Michael Sullivan - Avempartha

Hadrian and Theron exchanged stunned looks.

“What is it?” Fanen asked. “It’s not dead already?”

“No,” Hadrian said. “It’s not dead already.”

“Oh good.”

“Your Highness!” A woman’s voice came from the carriage still lingering up the trail. “We need to be going-the archbishop will be waiting.”

“I’m sorry,” she told them, “I have to go. It was good seeing you again. She waved and ran back to her waiting carriage.

“We should probably be going too,” Mauvin said. “We want to get Fanen’s name as near to the top of the list as we can.”

“Wait,” Hadrian told them. “Don’t enter the contest.”

“What?” they both said.

“We rode days to get here for this,” Fanen complained.

“Take my advice. Turn around right now and head back home. Take Arista with you too and anyone else you can convince to go. If it is a competition to kill the Gilarabrywn, don’t sign up. You don’t want to fight this thing. I’m serious. You don’t know what you’re dealing with. If you try and fight this creature it will kill you.”

“But, you think you can kill it?”

“I’m not fighting it. Royce and I were just here doing a job for Theron’s daughter and we were about to leave.”

“Royce is here too?” Fanen asked, looking around.

“Do your father a favor and leave now.”

Mauvin frowned. “If you were anyone else I would take your tone as insolent, I might even call you a coward and a liar, but I know you’re neither.” Mauvin sighed and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Still, we did ride an awfully long way to just turn around. You say you were preparing to leave? When will that be?”

Hadrian looked at Theron.

“Another two days I think,” the old farmer told Hadrian. “I don’t want to go until I know Thrace will be okay.”

“Then we will stay here for that long and see for ourselves what’s what. If it turns out to be as you say, we will leave with you. Is that fair, Fanen?”

“I don’t see why you can’t go and I stay. After all, I’m the one going to enter the contest.”

“No one is going to kill that thing, Fanen,” Hadrian told him. “Listen, I have been here for three nights. I have seen it and I know what it can do. It’s not a matter of skill or courage. Your sword won’t harm it, no one’s will. Fighting that creature is nothing more than suicide.”

“I’m not deciding yet,” Fanen declared. “We aren’t even certain what the contest is. I won’t sign up right away, but I’m not leaving either.”

“Do me a favor then,” Hadrian told them, “at least stay indoors tonight.”

Something, or someone, was in the thickets.

Royce left Esrahaddon and moved away to the river’s edge, careful not to look in the direction of the sound. He descended from the rocks to the depression near the river and slipped into the trees, circling back. Something was there and it was working hard to be quiet.

At first, Royce caught a glimpse of orange and blue through the leaves and almost thought it was nothing more than a bluebird, but then it shifted. Far too large to be a bird, Royce drew closer and saw a light brown braided beard, a broad flat nose, a blue leather vest, large black boots, and a bright orange shirt with puffed sleeves.

“Magnus!” Royce greeted the dwarf loudly, causing him to stumble and fall out of the bramble. He slipped backward off the little grassy ledge and fell on his back on the bare rock not far from where Esrahaddon sat. With the wind knocked out of him, the dwarf lay gasping for breath.

Royce leapt down and placed his dagger to the dwarf’s throat.

“A lot of people have been looking for you,” Royce told him menacingly. “I have to admit, I rather wanted to see you again myself to thank you for all the help you gave me in Essendon Castle.”

“Don’t tell me this is the dwarf that killed King Amrath of Melengar?” Esrahaddon asked.

“His name is Magnus, or at least that is what Percy Braga called him. He’s a master trap builder and stone carver, isn’t that right?”

“It’s my business!” the dwarf protested, still struggling for air. “I’m a craftsman. I take jobs the same as you. You can’t fault a guy for working.”

“I almost died due to your work,” Royce told him. “And you killed the king. Alric will be very pleased when I tell him I finally eliminated you. And as I recall there’s a price on your head.”

“Wait-hang on!” Magnus shouted. “It was nothing personal. Can you tell me you never killed anyone for money, Royce?”

Royce hesitated.

“Yes, I know who you are,” the dwarf told him. “I wanted to find out who beat my trap. You used to work for the Black Diamond and not as a delivery boy either. It was my job, I tell you. I don’t care about politics, or Braga, or Essendon.”

“I suspect he’s telling the truth,” Esrahaddon said. “I’ve never known a dwarf to care at all for the affairs of humans beyond the coin they can obtain.”

“See, he knows what I am saying. You can let me go.”

“I said you were telling the truth, not that he should let you live. In fact, now that I can see you have been eavesdropping on our conversations, I have to encourage the notion of ending your life. I can’t be sure how much you heard.”

“What?” the dwarf cried.

“After slitting his throat you can just roll his little body off the ledge here.” The wizard stepped up and looked over the cliff.

“No,” Royce replied, “it will be better to toss him off the falls. He’s not that heavy; his body will likely carry all the way to the Goblin Sea.”

“Do you need his head?” Esrahaddon asked. “To take back to Alric?”

“It would be nice, but I’m not carrying a severed head for a week while traveling through those woods. It would draw every fly for miles and it would stink after a few hours. Trust me, I speak from experience.”

The dwarf looked at both of them in horror.

“No! No!” he shouted in panic as Royce pressed his blade to his neck. “I can help you. I can show you how to get to the tower!”

Royce looked at the wizard who appeared skeptical.

“For the love of Drome. I’m a dwarf. I know stone. I know rock. I know where the tunnel to the tower is.”

Royce relaxed his dagger.

“Let me live and I’ll show it to you,” he turned his head toward Esrahaddon. “And as for what I heard, I care nothing about the affairs of wizards and men. I’ll never say a word. If you know dwarves, well then you know we’re a lot like stone when we choose to be.”

“So there is a tunnel,” Royce said.

“Of course there is.”

“Before I decide,” Royce asked, “what are you doing here?”

“I was finishing another job, that’s all.”

“And what was this job?”

“Nothing sinister, I just made a sword for a guy.”

“All the way out here? Who is this person?”

“Lord Rufus somebody, I was hired to make it and deliver it to him here, honest, no traps, no killings.”

Royce heard the sound of footfalls. Someone was running up the trail. Thinking it might be the dwarf’s associates, he slipped behind Magnus. He gripped his hair, pulled his head back, and prepared to slit his throat.

“Royce!” Tad Bothwick shouted up to them from down near the water.

“What is it, Tad?” he asked cautiously.

“Hadrian sent me. He says you should come back to the village right away, but that Esra should steer clear.”

“Why?” the wizard asked.

“Hadrian said to tell you that the Church of Nyphron just arrived.”

“The church?” Esrahaddon muttered. “Here?”

“Is there a Lord Rufus with them?” Royce asked.