Borin Ironforge's Arc

Chapter 8 of 20

The sack of ore sat in the corner of the forge, useless. Borin needed a hotter fire to smelt it, and hotter fires cost coin. That coin came from paying customers. So Borin took Finn to the village inn to drum up work. But when they stepped through the door, the room went quiet. A few faces turned away. One farmer set down his cup and left without a word. Borin knew that look. Someone had been talking. Derek Malone leaned against the bar, grinning. He was the town bully who had mocked Finn at the market square. Now he swirled his drink and spoke loud enough for the whole room. "There he is. The orphan smith. Ask him about the swords that snap on the first swing." He looked at the innkeeper. "You want your steel to break when you need it? Trust the stable boy." Finn's face went red. Borin felt heat rise in his own chest, but he did not shout. Shouting would prove Derek's point. He had beaten Derek once before with finished work, not words. He could do it again. A silver-haired stranger sat at a corner table. His armor was scored from real fighting, and a blue cloak hung from his shoulders. He watched the whole thing with sharp eyes. This was a traveling hero, the kind who paid well for good steel. Borin walked to the stranger's table and set the masterwork blade down. The one he had forged himself. The steel showed a pattern like moving water. "Judge the work, not the mouth," Borin said. The hero lifted the blade. He tested the balance. He ran a thumb along the edge and pressed the flat against the table. It did not bend. His eyebrows rose. "My apprentice reforged a broken sword last week," Borin said. "Welded steel that a lesser smith would throw out. That is not luck." Derek pushed off the bar. "He's a fraud." The hero did not look up. "I have carried blades from three kingdoms," he said. "This is better than any of them." He turned to Borin. "I want a sword of my own. Fresh steel, your hands and the boy's. Name your price." The room shifted. The farmer who had left came back through the door. Derek's grin fell. He stood alone now, and his words meant nothing against a hero's judgment. He spat on the floor and walked out. Borin named a price. The hero paid half in gold on the spot, more coin than a month of repairs. Finn stared at the pile on the table. "We have the work now," Borin said quietly. "And the coin." But his eyes went to the door, then to the sack waiting at the forge. The hero wanted fresh steel. That meant smelting the raw ore. And Borin's forge still could not burn hot enough to melt it.