The Bander Adventures Box Set 2

by Randy Nargi

  Two of the other miners were roughly my size. The third was a head shorter. But they all had thick necks and huge fists and the kind of solid muscle that’s built from a lifetime of hard labor. One was bearded. The shorter one was probably a few years older than the rest. He had a little more grey in what was left of his hair.

  The old man looked around the trail as if expecting company. Maybe he thought I brought reinforcements. But he soon verified that I was alone. Then he asked, “Where’s my son?”

  “Still in the mines,” I said. “And that’s where he’ll remain. Forever.”

  Davan Connaught’s eyes flashed and he took a step forward. His father held him back.

  “Did you murder him?” Wilmer Connaught asked.

  I said, “He tripped and fell. Down into a mine shaft. The same one he was trying to throw me into.”

  Davan Connaught lunged forward. “You killed my brother!”

  “You catch on quickly.”

  “I will rip your arms off and your legs off and throw you into the river.”

  “Whenever you’re ready, oaf.”

  Wilmer Connaught stood in front of his son and spoke to him in a low voice. “Let the boys have some fun. This sellsword says he can take on three men. Here’s his chance to prove it.”

  “I want to be the one to kill him,” Davan Connaught growled.

  His father shook his head. “You need to learn leadership. How to delegate. Watch.” He led his son back over to a row of boulders on the side of the trail and they sat down. Then he motioned for the other three miners to take me on.

  I stood still. It’s always better to let your opponents come to you. I stared hard at the miners. Two of them were grinning like idiots as they closed in. The third looked more serious. And maybe even a little wary.

  I watched their eyes. Eyes always signal first, then the body follows. Like the advance guard of an army. If your opponent looks up, he’s going to attack your head. If he looks down, he’s probably going to try to kick you or trip you. The other thing I was watching for was which miner stepped up or spoke first. That would be the leader. And that’s the one I would take out first.

  It turned out being the shorter miner. He took a half step in front of the others and glowered at me. “You the hard man, eh? Professional killer, right? Don’t look like it to me.” He took another step forward and the others followed.

  I didn’t say anything.

  Shorty glanced at the bearded miner and gestured in my direction. “He looks like your granddad, don’t he, Pudd?”

  The bearded miner scowled. “Naw, my old granddad’s well tougher than this old sack of dung.”

  They laughed some more and inched closer. I continued to maintain my silence, but I was studying them. All three were right-handed. Shorty was the leader. Beard was second in command. And the third miner was probably the odd man out. He was younger and the other two didn't pay him much mind. And he didn't pay much attention to them either. He was studying me instead. That meant he'd be the biggest problem. But I didn't give him much to study. I stood my ground, kept my mouth shut and my hands loose at my sides, and just stared with dead eyes. I wondered about re-thinking my attack priority, though. Maybe I should take this young one out first.

  And then he made the decision for me. By charging in like a bull—with the idea to throw me off my feet. Maybe he was trying to prove something by attacking before his fellow thugs. Maybe he did some calculation in his mind and determined that the sooner I was on the ground, the easier it would be for them to pound me to dust. Whatever the reason, he rushed in fast and low. His attack surprised the other two miners, but it didn’t surprise me.

  I stood my ground until he was almost on me, then sidestepped and hammered a powerful, vicious blow on his thick neck which drove him face down into the dirt. One down.

  Shorty didn’t waste any time. He probably didn’t like getting shown up by the younger guy. So he stomped towards me with his big fists up by his face, screaming death and mayhem. I took two quick steps right at him and smashed my elbow into his face at the bridge of his nose. Momentum helped me out and Shorty dropped like a stone.

  Beard hesitated. Which was fine with me since I caught a glimpse of the first miner pushing himself up on his hands and knees. I turned and kicked him in the head. It was a solid kick and I put a lot of force behind it and the miner’s head snapped back and there was a loud crack as his neck broke and he collapsed like a marionette with its strings cut. I spun back to face the third miner and saw that he had decided that fisticuffs were no longer his preferred method of combat. Beard had unsheathed a wicked hunting knife and brandished it at me. I stepped forward and he stepped back. He was scared and I didn’t blame him. Less than a minute ago he was laughing with his friends. Now he was the only one of the three still standing.

