Borin Ironforge's Arc

Chapter 7 of 20

Borin looked at the empty racks again. Finn still stood by the anvil, waiting, the masterwork blade cooling between them. The boy wanted to forge his own. Borin had no iron left to give. He set down his hammer and made a choice. "You want raw metal for your first blade," he said. "Then we go get it ourselves." Finn's face lit up. "Where?" "The old mine past the ridge. There's ore in the walls if you know the seams." Borin gathered a pick, a sack, and a lantern. "I mined my first iron as a boy. So will you." They reached the mine by midday. Its mouth gaped between broken timbers, propped by beams gone soft with rot. Lanterns hung dead on rusted hooks. A dank smell rolled out of the dark. Borin lit his lantern and stepped inside. Finn followed close. Borin ran his fingers along the stone. He found a seam of gray rock threaded with dull metal. "There," he said. "That's good ore. Swing where I show you." Finn swung the pick. Chips flew. The boy worked fast, filling the sack with each strike. Then Borin heard scraping in the dark. Small feet. Chittering voices. Shapes moved at the edge of the lantern light. Goblins. Three of them, then five, creeping from a side tunnel. They bared their teeth and clutched crude spikes of stone. "Behind me," Borin said. He raised his pick like a hammer. The goblins rushed. Borin swung and cracked one across the shoulder. It squealed and fell back. Another darted past him toward Finn. Finn did not run. He swung his own pick at the goblin's legs and dropped it. "Grab the sack!" Borin shouted. The boy hauled it up. Borin drove the pack back with wide swings, keeping himself between the goblins and Finn. They retreated toward the mine mouth step by step. Daylight broke over them. The goblins hissed and would not follow into the sun. Borin and Finn stumbled out onto open stone, chests heaving. The sack lay heavy at Finn's feet, packed with raw ore. Borin knelt and opened it. He turned a lump over in his hand. The metal caught the light. "Enough for a blade," he said. "Maybe two." He grinned wide through his gray beard. "You dug your own iron and fought to keep it. That's more than most smiths can say of their first steel." Finn wiped grime from his face. He was still breathing hard, but he smiled. "When do we start?" "Tomorrow." Borin closed the sack. The obstacle was gone. Finn had iron now, ore he had pulled from the rock with his own hands. But Borin's smile faded as he looked back at the mine. This ore was rough, full of stone and dirt. Before any blade could be forged, it would have to be smelted down to clean metal. And that took a heat far greater than his forge could reach.