TRADING KNIVES
by P. H. Solomon
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Table of Contents
A Preview of The Bow of Destiny
Contents
Title
Notices
Maps
Author's Notes
Section 1
Section 2
Section 3
Section 4
Section 5
The Bow of Destiny Sample Chapter
An Arrow Against the Wind Sample Chapter
The White Arrow Excerpt
About the Author
Additional Works
Notices
Trading Knives 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 2015 by P. H. Solomon, Second Edition Copyright 2016 by P. H. Solomon
Excerpt for The Bow of Destiny Copyright 2015 by P. H. Solomon
All maps are the property of the author, Copyright 2015 by P. H. Solomon
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming title The Bow of Destiny by P. H. Solomon. This excerpt has been formatted for this book only and may not reflect the final content for the forthcoming edition.
EBook ISBN: 9781310217753
Cover image licensed/commissioned through iStockPhoto
MAPS
Northeast Denaria
From the Sigoth Range to Dragon's Maw
Hart, Rok & Surrounding Lands
Author's Notes
This short story, Trading Knives, covers events some 300 years before those occurring in The Bow of Destiny. As such, this tale is a prequel meant to acquaint the reader with the world of Denaria and a few of the characters appearing in the upcoming title, The Bow of Destiny. Future short stories will cover further details that affect other characters but will also pre-date events occurring in The Bow of Destiny. Thanks for reading this short story and please take a look at the sample chapter for the novel at the end.
1
Knife blades flashed between the assailants in the lamp light. Two men lunged and dodged each other in the fighting pit. Their feet scuffed through sawdust as they danced death. The crowd above them waved their betting scraps and shouted curses or encouragements at the circling combatants.
Some shouted for the tall, slender man with the hooked nose and shaved head. "Corgren! Corgren!" His lips remained partially parted like a snarl.
Others cried for the heavier man with pale hair and blue eyes that identified him as Hartian. "Hacker! Hacker!" Hacker flexed his free hand, prepared to hammer the other man with a stunning blow.
Sweat glistened on the fighters' bare chests in the flickering light. They feinted attacks and sliced with their flashing daggers. They circled. Hacker lunged at him.
Corgren slipped away from his opponent's slash. He stabbed and slashed counter-strokes, connecting to flesh at last. "I'll take your knife in trade for your life, son of a dog."
The cut trailed along Hacker's forearm as he held back a moment. "You're mine, Rokan cur!" His eyes narrowed and he flicked blood from his hand.
Corgren stood still, his snarl spreading into a grin. He had this oaf's measure now. He'd relish killing a proud Hartian on his own floor. Corgren spread his arms, inviting an attack.
The crowd howled.
Hacker hesitated. The crowd jeered him until he clenched his jaw and charged.
Corgren dodged aside and grabbed Hacker's arm. He jammed the knife into his opponent's right shoulder and ripped it from the wound.
Hacker roared his pain.
Corgren snapped his head away from the counter-strike of the opposite fist.
Hacker withdrew, struggling with his grip on his dagger. Blood gushed over his arm.
Corgren circled like a predator. He'd take his time now. He chuckled. Bleed, rat-faced Hartian. He hated them all. He feinted a stab and leapt around to Hacker's free hand as it jabbed past his face. He sliced the left shoulder and arm and laughed at the answering scream. It was a deep cut.
The bloodied Hartian staggered close to Corgren, then slashed.
Corgren dodged and cut his opponent's face.
Hacker screamed again. He held his face, gasping, every breath punctuated with a grunt.
It wouldn't be long now. He read resignation in Hacker's eyes. He'd kill him now. Corgren lowered his hands.
The bloodied man's eyes narrowed. He gritted his teeth and charged, knife slashing.
Corgren dodged left of his wounded opponent. He flicked his knife at the exposed neck. The blade gashed him.
Hacker fell to his knees, knife dropped in the dust and forgotten. Blood spurted across the ring. The crowd roared approval as Hacker collapsed and bled his life into the sawdust.
He retrieved Hacker's blade as a trophy. He strutted around the ring, arms raised in the adulation. One less Hartian in the world to trouble his Rokan brethren. He quickly ducked out of the ring's door into rooms for the fighters. He sheathed the knives, found a bucket of water and cleaned blood from his torso and arms.
