The Phantom Dwarf
Page 20
Grundel threw his axe at the top of the wall. He didn’t call the axe back. He let it stay in the wall, and he called on the magic in the axes. The axe in his hand flew to the one in the top of the wall. He released the magic at the last second, and it went toppling over the wall. There were two men. The first had just finished cranking his crossbow. He raised it at Grundel. Grundel just barely turned his axe in time to deflect the bolt. He kicked the crossbowman over the wall and turned to face the other man. The man was looking for an escape. Grundel was between the stairs and the man. Finally the man decided that his only option was to fight. He charged at Grundel with his sword. The man stepped to the right at the last minute, then leapt back in. It was a good feint, but Grundel did not go for it. The sword came in at his legs. He jumped over the sword, coming down on the man’s back. His axe came down in the back of the man’s skull.
Bergmann slammed into the body of the Black Dragon assassin watching the commotion from the first floor window. The man’s mind offered almost no resistance as he took control of the body. He leveled the crossbow at Grizzle. Just as he got the dwarf king in his sights, another dwarf came crashing through the window. He pulled the trigger on the crossbow, but he was already tumbling back into the room. By the time they hit the ground, the maniacal dwarf had already driven the spikes protruding from the back of the bracers on his arms into the man’s face.
Bergmann left the dead body as the dwarf he now recognized as Dobo pulled the spikes free of bone. The other man was charging at Dobo, who didn’t even attempt to lift his hammer off of his back. Instead, he charged back. The man hesitated only a moment, but by the time he committed to his strike Dobo was able to catch the blade in his arm spike. His other hand came up and punched the man in the chin. The tip of the man’s tongue dropped to the floor, and he stumbled back. Dobo twisted his arm down, and the sword snapped. The man was using the sword as much to balance himself as he stumbled back as he was to defend. This was likely the only reason he was able to hold onto the hilt as the blade broke. The man fell back to the floor, holding up a sword with no more than a hand’s length of blade left. He looked down at the blade as if it had betrayed him.
“You know that saying?” Dobo jibed. “A good sword could be the difference in life or death? You should have spent the money on a better sword.”
The man threw what was left of his sword at Dobo.
Dobo laughed. “There’s a saying about that, too. Never throw your last weapon.”
The man drew a small dagger, no more than a couple of inches long. Dobo smiled back at him. He ignored the threat of the blade, diving head first at the man. The top of his head slammed into the man’s face. He barely heard the crunching sound as the man’s face crushed, forcing bone and cartilage back into his brain.
Dobo stood and shook his head, clearing his vision. He looked down at the small knife that the man had dropped. It had cut through the thick leather shirt he was wearing and dug into his arm. He picked up the blade. “Spent too much money on the wrong blade,” he said as he slid the finely crafted dwarf steel into his boot. He opened the door and walked out into the street.
Bergmann followed him. He had do admit that these two brothers continued to live up to their reputation. It was mesmerizing watching them fight.
A man came flying out of the window of the building next door. Gobo came flying out behind him, both of his knees coming down in the center of the man’s back. The body bent backwards unnaturally, and they all knew that the man was now paralyzed.
“Don’t kill him,” Grizzle said as his hammer flew back into his hand.
Down the street, a chunk of the wall was missing from the corner of a building. Among the scattered rubble lay a man whose head was unnaturally deflated. Gobo looked up at him.
“Let Patria see what he can get out of the man,” Grizzle advised. “If he can get nothing, another public display against the Black Dragons will strengthen his cause against them.”
Gobo shrugged and stood. The soldiers were already rushing down the street. They paused as they approached, looking up at the huge silhouette of Grundel standing on top of the building. He reached down and pulled his axe out of the top of the stone wall and then dropped off of the second-story roof, a double-blade axe held out to the side in each hand. He hit the ground with a thud and dropped to one knee. He slid his axes handles into their sheathes on his back and stood.
“That was more organized than I was expecting. Is anyone hurt?” Grizzle asked.
