New World: a Frontier Fantasy Novel
Page 21
Tyrus's jaw tightened as he considered this invader and how to disarm him. It was only a child -- scrawny at that -- and shouldn't be difficult. Black hair hung past the cap and touched narrow shoulders, and cold gray eyes gleamed in the soft light, sharp as the blade he held.
"Do you know who I am?" asked the boy.
"I can guess," Tyrus said as he looked for his chance. "You're here to avenge some relative I've killed. It must have been recently, young as you are. Your father, perhaps."
"That's right. Although I come in the stead of more people than I can name. Amorette, for example." The boy gestured to her with the sword.
Tyrus didn't take his eye off the boy or the blade. "I remember you now. You've tried this once before -- I saw you riding one of those monsters -- a four-legged hill, they're quaintly called in these parts. Tell me... how did you find me on this ship?"
The boy was so small that he looked preposterous holding that giant sword. It had to be heavy for him. If Tyrus could keep him talking a bit longer, this would be easy.
"The proprietor of the Swan pointed the way." Sure enough, the blade's tip wavered a bit.
"And did you kill my cabin boy to get his clothes," Tyrus asked, "or just subdue him?"
"I told your cabin boy of my plan and he surrendered his clothes willingly. You don't have many friends, Tyrus Jurgen. You've lived by the sword."
"Indeed."
"So you know what happens next."
"You survived last time," Tyrus said. "I'll have to be more thorough tonight." Before the boy could react, Tyrus slapped the blade aside with the broad palm of his hand. Tyrus was about to lunge for it, already envisioning snatching the sword and killing this whelp, when the girl behind him yanked his hair.
But he had tied her to the bedpost!
She had two fistfuls and didn't let go. Tyrus's arms swung out and his bare feet shuffled in a scramble for balance. The boy swung the weapon back to bear and plunged it into his heart.
Amorette stepped off the bed and stood beside him, still holding his hair. As Tyrus's lungs filled with blood and his legs grew numb, she yanked again, pulling his ear to her lips. "This smart little boy, he loosened my bonds and suggested I play your prisoner. A good idea, don't you think?"
The way she had tugged at the ropes had seemed so real. Tyrus looked down.
The whelp's little hands still clung to the handle of the sword in Tyrus's chest. The runes on the blade read, "Behold Blod--"
The rest disappeared inside him.
Tyrus's last thought was to wish he could at least die with his boots on.
#
Chapter 41
Bogg stomped on through the forest of unfamiliar trees. It was thick and tangly stuff, but he'd pushed through worse. The thing that made it easy was the four-legged hill he was following. She knocked down enough trees and mashed enough brambles underfoot as she struggled on, that it weren't no real trouble.
He ambled along behind the hill and absently tugged on his beard. He'd picked up that habit after it had been singed off, feeling it now and then to see how much there was, and now that it was all back, he judged he'd let the habit go sooner or later.
The downhill slope made the way easy, too. They'd been out of the snows for a week. Hummock didn't like it this warm, but Bogg was tickled, because it couldn't be much farther. He kept noticing the signs -- the smell of salt in the headwind, the softness of the soil under the worn-thin soles of his boots -- and jotted them down in blocky crooked letters in his journal.
Two days ago he'd seen a gull. It wouldn't be long now. They had made great time. Walking behind a hill -- even a one-tusker like Hummock -- that was the way to cover ground in a hurry. Though the view wasn't so great. There were far prettier things in the world than hairy hill haunches. And the sheer size of the hillapples he'd stepped over near scared him skinny.
The pup had told him that they'd go even faster if Bogg would climb on up, and Bogg reckoned that was true, but he wouldn't do it. He remembered the last time he'd ridden a hill, and no-thank-you-kindly. Bogg had changed plenty in the last year, and by jings, he wouldn't change everything just to please the pup.
Please his nephew.
No, please the pup.
Young Simon had sprouted three inches on this trip and showed no signs of letting up. His face had changed too, gaining straight lines, losing its baby-roundness and becoming the face of a young man.
Not that Bogg could see that from here. All he could see of Simon from Bogg's post at the stern was his long black hair hanging past his shirt collar and swaying as Hummock rocked along. Just under that, strapped to the boy's back was the broadsword. Near the golden hilt were runes that said "Behold..." and the rest Simon had ground off. Such a thing had weakened the blade, surely, and the smithy they'd found in White Pass, in the Darkling Hills, had said as much.
Simon had told the smithy that was all right. The thing wouldn't get the same use as it had in earlier days. Nothing much ahead for it but finishing off a coneybuck here, a salmon there.
"What did it used to say?" asked the smithy.
"It's not worth remembering," Simon had replied.
While Bogg had spent the swordsman's spilled treasure on a final load of supplies, Simon had paid the smithy to etch new runes on the shiny bare steel where the old runes had been, and time enough it said, "Behold... the Golden Slingstone."
Somebody else might have chucked it in a ravine or left it wedged in the heart of its former owner, but Bogg respected the lad's thinking. The lad would make the thing new.
Simon nudged Hummock to a stop. "You hear that?"
Bogg took a moment to listen. At first, all he heard was the rough breathing of the hill. But when he moved on from that sound, he heard another breathing, deeper and slower. "We're close!"
Simon urged Hummock forward. Bogg boomed past the hill and into the brush, dodging between the trees, catching glimpses of blue sky beyond the thick of the green around him.
Bogg busted clear of the forest. Beyond the rocky slope in front of him, the ocean crashed on a white beach, again and again.
It would take Hummock time to get over these rocks, but Bogg couldn't wait. He whooped and darted boulder to boulder until the thin soles of his boots pressed into sand that sparkled like a million tiny diamonds. Blue waves with white peaks curled toward him, tumbled on the sand, and raced away, and between each one, he saw the perfect line in the distance where ocean met sky.
He ran on, letting up a power of whooping and hollering. Simon laughed behind him, and Hummock ripped out a trumpety call.
Finally, Bogg splashed up spray. A wave rushed past him, pushing at his legs. Cold water flooded his boots, shocking him, and the Hestern Sea touched him at last.
THE END
AFTERWORD
Thank you for giving this novel a try. If you enjoyed it, please tell a friend or leave a review online. Little things like that can help an author tremendously!
You can also contact me through Facebook or Twitter, or stop by my site and sign up for the newsletter. Once per month or so, I'll send out a freebie coupon for one of my ebooks, or announce a contest or giveaway. I'll also let you know when my next book is coming out.
Sincerely,
Steven W. White
NOW AVAILABLE
Hair of the Bear
In this sequel to New World, Tyrus Jurgen's cunning and deadly sister, Lisandra, has vowed to avenge his death. Once in the mysterious land of Mira, she hires a local to serve as a guide, and mountain man Tiberius Bogg takes the job. He'll keep her from tracking down young Simon Jones... or die trying. But is the swordsman's sister more than Bogg can handle?
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