  His eyes were wide and he slashed at me—even though we were a good distance apart. I turned sideways to make myself less of a target and reached back at my belt and curled my fingers around the hilt of my own knife—not a hunting knife per se—but a weighted, balanced dagger forged by Pecht of Laketon. Normally I used it to hunt small game. But right now it was in its sheath—slathered in spider venom.

  I told Beard that if he got on his horse and rode away, rode all the way to Viandel that I wouldn’t stop him. He thought about it for a few moments but when he glanced back at the Connaughts, I knew he wasn’t going to take the deal. So he charged me. I flung my knife, a strong, fast, underhand throw. I aimed for the large artery that runs up the inside of the leg and I got pretty close. But the blade hit a buckle holding his waist pouch and clattered away without sticking him. It was an unlucky throw, which happens sometimes.

  But even though the knife didn't find its mark, it did throw him off his stride. He staggered into me and I smashed my fist into his throat. He wobbled back and dropped the knife. I hit him again right in the center of his face, breaking his nose and sending him careening flat on his back. I took a deep breath and tried to slow my heart rate. All three miners were down and I was feeling pretty good.

  Forty feet away Wilmer Connaught began to applaud, slowly but loudly. “Impressive,” he said. “Those were my best men.” Davan Connaught didn’t say anything. Just got up and left. Walked towards the horses. With any luck, he was taking the deal I offered Beard.

  “I think you’ve just earned the right to negotiate,” Wilmer Connaught said as he sauntered closer.

  “And why would I want to do that?”

  “Because I am a very wealthy man. And I am about to get wealthier. I can make you a very wealthy man too.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Soon I’ll be the new owner of the stamp mill.”

  “What good will that do you? The mines are all played out, aren’t they?”

  “Maybe they are and maybe they aren’t.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  Wilmer Connaught continued, “I’ll pay you to visit the mill. Speak to Gurran. Convince him to sell. He’s going to end up selling to me sooner or later. I’d prefer it to be sooner and I think you’re just the man to take him the message. You might have to break a few arms, but that’s obviously not a problem for you.”

  I looked down. Nodded like I was considering his offer, but didn’t respond just yet.

  “What do you say?”

  “I already have a job.”

  He seemed unnerved. “What job?”

  “Avenging Hildur.”

  He backed up, trying to get some distance between us. “That would be a mistake, my friend. A serious mistake.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  But he was correct. I made a mistake. A huge mistake. I realized that for the second time in less than twelve hours I had let myself get distracted. Only now it wasn’t a big black dog that surprised me. It was Davan Connaught. He shot me with a crossbow and I never saw it coming.

  THE BOLT HIT MY SHOULDER AND I FELT A STAB OF SEARING PAIN. In the next half second, I crumple
d to my knees and it dawned on me what had happened. Wilmer Connaught had kept me talking while his son went back to the horses, grabbed a crossbow, and shot me.

  I didn’t see what he was up to because the horses were east of me—in the sun. But the bolt in my shoulder was the least of my problems. Davan Connaught was charging at me. I knew I had to get up before he got to me or I was going to be dead.

  “Destroy him,” Wilmer Connaught called to his son.

  The giant loped towards me—much quicker than I thought was possible given his size. He was on me in a few seconds and I just managed to stagger to my feet and dodge a savage roundhouse that would have decapitated me. I turned and pounded two fast punches to his kidney while he was still moving. It was like punching a tree. And had about the same effect.

  He laughed and backhanded me in the face. It was a light blow, more to unnerve me than do any real damage. He was toying with me.