Paugren entered from another door, his nose only slightly less hooked than Corgren's. "Good work." Corgren's brother slapped him on the shoulder. "Any injuries? No? Good, I'll go collect the winnings."
Corgren caught the flash of the strange tattoo on his brother's inner forearm. It was a few months old and Paugren never explained where he'd gotten the matching pair on each forearm. Corgren splashed water in his face. "Careful. These dirty Hartians will cheat us if they can and attack us for no reason."
Paugren grinned. "I can handle this man and his hirelings. They think I've no stomach for them but they don't know I've taught you everything."
Corgren found his shirt as his brother exited the room. Paugren was his teacher and sparring partner. He was good but Corgren was better. It took a firm stomach to manage Corgren's bouts as much as it took him to fight in the ring. It was tough but lucrative. Far better than being a laborer for Hartians.
2
Later, Corgren stood in the dark street with the Hart River but a stone's throw away. Moored trade and fishing boats bumped the wharves. Paugren was taking too long. He turned to go in search of his brother. Someone moved in the shadows. He touched his knife-handle. "Who's there?"
A man in a cloak stepped closer, hands in front of him. "Easy, I mean no harm."
Corgren glanced behind the stranger. He might not do him harm but he might be the distraction for fellow ruffians to attack. No one else was there. "What do you want?"
The fellow stood straight and looked him in the eyes. "I saw you fight, well done. You are good - and lucky, friend."
Corgren sniffed. "Thanks but there's no luck to it. And we're not friends."
The other man's teeth flashed with a smile in the wan street-lamps. "Perhaps not yet. But I can help you."
Corgren waved his hand with frown. "And want some money in return. Be gone before I try my luck on you."
The stranger shook his head. "I've come to make you an offer. Surely you wish to hear that you can be more than you are now?"
"We have enough."
"You think so? There are men who will make your bouts harder, demand more of your winnings as a cut. If you don't agree to their demands, they'll force it out of you or kill you."
He leaned back against the wall of the building and crossed his arms. "That's nothing new. But how do you know so much?" Paugren might be in trouble but he'd find out what that stranger really wanted and then help his brother.
The stranger shrugged. "They're my men."
Corgren surged from his spot, grabbed the other man and slammed him into the wall. "What have you done with Paugren? Who are you?" He pressed the knife at his throat.
The other man pried his grip loose and pushed the knife-point away without effort. "My name is not spoken openly. Don't worry, Paugren is fine - enjoying a woman at the moment, I think."
Corgren took a step back and flexed his fingers. This man got loose from him so easily. He squinted at the stranger's half-hidden face in the hood."How do you know that? Or know about my brother?" But it's just like Paugren.
The stranger sniffed. "She's mine too."
Corgren cocked his head and his eyebrows climbed. "Everyone is in your employ around here?"
The stranger chuckled. "It's not so simple - and no. But I know who works for me and what they're doing."
He started to walk away. "I want none of what you're selling, whoever you are."
"Don't be so sure."
"What does that mean?" Corgren paused.
"I offer you much more than you have now or could ever gain fighting in the rings along this river. Money and power. Power, perhaps, to set the accounts straight between Hart and your own people in Rok."
He crossed his arms. "What of that?"
The stranger straightened his cloak. "I saw your face. I know a grudge when I see one."
"What do you want me to do?"
"My influence rises and will continue like a flood for years to come. I need good men like you to assist me with my work."
Corgren rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know." He needed to know more of this man's intentions. He suspected it was largely illegal. "Sounds like you want me to serve you somehow." But if he could move against Hart somehow... "I'll have to think about it."
The other man patted his shoulder. "A wise man thinks through his options." He started to leave but turned back. "Just remember, service to me is far more rewarding than to Hart - or petty thieves. But know this; you won't always be the fastest in the ring - or the most skilled, or the luckiest." He turned into the shadows.
"How will I find you?"
"I'll find you when the time comes." The stranger faded into the night.
Corgren turned in the following silence and almost walked into an old man in a wide-brimmed hat. "Watch out, you drunk." He started past the stranger after a glance at his hands and the surrounding shadows. Paugren dawdled too long.
