TRADING KNIVES
by P. H. Solomon
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Table of Contents
A Preview of The Bow of Destiny
Contents
Title
Notices
Maps
Author's Notes
Section 1
Section 2
Section 3
Section 4
Section 5
The Bow of Destiny Sample Chapter
About the Author
Additional Works
Notices
Published by P. H. Solomon at Amazon Kindle
Trading Knives is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2015 by P. H. Solomon, Second Edition Copyright 2016 by P. H. Solomon
Excerpt for The Bow of Destiny Copyright 2015 by P. H. Solomon
All maps are the property of the author, Copyright 2015 by P. H. Solomon
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming title The Bow of Destiny by P. H. Solomon. This excerpt has been formatted for this book only and may not reflect the final content for the forthcoming edition.
EBook ISBN:9781310217753
Cover image licensed/commissioned through iStockPhoto
MAPS
Northeast Denaria
From the Sigoth Range to Dragon's Maw
Hart, Rok & Surrounding Lands
Author's Notes
This short story, Trading Knives, covers events some 300 years before those occurring in The Bow of Destiny. As such, this tale is a prequel meant to acquaint the reader with the world of Denaria and a few of the characters appearing in the upcoming title, The Bow of Destiny. Future short stories will cover further details that affect other characters but will also pre-date events occurring in The Bow of Destiny. Thanks for reading this short story and please take a look at the sample chapter for the novel at the end.
1
Knife blades flashed between the assailants in the lamp light. Two men lunged and dodged each other in the fighting pit. Their feet scuffed through sawdust as they danced death. The crowd above them waved their betting scraps and shouted curses or encouragements at the circling combatants.
Some shouted for the tall, slender man with the hooked nose and shaved head. "Corgren! Corgren!" His lips remained partially parted like a snarl.
Others cried for the heavier man with pale hair and blue eyes that identified him as Hartian. "Hacker! Hacker!" Hacker flexed his free hand, prepared to hammer the other man with a stunning blow.
Sweat glistened on the fighters' bare chests in the flickering light. They feinted attacks and sliced with their flashing daggers. They circled. Hacker lunged at him.
Corgren slipped away from his opponent's slash. He stabbed and slashed counter-strokes, connecting to flesh at last. "I'll take your knife in trade for your life, son of a dog."
The cut trailed along Hacker's forearm as he held back a moment. "You're mine, Rokan cur!" His eyes narrowed and he flicked blood from his hand.
Corgren stood still, his snarl spreading into a grin. He had this oaf's measure now. He'd relish killing a proud Hartian on his own floor. Corgren spread his arms, inviting an attack.
The crowd howled.
Hacker hesitated. The crowd jeered him until he clenched his jaw and charged.
Corgren dodged aside and grabbed Hacker's arm. He jammed the knife into his opponent's right shoulder and ripped it from the wound.
Hacker roared his pain.
Corgren snapped his head away from the counter-strike of the opposite fist.
Hacker withdrew, struggling with his grip on his dagger. Blood gushed over his arm.
Corgren circled like a predator. He'd take his time now. He chuckled. Bleed, rat-faced Hartian. He hated them all. He feinted a stab and leapt around to Hacker's free hand as it jabbed past his face. He sliced the left shoulder and arm and laughed at the answering scream. It was a deep cut.
The bloodied Hartian staggered close to Corgren, then slashed.
Corgren dodged and cut his opponent's face.
Hacker screamed again. He held his face, gasping, every breath punctuated with a grunt.
It wouldn't be long now. He read resignation in Hacker's eyes. He'd kill him now. Corgren lowered his hands.
The bloodied man's eyes narrowed. He gritted his teeth and charged, knife slashing.
Corgren dodged left of his wounded opponent. He flicked his knife at the exposed neck. The blade gashed him.
Hacker fell to his knees, knife dropped in the dust and forgotten. Blood spurted across the ring. The crowd roared approval as Hacker collapsed and bled his life into the sawdust.
He retrieved Hacker's blade as a trophy. He strutted around the ring, arms raised in the adulation. One less Hartian in the world to trouble his Rokan brethren. He quickly ducked out of the ring's door into rooms for the fighters. He sheathed the knives, found a bucket of water and cleaned blood from his torso and arms.
Paugren entered from another door, his nose only slightly less hooked than Corgren's. "Good work." Corgren's brother slapped him on the shoulder. "Any injuries? No? Good, I'll go collect the winnings."
Corgren caught the flash of the strange tattoo on his brother's inner forearm. It was a few months old and Paugren never explained where he'd gotten the matching pair on each forearm. Corgren splashed water in his face. "Careful. These dirty Hartians will cheat us if they can and attack us for no reason."
Paugren grinned. "I can handle this man and his hirelings. They think I've no stomach for them but they don't know I've taught you everything."
