Tall chimneys belched clouds of black smoke into the air, and everything here seemed to be covered in a thick layer of soot. Some of the chimneys were attached to open air forges while others emerged from large stone buildings. Horatio came to a stop in front of one such building and climbed down from his horse.

“Welcome to the Metal District,” Horatio declared as he tied his horse to a hitching post. “You won’t find better smiths anywhere else in the kingdom.”

Tim gratefully climbed down from his horse and was amazed at just how far away the hill they had come from was. It looked like they had covered the distance from Potter’s Hollow to Milton’s Bend and they were still in Aroden. The city was truly vast.

“So, are you going to tell us why we’re here?” Eric asked.

Horatio grinned and walked towards the door. “Follow me.”

A wave of heat hit the boys in the face as Horatio pushed the door open. It was gloomy in the next room with the only light coming from a forge in the middle of the room, and the air was filled with the clang of metal striking metal. Around it, a team of five boys around Tim and Eric’s age were stripped to the waist and hard at work hammering red hot pieces of metal into various shapes. A barrel full of swords was placed against one of the walls, and an ornate suit of armour was assembled in a neat pile close to one of the anvils.

“Is the master in?” Horatio asked, having to shout to be heard over the din.

One of the oldest boys stopped what he was doing. His hair was short cropped, and he was bathed in sweat. He drew himself to his full height and stretched his back before pointing at a rickety wooden door on the far side of the room. Horatio nodded his thanks and led the boys towards the door. Before he could knock, the door swung open to reveal a wizened man with a head of long, thin grey hair. He was clad in a filthy white shirt and torn trousers.

He looked up at Horatio and jumped. “Who are you?”

“It’s me, Drogan,” Horatio replied.

The older man squinted up at Horatio and slowly, recognition spread across his wrinkled, leathery face. “Ah, Horatio. Here to pick the prince’s order up, are you?”

The shorter man gave the boys a sideways glance and scowled. “Are the swords for them?”

“There’s no getting anything past you, Drogan,” Horatio smiled. “They are. The prince was not satisfied with the state of their weapons.”

Tim and Eric exchanged looks and tried to keep the excitement off their faces. They were getting new swords!

“So, the two of you have caught the prince’s eye, eh?” Drogan remarked as he looked at the swords at their sides. “Those things are relics… of Enrisian make from the look of it.”

“They’re mine,” Horatio said with an uneasy smile.

“And you’ve been neglecting their care,” Drogan snapped sharply. He then pointed at the two boys with a calloused finger. “You two, come with me.”

“Carl, fetch the prince’s swords, would you?” Drogan called over his shoulder as he walked back through the door.

The boys exchanged eager looks before following him into the small, sparsely appointed bedroom beyond.

“Don’t let appearances fool you,” Horatio said as he followed the boys into the room. “Old Drogan Steelcrafter is the finest weaponsmith on this side of the Dargun River.”

The wizened old man paused and glared at Horatio over his shoulder. “That’s an exaggeration. People come to me because His Majesty took a liking to my work.”

“The title of Steelcrafter is given by the king to the greatest smith in his realm,” Horatio added with a mischievous grin.

“Is that also why the prince calls you Carver?” Tim ventured.

The question took Horatio off guard and Drogan broke into a toothy grin. “Yes, a lowborn common name like Thacker isn’t good enough for a lord of the realm, so the king had to bestow a new one upon him.”

“It seems to me that all the lords address one another by their first name,” Tim continued. This had nagged at him for a while now, and it was a relief to finally be able to ask about it. “How come they all call you Lord Carver instead of Lord Horatio?”

Horatio smiled wryly. “Because the name Horatio was given to me by my mother who was a commoner. The Carthuns don’t like putting their precious titles before lowborn names.”

“Now then, if we’re done discussing Carthun etiquette, let’s get down to business,” Drogan declared.

The old blacksmith opened a door on the other side of the small bedroom that led out into a small dirt covered yard. A post was planted in the middle and a small forge and anvil stood under the overhang of the workshop’s roof.

Soon, the boy Horatio had spoken to earlier emerged from the bedroom holding a pair of longswords. They looked simple compared to some of the other swords the boys had seen but these were theirs, and they looked to them like the finest swords in the world.

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“Before I hand these over to you,” Drogan began. “You must first prove you know how to use these swords.”

Carl offered the boys the swords, which they eagerly accepted. Drogan nodded at the post. “Go on, try the blade out. I made it myself so don’t let me catch you blaming it if you make a fool of yourself.”

Eric held the blade in both hands as he squared off to the two inch thick post. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before swinging down from over his shoulder. His movement was fluid, and the post split into two moments after he had completed his stroke.

Drogan let off an impressive whistle before scowling at Horatio. “You’ve trained these boys well.”

“Why doesn’t that sound like a compliment?” Horatio asked.

“Because you’re sending more boys off to die holding my weapons,” Drogan snapped.

“There’s a war on,” Horatio pointed out as the warmth vanished from his voice. “They would have been sent into battle one way or another. At least these boys will be somewhat prepared.”

Drogan lowered his voice. “How many died in that recent debacle?”

“They don’t know yet,” Horatio replied softly.

“Or are the generals too afraid to report the full scope of their failure?” Drogan ventured.

“I don’t know,” Horatio admitted as the door to Drogan’s bedroom swung open. “I haven’t had the opportunity to meet with His Majesty yet.”

“What is it, Devon?” Drogan asked sharply as one of the boys stepped out nervously.