"You should watch out for that one. He's an old trickster and a danger at that." The oldster thrust a thumb over his shoulder where the stranger in the cloak had disappeared.
"What's that?" He whirled to the newcomer. "You know him? Who are you?"
"I know him alright, and he'll do you no favors. But I'm doing you one now with a warning about him. Trust me."
Corgren bent to look under the hat-brim. He couldn't quite see the old man's face, though he caught the glint of a blue eye in the street-lamps. "Well I'll be the judge of that. But thanks for the warning." He strolled for the warehouse door to wait for Paugren.
"Lucinda wouldn't like him. She'd tell you that. She wouldn't trust him at all."
He froze, then whirled. The street was empty. "What did you say? Where'd you go?" He hadn't even heard footsteps. He couldn't know Lucinda. Could he? He didn't recognize the old man.
"What're you yelling at? Drunk already?" Paugren clambered out of the warehouse with a grin and a jug.
He scowled. "Just somebody bothering me. Where've you been?"
Paugren paused, narrowing his eyes at Corgren's tone. "Settling up, where else?"
"Took your time. Probably stopped to spend my hard-earned money on a woman."
Corgren's brother flinched, mouth agape, and then recovered himself with a shrug. "You can get one too."
He sniffed and shook his head. "Not one of those women, no matter how soft." He turned to go to their boat. "C'mon, let's go before a band of these rats come looking for our winnings."
Paugren tugged his clothing straight and followed with a slight jingle at his side. "What's wrong with you? Didn't the win satisfy you?"
"Nothing's wrong. Just come on. We've been here too long. We're going to get too much attention and we can't fight off a throng."
In a few minutes they cast off, gained the current and left the town in their wake. Paugren stretched and yawned once they were away. His sleeve slipped down, revealing the extent of the tattoo by the lamp light.
"Why do you have that on your arm? People might think you serve the dragon of that old cult." He reached for his brother's arm.
Paugren flinched out of Corgren's reach and yanked his sleeve down. But a smile flicked on his face. "This? I like the dragon. It's my new symbol. Tough, I think."
He sat at the tiller. "I doubt the Hartians will like it much, let alone anyone else."
His brother shrugged and settled onto a heap of wares they were carrying down-river as extra income. He yawned again, lay back and stared at the stars.
Corgren shook his head. "You had too much wine with that woman. You're lucky she didn't rob you."
Paugren chuckled. "She wouldn't do that."
"How do you know that?"
"Trust me, she wouldn't"
Corgren wiped his mouth and furrowed his brow. That stranger said the woman served him. Did Paugren know that man and trust his servants? He scowled at his brother. Was there something Paugren had gotten them into, that he wasn't telling Corgren? There was more going on than trusting a whore and mysterious tattoos.
Corgren steered the river-boat as the stars twinkled. Lucinda liked starry nights like this. He frowned. She was dead at the hands of Hartian thugs, no sense mooning about her.
A large shadow crossed the sky. He blinked. "What was that?"
Paugren didn't answer. He lay asleep already and a soft snore escaped his lips.
Corgren scanned the sky again. Nothing there. He shrugged, glad to be drifting on the current. That stranger meant too much attention for him; best skip a few towns before they arranged anymore fights.
Though Corgren intended traveling farther, he later tied up along the bank. He was tired from his victory and Paugren never stirred from his slumber. He took the purse full of Hartian coin, checked the amount and hid it with their other stash under a loose board in the cabin that served as their shared room and storage.
Paugren was careless sometimes. More so lately. Corgren rubbed the back of his neck. If what that stranger said was true, they needed more care. He shrugged with a yawn. At least they were away from any ruffians for the night - and hopefully several days. He shook his head. Skipping several towns meant missing opportunities for hauls and fights in the rings. But taking care was best.
Corgren threw a blanket over Paugren and then stretched out under one himself near the bow. He drew his knife and lay with it at his side. Just in case. Rats were plentiful on the Hart River and not just Hartians. He yawned and gave into sleep.
3
A hollow thud jostled Corgren. His eyes flicked open at the muttered curse. He turned his head. Another river-boat bobbed against their own.
