It is widely accepted that there is no greater blacksmith in the known kingdoms than Master Harold Smithe of Mern. Kings vie for his time in outfitting their sons and generals with armor and weapons. He is also the only human smith living that knows the secret to Dwarven Steel. In truth, he is probably one of only a score that knows the secret at all, including the Dwarves. He had learned it from his father and his father had learned it from his father, and thus it had been passed down from father to son for the last twenty odd generations. Harold had trained many young men and even a few women as blacksmiths, but had only shared the secret once. He had taught it to his son, Horace. A young man that was much like his father and would do well in carrying on the family tradition. When Horace was five years old, Harold and his wife, Janice, were asked by the local priest if they would be willing foster a young boy, named Chance. The priest told them that it might be until he was grown or it might be until the child’s parents felt that their situation had improved such that they could raise the boy themselves. They had accepted Chance happily and raised him as their own. Harold and Janice had told the child, when he was old enough to understand, how he came to be with him and that they loved him.

Like most brothers, especially where there is a large age difference, they fought. Horace was angry at having to share his parents with someone else and so, wanted nothing to do with his younger brother. Chance, on the other hand, worshipped the ground his older brother walked on and wanted to be just like him. This inevitably caused conflict as Chance would follow Horace around town and try to hang out with Horace and his friends. It made life difficult in the Smithe household. This all changed one afternoon though, when Chance was ten years old and Horace was fifteen.

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Horace had been sent by his father to the local freighter to see if the next shipment of ore had arrived yet and Chance was sweeping up the smithy storage room in preparation for its arrival.

“Chance,” his father called as he re-entered the forge, “Go see your mother. She has something she needs from the market.”

“Yes sir.” Chance replied. Taking his leather shop apron off, hanging it on the peg he and putting the broom away in its proper place, for if his father had told him once he had told him a thousand times, “A place for everything and everything in its place.”

Chance walked out of the smithy into the already cooler air of a warm summer morning. Glad to be out of the heat of the forge, Chance looked forward to running the errand, as it allowed him some time to himself. Walking across the yard to the house, Chance called out “Mom! Dad said you needed something from the market?”

Chance’s mom was a petite woman standing just over 7 spans tall with long black hair usually worn in a braid down her back. She always seemed to have a smile on her face and a friendly word. “Yes Chance, I need a bolt of cloth from the mercantile. I was meaning to ask Horace to get it today before he left but somehow he got away before I could ask him. Master Higgins had to special order it for me so I could make some new shirts for your father and you boys. He sent word that it was in and I need you to go pick it up.” she answered from the kitchen. “If you could look to see if they have any black thread, as well as leather lacing, I would appreciate it. Here take a few coins to cover the cost.” She said as she walked into the living area to hand him a small coin pouch.

“Yes ma’am. Be back shortly.” Chance yelled as he turned and ran out the door.

“Hurry back so you can help Horace and I unload the ore if it has come in.” His father yelled to him as he was passing the door to the forge.

“Yes sir!” Chance yelled back as he exited the gate in the stone wall that encircled the family home and smithy.

As Chance wound through the city towards the mercantile, he passed an alley where he heard an argument ensuing and, being the nosy young boy that he was, he decided to investigate. The alley took a bend about ten lengths in and the argument was around the corner. So Chance crept forward as far as he could and listened. He could hear what sounded like a child crying and then a voice raised in anger. “Back off and mind your own business, or we will make you wish you had! There are three of us and only one of you. So why don’t you run home before you get hurt.”

Then he heard Horace’s voice. “It does not matter the odds. What you are doing is wrong! Leave the girl alone and walk away.”

A second voice responded, “She is ours. We found her and we are going to keep her. Get him boys!”

Chance heard a rush of boots along with a wild yell. Followed by the sound of punches landing. Forgetting everything else, Chance stepped quickly around the corner to help his brother.

Horace was squared off with three boys that would be considered large when compared to most boys their age, but Horace was not most boys. He was built like his father and was large for his fifteen years. He was also stronger than a majority of the men in the city, for his father had put him to working the bellows and swinging a hammer in the smithy from the age of seven. Chance quickly surveyed the scene in an effort to determine how to best help Horace. He noticed a small girl cowering to the side of the alley. She was crying and appeared to have been roughed up, as her dress was torn and dirty.

