Don Perrin - Theros Ironfield

“Nasty burn,” said the mage calmly. “It will leave a bad scar, I’m afraid. But I have something that might ease the pain.” He placed a jar of ointment at Theros’s side. “Oh, don’t worry about paying me,” the wizard added, with a sly grin. “I’ll send the bill to Baron Moorgoth.”

The wizard strode off, black robes trailing in the ashes, which were just about all that was left of the forge. Even the stone chimney had burned in the magical blaze.

One by one, Theros’s neighbors drifted away, went back to their work. The townspeople, now that the excitement was over, wandered back to the bars and taverns. Moorgoth’s men stood around, talking amongst themselves.

“Isn’t that a coincidence? For the smith’s forge to catch fire like that. After he turned down the baron’s generous offer. My, my. I wonder what Master Ironfeld will do now?”

“Lost his tools and everything. You know, it’s a strange twist of fate, but Baron Moorgoth’s well stocked with tools. Kept them from the last smith we had.”

Yuri helped Theros to his feet. “Master!” The boy’s face was white, streaked with black. His eyes were wide and frightened. “Master, even the strongbox melted!”

“The money?” Theros knew the answer.

Yuri shook his head. “Gone. All gone.”

“Well, Ironfeld,” said a voice behind him. “This is a terrible accident you’ve had. Just terrible.”

Theros turned. Baron Dargon Moorgoth stood behind him.

“What will you do now, Ironfeld? Oh, I guess you could start up your business again, but you know, I have the feeling that you wouldn’t get very many customers.”

A minotaur bested in contest who has fought well is permitted to surrender without shame or dishonor. Theros knew when he was beaten. The best thing to do was to accept his defeat, surrender, and carry on. But do it with dignity. Always with dignity.

Theros, limping on his injured leg, pulled himself up, faced Moorgoth.

“Do you still need a smith?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” said Moorgoth.

“I will take you up on the job, then,” Theros said coolly. “You will pay me what you offered me last night-one thousand steel to join. You can hand it over now. I’ll need to replace what I’ve lost in the blaze.”

“Agreed,” said Moorgoth, smiling. “Though I might say that you are in no position to bargain-”

“You might,” said Theros. “And I might say that you could go looking for your weapons-smith in the Newsea.” He took the purse that Moorgoth held out to him.

The baron started to walk away. His men, laughing and talking, fell in behind him.

Theros raised his voice to be heard. “Plus, I want a percentage of any take that your army makes, over and above my pay. Is this clear, Baron?”

The baron turned to stare at Theros in amazement. “What did you say, Ironfeld? I thought you made more demands.”

“I did.” Theros was calm. Yuri, standing next to him, was shaking in fear and making signs to Theros to be quiet. Theros ignored him.

“I want a percentage of the take. I’m worth it. You must think so, too. You must have paid that foul wizard a small fortune for his work today.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Moorgoth said. “This was a terrible accident. Still, I imagine that I can agree to the deal. My former smith had a two percent cut. You will receive the same. If you stay past the first three years, I will increase that. Anything else you want, Ironfeld?”

“Nothing for now, Baron,” Theros said. “Where do I join up?”

“Meet us at the center of town.” Moorgoth eyed Theros with new respect. “I think we’re going to get along fine, Ironfeld. Just fine.”

He sauntered off, his men accompanying him. Yuri was looking at Theros with round-eyed wonder.

“What?” Theros demanded, irritated. Bending down, he spread some of the ointment on his leg. Sure enough, the burn immediately ceased to hurt. “Stop gaping at me like that. You look half-witted. Now take some of this money and buy yourself some warm clothes and a blanket. You’ll need them, sleeping out in the open-”

“I … I don’t want to go!” Yuri protested.

“Of course you’re going. Don’t be a fool. You’ll make good money and learn the art of battlefield smithing.”

“But … it’s dangerous, sir. And … and …”

Theros turned his back, looked at what remained of his forge. There might be something left he could salvage. He was ignoring Yuri’s blathering-until Theros heard the words, “I hate you, Theros Ironfeld!”

Theros turned, shocked.

The young man was seething. Fear had given him courage. “I’m not a slave like you used to be! I’m a free man and I have a right to decide if I’ll go with you or not!

Don’t make decisions for me. You treat me like a dog-a dog you don’t like. I work hard with never a word from you except if I get things wrong!”

Theros regarded the young man in silence. A minotaur would have slammed the boy into the ground, taught him how to speak to his elders.

Yuri was spewing out words. They must have been stored up inside him for months. “I can’t believe that you’re going to go with that horrible man! His army’s nothing but thieves and rascals! He burned down your forge, for Gilean’s sake! And you just stand there and take it! Now you expect me to go along? After this? After what he did to you? To us?”

Theros swallowed an anger-filled response. Yuri was young. He couldn’t be expected to understand that sometimes you had to knuckle under to fate.

“The pay is good,” Theros said stiffly. “More than I can afford to pay you. And you are worth it. I want you to go. I need your help.”

Yuri stared, stunned.

“Well?” Theros demanded impatiently. “Are you going with me or not?”

Yuri tried a tentative smile. “Do you mean that, Theros? Do you think I’m worth it?”

“You wouldn’t be hanging around here taking up space if you weren’t,” Theros said curtly. “Now go do as you’re told.”

Yuri, clutching the money, dashed off down the street.

Theros picked up a stick and began to sift through the still-glowing ashes of what once had been his life.

“Get a crate for these tools,” Theros ordered Yuri. “We’ll need to take them with us. And gather up those leather tools and supplies. Secure what we aren’t taking into crates and nail them shut.”

Theros was standing in the shop of the army’s former weapons-smith, gathering up tools and other supplies.

Yuri did as he was instructed. “Sir, I’ll have to go down to the carpenter for more crates. We have just two left. He’ll want to be paid for them.”

Theros handed over the money. He was busy going through the back stock of weapons, deciding which ones to take. He gazed at most of them in disgust. No wonder Moorgoth had gone to all the trouble to burn down Theros’s forge. The baron needed a good weapons-smith badly. Theros almost felt flattered.

Almost.

Yuri came back an hour later with two men from the carpenter’s shop, each carrying a large crate. They set the crates down in the middle of the smithy. Yuri had just started to load tools into the first crate when Baron Moorgoth entered the shop.

“Good! I see that you are nearly packed. I will send a horse and wagon around in two hours.”

Theros was preoccupied. “Yuri! Hurry up with those weapons!” He glanced at the baron. “Where is the army camped? Outside of town? How many men do you have?”

To Theros’s amazement, Moorgoth flushed in anger.

“You’re asking a lot of damned questions, Ironfeld. From now on, you’re just another officer under my command. You’ll go where I tell you to go and do what I tell you to do. You’ll be told where to go when you report with your wagons.”