Jerrie looked from the big man who had just saved him to the Black Dragon on his knees in front of him. The Black Dragon was already dying. He was gasping for air, and Jerrie could see that he was only staying on his knees because the big man was holding him up. He hesitated only a second before running his little blade across the man’s throat. Blood sprayed all over the front of his clothes. The big man let the Black Dragon fall to the ground.
“What’s your name, boy?”
“Jerrie. What’s yours?”
“I am Galen. You got guts, kid, I’ll give you that. You need to get some brains, though. You want to kill Black Dragons?”
“I want to kill them all,” Jerrie bravely replied.
“Were is your momma? I heard what you said about your pa.”
“My momma died making me.”
The man nodded. “Who takes care o’ ya now? Where do you stay?”
“I ran away from the orphanage. That place ain’t for me.”
The big man stared at him for a while. “Well, come along then. If you want to kill Black Dragons you’re going to have to learn how to kill first. You gotta learn to use your head. Now search that man. Whatever he has is yours. You killed him. That was a wizard, by the way. Maybe he’s got something magic. That’s how I got this magic blade. It cuts through their magic shields.”
Jerrie searched the body and found one of the most useful items he would ever own in his life. He still carried it today. When he held the wizard’s ring in his hand, Galen’s blade began to glow. He didn’t tell Galen about that. He didn’t want him to take the ring, and Jerrie knew he couldn’t stop Galen if he tried. He also took a small bag of silver and coppers from the wizard. That was how Jerrie had begun his time with Galen.
Galen was a bodyguard for merchants and nobles. For ten years Jerrie lived with Galen, and during that time Galen taught him how to fight. Galen taught him how to fight with sword, spear, and shield, but Jerrie always went back to the knives. Galen said that his ability with the knife was amazing. Galen forced him to practice fighting with another bodyguard who worked with him. Each of them had a different fighting style, and each of them helped Jerrie develop his. He learned that initially the man with the longer weapon had the advantage, but once Jerrie got inside that reach, he just needed one well-placed cut or stab, and the other man would be done.
The hardest part was the hits he would take on his forearms deflecting the swing that always came to keep him back. Galen had bracers made for him—thin steel bracers that protected his forearms from just above the wrist to just below the elbow. They slowed his arms down at first, but eventually he got used to them. He never tried to block a blow with the bracers. The metal was very thin—it was more to protect him from cuts then anything else—so he used the bracers to deflect and redirect blows as he made his way inside his opponent’s guard.
When he was seventeen, Black Dragon assassins came to their home. They had somehow discovered that they had killed the wizard years ago. Things like that had a way of coming out in the city. Usually someone who saw something years ago and was down on his luck sold the information to whoever might be interested. People died everyday because of money.
How the Black Dragons found out didn’t really matter. One day Jerrie was training with Galen. When they took a break the other bodyguards who worked for Galen were standing around them. Galen looked around, realizing that nearly half of them were missing. He raised the sword in his hands. It was a dulled practice sword, but Galen was far better than any of the others. He would be able to use it to get one of their swords from them.
“So who was it? Who has enough pull to turn my own men against me?” Galen asked the seven men standing around them.
“It was the Black Dragons,” one of the men said as he stepped forward. “They gave us two choices: kill you and get paid, or die for you. Five of us died. Seven chose to live.”
Galen looked at Jerrie, then pulled his magical dagger from inside the back of his waist and tossed it on the ground in front of Jerrie. Then he turned back to the men and smiled. “When you came here, you chose death.” Then he was running toward the man who had stepped forward to speak for the others.
Jerrie saw another of the bodyguards start forward toward Galen, who was still about six steps away. Jerrie threw the dulled dagger in his right hand. It flew between Galen and the man he was charging and buried itself in the throat of the man who’d begun to try and gang up on Galen. Jerrie had known that the dagger wasn’t sharp enough or pointed enough to punch through the man's chest so he had aimed higher.
