Fred Ironheart's Arc

Chapter 8 of 9

The dagger sat hidden under the hides for weeks. Fred forged Garrick's plain sword and watched the old man cart it away. Then a customer came, and the plan Fred had waited for began to move. Marcus led a stranger toward the smithy. The stranger wore a phoenix on his shoulder, small and bright, its feathers glowing like coals. "Fred," Marcus said, "this man needs a good belt for the road." Marcus winked when the stranger looked away. Fred understood. This was the hero. Marcus had steered him here on purpose. Alexander stepped out of the tanning shed. He carried belts over one arm, his broken tusk catching the light. He set the leather on the counter and studied the hero with narrow eyes. "Best hides in Gildenshire," he grunted. The ogre knew what Fred needed. He kept his voice flat and easy. The hero tried a belt. As he did, Alexander reached beneath the pile and drew out the oilcloth bundle. He unwrapped the dagger. The red stone in the hilt flashed. "This too," Alexander said. "You'll want steel on that belt." The hero lifted the dagger. He turned it. "Fine work," he said. "What's the price?" Fred's throat went tight. If he named a hero's price, word would spread and reach Garrick. So he made his voice small. "Ten copper," he said. "It's old stock. I want it gone." The blade was worth a hundred times that. Fred sold it for the cost of a meal. The hero laughed and paid. He slid the dagger into his new belt. "I ride out tomorrow," he said. "There's a dragon in the eastern hills. Big one." He said it plain, like weather. Fred's chest went cold, then hot. A dragon. A hero. His blade on the hero's hip. Every piece he needed had lined up in one breath. That night they sat by the firepit outside the smithy. Then a figure came through the dark. Fred didn't know him, but Marcus stood. "Aldric Thorne," Marcus said, low. "Garrick's old apprentice. His worst enemy." The man had grey hair and hard eyes. He wore a purple coat trimmed in silver. He looked at the phoenix, at the hero, at Fred. "So it's true," Aldric said. "You armed a dragon-slayer." He smiled, but not kindly. "Garrick will want to hear this. And I would love to be the one to tell him." Fred stood. "The dagger's sold. It's a hero's now. Garrick never claimed daggers." "No," Aldric said. "But he'll claim you broke the spirit of his contract. And he'll ask how you knew of his freedom clause." He turned and walked into the dark. Fred watched him go. The dagger was gone, the hero was riding, the dragon waited. But Aldric knew now. And Aldric hated Garrick enough to twist this any way he pleased.