Fred Ironheart's Arc

Chapter 1 of 9

Fred Ironheart stood twelve feet tall, and his hammer had not struck iron in a month. He was a dwarf built to the size of an ogre, and every forge in Gildenshire was too small for him. He could not fit through their doors. He could not raise his arms inside their walls. He dreamed of a smithy grand enough to arm every hero in the town, but he owned no land to build it. So the great hammer hung across his back, silent, while heroes went to war with dull blades. He found Garrick Thornberry at the edge of a wide, empty field. The old dragon slayer knelt in the dirt, yanking weeds with scarred hands. Three red scars crossed his face. He owned the largest unused stretch of land in Gildenshire, and he guarded it like a hoard. "I need this field," Fred said. "For a smithy. I'll shoe your horses free for life." Garrick did not look up. "Free work won't feed me when I'm dead. Land's the only thing that outlasts a man." He tore another weed and tossed it aside. "Bring me something that lasts, giant, or bring me nothing." Fred had nothing that lasted. He had a hammer and two idle hands. A voice cut across the field. "He'll give you his years, Garrick." Marcus Thornberry walked toward them, thumbs hooked in his belt. Charms and gems clinked at his hip, spoils from a hundred old quests. He was Garrick's brother, and the two men had not spoken in years. Fred saw Garrick's jaw tighten at the sound of him. "Stay out of this, Marcus," Garrick said. Marcus ignored him. He pulled a weathered wooden sign from under his arm and drove it into the soft ground. Dark letters spelled out a bond of servitude, the old kind, where a man paid a debt with his labor. "Ten years," Marcus said to Fred. "You bind yourself to work this land for my brother. Ten years of your hammer, his to command. That lasts. That he can't refuse." Fred stared at the sign. Ten years was a long time to belong to another man. But the field was flat and wide, big enough at last for a forge built to his size. Garrick studied the sign, then the giant. Greed and pride fought across his scarred face. "Ten years," he said slowly. "On paper. Signed." Fred knelt. The ground shook. He pressed his huge thumb into the ink Marcus offered and marked the bond. "The land's yours to build on," Garrick said, rising. "And you're mine." Fred looked at the empty field and saw his smithy standing there. Then he looked at the sign, and understood what he had traded. He had the land. He had lost his freedom to use it as he pleased. Every swing of his hammer for ten years would answer to Garrick Thornberry first.