by Billy Wong
Hammer Out A Future
by Billy Wong
Hammer Out A Future
Copyright © 2015 Billy Wong
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the Author. Your support of author’s rights is appreciated.
All characters in this compilation are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Credits and author page
Sample of Iron Bloom
Chapter 1
After confirming the coins inside to be iron, the girl placed the sack on her cart. Due to the state of the world, gold and silver had fallen out of favor as currency compared to more practical metals. She had to put it close to the front, for the cart was nearly full. Almost time to make a trip back, then. It always tempted her to pile bags on top of each other to extend the time she could work, but she knew the increased risk of the vehicle breaking down on her would not be worth it. She started to pull it over dusty earth towards the edge of the village made up of tents and straw huts. In her childhood a horse might have done the heavy work, but they were rare these days and keeping one fed would be too much trouble to bother with anyway. Sand carried by dry wind stung her face. She licked her lips, but couldn't do anything about the rest of her parched skin.
"Leaving already?" town defender Matt asked as she passed him. The lean man sat against the side of a hut with his broadsword's hilt jutting over his back and a bloodied bandage around his thigh. "I figured you could stay with us for a little longer considering tomorrow's your birthday."
"My turning twenty-six reminds me I might not even have ten prime years left. So I'd better make the most of the all the time I have."
He raised an eyebrow. "Surely you could spare one day."
"I suppose. But I also heard of another job nearby, and if I get there a day late it might be gone. So I'd best get moving."
"Good luck, Cart-Dragger. It was a fine time working with you."
"Thanks." She looked back. "You take care of yourself, Matt. Your sweet wife and children need you."
Matt gave a bashful nod. "I won't be so reckless again. I know my own abilities, just got carried away following the lead of certain people."
"There isn't much room for grand heroics in the world we live in today." She shrugged. "I guess there wasn't that much before either, but more so now."
"You're one to talk."
"It isn't so grand. It's just work, after all." But as she walked on, knowing he couldn't see it, she cracked a slight smile.
#
Lars and Allen entered the town. Its largely intact wooden buildings looked like better shelter than those of many settlements they'd visited, though still old and worn. Yet even fewer locals made themselves visible than in most towns on the wide central street, which was instead occupied by over a dozen armed men. For a moment Lars flashed back to the bad old days when such sights had been all too common, then he registered that they did not wear similar uniforms like soldiers would. Instead they sported armor ranging from cured hide or studded leather to chain and even plate in one hefty man's case, and carried varied weapons in differing states of repair as well.
"Why you think there so many?" his rough-bearded partner Allen asked in his slow, deliberate voice. A sinewy man in his early thirties, he moved with a jerky gait and looked considerably older than Lars despite being only a couple years his elder in reality. "Think they may be from same company?"
It was hard to tell at first. Some of the warriors chatted in groups, while others walked alone or stood around as if waiting for someone or something. But when one humbly dressed pair rolled their eyes at the backs of another duo in well polished cuirasses who strode past with chins held high, Lars decided, "They probably aren't all together."
"Then why they don't go do the job? Seems strange for everyone to stand around."
"I don't know, but it would be bad news for us if they'd already done it. So let's just count our blessings."
"You here to join the party too?" asked a clean-shaven young man in mail with a rapier at his hip, walking closer from their right. "Must admit I'm becoming a little worried about my share of the pay, crowded as it's getting."
With his serene voice, Lars wasn't sure if he just made a good humored remark or really regarded them as rivals. "What's going on?" He glanced around at the other sellswords. "Normally we'd all be rushing to get a job done before the rest could, but no one seems to have any urgency."
"Believe me, we do. Just last night there were three fights started because somebody wanted to sneak off and take a shot at the mark. The mayor told us all to wait until he feels enough mercs have gathered before heading out. A few groups had already been killed trying before... I hear what we're dealing with is a particularly large and powerful God Soldier."
The God Soldiers were elemental giants that had their skins replaced with magical metal plates used to control them. After the fall of the Red Empire that weaponized them, they'd lived in peace with the remnants of humanity at first. But as the magic faded from their control plates, their pain increased until it drove them insane and they attacked any living creature nearby. People could have fled, but whole towns would be reluctant to move away from a rare spot of fertile land to search for a new home amid all the desert and barren wasteland. So it became one of the most lucrative jobs for sellswords to get rid of a wild God Soldier too close to human territory—and one of the most perilous.
"You're planning to take on a God Soldier with that skinny needle of yours?" Allen asked. "Pretty sword, but sounds like a bad idea."
The youth touched his hilt and chuckled. "It's not all about the size of the sword. Besides, I bet Beard-Trimmer here is just about the thickness to slide right between those great plates."
"Beard-Trimmer?" Lars asked. "You don't even have a beard."
"It's named after my defeat of Tyrone Iron-Beard with it. While we're on the subject, my name is Cody. What's yours?"
"Lars, and this is Allen. So how will we know when it's time to start the mission?"