Corgren found his shirt as his brother exited the room. Paugren was his teacher and sparring partner. He was good but Corgren was better. It took a firm stomach to manage Corgren's bouts as much as it took him to fight in the ring. It was tough but lucrative. Far better than being a laborer for Hartians.
2
Later, Corgren stood in the dark street with the Hart River but a stone's throw away. Moored trade and fishing boats bumped the wharves. Paugren was taking too long. He turned to go in search of his brother. Someone moved in the shadows. He touched his knife-handle. "Who's there?"
A man in a cloak stepped closer, hands in front of him. "Easy, I mean no harm."
Corgren glanced behind the stranger. He might not do him harm but he might be the distraction for fellow ruffians to attack. No one else was there. "What do you want?"
The fellow stood straight and looked him in the eyes. "I saw you fight, well done. You are good - and lucky, friend."
Corgren sniffed. "Thanks but there's no luck to it. And we're not friends."
<
br /> The other man's teeth flashed with a smile in the wan street-lamps. "Perhaps not yet. But I can help you."
Corgren waved his hand with frown. "And want some money in return. Be gone before I try my luck on you."
The stranger shook his head. "I've come to make you an offer. Surely you wish to hear that you can be more than you are now?"
"We have enough."
"You think so? There are men who will make your bouts harder, demand more of your winnings as a cut. If you don't agree to their demands, they'll force it out of you or kill you."
He leaned back against the wall of the building and crossed his arms. "That's nothing new. But how do you know so much?" Paugren might be in trouble but he'd find out what that stranger really wanted and then help his brother.
The stranger shrugged. "They're my men."
Corgren surged from his spot, grabbed the other man and slammed him into the wall. "What have you done with Paugren? Who are you?" He pressed the knife at his throat.
The other man pried his grip loose and pushed the knife-point away without effort. "My name is not spoken openly. Don't worry, Paugren is fine - enjoying a woman at the moment, I think."
Corgren took a step back and flexed his fingers. This man got loose from him so easily. He squinted at the stranger's half-hidden face in the hood."How do you know that? Or know about my brother?" But it's just like Paugren.
The stranger sniffed. "She's mine too."
Corgren cocked his head and his eyebrows climbed. "Everyone is in your employ around here?"
The stranger chuckled. "It's not so simple - and no. But I know who works for me and what they're doing."
He started to walk away. "I want none of what you're selling, whoever you are."
"Don't be so sure."
"What does that mean?" Corgren paused.
"I offer you much more than you have now or could ever gain fighting in the rings along this river. Money and power. Power, perhaps, to set the accounts straight between Hart and your own people in Rok."
He crossed his arms. "What of that?"
The stranger straightened his cloak. "I saw your face. I know a grudge when I see one."
"What do you want me to do?"
"My influence rises and will continue like a flood for years to come. I need good men like you to assist me with my work."
Corgren rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know." He needed to know more of this man's intentions. He suspected it was largely illegal. "Sounds like you want me to serve you somehow." But if he could move against Hart somehow... "I'll have to think about it."
The other man patted his shoulder. "A wise man thinks through his options." He started to leave but turned back. "Just remember, service to me is far more rewarding than to Hart - or petty thieves. But know this; you won't always be the fastest in the ring - or the most skilled, or the luckiest." He turned into the shadows.
"How will I find you?"
"I'll find you when the time comes." The stranger faded into the night.
Corgren turned in the following silence and almost walked into an old man in a wide-brimmed hat. "Watch out, you drunk." He started past the stranger after a glance at his hands and the surrounding shadows. Paugren dawdled too long.
"You should watch out for that one. He's an old trickster and a danger at that." The oldster thrust a thumb over his shoulder where the stranger in the cloak had disappeared.
"What's that?" He whirled to the newcomer. "You know him? Who are you?"
"I know him alright, and he'll do you no favors. But I'm doing you one now with a warning about him. Trust me."
Corgren bent to look under the hat-brim. He couldn't quite see the old man's face, though he caught the glint of a blue eye in the street-lamps. "Well I'll be the judge of that. But thanks for the warning." He strolled for the warehouse door to wait for Paugren.
"Lucinda wouldn't like him. She'd tell you that. She wouldn't trust him at all."
He froze, then whirled. The street was empty. "What did you say? Where'd you go?" He hadn't even heard footsteps. He couldn't know Lucinda. Could he? He didn't recognize the old man.
"What're you yelling at? Drunk already?" Paugren clambered out of the warehouse with a grin and a jug.
He scowled. "Just somebody bothering me. Where've you been?"
Paugren paused, narrowing his eyes at Corgren's tone. "Settling up, where else?"
"Took your time. Probably stopped to spend my hard-earned money on a woman."