  But I had pushed away the pain in my left shoulder and I was wholly focused on how to take Davan Connaught down in the next few seconds. If I wasn't able to accomplish that, I knew that he would do what he had promised. He would rip me limb from limb and throw me in the river. So while he was dancing in front of me, I stepped in, planted my feet, bent at the knees, and exploded upwards—driving my fist right up through the bottom of his chin. It was a perfectly-placed punch and I put all the strength of my entire body into it. By all rights, the punch should have snapped his neck at the very least. But it did nothing.

  He grinned and rubbed his chin as he stepped away and then shot out a left hook that I never saw coming. His fist plowed into my chest and I felt like my entire ribcage had been shattered. It was like I had been kicked by a warhorse. I flew back a few feet and landed hard on my back. All the air was knocked out of me and my vision dimmed. When it cleared, I saw the giant looming over me, grinning. He was toying with me again, but not for long. He squatted down and then exploded upwards, seemingly hanging for a moment in midair, and then he crashed down in a massive, earth-shaking stomp intended to squash my head into pulp. But I rolled away just in time, pushed myself up, and staggered away.

  I caught a glimpse of Wilmer Connaught smiling in appreciation at his son's imminent victory and then Davan Connaught was on top of me again with a downward-clubbing blow aimed at my neck. I just barely evaded him and spun and drove my elbow hard into the side of his head. It knocked him back a few inches, but otherwise, it had no effect. This was unbelievable. Nothing I was doing seemed to damage him at all. I wondered if there was something supernatural that was protecting him, but I didn't have time to ponder it too long because he hit me again.

  Davan Connaught shot out a quick right that caught me three inches under my shoulder, where the crossbow bolt still protruded. Pain exploded throughout the left side of my body as I was thrown back onto the dirt again. I must have had some nerve damage because the pain was so intense I could feel it in my teeth. But in that pain, I experienced a moment of clarity. And I had an idea.

  As I rolled on the ground, I ripped the crossbow bolt from my shoulder. I was in so much pain already, I figured a little more wouldn’t be the end of me. I didn’t even think the resulting blood loss would be a problem. Davan Connaught would kill me long before anything else had a chance to. The bolt came out as cleanly as could be expected. Thankfully, its head wasn’t notched or barbed. I clutched it tight and concentrated on getting back on my feet before the giant could kick me to death.

  “Are you ready for more, little man?” He stood a dozen feet away, hands on his hips, waiting for me to stand up.

  I made a show of trying to steady myself. Behind my back, I stuck the bolt into the knife’s sheath filled with bristler venom.

  “It’s time,” Davan Connaught said. “Time to die.” He rolled his shoulders, took a deep breath, and said, “Here I come!” Then he charged me.

  I knew that I didn't stand a chance unless I could change the game. And that meant getting the giant off of his feet and onto the ground. So when he was almost upon me, I pivoted, tangling my foot into his legs while simultaneously shoving him forward and down. He stumbled and fell and I leaped on him. 230 pounds of my body weight crashed down on his back. I knew that once he caught his breath, he'd try to buck me off. And, despite my size, Davan Connaught wouldn't have any problem knocking me off of him. But I never intended to keep him pinned down. All I needed was a clean shot at his neck. And I got it.

  With all my might I drove the envenomed crossbow bolt into the base of his neck—aiming right where the neck met the shoulders. I leaned into the blow with my full weight. Blood spurted from my palms. He roared in pain and exploded up—throwing me off of him like I was a child. I tried to roll away but he caught my ankle and dragged me along the ground towards him. Closer and closer. But I aimed a wild kick at his face with my right leg and felt the crunch of bones breaking. And then I was free.

  I scrambled on my bloody hands and knees until I managed to get away and up on my feet. I had no idea how long it would take for the spider venom to affect him—or even if it would affect him at all.

  On his knees, Davan Connaught cursed and struggled to remove the bolt from the back of his neck, but his massive, musclebound arms made it impossible for him to reach. Then he must have decided that it was more important to take me down because he staggered to his feet and lurched over to me. There was no sign that the poison was affecting him.

  I danced back, breathing hard. But so was he. His mouth was wide open because his broken nose was gushing blood.