"The mayor said he would blow the horn to signal we should gather in the square." He gazed up the street to where a fountain, dry and dirt-encrusted with disuse, stood. "Then we'll see what's better between your crude weapons and my refined blade," he added with a wink.
He felt the weight across his back of his heavy battleaxe, stained in the blood of many, and pictured Allen's similarly blood-soaked spear. "They're not that crude. There are more intricacies to wielding an axe than you swordsmen like to admit."
"I'm sure there are. It still isn't as precise or versatile. Anyway if you guys want to relax a bit before facing death again, the inn's over there."
Lars looked. If he listened closely, he could already hear the bustle of voices from inside the large rounded structure. He imagined it to be quite crowded. "It wouldn't hurt to try and find out more details about this God Soldier, rumors or not. You coming?"
Cody grinned. "Nah. You guys smell too bad to be in a co
nfined space with a bunch of you."
"Have it your way." They parted ways, and Lars and Allen headed towards the inn.
#
They entered to find it less packed than Lars thought, the loudness of the mercs within more than making up for their number. There were about twenty armed fighters in the first floor dining area, though more probably stayed in their rooms upstairs. "I'm going to do the usual," Allen said after they ordered drinks from the bar, and wandered off. Lars took a seat and sipped slowly from his cup of mead. He wanted to feel good, but not get so drunk that it would hamper him if he was suddenly called on to fight.
He soon noticed the middle-aged female barkeep looking intently past him. Though he tried to stay focused on his drink, his ears began to pick out from among the chatter a female voice complaining behind him. Lars sighed. Probably his partner at it again. He thought he'd have learned after the last time, when Allen's advances towards a gang leader's girl almost got them both killed. Then again, he didn't seem capable of learning much these days. Lars turned to pull him back from the trouble he was no doubt digging himself into and saw him stroke the arm of a woman in worn leathers.
"Leave me alone," she said, "what are you doing? Stop touching me!" He backed off and raised his hands, only for her to knee him between the legs. He grunted and staggered grimacing against a wall. Everyone else in the room watched while she stalked after him, venom in her eyes.
"Leave him be," Lars said. "He's harmless, there's no need for violence."
She glared at him. She was probably a merc too, judging from the mace and blade at her belt and bow on her back. "So what, a man can grope and fondle women any time he wants with no repercussions?"
"Kneeing him in the balls for it is escalating things a tad too fast. You could really hurt a guy like that."
"You have a problem with it?" She grasped Allen's shoulders to hold him in place and kneed him again, dropping him to his rear. Lars winced with him. "What are you going to do about it?"
While somewhat rarer in women, her behavior was nothing unfamiliar. Many people who hadn't adjusted well to the new world went around always on edge and ready to pick a fight over nothing. Lars walked over and put a hand on her shoulder before she could strike again at the cringing Allen. Being a fairly big man, he hoped physical contact from him would be enough to make her think twice. "I'm warning you, don't..."
"Don't touch me!" She spun and threw two quick jabs to Lars's face. They didn't hurt much, but disrupted his vision enough that he barely managed to lean back from the big overhand punch she followed up with. She landed a stinging kick to his thigh, making him hop in pain, then attempted a high kick with her other leg that he blocked.
"You have good variety in your attacks," he commented as he backed up, putting some distance between them.
She didn't seem flattered. "Defending your pervert friend makes you just as bad as him!" She pursued, this time ducking into an attempt to tackle his legs out from under him after her initial jab. He sidestepped so that she only caught hold of one of his legs, kept his balance for the brief moments he stood on a single foot and wriggled free.
"He doesn't mean any harm," he tried to explain. "He got hurt in the war, and hasn't been the same person since." Allen had taken a blow from a heavy mace that caved in the side of his head, and spent six months unconscious after. When he awoke with a dent still in his skull, though his hair hid it well enough, he was no longer the quick witted, well spoken youth he'd been before. He retained his propensity for womanizing though, which now that it tended to be poorly received, often got him into rough spots.
"Well you should have kept a leash on him! If you want me to not place blame on him, maybe I should take it out on you." She faked a leg kick, nailed him with a shin to the floating lower ribs that rather hurt.
That was it. She didn't act reasonably, and appeared to just be out for a fight. He supposed he wasn't such a saint in comparison, for he decided to give her one. She closed in jabbing again. But this time he jabbed back, connecting with her nose. She sneered and lunged in with a overzealous cross. Just what he hoped for. He dodged and countered with a solid hook to her chin, making her stumble back against the bar. She bared her teeth angrily at him, a trickle of blood oozing from her nostril, but then the focus in her eyes wavered and she blinked them as in an effort to clear her head.
"We don't have to keep fighting," Lars said. "We can stop if you want."
