and worked at the buckles himself. He punched new holes in the leather straps with his knife. He cinched them tight and climbed back up. The plate still gaped at the shoulder. His knots slipped under the weight of the steel. An hour passed. The Friesian stamped, bored, while its rider fought a puzzle of dead metal. Stella came out from the forge, wiping soot from his hands. Points of light moved under his dark skin like stars shifting. He watched Corvain fumble one more strap loose. "You'll shake yourself apart at the first pass," he said. "The straps won't hold," Corvain said. "It's built for someone twice my width." Stella crossed his arms, thick as fence posts. "You want me to fix armor I already gave you? That's new work. New work costs." Corvain's stomach dropped. He had no coin and no days left to trade. "I hauled your whole wagon. My hands are still bleeding." He held them up. The palms were split and dark. Stella looked at the hands a long moment. Something in his hard face eased. "Get down," he said. "Bring the plate to the forge." Inside, heat rolled over them. Stella set the breastplate on the anvil and studied the fit against Corvain's chest. He heated the side plates until they glowed, then hammered the curve inward. Sparks jumped. He riveted a folded pad of hide behind the shoulder to fill the gap. He worked fast, without a word, and Corvain stood still and let him. "Try it now," Stella said. Corvain strapped it on. The plate gripped his chest like a second skin. He raised his arm, and the steel moved with him. He twisted left and right. Nothing slid. Nothing pinched. "It holds," Corvain said. He could hardly believe it. "It holds," Stella agreed. He set his hammer down and fixed Corvain with a flat stare. "But I'll want that hide pad back after the contest. And you owe me for the labor. One more day of hauling, when you're done losing." Corvain laughed, then stopped. Stella was not smiling. The debt was real, and it had just grown. He nodded and carried the armor out into the last of the daylight. Tomorrow he would ride into the lists. Now he owed the blacksmith another day he did not have.