Igor Ironbeast's Arc

Chapter 1 of 9

Igor Ironbeast wanted the warlord's throne, and the guards at the gate laughed in his face. He stood in the mud outside the keep's oak doors, axe across his back, bone plates dark with road grime. Two spearmen blocked the arch. Behind them, red banners with painted skulls hung from timber walls that climbed higher than any tree Igor had felled. He had walked six days to reach this place. He had told the guards, plainly, that he came to fight every champion of the court until the seat was his. The taller guard spat. "Bring a writ, or bring a lord's seal, or crawl back to your hills. The court hears challenges. It does not hear beggars with axes." Igor said nothing. He had no writ. He had no seal. He had a weapon and a purpose, and neither opened this door. A voice cut across the yard. "Let him try me." The crowd near the training pit split. A shirtless man walked out, barefoot in the cold mud, chest and arms streaked with old blood that was not his. Igor knew the face from tavern talk on the road. Grog. The warlord's undefeated pit fighter. The court's favorite dog. Kill him, and no court in the land could pretend not to hear. Grog grinned up at Igor, half his height and twice as loud. "You want in? You go through me. Court rules. Anyone I kill, anyone who kills me, that's a challenger they must name." The guards lowered their spears and stepped aside. This, apparently, they understood. A small black shape uncoiled from Grog's shoulder and leapt to the mud. A dragon, no bigger than a hound, its scales cracked with glowing orange veins. It hissed at Igor and circled behind its master. Igor watched it once, then dismissed it. The beast was not the fight. Men formed a ring. Someone rang an iron bell. Grog came in fast, low, aiming for the knees. Igor pulled the axe from his back in one motion and swung down. Grog rolled clear. The blade split mud. Grog came up inside Igor's reach and drove a fist into his ribs, then another. Igor took the blows. He shifted his grip, shortened the haft, and drove the axe head up under Grog's jaw. Grog dropped. He did not rise. The yard went quiet. The little dragon shrieked once and skittered back into the crowd. Igor set his boot on Grog's chest and pulled the axe free. He looked at the taller guard. "Name me." The guard's mouth worked. He glanced at the keep doors, then at the body, then at the axe. "Challenger," he said. "By the court's own rule." The oak doors groaned open. Inside, past the torchlight, Igor could hear a hall of men going still. They had heard the bell. Now they would have to see him.