Several figures slipped over the side. Corgren threw his blanket aside and leapt to his feet. He brandished his knife. "Be gone, or you'll feed fish tonight!"
"Easy there, friend." It was a Hartia
n by the accent. "We only want to talk."
"I've no need of talk with thieves in the dark."
In the dim light, the speaker spread his hands. Four others fanned out on either side. Two more men loomed in the other boat. "We've only come to collect the Ring-master's toll. You left before paying him your respects and his cut of your winnings."
"I don't know your master and owe him nothing. I've made no deal with him."
"He's just stretching into the rings along the river now. You win often so you'll bring him plenty. There's enough for you and him."
Corgren spit. "Hartian dogs! Away from this boat or I'll teach you lessons from the ring."
"Oh, so we're to trade knives? At him, boys!"
The four attackers shuffled toward Corgren on the deck. Knives flashed in the dim light.
Corgren feinted toward one. "Paugren! Get up!" He slashed an arm that entered his reach.
The injured attacker cursed him and then stabbed at Corgren. He stepped aside and slashed at the exposed neck. The ruffian gurgled and stumbled away, falling overboard.
The others slashed and stabbed.
Corgren danced aside. Two knives bit his arm. He slashed back. "Whores-sons! Paugren! Up you lout!"
The attackers feinted at Corgren now, surrounding him, forcing him against the cabin. Blood drenched his arm.
One attacker lunged.
Corgren grabbed the arm and whirled with him out of the midst of attackers. His foot caught on a coiled rope. He stabbed the ruffian in his hold as he fell. His head slammed into the gunwale and everything went blacker than night for a moment. Stars swam with deeper spots of darkness. Corgren blinked. A knife pricked his chin. Someone stepped on his knife hand. He groaned.
The first ruffian squatted beside him. "You mother was a slut like all Rokan women!"
That was what they called Lucinda in the street that night. The voice - he knew this man. One of Lucinda's murderers. Corgren tried to snap an insult but it escaped his lips as senseless garble.
"You'll pay with all your winnings and triple from the next one, Rokan. Tell us where the money is!"
Corgren stirred. His eyes blinked. No. He had to fight them. Do something to the rats! Spots floated in his vision, his limbs failed to respond to the urgency.
A shout of words - in a foreign tongue - shattered the silence over the river.
His attackers groaned, then screamed. "It burns! Help!" They tore at their clothes.
Corgren blinked. There were no flames.
All of the attackers leaped the rails. They floundered in the water and screamed louder. Someone else moved, cutting ropes between the boats. Paugren! At last! His brother tossed a lantern onto the other deck. He slashed them free of their mooring and poled them away from the bank so they caught the current. The other boat drifted in growing flames, the thug’s screams lost in the rising roar.
Corgren attempted standing but slipped to the deck.
Paugren's face hovered over him. "We're safe. Let me look at you." A lamp gleamed nearby them.
Corgren winced at the brightness and squeezed his eyes shut.
"Those are bad cuts. Did you hit your head?"
He shivered but nodded.
Paugren drew the blanket over Corgren. "Just rest. I'll steer us down-river."
4
Afterward, Corgren wanted for coherence as darkness or light clouded his vision each time he opened his eyes. Sometimes Paugren's face, brow furrowed below his shock of dark hair, hovered over his waking confusion. Once he only recognized his brother from their familial hooked-nose.
Twice, he heard conversation outside the boat cabin, but only once he understood a few words.
Paugren's voice hissed, "He'll come around, I tell you. He'll take the marks."
"He'd better after all I've done. He'll recover now. You should have called for me sooner." Boots clapped on the deck as the other left while he spoke.
Corgren's consciousness slipped away. He grimaced. That voice sounded familiar. Whose was it? He relaxed, his breathing shallow. It was, it was - .
He fell into tattered dreams of knives and cloaked figures. People laughed in a street. Lucinda screamed. Her faced danced to stillness, pale in shadow. So beautiful, her oval face with high cheeks, soft skin and - . Her supple lips didn't spread into her sunny smile. Her eyes, dark and lively, remained closed.
Lucinda? Lucinda!
Blood splashed her face. Her eyes snapped open. Her face contorted with the terror of death.