“Sir Steven is here,” the boy announced. “He wants to talk to you about…”

“I’ve already told Lord Ferdinand’s lackeys that if he wants that sword commissioned, he should go down the street to Sean’s smithy,” Drogan snapped. “I make weapons, not art.”

“Yes, but Sir Steven insists…” the boy began before wilting under Drogan’s glare.

“You can’t expect your boy to turn Sir Steven away,” Horatio pointed out.

Drogan scowled. “Fine, bring him to me.”

Once the boy left, the older man muttered, “Royal favour has been nothing but a pain in my arse.”

Soon, Steven emerged from the door. He broke into a satisfied smirk when he saw Horatio and the boys. “Ah good, it so happens that I have business with the two of you.”

“Why don’t you tell me what business you have with me and then leave,” Drogan snapped.

“I see you’ve made swords for these two ragamuffins,” Steven’s voice was dangerously sweet.

“The order came from the prince,” Drogan said gruffly. “I didn’t know the swords were for these two. Besides, the prince ordered swords, not sculptures.”

“So, you will refuse to accept my lord’s commission?” Steven asked as he walked towards the wizened old blacksmith threateningly.

Horatio took a deep breath before placing himself between the two. Steven paused and looked his nose at him. The taller man smirked. “This doesn’t concern you, Lord Carver.”

“This man has done nothing wrong,” Horatio said. “Your thuggish behaviour is unbecoming of a gentleman.”

“This man has trampled on my lord’s honour,” Steven countered.

Horatio’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you going to demand satisfaction from a commoner? That would make you the laughingstock of the city.”

Steven smirked again. “It will no more embarrassing than having these two carrying Steelcrafter swords while my lord…”

“Wields Vance’s Fang,” Horatio stated flatly.

Steven lidded his eyes. “My lord has gifted the Soren heirloom to his heir, Lord Edmond.”

Horatio’s eyebrows shot up further. “After his disgrace?”

Steven scowled and his hand strayed to the hilt of his sword. “Be very careful with your next words, Lord Carver.”

Horatio looked down at the man’s sword and scoffed, “Save your bluster, Lord Steven. What happened at Fort Cromford is not contentious.”

The taller man’s grip tightened around the hilt of his sword. “It’s a fact that Lord Edmond withdrew from the fort, but House Soren’s enemies have lied, saying it was out of cowardice when the truth is Lord Edmond withdrew to assist in the defence of Aroden.”

Horatio shrugged. “Then I must have been misinformed.”

Steven locked eyes with Horatio for a moment longer before releasing his grip on his sword and turning to Drogan. “Now then, about the swords. It so happens that my skin is thick enough to demand my lord’s honour be restored if this commission is not accepted.”

Drogan stepped back involuntarily, and Horatio cleared his throat. “Drogan won’t fight you. He will need someone to fight in his stead.”

“Who will fight in a lowborn’s stead?” Steven scoffed.

“He will,” Horatio replied, pointing at Eric.

“I will?” Eric asked, pointing a finger at himself.

A crooked smile crept across Steven’s face. “That’s perfect. Lord Ferdinand has a score to settle with him anyway.”

He then looked at Eric with his piercing blue eyes. “What’s your name, boy?”

The gangly boy drew himself to his full height and replied. “Eric Cooper.”

“Now wait just a minute,” Drogan protested. “I don’t need a whelp like him to fight in my place.”

Horatio raised a hand, silencing Drogan’s protests. “Would you like to suggest a time for the duel, Sir Steven?”

“Will two weeks from now be satisfactory?” Steven asked. “I assume he will need the time to prepare.”

Horatio raised an eyebrow, and Steven smirked. “It will make me look bad if I beat him too soundly. Will you be his second?”

“I will,” Horatio replied, extending his hand to the younger man. “Fine, in two weeks.”

Steven grasped Horatio’s hand in his. “The boy and I will duel at noon in ten days from today at the parade grounds of the Royal Barracks. If he loses, Drogan will make my lord’s sword. If he wins, my lord will drop the matter.”

Horatio raised an eyebrow. “Most of the second mustering will be at the Royal Barracks then.”

Steven grinned broadly. “It will be good to have an audience, won’t it?”

“Agreed,” Horatio sighed, and the pair shook hands firmly. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Sir Steven.”

“I hope your boy doesn’t embarrass you in front of your new army, Lord Carver,” Steven replied as he walked towards the door. He paused in front of Eric and smirked. “I’ll see you in ten days.”

“Do you think he can win?” Drogan asked as Steven closed the door behind him.

“Not at the moment no,” Horatio admitted. “I’ve taught them how to fight as a group but not much in the way of individual combat.”

“Then why did you volunteer him?” Tim protested.

“No it’s fine,” Eric said. Tim saw a familiar overconfident smile creep across his friend’s face. It was a smile that preceded many a disaster that often affected Tim as well. “I made short work of those cultists back on the farm, remember?”

“Those were lowborn thugs,” Horatio pointed out. “Steven Stafford is one the kingdom’s most cunning duellists.”

However, Eric wasn’t listening. “I’ll show that arrogant fool who he’s messing with.”

“Trifling with?” Tim asked with a raised eyebrow.

Horatio sighed. “No, if you fight him as you are now, you’ll get maimed or killed. As luck has it, I happen to know an expert dueller you can train under.”

“Oh, who?” Eric asked.

“However, it remains to be seen if he is able to teach,” Horatio mused. “This will be an excellent opportunity for both of you to grow.”