Roland Ironheart's Arc

Chapter 1 of 5

Roland Ironheart needed three guards before the spring raids came, and he had no idea where to find them. He stood at the gate of his castle and stared at the black-and-white panther banners snapping overhead. The stone walls looked strong. They were not. One old man with a rusted spear could not hold them alone, and that old man was Roland. He had inherited the castle from an uncle he barely knew. He had also inherited its enemies. Every winter, raiders tested the walls. This spring, he was sure, they would break through. Three loyal fighters could turn them back. But Roland had spent his life farming, not soldiering. He knew no warriors. He did not even know where warriors gathered. He checked his supplies near the gate: a food box, a box of tools, and a ladder leaning against the wall. Enough to fix a hinge. Not enough to hire a single sword. He could ride to distant towns and ask strangers. That could take weeks he did not have. Every wasted day brought the raiders closer. Roland pressed his fists against the cold stone and forced himself to think. Fighters needed food. They needed drink. They needed somewhere warm to sit when the snow fell. He had passed such a place. Down the road stood a small wooden house, its porch strung with painted hearts and flower boxes. He had thought it a strange, soft little place. Now he remembered the noise from inside. Loud voices. Laughter. The clink of cups. He grabbed his cloak and walked to the little house with hearts on its walls. He pushed the door open. Warm air hit his face. The room was packed. Men with scarred hands leaned over tables. A woman in mail arm-wrestled a bearded stranger. Weapons hung on pegs by the door. This was no romantic cottage. It was where the region's fighters drank away the winter. A man near the fire looked up. "You lost, farmer?" he said, eyeing Roland's mud-stained boots. "No," Roland said. His voice held steadier than he felt. "I'm hiring. I need three guards for my castle. Good pay. A warm bed. A fight worth having." The room went quiet. Cups stopped moving. Every face turned toward him, measuring the plain man in the doorway. Roland stood still and let them look. Then the man by the fire laughed. Not cruelly. "A castle," he said. "The one with the panthers?" He set down his cup. "Sit down, farmer. Tell us what you're paying." Roland pulled out a chair. He had found the fighters. Now he had to convince three of them to risk their lives for a man who had never held a sword in anger. The hardest part was only beginning.