Corgren sat up, gasping. Sweat covered his torso and he threw off his blanket. He rubbed his hand over his shaved pate. It was sweaty and there was stubble grown out. He winced at a painful knot on his scalp. "Paugren." His voiced croaked with thirst. He swung his feet off the bunk. "Paugren."
Bare feet slapped on the deck and Paugren burst through the cabin door. "Hey, you're awake."
"Water." He stood weak knees. "What happened?"
Paugren steadied him. "The thieves in the night. You hit your head." Paugren guided him to a chair and set a cup of water on the table for him.
"Yes." His head wobbled and he shot his brother a smile. "We sent them on their way."
"Barely." Paugren's grin spread weakly.
"How long have I been down?"
"You've been in and out for a week. Been talking nonsense - and about her too - but you took a good turn yesterday."
"Where are we?" It was dusk outside but was it night or dawn? "What's the time?" Corgren drank the entire cup and poured more.
"It's near dawn. We're tied up well below Astor."
He frowned. "So far? Why not at the wharf?"
His brother started work on a meal. "With you hurt, I just kept us moving. I didn't want to lay-up at the wharf in case there might be trouble from that crowd."
Corgren nodded. "Yes, they said their leader was looking to take a cut from ring-fighters."
"Is that so?" Paugren paused over the porridge. "I wondered what they were after other than the money."
Corgren clenched his fists and relaxed them. "We'll have to be more careful - or pay their tax." He reached for bowls and spoons from his chair.
"We'll make plenty anyway. I've even delivered that last shipment so we're doing very well now." Paugren paused at his stirring and patted Corgren's shoulder. "We'll be fine."
Corgren blinked and scowled. The edge of Paugren's dragon tattoo peaked from under his sleeve. He furrowed his brow. That voice. It had been the stranger that made the offer to him. There was more going on here than Paugren let on. He narrowed his eyes at his brother's back when Paugren turned back to the griddle. He cleared his throat. "Still, how long can our luck last. These Hartians always want money - at the wharves and now from winnings."
Paugren spooned out their breakfast. "That's not just us, they have fees for all shipping."
"But there's more to it than that." He blew on his porridge and his stomach rumbled. "They won't let us prosper long. How long can I remain lucky in the ring?" He was weak as a newborn now.
"You'll be fine in a week or so." Paugren tasted his food, winced and cooled his burned tongue with a quick gulp of water.
Corgren shook his head and sat back in his chair. "If I keep winning, they'll just demand I fight two, then three, then more. I'll need more than skill."
"That won't happen. I won't set us up against such odds." Paugren grinned and looked Corgren in the eyes. "But were you thinking of something?"
Corgren lifted his chin. "Where'd you get those tattoos."
Paugren shifted his gaze to his bowl and tried the porridge again with greater care. "Somewhere upriver. Went drinking to setup a fight."
Corgren tested his porridge and found it cooler. He ate his fill and pushed the empty bowl away as he sat back. "Those men that night on our boat, they jumped overboard like they were burning. Someone shouted strange words. Was that you?"
His brother shrugged. "Yeah, I suppose I shouted to get them off you."
"It was a foreign la
nguage and they went for the river fast, like something burned them."
"I didn't hear anything like that. You hit your head." Paugren patted his head. "You were confused is all."
"Yeah, I suppose. But who else did I hear on the boat once when I woke?"
Paugren's eyes narrowed and he cocked his head. "Likely when I delivered those furs."
"He was talking about me, not a shipment."
"There was no one else aboard."
"There was, who was it? You knew him."
Paugren rose. "Look, I'll get the boat moving. You clear the table and rest today."
Corgren clenched his fists and resisted pulling a knife. He couldn't - wouldn't - threaten his brother. "There was. I've talked to him before, after my last fight."
Paugren paused in the doorway. "I don't know what you're talking about. Now let me get us going so we can arrange at least a shipment while you're recovering."
Corgren relaxed in his bunk for a while after Paugren castoff from the riverbank and they drifted on the current. Thunder rolled across the river by mid-morning and Paugren returned for his rain slicker.
"Paugren, thanks for everything you've done." Corgren leaned on one elbow. He wanted his brother to know they weren't enemies. They were all the two of them had.