The first bodyguard had turned his head as the blade flew past his face. He looked only long enough to see that it had hit the man stepping up beside him, but that was all the distraction Galen needed. When the man turned back to face him, Galen had leapt forward, his sword already out in front of him. The man tried to block. He was almost fast enough. Galen’s sword hadn’t buried in his gut, but the first inch or so had punctured the stomach, and when the man’s sword knocked it away, it tore open his stomach. He fell to the ground, trying to cover the huge wound. He was already dying, his intestines creeping out of the wound around his hands.
Jerrie had grabbed Galen’s magical dagger in his right hand. He had another dulled training dagger in his left. It wouldn’t do much damage slashing, but he could still stab with it. He ran to the man on the far right. Galen had already picked up the fallen man’s sword and was moving to the left. They would have a better chance if they didn’t let themselves get surrounded. In reality, the other men didn’t have much of a chance, but anything could happen in a fight. A piece of gravel could turn an ankle and change the whole dynamic of a fight. That was one of Galen’s many lessons.
Two of the five remaining men came at Jerrie while the other three turned toward Galen. The first man thrust his sword straight at Jerrie’s stomach. Jerrie was at a full sprint, so he didn’t have time to counter. He threw his head back, falling to his knees. He slid under the blade on his knees, the blade an inch from his face. Jerrie raised his blade up into the man’s groin as he barreled into his legs. They rolled away together. When Jerrie came to his feet the other man did not. Jerrie turned and ducked as the other swordsman, who had crept up behind, tried to decapitate him. Jerrie leapt back out of range of the backswing and was heading back towards the man the moment his feet touched the ground. The man had barely started bringing his sword back in front of him when Jerrie grabbed his wrist and slid Galen’s magical dagger between the man’s ribs and into his heart.
When he pulled the dagger free he looked toward Galen. He had already put one man down. He was about to put the second one down, just as the third pulled a small crossbow from his hip and fired. Jerrie was already sprinting to help, but he couldn’t get there in time.
The bolt had buried deep in Galen’s thigh. It wasn’t fatal, but it had been enough to drop him to his knees. The man who had been on his heels before quickly went on the offensive. Galen tried to dodge the thrust aimed at the center of his chest, but he wasn’t able to move fast enough. The sword buried into his shoulder. He pulled the bolt out of his thigh and buried it in the man’s stomach. Then he turned around to the crossbowman, who was now coming at him with a sword raised over his head. Then the man’s head suddenly jerked back, and his sword fell out of his hands. A dagger came around and slid across the man’s throat. Blood spayed all over him. Galen wiped the blood from his eyes and looked up at Jerrie as he let the man fall. “Don’t forget, I taught you that.”
Jerrie tried to help Galen, but the blade had severed the artery in his armpit. Jerrie held him in his arms and watched as the life left his eyes. He looked around at the men they had killed. They weren’t Black Dragons, but they had been sent by them. For the second time in his life the Black Dragons had taken a father from him.
He knew he couldn’t stay here. The Black Dragons didn’t leave loose ends. He was an orphan again. He took Galen’s knife. He went inside and filled a shoulder pack w
ith simple clothes, three pouches of silver, and two pouches of gold. He would have to be careful with the gold. Gold might attract attention. He washed himself, changed, and headed out into the streets.
That had been six years ago. Since then he had killed at least a hundred Black Dragons. He stayed to himself. He had lived in a small hovel. People in the poorer areas didn’t ask many questions. No one bothered him. That was what gave him the opportunity to hunt the Dragons.
But it had been harder lately. The mage Anwar had killed a lot of them, according to rumors, so most of the Black Dragons were in hiding now. He had heard that Vingaza’s personal assassins were back in town. It had taken him a couple of days to track them down. Neither of them wore the Black Dragon clothing, and they had avoided the popular locations of their guild, but he had found them. He didn’t know if this meant that Vingaza was back, but those two assassins were two of the most feared Black Dragons alive. Now he was hunting them.
