Barbarian Assassin (Princesses of the Ironbound Book 2)
Page 33
I winced. “Hey, crazy, I don’t even know who I am. Who are you? And what the hell?” I did know how to fight. Too bad I asked her questions rather than give her an answer.
Her lips were pulled into a snarl, but her eyes were bright with unshed tears. Whoever she’d been expecting, it was clear my showing up instead was going to have some serious consequences for her game plan, whatever that was.
She spat at my feet, spun, and ran from the courtyard. But not before I heard her breath catch in a sob. I didn’t know much right then. I did know she’d summoned the wrong guy, it had broken her heart, and the Kankar weren’t going to be very cuddly.
I felt bad and chased after her. My stomach was still torn to pieces by whatever had filled my belly with fire.
I went through a dark corridor and burst out into the awful smell of battle. The Kankar hadn’t been minutes away from their walls but seconds. When I say walls, I mean a swiss-cheesed assortment of loose bricks and stones haphazardly thrown together, interwoven with tree branches lashed together with what looked like seaweed. It smelled like it. The whole place stank of murk, rot, and smoke. Parts of the fence were burning. Black plumes boiled into the air. As for the Kankar? They stunk like a dog pound a week after a zombie apocalypse.
I was in an open space of cobblestones and empty stalls, an old-school marketplace in an old-school city. Half-timbered houses lined the market. The wooden beams were obviously ancient but holding, while the infill, a yellow mud, was flaking away. It was like I’d stumbled into a neglected European village that had been overrun with monsters.
The woman who’d summoned me, and who had insisted I should have wings, fought with her bident. She drove it into the chest of a big antlered beast thing, skin like oiled midnight. The monster stood on hooves and had legs like a horse. It also had a horse face but with big black eyes and a bright red mouth—the contrast made its hide seem darker. Instead of an herbivore’s grinding molars, it had big, meat-tearing fangs. Black antlers, like polished ebony, rose off its head. The thing wielded two short broad blades in thick three-fingered hands. Hardened leather armor hung off its shoulders, covering its chest and belly. It wore a loincloth. I was really glad about that last bit because I didn’t want my last sight on Earth—or wherever the hell I was—to be some freaky wolfed-out moose junk.
The woman’s bident pierced both the monster’s armor and its skin. Black blood dripped onto the stones.
I figured I was a little over six feet tall, the woman was five six probably, and the antlered creature, a Kankar, was a good foot or taller than I was. The monster hacked at the woman. The tattoo on her left arm flashed. Ice appeared on the creature’s sword, covering the weapon in a thin layer, before extending into the meaty hand of the thing and freezing that as well. The thing was forced to drop it. Okay, so the woman could cast spells. Sure. Because she’d summoned me, and that was a thing.
I wished she would’ve just texted.
Hey, looking for a winged hero. Interested?
I don’t have wings.
Sad face emoji. OK.
Maybe next time?
LOL. No.
Instead, she’d plucked me away from family, friends, and coffee and brought me here. Wherever here was.
The antlered man-beast shrieked in pain. I would’ve thought her initial strike would’ve killed it—being skewered on the end of her fork couldn’t have felt good. Instead, it thrashed on the end of the skewer, swinging its flat blades for all it was worth.
Other people, humans, were battling in the streets. Mostly it was women, in tunics, but a few men were there, wearing medieval chain mail. Not all of the Kankar were on foot. Some rode monstrous elk-like creatures who snorted fire from their nostrils. From their eyes blazed flames. Those big elk were the size of Clydesdales—they had to be to carry around the weight of their riders. The fire-breathers gave off a bestial stink, like a bad day at your local slaughterhouse.
I was stuck in the middle of the battle royale, in a strange place, suffering from indigestion and amnesia. Demon deer men riding hellish elk things were everywhere—that was a whole holly bush of antlers to deal with.
I had two choices. Run and hide and try to figure out what the hell was going on, or stand and fight.
There were some pretty compelling arguments for my booking out of there as fast as my red Converses would carry me, but something inside me flat-out refused to do it. I was a warrior, wings or no. I could feel it. Somehow, I knew that the universe was a nasty, dangerous place, and humans had to stick together. Besides, I couldn’t wait to see Cleopatra’s face when I saved the day.
Click here to continue reading Raider Annihilation.
Patreon
THANKS SO MUCH FOR reading Barbarian Assassin (Princesses of the Ironbound Book 2)! I’ve started a Patreon page and I’m posting cover art and chapters, and giving away free ebooks when they come out. If you can’t wait to see what happens to Ymir and his princesses, I’ll be posting chapters of the next book in the series, Barbarian Alchemist!
Also, if you have an idea for a story, or a suggestion, my Patreon page is the perfect place to reach out. That’s the thing with Patreon—if the fans want a specific story, I’ll write one, however spicy, in any of my worlds, including American Dragons, Full Frontal Galaxy, Princesses of the Ironbound, or the Son of Fire.
It’s been my lifelong dream to become a professional novelist, and I hope to share more of my journey with you as I continue to write books people love.
Sign up here at www.patreon.com/aaroncrashbooks.
Thanks again!
Dedication
FOR KELLY, WHO REALLY liked the first one.
Acknowledgements
ONCE AGAIN, DON BAUMAN and I went over the logistics of this crazy word, plot points, characters, and cool things. I owe him VIP passes to the San Diego Comic Con, several steaks, a fortune in gold bullion, and a harem of beautiful dwabs. I got your number, DB. I got your number.
Thanks to my editors, proofreaders, cover artists, formatters, and all the people who helped put the second book together. And I’m so happy that people are reading and reviewing the book. I hope I get to write a bunch more of them.
Lastly, I can’t thank my patrons on Patreon enough. In the end, this is my full-time gig, and if people are giving me money, I’ll continue to write books.
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Copyright
Barbarian Assassin 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 © 2020 by Aaron Crash and Black Forge Books.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, email the publisher, subject line “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the email address below.
JStrode@ShadowAlleyPress.com
About the Author
Aaron Crash writes adrenaline-fueled odysseys into the extreme regions of speculative fiction. If you're looking for cyborg vampires or jellyfish centaurs, you've come to the right place. He is the co-author of the War God’s Mantle series (Shadow Alley Press) and other over-the-top sci-fi/fantasy novels. He’s been an Amazon All-Star and his books have broken into Amazon’s Top 100. When he’s not wrestling the word dragons, he mountain bikes, kills pixels dead, and has been known to watch a movie or three. He lives in Colorado where he does devilish things.