Twilight settled over Mount Sunder. Then, the freezing alpine wind carried the sharp, sweet smell of dry pine logs. In the center of the town square, the town blacksmiths had erected a huge portable iron foundry hearth, five feet in width, lined with heat-proof firebrick.
A bed of hardwood charcoal glowed cherry-red within the crucible. It roared softly as two young apprentices worked the leather bellows.
Beside the fire sat the four black-japanned tin deed boxes seized from the Trade group vaults, containing all four hundred and twelve hereditary debt contracts, seventy years of commissary scrip registers, and thousands of forged promissory notes.
Tomas Reed, Sile Rook, and Mara Flint stood beside the fire. Around them stood the entire population of Sunder-Foot, six hundred men, women, and children holding pine torches that flickered in the dusk.
Tomas lifted the first bundle of parchment. The thick, yellowed servant contract that had bound Dennis Cole’s family for three ages. He held it up before the crowd.
“Paper can record the truth,” Tomas said. His voice carried over the crackle of the hearth. “Paper can protect the widow, certify the road, and balance the weight of honest labor. But when paper is used to forge a chain around a child’s neck, it’s no longer law. It’s treason against the living.”