One of the boys took a clumsy swing at Horace which he blocked with his forearm and countered with a short jab to the boy’s cheek. The second boy landed a punch to the side of Horace’s head which staggered him for a second. That opened him up for the first boy to hit him in the ribs on the opposite side. Then Chance noticed the third boy slipping behind Horace. Chance watched as the teen picked up a stout plank from the refuse in the alley and eased himself further behind Horace. The teen had raised the plank up over his head with both hands preparing to break it over the back of Horace’s head. It was at this point that Chance had seen enough. He charged the teen that had gotten around behind Horace. Lowering his shoulder, he drove it into the small of the teen’s back. Chance felt excruciating pain shoot through his shoulder as he hit the boy. He did not let that stop him though, and getting up, he grabbed the plank the teen had been about to use on Horace and waded into the other two teens swinging with abandon. His sudden wild attack startled the other boys and had given Horace the break he needed. He had landed a right cross to the jaw of the bigger of the remaining teens. The larger boy collapsed like his legs were made of wet noodles. The other teen glanced at his two friends, both out of action on the ground, and turning, ran from the alley.

Horace turned and slapped Chance on his hurt shoulder and said, “Thanks for the help. I am not sure how that would have turned out without you distracting them.” A sharp pain in Chance’s shoulder caused him to scream out in agony and collapse. Shocked, Horace knelt swiftly beside his brother and carefully untied his shirt to check his shoulder for injury. He could not find any blood or open wounds but Chance’s shoulder was already beginning to discolor and swell from his tackle of the third boy.

Horace turned to the young girl he had been defending. She looked to be around seven years old.

“Are you ok?” He asked smiling, as he helped her to her feet.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“Thank you,” she whispered tearfully.

She grabbed him around the waist and held on tight as the shock of had happened set in. Sobs racked her small form. “There, there, little one. It will be ok. You are safe now.” Horace comforted her and patted her back.

Sniffling, she looked up. “Can you take me home?” she asked through her tears.

“Of course, I would have it no other way. Let me pick up my helper here and then we will be on our way.” Horace responded.

As they walked out of the alley with Horace holding an unconscious Chance in one arm and a crying girl in the other, they were met by a patrol of city guards and another gentleman.

“Papa!” The girl yelled. The gentleman ran from the squad of soldiers to take her from Horace.

“Annabelle! Are you ok? What happened to you? I told you not to wander off!” He scolded her.

“Sir,” Horace interrupted. “She did not wander off. I saw three local tuffs pull her into the alley. I saw her try to scream but they covered her mouth and tried to carry her off.”

“What!” the man shouted. “Where are they? I will…”

“They got away sir. My brother and I chased them off and we stayed to help your daughter, rather than pursue them.” Horace interrupted again.

About that time the sergeant walked up. “Well done Horace. Is Chance ok?” Horace glanced over and recognized Sergeant Chang from his time drilling with the local militia in the summer.

“I am not sure, Sergeant. He tackled one of the boys that had gotten behind me and then picked up the board the boy had, and came wading into the fight swinging it wildly. Once the fight was over he collapsed and passed out. I was taking Annabelle home and then was headed to the house to get mom to take a look at him.”

“Very well, son. We will be by in the morning to take a statement if that is ok?” the Sergeant asked. “Go ahead on home and get that boy looked after.”

With that, Horace nodded his thanks, told Annabelle goodbye, and carefully carried his little brother home.

It turned out that Chance had broken his collarbone and dislocated his shoulder when he tackled the boy and was confined to the bed for the next few weeks. The three boys were never found despite a city wide search. It was assumed that they decided to get out of town before they could be caught.

Things began to change after that between Horace and Chance. Horace began to see his little brother not as a nuisance to be tolerated, but as a friend to be respected.

Once Chance was up and about, the two became inseparable. They were usually busy helping their father from sun up to sun down every day except for Seventhday, when the shop was closed. During their free time though, the two could always be found together.

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Five years later…

During the summer of Horace’s twentieth year, there began to be rumors goblin attacks up and down the lakeshore. Parties of marauding goblins were venturing out of the mountains and across the lake to hit the villages on the western shore. Horace had formally joined the militia two years earlier when he was eighteen, although he had been drilling with them for several years before that. Somehow he had convinced Captain Herrera to allow Chance to train with the militia too. While Chance had not been allowed to work with the steel swords, he had been given a bundled reed blade, known as a lathe, to train with and learn the sword forms. The two loved the time together. Horace continued to work in the smithy with his father during the mornings, even though he was into his Journeyman training and was now considered a smith in his own right. The afternoons, though, he spent patrolling with the militia, exercising and running to increase his endurance, or working on sword forms with Chance. Both Horace and Chance had taken to sword work eagerly and both had quickly exceeded the skills provided by the basic sword trainer sent by the King to prepare the militia. So Harold had sought out the Captain, who was also a King’s Blade Master, and paid for the two to receive additional training in swordsmanship.