Jerrie knew that these two were dangerous, but he was a master at not being seen. He would walk along in crowds. He would duck behind buildings or into alleys, where he could scurry up onto a roof in seconds. He would intersect his targets or lead them. Right now, he just followed. The last thing he wanted was to try to square off against both of them in the open. He was good, but even he couldn’t win that fight. He had to surprise them. He had to take out one of them before he even knew Jerrie was there. Then he could face off against the other. That would likely be the fight of his life, and for his life.
Grundel and Rundo sat at a table at the Dancing Lady. They had arrived in Ambar late last night. This was the first inn they had found and they had taken six rooms. The other dwarves had stayed at the bar likely until early morning. Grundel and Rundo had been happy to sleep in. It was now close to noon, and they had just made it down to eat after washing away the dirt from the road that they had decided to hang onto as they fell into bed the night before.
The waitress brought over two plates piled with potatoes, rice, and some kind of fish sprinkled with black and red seasoning. Grundel was a bit nervous. He had never had fish before. He watched as Rundo went straight for it. Grundel cut a piece off with his spoon and scooped it into his mouth. It was a completely new taste to him. It was delicious. The black stuff was pepper, and he wasn’t sure what the red stuff was but it also added a little kick. He scooped up another piece and stuffed it in his mouth. He couldn’t imagine how he had never eaten this before. Well, he knew dwarves and water didn’t really mix. Dwarves floated like rocks to begin with, and they always carried a lot of weight and armor, so they avoided water. He was so intrigued by this new experience that he almost didn’t notice the two men approaching his table. Almost.
Grundel tapped his foot against Rundo’s, but then he realized that Rundo now only had one hand above the table. That was the hand that was bringing the rice to his mouth. His other hand surely was wrapped around the hilt of one of the magical daggers he kept on his thighs. Grundel only carried one of his axes on his back. The other was still up in the room. He wasn’t expecting trouble, and he didn’t have to worry about it being stolen because the blades were linked to each other and tied to his bloodline—he could call one to the other as long as he was touching one of them.
The two men stopped in front of Grundel and Rundo. Just by looking at them Grundel could tell that these men were dangerous. It was obvious in the way they carried themselves, but what really gave it away was their eyes. They were the eyes of men who had killed. Rundo turned their attention to him. “Something we can help you with, gentlemen?”
They looked at Rundo as he talked, but then turned back to Grundel. “We would like you to come with us. We have some questions.”
Grundel stood up. He didn’t want to be caught off guard if these men came at him. “What would you like to know?”
“You should really come with us,” the one on the right said.
Grundel looked at him, but before he could answer a knife had appeared in the hand of the man on the left and was coming toward him. Grundel barely had time to get his arm up. The blade opened his forearm instead of his chest.
In a flash Rundo had thrown each of his enchanted daggers. The first stuck in the arm of the man that had just stabbed Grundel. The second man had deflected the dagger with his own dagger. Both of Rundo’s daggers magically returned to their sheaths, and he had to draw both daggers now as fast as he could just to defend himself.
Rundo’s dagger had given Grundel space to draw his axe, and it had also evened the playing field. Now both he and the assassin could use only one arm. Grundel had his axe out in front of him now. Just having it in his hand made him feel better, and he went on the offensive. He kicked the table that separated them. The other assassin had jumped onto it to attack Rundo, so he had given Rundo a reprieve by kicking the table and backed his own opponent up in the process. Everyone else in the room hugged the wall as the fight began in earnest.
The space Grundel had created actually worked against him as the assassin threw his dagger. Grundel was just able to turn the blade of his axe enough to deflect the blow. It had been aimed at his other shoulder. He found it odd that someone who seemed so skilled would miss his mark twice. He didn’t have time to contemplate that, though, as the assassin was coming at him again with another knife in hand. He hadn’t even seen him draw it. Grundel was on the defensive and he knew it. The assassin was quick and able to get inside his defenses too quickly for him to use his axe. He called to his other axe. He wouldn’t be able to wield it, but he might be able to surprise this assassin. Just as he called to his other axe, he saw the assassin jerk. Then the assassin’s eyes went wide, and a look of shock came over his face. Grundel didn’t hesitate; he swung his axe in a downward stoke. It buried into the man’s shoulder and down into his chest, spraying blood and cutting into his lung. As the assassin fell to the ground Grundel saw the man behind him, who must have been the one who had helped him. He didn’t take the time to work through that.