  “Finish him!” commanded Wilmer Connaught.

  His son roared and charged, but I managed to leap away. If I could evade him for a while, he might tire. And I would have a better chance of surviving. I shook off the pain and raised up on the balls of my feet. Limber. Ready.

  He came at me again, murder in his eyes, no sign of slowing. He feinted with his left and I ducked back, but he closed the distance with a single enormous stride and smashed me in the gut with a huge right that knocked me flat on my back and nearly stopped my heart. Blackness closed in on my vision. I tried to move, but my body wasn’t responding and I knew that was it. He had beaten me and now I would die. On a cold morning by the banks of a river. In the middle of nowhere.

  Davan Connaught fell on me, a massive, crushing weight.

  But he didn’t punch me. He didn’t throttle me. He didn’t snap my neck. He was just dead weight.

  “No!” Wilmer Connaught cried, running towards us.

  The giant on top of me convulsed, gasped for breath, and spewed blood and spittle from his mouth.

  I struggled to pull myself out from underneath him.

  Wilmer Connaught cradled his son’s head, trying to rouse him, but the younger man’s eyes rolled back and his body seized up.

  Still unable to get to my feet, I managed to crawl away on my hands and knees from the dying giant and his father. And then I blacked out.

  Some time later, I was awoken by a hard slap.

  “I want you alive when I cut your heart out,” Wilmer Connaught said. He had retrieved the bearded miner’s hunting knife and now held it point first at my chest.

  I tried to move away but quickly discovered that my hands and feet were bound tightly with the leather reins from the horses and staked into the ground. I was tied spread-eagle. Ropes ran across my chest, neck, and legs. Given a little time, I might have been able to free myself, but it looked like I was pretty much out of time.

  Wilmer Connaught kneeled hard on my chest and sliced through my tunic. He wasn’t very careful with the blade and ended up carving a quarter inch into my flesh. I bucked at the pain, but wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of hearing me scream.

  “On second thought,” he said. “Cutting your heart out is too easy. You don’t deserve to die that quickly.”

  He sliced through my clothes down towards my belt, gouging my abdomen in the process—right where Toat Connaught hit me with the pickaxe. I was losing blood quickly. “Might be bet
ter to disembowel you, eh? Then leave you to the spiders. That might be suitable. Yes.”

  I strained at my bonds, pulling my arms together and tensing my chest muscles. I thought I felt the stakes start to give a little and then Wilmer Connaught smashed me in the face with the heavy hilt of the hunting knife.

  “Who told you to move?!” he screamed. His eyes were wild and his skin was bone white.

  I’d seen those signs before. He was insane. And that meant he was capable of anything. I couldn’t give up. I had to free myself. I tightened my legs and began to fight against the restraints. I put everything into it, pulling my thighs together.

  “Enough!” He got to his feet and kicked me hard in the side. Pain exploded throughout my body and I felt my ribs crack. Even though he was old, Wilmer Connaught was strong. Maybe it was the rage that fueled his strength.

  “I’m going to hack off your hands and feet,” he told me. “That’ll be nice and slow.”

  And then out of the corner of my eye, I saw a small dark hairy shape scamper behind him. Could it be a spider? But then the creature barked.

  It was the little grey dog from Gambrin’s brewery: Lomas.

  “What the—?” The dog barked and danced in front of Wilmer Connaught. He tried to kick the animal away. “Begone, wretch!”

  But Lomas was fast. He evaded the old man and kept up his yipping and barking as he ran in circles around Wilmer Connaught.

  I had seen this performance before, so I knew what was coming. And I wasn’t disappointed.

  Out of nowhere, a large black shape smashed into Wilmer Connaught from behind, knocking him to the ground. And then Raley's head whipped back and forth, powerful jaws ripping flesh in a frenzied attack that went on for a full minute.

  “Halt!” a voice called in the distance. Raley immediately stopped her attack but stayed close to Wilmer Connaught, watching him. He didn’t move. If he wasn’t already dead, he would be soon. The dog had got to his throat.