Death Comes To All (Book 1) (3 page)

It
almost looks as if its back is on fire,
Drom thought, enthralled
by the little creature.

Drom
watched as the man fed it a small piece of what looked like raw meat,
although Drom didn't care to know what it was exactly. Like all
sorvinians, he was a vegetarian, and the thought of any animal eating
meat sent an unwelcome shiver down his spine.

"Your
food," the bartender said behind him, causing him to jump a
little bit. Drom turned around and saw his generous plate of greens
sitting on the bar before him. The bartender grinned, or at least
Drom supposed it was a grin. All he could see were the sharp,
wolf-like teeth.

"Thank
you," Drom said simply. The bartender merely grunted and
returned to his work.

Drom
fell into his food with gusto. He hadn't realized just how hungry he
had been. He had run out of the food his mother had packed for him
the day before, and so hadn't eaten at all that day. He had known he
was close to the city, and so hadn't thought it all that important.
He was not used to skipping meals though, and skipping an entire days
worth of them had certainly given him an appetite.

So
intent was he on his meal that he hadn't even realized that the door
to the bar had opened, and a new group had entered. The newcomers
walked in and their leader strode up behind him imperiously.

"You're
sitting in my seat," a deep voice growled from behind him. Drom
turned around to see a huge barrel chest standing above him.

He
looked up into the frightening visage of a huge trog. The man had to
be eight and half feet tall, Drom guessed. He easily dwarfed Drom, as
well as everyone else in the bar.

He
wore what appeared to Drom to be the uniform of the city guard,
though he had tied the top half of the uniform around his waist,
leaving his heavily muscled upper body bare. His hairless, dark grey
skin was slightly lighter on his chest and face than it was on the
rest of the visible portion of his body. Massive ivory tusks
protruded horizontally from his cheekbones, and together with four
inch long cuspids on his lower jaw gave him the most horrifying
visage that Drom had ever seen.

"I
said you're sitting in my seat," the trog repeated. "You'll
go somewhere else if you know what's good for you."

Behind
the trog, clearly backing him up, were nearly a dozen trills. Before
he had left his farm his mother had warned Drom about these two
races. Trills were only about four and a half feet tall at best, but
made up for their small stature by traveling in numbers. They often
traveled together with a trog leading the group, such as this one.

They
barely followed the rules, on those occasions when they obeyed them
at all. Some cities wouldn't even let them through the gates, but
open port cities such as this one allowed in anyone as long as they
brought capital to the city, and most mages cared little about how
that capital was gained as long as they got their cut. Trogs and
trills generally worked as mercenaries or guards. When they couldn't
find honest work or just didn't take an interest in it, they often
became pirates and thieves.

"I'll
move," Drom said quickly, not wanting to cross this dangerous
foe. He quickly gathered his plate and moved a few stools down,
almost to the end of the bar. He quietly turned and went back to his
meal, hoping that the trog was only trying to make a statement and
wasn't looking for trouble.

"That's
my seat too," he heard the trog say, once more moving up behind
him. "In fact, all of these are my seats. Get the hell outta
here. I don't wanna have to smell your kind while I'm drinking."

Behind
the trog Drom could see the three dreks shuffled out of the door as
quietly as they could, and the two sloveckii wasted no time in
following them. This trog was obviously looking for trouble, and they
didn't want to have any part of it. Drom didn't either, but it was
beginning to look like this trog wasn't planning on giving him any
choice.

The
bartender moved as if to slip out the back door into the kitchen, but
wasn't given the chance. Unexpectedly, the man that had been sitting
in the corner came over to the bar and pointedly sat in the stool
Drom had previously occupied.

"Bring
me an ale," he said to the bartender, completely ignoring the
trog, who eyed him fiercely.

"You
gotta problem little man?" the trog asked, moving over to stand
behind him.

"Not
as long as you step a little farther back," the man answered.
"It smells like you haven't bathed in a month."

"I
think you need to be taught some manners," the trog returned
angrily. Behind him the trills gibbered expectantly, looking forward
to the trog's method of teaching a lesson. It was unlikely they would
get involved themselves, at least not until the trog had already
beaten the man to a pulp, which Drom was certain was about to happen.

This
strange man in the black uniform is obviously out of his mind,
he
thought. Not even one of the great mages would try to pick a fight
with a trog at close range.

"I'd
be shocked if you actually thought about anything," the man
replied, his voice so low Drom could barely hear him from where he
was sitting only a few feet away. "You don't strike me as
someone who's burdened with an over-abundance of brains. How about
you do yourself a favor and take your little pack of rodents out of
here before someone gets hurt."

"Someone's
gonna get hurt all right," the trog bellowed loudly, causing the
dragonling to fly off the man's shoulder. It flew up to the rafters
where it settled itself on one of the crossbeams. "That
someone's gonna be you!"

The
trog pulled back his right arm, dropping it hard on what should have
been the top of the foolish man's head. The man, however, was no
longer there. The blow continued downward to shatter the bar stool he
had been sitting on into splinters, throwing shards of wood in every
direction. The trog started to turn his massive frame around to
search for his prey, but before the giant completed his rotation it
was already too late.

The
man in black did not pull his weapon, nor did it seem that he needed
to. In a movement so quick that Drom, who was nothing more than a
bystander at that point, could just barely follow, the man spun with
a vicious kick to the back of the trog's head. Like a tree under the
woodman's ax the trog toppled to the floor, unconscious.

Trills
are not normally known for attacking a superior combatant, which this
man had certainly proven himself to be, but their leader had just
been beaten with one swift kick. Individually they were not
dangerous, but there were a dozen of them in the room, giving them
the courage they normally would not have possessed by themselves, and
they had to defend their leader. The entire group of them pulled
their weapons and attacked.