Grundel turned toward the assassin that Rundo was fighting. “Rundo, down!” he called out.
Rundo didn’t hesitate. He heard Grundel yell and reacted, instantly dropping to the ground. He wasn’t able to keep up with the much more skilled opponent anyway, and he dropped under a blade that would have gone into his throat. Grundel’s axe hit the assassin in the chest as Rundo hit the ground. Then a bolt of lightning smashed into Grundel. The axe continued across the room and stuck in the wall. Rundo turned and threw both of his daggers at the wizard but they stopped as they made contact with his chest. The blades fell to the ground, then appeared back at his thighs. Rundo saw the glint of another blade as it flew through the air. That blade punched through the wizard’s protection and buried in his throat. The wizard’s hands went to his throat, and the man who threw the blades was at his side before his knees hit the ground.
“Here, let me help you with that,” he said, as he turned the blade and then ripped it out the side of the wizard’s throat, severing his carotid artery. Blood shot out in streams in sync with his heartbeat for a few more seconds before the man finally collapsed on the floor.
Rundo ran to Grundel, who was just getting back onto his knees. He was bleeding pretty badly from the cut on his forearm, and he his leather vest was scorched on the opposite shoulder. The shirt underneath was singed around a fist-sized hole at the pit of his arm up to his shoulder.
“He wasn’t trying to kill me. He just wanted to hurt me bad enough that he could get some kind of information,” Grundel said.
“He was a Black Dragon assassin,” said the man who’d helped them. “He would have killed you for sure, but he probably wanted something first. You’re a Stoneheart?” the man asked, looking at the brand on Grundel’s hand. Every dwarf born with Stoneheart blood was branded on the back of one hand with the image of a heart made of stone. It faded and became less noticeable with age, but the scar was always there for anyone to identify a Stoneheart dwarf. Grundel considered the
man for a minute. He would probably be dead if it weren’t for him.
“I am Grundel Stoneheart, son of Grizzle, King of Evermount.”
The man nodded as if he had expected that. “Do you have a room where we can talk?”
Grundel nodded toward the stairs. The man who had helped them fight off the assassins went to the bar, said something to the man behind it, and dropped a few coins on the bar. The bartender nodded and then the man followed Grundel and Rundo up the stairs.
Once they were back in the room, the man locked the door behind him, then went to check the window. Rundo dropped Grundel’s ridiculously heavy axe, and Grundel set the other on the bed next to him. This man had saved them down there, but they still didn’t know who he was or what he wanted.
Jerrie made sure the window was secure and then pulled the curtain to shield them. He turned back to the two who had been fighting the Black Dragons downstairs. They obviously knew something important if those assassins had attacked them in the middle of the day, and in front of all of those people like that.
“My name is Jerrie. You are Grundel Stoneheart, though I don’t understand why you are so huge. Who are you?” he asked, turning to the halfling who still kept his hands close to the knives on his legs.
“I am Rundo. I am a friend of Grundel and his father. Why did you help us down there? Not that I don’t appreciate it, but why would you get involved?”
Jerrie couldn’t help but smile. “You actually helped me. I was going to have to fight them anyway. I have been following them all morning. When they attacked you I knew it was the best chance I was going to get to kill them. They were Black Dragon assassins. The best, actually. They are Vingaza’s own bodyguards. He is their most powerful wizard, and leader of the Black Dragons in Ambar. I don’t know why they wanted you, but you are lucky that they wanted you alive, at least initially. They were trying to wound you, not kill you. That is why you were able to gain the upper hand.”
The Half Dwarf Prince Trilogy Page 6