“Master Dobo,” the patrol leader declared. Dobo and Gobo had become local legends after their last visit to Patria, in which they spent most of it on Black Dragon raids.
“Ah, just a scratch,” Dobo said.
Gobo looked through the cut leather. “He’s fine,” he confirmed.
Everyone else accepted it.
Grizzle turned to the patrol leader. “Sergeant, this man is crippled. Take him to King Patria. The rest are all dead. Gather them up, and the king will tell you what he wants done. We have to continue on our way.”
The man saluted, open hand on his chest. “Yes, Your Highness.”
Grizzle continued down the road. At the east gate, they found Hamid waiting. He was holding the lead of a camel. On the camel’s back was a single blanket. Water skins were tied together and draped over the camel’s back. There were at least a dozen skins hanging on each side.
Hamid looked at the metal bracers on Dobo and Gobo’s arms. He seemed to be debating for a moment. Finally he looked over to Grizzle. “We are ready then?”
“We are ready,” Grizzle agreed.
Hamid turned and led them out of the east gate. The sun was just cresting the horizon, illuminating the edge of the brown desert. The six of them began walking.
The search for the Forgotten Kingdom had begun.
This ends The Phantom Dwarf. The next book in this series is The Forgotten Kingdom. Be on the lookout for Kings and Assassins, which will continue to the follow what is happening in Patria and Portwein.
The Forgotten Kingdom
Grizzle stood in the ring of men. The battle of the blood had begun. The dark-skinned man with the draping black hair threw his arms around his neck, pulling down on Grizzle’s head. He had underestimated the strength of the dwarf king. Grizzle’s head did not go down. Grizzle reached forward and grabbed the man’s neck in his hand. He started to squeeze with the strength of years of swinging a hammer in a smith. The years that weren’t spent in a smith were spent with a war hammer or an axe in his hands. He saw the moment of panic in the man’s eyes. It lasted only a second, however, and then Grizzle found himself on his back, staring up into the bright sun, the hot sand on his bare back.
He felt the tightness in his arm. He looked over and realized his mistake. The man had not grabbed hold of his arm in an attempt to free it from his neck. He had used it as an anchor to swing his body around. The momentum threw them both to the ground, and the man now had his arm extended between his legs. He was pulling down on his wrist, trying to break it over his leg.
Dwarven stubbornness took over. Grizzle turned toward the man and started to stand. The man tried to straighten his legs out, but Grizzle was walking over him. The man was on his shoulders, and Grizzle was standing over him when he jerked again. Grizzle was pulled down again. Now his face slammed into the hot sand. The man had his arm in the same position, but now he was lying on his stomach. He didn’t have as much leverage, but Grizzle couldn’t turn toward him. He didn’t try to pull his arm free. He ignored the pain in his arm and reached his other arm around the man’s leg. He began to pull on the leg, yanking his body away from the man, at the same time lifting the leg. With an upward jerk, he snapped the man’s leg just above the ankle and pulled his arm out of socket. The pain shot down his body and up into his neck, but he ignored it and turned toward the man.
The man let go of the arm that no longer prevented Grizzle from moving as he rolled onto his back. Grizzle dropped down on top of the man’s chest. H
is good arm went down, and he grasped the man’s throat. The man tried to throw him off, but with his one leg broken, Grizzle was able to stay on top of him. He squeezed the man’s throat.
Grizzle looked up into the eyes of the clan leader. “He is finished.”
The clan leader gave nothing away with his face. “The Battle of Blood can only be decided in death.”
Grizzle stared at the man for a moment. His opponent was still struggling underneath him. He looked down into the warrior’s eyes. He pushed all of his weight down as he locked out his arm. There was a popping sound as the man’s throat crushed. He struggled for a few more seconds and then he went limp.
Grizzle stood, his dislocated arm hanging limply; he looked into the eyes of the clan chief. “The battle of the blood has been decided.”
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