Borin Ironforge's Arc

Chapter 10 of 20

The steel bars lay cold on the workbench. Borin picked one up and turned it in his scarred hand. The metal was good. His forge back home could not smelt this ore, but it could shape it. He set the bar down and looked at Finn. The boy stood ready with his own hammer, the one sized for his grip. This was the hero's commissioned sword. And Borin had made a decision on the walk home. He would not touch the steel. Finn would forge it alone. "You'll do this one," Borin said. "Start to finish. Your hands. Not mine." Finn's smile dropped. "I've never forged a whole blade. Only repairs." His voice went thin. "What if I ruin it? The hero paid gold." "Then you ruin it," Borin said. "But if I guide your hands, the blade is mine, not yours. A smith who cannot forge alone is no smith." He stepped back from the anvil and folded his arms. Finn stared at the fire. Then he fed the coals and buried the first bar deep. He worked the bellows until the steel glowed yellow. Borin's fingers itched to reach in. He kept them still. The boy drew the bar out and struck it. The first blows landed crooked. He cursed and reheated it. Borin said nothing. Hour by hour the blade took shape. Finn folded the steel, hammered, folded again. Sweat ran down his neck. Twice he glanced back for help. Twice Borin only nodded. When Finn drew the bevels, his strikes finally fell even and sure. Borin saw his own teacher in the boy's shoulders and had to look away. At dusk the blade was done. Finn quenched it, then ground the edge and set the hilt. He held it up. The steel showed a faint wavering pattern from the folds. It was not perfect. One bevel ran slightly wide. But it was a true sword, and Finn had made every inch of it. A knock came at the door. The elven hero stepped in, silver hair catching the forge light, blue cloak dusty from the road. Aelindor Starweaver had commissioned this blade and paid half in gold. He looked at Borin, expecting the master's work. Borin pointed at Finn. "He forged it. Not me." Aelindor's brow tightened. He took the sword and tested its balance. He swung it once, twice. He ran a thumb along the edge and studied the pattern in the steel. The forge went quiet. "The boy made this?" Aelindor asked. "Every blow," Borin said. The hero was silent a long moment. Then he sheathed the blade at his belt. "It will serve." He counted the second half of the gold onto the bench and left. Finn stood shaking, staring at the door. Borin gripped his shoulder. The boy had forged a hero's sword alone. He was a smith now. And Borin knew the true test was still coming: whether the boy could someday do without him.