Binky McFearsome's Arc

Chapter 1 of 4

Binky McFearsome could snap an iron bar with two fingers, but he had never once thrown a punch at a man who punched back. Tomorrow that changed. The grand tournament would name one warrior the greatest champion the realm had ever known, and Binky had signed his name on the roster in big, crooked letters. He wanted that crown more than anything. He also had no idea how to fight. He stood in a wide yard below the old stone tower, three stacked levels rising over him. A tiny fly wobbled through the air near his ear, looping and dipping like it had drunk too much. The little bug was his only friend. Binky held out a finger, and it landed there, swaying. "They're going to knock me flat," Binky told the fly. "Real fighters. In the first round." He flexed one huge arm. The muscle looked like a boulder. It had never helped him dodge, block, or read a swing. Strength alone would not save him. He needed practice, and he needed it now. Binky spotted a thick wooden post near the tower door, wrapped in old rope. He decided it would be his opponent. "You throw first," he said to the post. Then he waited, feeling foolish. The post did nothing. So Binky changed the plan. He would not learn to fight from a post. He would learn to take a hit. He set his feet, closed his eyes, and slammed his own fist against his jaw as hard as he could. The punch would have felled a horse. Binky's head snapped sideways. He staggered, blinked, and grinned. It hurt, but he stayed standing. He hit himself again, harder. Still standing. The fly zipped away in alarm. "I don't go down," Binky whispered. He understood now. He was immortal. No fighter could knock him out, because nothing could. He did not need to dodge or block. He only needed to keep swinging until the other man tired out. His stupid, simple strength was the whole plan. He threw a punch at the wooden post to test it. The post exploded. Splinters flew across the yard. The rope snapped loose and whipped through the air. A chunk of wood struck the tower's tall front door with a crack. Binky froze. Above him, a narrow window opened on the second level. A man in a hooded green cloak leaned out, a carved wooden mask hiding his face. He held a leather package under one arm, ready to ride. "You broke the training post," the masked man called down, voice flat and hard. "The tournament masters count every one. They'll want to see the dwarf who smashed it." Binky looked at the wreckage. He had solved one problem and made a worse one. He could survive any fight now. But before he could throw a single punch in the ring, the masters would be asking his name.