"Just because you landed a punch doesn't mean you have the upper hand. It takes a lot more than that to stop me." She came forward again and they exchanged strikes while weaving between tables and chairs. She was quick, and good at mixing up her approach to disguise from where the next attack might come. Her kicks pounded his thighs and side, her fists repeatedly stung his face. Sticking to punches as his kicks weren't the best, he landed his own shots. She took ones to her head surprisingly well, hardly missing a beat though her face grew cut and swollen, but his powerful body blows seemed to slow her down more. She began panting for breath, and he sensed his opportunity might come soon. When she missed with a desperate haymaker after a glancing jab and couldn't recover her guard in time, he sent an uppercut zooming up at her chin. He hit her so hard, sharp pain shot through his hand as one of his knuckles broke. Lifted off her feet by the impact, she flew into an involuntary backflip and landed facedown with a loud thump.
"Wow!" voices said around them. "What a hit!"
"It's over!"
"He knocked her out!"
"After a punch like that, she must be-"
Lars blinked as the woman got her hands beneath her and started to push herself up. He aimed a kick at where he expected her head to be soon. But when she tried to rise her strength gave out and she fell to her back. His boot passed over her face as she dropped with eyes rolling back. She drew her legs up slowly in what resembled a defensive gesture, but Lars figured it to be instinctive as he watched her do nothing more besides lie there in a daze. He turned to help Allen.
"Don't walk away from me!" his opponent yelled in a groggy voice. "Fight isn't over."
He glanced back. She was still down, barely able to lift her head to look at him. "You can't even stand. You've lost."
"No! You're just afraid because you know you can't really beat me. Come down here and I'll kick your ass."
Lars walked over to her, and her defiantly sneering mouth twitched with perhaps a flicker of fear. But instead of attacking her, he shook his head. "You want me to keep hitting you when you can hardly move? That wouldn't be very civilized of me."
"Grrr. I can still fight."
"Then stop me."
She tried to sit up with jaw clenched as he went to Allen, and fell back. "Ahh..."
He offered his friend a hand. "You all right?"
Allen stood, features still strained from the groin knees. However, they then hardened with rage. "Let me at her."
The woman attempted to pull herself up with the aid of a nearby table, but lost her grip and flopped down. "Don't," Lars said, holding onto Allen's arm. "She's finished." But when Allen shook him off, he didn't try further to restrain him. Allen had been the victim of her unwarranted violence, and Lars trusted him to stop before the point of killing her. He stood over her and rained down punches. On her back, she tried to ward them off with weakly raised hands, but the blows that got through and smashed her face made her roll to her side in a fetal ball covering her head. It must have been humiliating to her, the fighter so unwilling to admit defeat being rendered thoroughly helpless. "That's enough," he told Allen, though he had already halted his assault. "I think she's learned her lesson about picking unnecessary fights."
"I haven't lost," she whimpered from her pathetic position, body trembling. "I haven't..."
Allen scowled, and Lars assured him, "I'm sure the deluded bully will wake up to reality once she's had some time to wrap her mind around it. Let's go."
"I haven't lost!" she screamed. All of a sudden she used a leg to flip Allen of
f herself and lurched upright. Seeing her regain strength, Allen backed off. Lars stared. Though he didn't like how she treated his partner, he couldn't help being impressed. He had been sure she was totally incapacitated, but somehow she appeared eager to fight again. She smiled and wiped blood from her mouth. "See, I told you it wasn't over."
He raised his fists, pulse pounding through his veins at the excitement of meeting such a formidable adversary. It became hard to hold onto his anger at her, as a primal connection seemed to form between them. "Fine, I'll make an exception for you. Next time you go down I'll be ready to pound your face in so there's no mistaking the victor. But you did already lose. You got knocked out, so this is a rematch."
"Gah, what?! When was I out?"
"Your eyes were all rolled back after you tried and failed to get up, and you didn't move for a good while."
She averted her gaze for an instant, then met his again. "I was stunned at most."
"Yeah, sure. But I'm not keeping score. It'll be fun to fight you again. You shouldn't have hurt Allen, though."
"Then how would I have gotten you to challenge me?" she asked with a wink. They closed with each other once more. He missed with a punch and ate hers, cracked her a good one in return. She reeled away, her resistance perhaps weakened from the previous beating. But when he tried to press the advantage, he ended up taking a painful kick to the knee. Before they could fight any more, a horn blew. "Damn, that's the job," she said. Ducking his next swing, she ran right past him for the door. "Fight again later!"
"I guess she has her priorities in order." Lars smiled after her while she and the rest of the mercs streamed out of the inn. He followed, dragging Allen along. "We better get moving too before we miss out."
#
The sellswords, over fifty in all, gathered in front of the fountain where the mayor met them. A slightly chubby man wearing a faded jacket, he declared he would lead them personally to the lakeside cave where the God Soldier dwelt. The creature attacked any fishermen going near the lake, and as fishing was an important source of food, it needed to be gotten rid of. Lars spotted the woman he had fought. She leaned against a man carrying a gigantic sword over his shoulder who shot him a hostile glance, so he didn't approach.
