Fred Ironheart's Arc

Chapter 9 of 9

Fred waited three days for the blow to fall. He forged blades and watched the road. Each dawn he expected Garrick's boots and a fist full of contract. Aldric had ridden off to tell him everything. Fred could do nothing but keep his hammer moving and hope the dragon in the eastern hills was dead. On the fourth day, hooves thundered up to the smithy. Aldric Thorne swung down from his horse. His purple coat was torn at the hem. A phoenix rode his shoulder, feathers bright as embers. Across his saddle lay a heavy sack, stained dark. He dropped it in the dirt at Fred's feet. Dragon claws spilled out, long as knives, and a jaw of white teeth. "Trophies," Aldric said. He grinned. "I killed the beast myself. Your hero was too slow, so I finished it." He looked past Fred toward the road, toward Garrick's lands. "Let the old man choke on that. He spent his whole life hunting dragons. Now his own apprentice has one in a sack." Fred stared at the claws. His throat went dry. "The dagger," he said. "Was my blade in it?" "In the hero's hand when he struck first," Aldric said. "Your steel drew the first blood. I only ended it." He mounted again, still grinning at the thought of Garrick's face. "Enjoy your freedom, smith. You earned it by accident." He rode off toward Garrick's estate to gloat. Fred sat by the firepit and turned that over. A hero armed by his hand had wounded the dragon. The clause was satisfied. He did not sleep. At noon the next day, Garrick came. He walked slow, his grey beard low, the scar on his cheek red in the light. He held the signed contract in one fist. Fred stood and braced for the fight of his life. Garrick threw the paper on the ground. "It's done," he said. "Aldric made sure I heard every word. Your blade slew a dragon. The clause ends the bond." He kicked dirt over the pages. "Ten years, gone in a season. My brother wrote a fool's contract." Fred's chest loosened. "Then I'm free." "You're free," Garrick said. He looked at the empty fields around the smithy, land he'd never used. His anger drained into something tired. "The soil's dead out here. No one farms it. No one builds." He met Fred's eyes. "I'm no lord anymore. But I know this ground. Let me help you rebuild it. A smith needs a settlement to serve." Fred looked at his forge, at the tanning shed, at the miles of bare earth. A grand smithy for every hero needed a town of heroes around it. "You'd work under my roof now," Fred said. "I'd work," Garrick said. Fred picked up the torn contract and fed it to the fire. "Then we start with the road."