Read Warriors [4] Theros Ironfield for Free Online Page B

axe head.
    Theros began by taking a fresh piece of leather and cutting it to shape. The leather needle was still threaded, and lay on the table beside the other tools. With it, Theros stitched the new leather to the old piece that was still attached to the plate. He sewed the new leather in place, then added cotton tacking to pad between the leather and the metal. Next, he connected the sides of the leather to the edging, using the fasteners that were still there, and hammering in new ones where there were none.
    He laid the plate to one side. Picking up the old leather, he placed it in the vise. He broke the strap harness away from the old piece by severing the rivet with pliers.
    He threw the rest of the leather away. Lifting the buckle, he dunked it in grease. His fingers began to work the jammed buckle, loosening the rust to the point that the buckle could be used again. The last thing to do was to reattach the buckle to the breastplate.
    Theros turned to pick up the rivet pliers. The clouds broke. Yellow sunlight streamed through to the ground.
    From the front, a lone horn sounded.
    It was the call to battle.

Chapter 6

    Theros looked at Hran. Both of them stopped work .
    The call to battle was too early.
    The moment of inactivity passed, just as quickly replaced with commotion. Everything and everyone moved as fast as a jackrabbit spotted by a hound. The warriors poured out of their tents, hastily donning armor or breastplates.
    Hran dropped what he was doing. “Quick, lad, finish that piece! We’ve got to get ready! Great Sargas alive! This is not the time!”
    Theros sewed as fast as he could. He concentrated on his sewing, while the whole world swarmed around him. Sub-commanders were streaming into the tent, demanding arrows or spears, leather-covered shields, or metal bulletsespecially shaped for the slingers. They grabbed what they needed, then rushed out.
    Hran dashed over to a large storage box sitting to the side of the tent. He threw it open and lifted out a piece of his own armor—a leather jerkin with metal strips, designed to turn an arrow or blade before it did damage. He strapped it on, and fumbled for the next piece.
    Theros could not get his fingers to work fast enough. He knew he would never finish in time. He was right.
    Huluk, the rear guard commander, burst into the tent.
    “You, slave! Give me that breastplate. I need it now!”
    Theros started to protest, to tell the officer that the piece wasn’t ready yet, that it was only barely sewn together. The officer backhanded Theros across the face, sending the young man sprawling.
    “Damned slave! This armor is not done yet! How am I to fight with garbage like this? Get this on me!”
    Theros, flat on his back from the blow, rolled over and jumped to his feet. He tried to strap the armor to the torso of the huge minotaur. It would not hold. The seam was already giving way as Theros tried to pull the strap tight.
    This time Theros reacted as the warrior’s shoulder muscles tightened and the minotaur began to turn. Theros ducked just in time to miss another blow.
    “I am sorry, Commander. I did not have time.…”
    The officer shouted at the smith. “You will pay for the insolence and incompetence of this slave under your control. Mark my words, Hran. This will not go unpunished.”
    Hran waved his hand. “Do as you will, Huluk. But now, there is a battle, and you must lead your warriors. Stop wasting my time and my slave’s time and get to your fight!”
    Huluk shook with rage, turned, and stormed out of the weapons-smith’s tent. As he walked, his leather breastplate banged against his chest, only partly attached.
    Theros stood glumly, his hands at his sides, his head down. He had failed. He deserved his punishment.
    Hran walked over, gripped Theros by the shoulder. “Listen here, Theros. One warrior’s panic is not another’s emergency. We will defeat this elven army, and then wewill return to the new village on the shore, where we will