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One afternoon as Horace’s patrol was returning from a circuit around the town, they walked into an ambush. The party of eight militias were attacked by a group of almost thirty orcs. Spears had flown into the group taking out two men in the first strike, the lieutenant in charge of the patrol and his sergeant. The remaining men scattered quickly, seeking what little cover there was available to them. The men could hear the goblins screaming in delight at their success. Glancing around from behind a small tree, Horace could see the enemy clustered together building up the courage to charge in and finish off the rest of them. He knew they had to do something or they were all going to die. He had seen Lieutenant Barrett and Sergeant Williams go down in the first attack, leaving no one in command of the six remaining men. Horace decided that if anything was to be done he needed to step up and make sure it happened.

“Men!” he yelled. “We must move! The goblins are gathering to charge. If we don’t get out of here, they will wipe us out.” He could hear the men voicing their agreement to the thought, but no one stepped forward with an idea.

The area they were in was a small defile that rose steeply on both sides. There were some scattered trees and rocks, but no suitable place for defense, as the entire area could be looked into from the top of either hill. There were groups of goblins at both ends of the defile, where the patrol had entered, and where they were planning on exiting. Looking up the sides, he could see three goblins watching and waiting on the top of each hill that made up the walls of the defile. They did not appear to have any more spears with them which was a good thing.

He quickly moved from man to man explaining his plan, “On my mark charge the hill to the north. The goblins up there do not have any ranged weapons remaining and there are only three. If we can reach the top quickly and defeat the three up there, we will have a much better defensive position.”

He noticed that the goblins at the end of the small valley had finally worked up their courage and were preparing to make their charge. So Horace quickly stood and yelled, “Now men! Let’s go!”

With a roar the men charged up the hill. Horace stopped at the bodies of the fallen and broke off the portion of the spears sticking from their bodies. Then he knelt and put a body over each shoulder and began to run up the hill.

The goblins that had been at the top had not expected to be forced to fight and had, indeed, been placed upon the top of the hills as they were the most cowardly of the orcs. Seeing the men charging toward them with their blades drawn, they decided that they did not want the top of the hill that badly. They turned and fled down the back side and on into the woods beyond.

The men stopped and cheered, congratulating themselves on winning the top of the hill. Then, as one, they turned and looked down the hill toward Horace as he struggled up the hill with the bodies of their fallen friends. The goblins had charged into the small defile and some were, even now, pursuing the heavily burdened young man up the hill.

As one, the men turned and charged back down the hill toward Horace. The goblins that were pursuing Horace paused as the men started their run down the hill. Goblins, being the cowardly creatures they were, decided they wanted to be anywhere else but charging up the hill toward a group of angry men with swords, they turned and fled. The remaining goblins at the bottom of the hill thought the force attacking was larger than it was and decided that running away was in their best interest as well. Though they ran as fast as they could, the angry men with their longer legs and the momentum of running downhill easily caught up to them. If the goblins had turned to fight they could have wiped the men out, but they kept running and were cut down from behind, one at a time.

Once the men returned from routing the goblins, they found Horace standing beside the bodies of the Lieutenant Barrett and Sergeant Williams. Horace worked with the men to cut down a couple of the saplings in the area and rig two makeshift litters with their tunics and cloaks so that they might more easily bring the bodies back with them. Then cutting short the patrol, they cut across the country toward Mern. It took a couple hours and was hard work, so they took turns carrying the bodies of their fallen comrades. It was a solemn procession as they walked into town, for the two fallen soldiers had been well liked.

Horace was praised for his quick thinking, his commitment to the men, and his coolness under pressure. The commander had also noticed his ability with weapons. They promoted him to sergeant and gave him a group of men to train and lead. As the skirmishes with goblins continued through the summer and into the following year, Horace’s group were well trained and had the best record in the field of any patrol except for that of the Captain of the King’s Army. So it was an easy recommendation for the Commander of the local militia, and the Captain, to recommend Horace to attend the military academy in Grensmar.

It was with excitement and sadness that Horace moved to Grensmar and the War Academy the summer of Chance’s seventeenth birthday.