Forging

The hammering from the Blacksmith was grating. People could hardly imagine how those dirt-covered iron ores could be forged into works of art; the shrill clash of metal was never welcome. But Gudul was different. As his eyes studied the shapes of the iron ore, he was also appreciating what he considered the most beautiful "melody" there was.

He wiped the sweat from his brow, and the motion briefly drew his gaze away from his work. Then he suddenly noticed Nathanos standing where he had stood two days ago, holding a piece of hard bread. Gudul smiled at him and packed all the hammered ore into a sack. The pitch-black chunks of iron looked like coal.

"You're here again, kid." Once Gudul had finished everything, he took a drink of water and beckoned Nathanos inside. The Blacksmith smelled of smoke, and the boy coughed several times before gradually getting used to it. "You seem quite interested in smithing. Are you going to stand outside for another four hours today?"

Nathanos looked at the hammer resting on the iron anvil, then at the remaining ore that still needed processing. Then he said to Gudul, "Gladia... tor!"

"What?" Gudul thought he had misheard. After a pause, he remembered that the little fellow was not very fluent, yet he always managed to say something astonishing.

Gudul gave a dry cough, cleared his throat, and said, "What are you talking about? I don't really understand."

"You are... a... Gladiator."

The dwarf took a deep breath, wondering who had told this child about his identity. Besides, it was his former identity, one he had never mentioned to anyone.

"No, I'm not," Gudul said.

"Li... ar." Nathanos exhaled hard. His tiny hands gripped Gudul's thick right arm as he pointed at the white line there. His lips trembled as he said, "Shield... strap." Then he pointed at the scar on Gudul's face and his shoes. "Wounds... and marks."

Gudul stared at the child in astonishment, his mouth hanging open. To others, the boy's behavior might have seemed overly innocent, but the dwarf wanted to describe him with another word: strange!

It took him quite a while to recover. Then he chuckled. "Those clues only prove that I was a warrior. They don't prove that I was a Gladiator."

Nathanos got angry. He ran to the door and pointed at a tavern not far from the Blacksmith. Gudul scratched the back of his head and asked curiously, "Yes, that's my favorite tavern. I go there to drink often."

"You... fought there... last month... five people! After winning... you shouted, 'Referee... next one.'"

Gudul's face immediately reddened. His throat rumbled, and his expression grew even more awkward. What Nathanos described had indeed happened. Last month, he had gone to the tavern and gotten blind drunk, then started a fight with five equally drunken old alcoholics...

"You investigated me?"

Nathanos nodded.

A chill ran down the dwarf's back. "How old are you this year?"

Nathanos held up four fingers.

Four years old! Gudul tugged at his beard in disbelief. A four-year-old brat had actually gone and done all that?

"Tell me, child. What made you want to know my true identity?"

Nathanos shook his head, his clear eyes meeting Gudul's. "No... reason. I... just... wanted to know."

Simple curiosity? Gudul was delighted. He became even more convinced that this child was very different from other children. As it happened, all the orders at the Blacksmith had been completed that day. The dwarf sat down on the steps outside and patted the spot beside him, signaling for Nathanos to sit as well.

"Have you ever seen a furnace, lad?"

Nathanos shook his head.

"In my hometown, Ironforge, there is a magnificent city in the icy land of Dun Morogh. It is hidden deep within the mountains, and even Ironforge's gates are grander than the gates of Lordaeron." As Gudul spoke, a trace of pride inevitably appeared in his eyes.

"At the center of Ironforge, I can tell you with absolute certainty, stands the largest furnace on this continent. There, countless smiths far more skilled than I forge tens of thousands of creations every day. They roughly process the ore they gather, until it looks like those chunks of iron." Gudul pointed behind him at the ore he had packed into the sack. "Then they throw those materials into the great furnace. After melting them with blazing fire, the useful parts flow out like sweet dew. Once cooled, they become pure metal. With that metal, you can forge anything you want."

"You... don't have... a furnace here," Nathanos said.

Gudul nodded regretfully. "Unfortunately, there's no furnace here. The only person in Lordaeron who has the means for one is Master Blacksmith Togard. He is a human who trained in Ironforge in his early years. After completing his studies, he returned to Lordaeron. He is employed by the Lordaeron royal family and specializes in forging weapons and armor for soldiers and warhorses."

Nathanos fell silent. He still had many questions. Gudul now felt that the child was not as slow-witted as he sounded when he spoke.

"Why... come to Lordaeron?"

"Dwarves always want to go out and see the world." Gudul answered with a smile. He did not know why Nathanos was asking, perhaps out of curiosity. "After coming to Lordaeron, as you said, I was once a Gladiator. I worked in the arena, and after saving up some money, I opened a Blacksmith here."

Nathanos pressed on. "Elves... too? Like... going out... to see the world?"

"Elves? Why do you ask?"

"My men... tor... Elf."

"You have an Elf mentor? No wonder." Gudul understood. "Elves do not travel long distances for no reason like dwarves do. Their city lies far to the north, at the end of the forest. It is called Quel'Thalas, a magnificent city of gold and splendor. The plains outside the city are covered in golden flowers. The warriors who protect that land are called Rangers. Rangers are formidable. They possess fighting skills as outstanding as warriors, as well as the precise marksmanship of hunters. But so far, only Elves have ever produced Rangers. Humans, dwarves, and the like have never produced a single Ranger."

"Why...?"

"Because Elves are proud. All Elves are like that. The status of Ranger must be recognized by Quel'Thalas's Ranger-General; otherwise, everything is futile. King Terenas of Lordaeron once sent envoys to Quel'Thalas, hoping they would grant such an honor to a human, but they were ruthlessly refused."

Author: "I hope everyone enjoys it. This is the first volume of the novel, telling the story of Nathanos's childhood. It also gives me time to carefully sort through the timeline and make sure there are no mistakes."