Drom
had never seen anyone move the way the strange man before him did.
The trills charged, swinging their short, wicked looking weapons
wildly, but not a single blade touched its intended target.

He
slipped through them like a shadow, laughing hysterically like a wild
man the entire time, as if the entire fight was nothing more than a
game to him. Each movement he made was fast, precise, and
devastating. In seconds he had reduced the numbers of the trills by
half, and he still hadn't pulled his weapon.

The
remaining trills backed off, spreading out in an attempt to surround
the man, but it was useless. Their movements only served to make
things that much easier for him. He laughed and leaped forward to
attack the trills instead. He appeared to be thoroughly enjoying
himself, or so it seemed to Drom. Within a minute every single trill
was on the bar room floor, either unconscious or dead, Drom wasn't
certain of which.

"If
you're finished with your workout we should be going," said a
high feminine voice. Drom followed the sound to see the woman who had
been sitting with the strange man slide out from behind the table in
the corner. "The chances are good that those dreks will bring
the city guard down on our heads. I don't think we should be here to
greet them when they arrive. They're not exactly fond of you Garan.
We need to finish up here and get going."

"Don't
remind me," the man she had named as Garan replied. "What
do we do with the boy?"

It
took Drom a moment to realize that Garan was referring to him.

"It's
up to him, and to you," the woman said with a shrug. "I
don't mind if he joins us. If he does, he's your responsibility. I
don't have to remind you that we don't have time to wait around for
him. If he can't keep up I have no problems leaving him behind."

Garan
turned, looking directly at him for the first time. It seemed to Drom
as if his dark brown eyes penetrated directly into his soul. "You
should know boy, that the trog who was trying to pick a fight with
you is a member of the city guard," he said at last. "He
tends to pick fights wherever he goes, then has whoever he assaults
thrown in the prison. He thinks it's fun. The rest of the guards put
up with him because he's handy in a fight. He's been getting away
with it for years."

Garan
walked over to the fallen trog and unsheathed the sword that had
stayed in his belt up to then. In one swift motion he stabbed
downward, imbedding the long blade through the back of the man's
neck. Drom heard a brief gurgling sound that lasted only a second,
then the trog fell silent, dead.

"He
won't be doing
that
anymore," Garan continued. He
whistled, a low, short sound, and the dragonling that had been
waiting up on the rafters flew back down to its perch on his
shoulder. "I don't know what you were planning on doing before
now, but you shouldn't stay here. The guard will be looking for
someone to blame, and the dreks would have seen this trog picking a
fight with you before they left. I'd say it's likely that they'll
throw you in the dungeon if you're still here. Most of the guards in
this city aren't much better than this one was. You can come with us,
if you think you can keep up."

"Why
would I want to go with you?" Drom asked, trying to sort through
the confusion that jumbled his thoughts. "I just watched you
murder that trog. I know he seemed like a bad sort of guy, but he was
already out cold. You didn't really need to kill him. How do I know
you won't just kill me as soon as we get to wherever it is you're
going?"

"If
I was going to kill you boy, you'd already be dead and I would be
gone from here," Garan replied casually. "I certainly
wouldn't be offering to help you get out of the city. I can promise
you that the guards will be scouring the city looking for you if they
don't find you here. I've never seen anyone who looks quite like you
do, and the guard isn't completely incompetent. If you don't have
somewhere to go they will eventually find you. Come on. I'll at least
help you get out of the city and you can decide where you want to go
from there."

"You
still haven't told me why you murdered him," Drom said
hesitantly.

What
Garan is saying does make sense, but there is more to things than
what I know. That much is certain
.

"I
didn't murder him, technically," Garan answered. "A murder
is committed by someone who wants a person dead. I didn't want him
dead. I wouldn't care less. However, someone else wanted that one
dead, and that person is paying me quite well to kill him. So
technically this was an assassination, not a murder. Look, I would
love to stand here explaining the difference to you in greater
detail, but the guards will be here soon. As my companion so kindly
pointed out a moment ago, they don't care for me much, and no one is
paying me to kill any of them. So I'm leaving. Come with us or not,
it's your choice, but I simply don't have time to discuss it any
longer."

Garan
pulled his blade out of the trog's neck, wiped it off on the dead
man's trousers, and returned the weapon to its sheath. Without
another word he headed out of the inn into the night. Drom paused for
a moment or two, then, realizing that he really had little choice in
the matter, hurried out into the night to follow him.

Garan
and his unknown companion were waiting for him outside of the door.
The dragonling ruffled its wings, as if impatient to be off.

"I
was starting to think you weren't going to come," Garan said. "I
would have been gone in another minute. You've made the right
decision. You've just increased your chances of survival
considerably. Let's get going. We'll talk more once we put a few
miles between us and the city. There's a place we can get over the
city wall not far from here."

Without
another word he strode off into the night, with Drom following close
behind.

Chapter
Two

The
three of them traveled nearly half the night before stopping to rest.
Drom guessed they had gone perhaps five miles, though he couldn't
know for certain. He was not used to traveling so hard in the dark of
night. By the time they had stopped his wide, hairy feet were already
incredibly sore. He had been traveling all day before reaching the
city, and had not rested at the inn for nearly long enough before the
three of them fled.

He
had also not eaten much that day. The plate of greens he had paid for
at the inn was only partially eaten before the chaos at the inn had
forced his flight from the city. Not nearly enough to sustain a large
sorvinian, even a half human one.

Garan
and his companion did not seem to be tiring at all. Drom thought
that, had he not been with them, they might very well have continued
that pace for another day or more without stopping. More than once he
considered changing direction and leaving the two, but he barely knew
where he was. They had not kept to any of the roads after leaving the
city, and Drom suspected that if he went off on his own he might
never find his way.