Corgren's brother flinched, mouth agape, and then recovered himself with a shrug. "You can get one too."
He sniffed and shook his head. "Not one of those women, no matter how soft." He turned to go to their boat. "C'mon, let's go before a band of these rats come looking for our winnings."
Paugren tugged his clothing straight and followed with a slight jingle at his side. "What's wrong with you? Didn't the win satisfy you?"
"Nothing's wrong. Just come on. We've been here too long. We're going to get too much attention and we can't fight off a throng."
In a few minutes they cast off, gained the current and left the town in their wake. Paugren stretched and yawned once they were away. His sleeve slipped down, revealing the extent of the tattoo by the lamp light.
"Why do you have that on your arm? People might think you serve the dragon of that old cult." He reached for his brother's arm.
Paugren flinched out of Corgren's reach and yanked his sleeve down. But a smile flicked on his face. "This? I like the dragon. It's my new symbol. Tough, I think."
He sat at the tiller. "I doubt the Hartians will like it much, let alone anyone else."
His brother shrugged and settled onto a heap of wares they were carrying down-river as extra income. He yawned again, lay back and stared at the stars.
Corgren shook his head. "You had too much wine with that woman. You're lucky she didn't rob you."
Paugren chuckled. "She wouldn't do that."
"How do you know that?"
"Trust me, she wouldn't"
Corgren wiped his mouth and furrowed his brow. That stranger said the woman served him. Did Paugren know that man and trust his servants? He scowled at his brother. Was there something Paugren had gotten them into, that he wasn't telling Corgren? There was more going on than trusting a whore and mysterious tattoos.
Corgren steered the river-boat as the stars twinkled. Lucinda liked starry nights like this. He frowned. She was dead at the hands of Hartian thugs, no sense mooning about her.
A large shadow crossed the sky. He blinked. "What was that?"
Paugren didn't answer. He lay asleep already and a soft snore escaped his lips.
Corgren scanned the sky again. Nothing there. He shrugged, glad to be drifting on the current. That stranger meant too much attention for him; best skip a few towns before they arranged anymore fights.
Though Corgren intended traveling farther, he later tied up along the bank. He was tired from his victory and Paugren never stirred from his slumber. He took the purse full of Hartian coin, checked the amount and hid it with their other stash under a loose board in the cabin that served as their shared room and storage.
Paugren was careless sometimes. More so lately. Corgren rubbed the back of his neck. If what that stranger said was true, they needed more care. He shrugged with a yawn. At least they were away from any ruffians for the night - and hopefully several days. He shook his head. Skipping several towns meant missing opportunities for hauls and fights in the rings. But taking care was best.
Corgren threw a blanket over Paugren and then stretched out under one himself near the bow. He drew his knife and lay with it at his side. Just in case. Rats were plentiful on the Hart River and not just Hartians. He yawned and gave into sleep.
3
A hollow thud jostled Corgren. His eyes flicked open at the muttered curse. He turned his head. Another river-boat bobbed against their own.
Several figures slipped over the side. Corgren threw his blanket aside and l
eapt to his feet. He brandished his knife. "Be gone, or you'll feed fish tonight!"
"Easy there, friend." It was a Hartian by the accent. "We only want to talk."
"I've no need of talk with thieves in the dark."
In the dim light, the speaker spread his hands. Four others fanned out on either side. Two more men loomed in the other boat. "We've only come to collect the Ring-master's toll. You left before paying him your respects and his cut of your winnings."
"I don't know your master and owe him nothing. I've made no deal with him."
"He's just stretching into the rings along the river now. You win often so you'll bring him plenty. There's enough for you and him."
Corgren spit. "Hartian dogs! Away from this boat or I'll teach you lessons from the ring."
"Oh, so we're to trade knives? At him, boys!"
The four attackers shuffled toward Corgren on the deck. Knives flashed in the dim light.
Corgren feinted toward one. "Paugren! Get up!" He slashed an arm that entered his reach.
The injured attacker cursed him and then stabbed at Corgren. He stepped aside and slashed at the exposed neck. The ruffian gurgled and stumbled away, falling overboard.
The others slashed and stabbed.
Corgren danced aside. Two knives bit his arm. He slashed back. "Whores-sons! Paugren! Up you lout!"
The attackers feinted at Corgren now, surrounding him, forcing him against the cabin. Blood drenched his arm.
One attacker lunged.
Corgren grabbed the arm and whirled with him out of the midst of attackers. His foot caught on a coiled rope. He stabbed the ruffian in his hold as he fell. His head slammed into the gunwale and everything went blacker than night for a moment. Stars swam with deeper spots of darkness. Corgren blinked. A knife pricked his chin. Someone stepped on his knife hand. He groaned.
Trading Knives: Prequel Short Story #1 to The Bow of Hart Saga Page 1