His brother answered Corgren's words with a short nod.
"I'll put coffee on."
Paugren nodded again and stepped toward the door. He sighed in the doorway and turned his head. "He can help us in ways we never imagined."
Corgren sat on the side of the bunk. "How? What does he want?"
"That's for him to tell."
"Is he Hartian?"
"No. But he wants to help us - help southern Rok where Hart is concerned."
Corgren rubbed the stubble on his head, avoiding the tender knot. "Who is he? Is it that old dragon cult?"
Paugren touched his right forearm. "His identity is for him to reveal. What he's up to is his own business. But he wants us to work with him."
"He wants our service? Wouldn't that be as bad as serving Hartians?
Paugren turned further, his eyes wide. "He's very powerful. Our service is small compared to what he can do."
He crossed his arms. "And what happened the night we were attacked? Was that from him?"
"He taught me that, the words of power."
"Spells, you mean?"
Paugren nodded. "You have a decision to make, brother. One that affects both of us - and, maybe, Rok." His brother left him with those words and tended the boat.
Rain soon pattered on the deck. Corgren heated coffee and left it warm for his brother. If only he knew what to do. Paugren was more impetuous than he was. That stranger had given Paugren that spell. He’d also done something to heal Corgren's injuries - he was certain of that. What that man wanted and what he could do concerned Corgren though.
5
Within the week, he sparred with Paugren using wooden sticks. His weakness haunted him worse than dreams of Lucinda and he took many a bruise from the work. But over several weeks, he regained his fighting form and soon bested his brother with his usual ease. By that time they had traveled up-river with a small sail and poles and landed at Astor with a shipment of wool from Harport on the coast. Corgren paid the dock fee while Paugren left to arrange a bout in the ring.
Paugren soon returned with a broad grin. He waved the agreement at his brother when he stepped off the gangplank. "It's the best pay yet!"
"How much?" Corgren crossed his arms. Their best had been ten thousand Hartian credits, mostly in paper notes and those had been hard to trade for coin. He doubted his brother's claim.
Paugren leaned close. "Twenty-five." His triumphant grin broadened more.
"What? Who?" He snatched the agreement away. It must be someone good - very good - for that amount.
"Mad Morcus!" Paugren looked around but there was no one close.
Corgren suppressed a groan. He wasn't ready. He swallowed. "An equal my first time back?" Egual? Mad Morcus might be better. He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat.
Paugren slapped him on the shoulder. "You'll be fine. Besides, it was the only one they offered."
Corgren paced away. There was nothing for it. They'd lose money - and standing - if he backed out. "When?"
"Tomorrow night."
"Then I better sharpen my knife."
Paugren shuffled his feet and cleared his throat. "There's one more thing. That 'ring-master' has men in town. They'll try to force us to pay their fees."
Corgren narrowed his eyes. "We'll see about that. Let's make sure the boat is ready just in case."
They spend the rest of the afternoon planning their escape the following night. But Corgren suppressed his doubts. If only he could win. He knew Mad Morcus by reputation though. It was rumored the man was faster than thought and fought in a crazed style.
After a restless night, Corgren rose early and began his fight-day activities, though he mainly rested. Once evening arrived, he and Paugren walked to the old warehouse which housed the fighting ring. He stripped to the waist and checked his knife.
Paugren massaged Corgren's shoulders. "Remember, he may be quick and unorthodox in his style but he's got tells. Watch for them." Paugren finished the massage and patted his bare shoulders. "Good fighting, brother." They grasped hands and Paugren departed for the stands.
Corgren stood alone for a few moments, thankful that they kept opponents apart so the fight stayed in the ring for the paying patrons. His stomach flopped. It wasn't unusual that he experienced nerves. But this was different. He now faced his injury as well as an equal fighter.
"You shouldn't fight tonight, really, never like this."
Corgren jumped and whirled. The old man in the hat stood by the door. "How'd you get in here?" He squinted. He never heard the door at all.
The old man spread his arm, hands up. "I came in with you."
He touched his knife. "You weren't with me."
"Easy, I mean no harm. Just giving free warning. With your head you shouldn't fight. And, no matter what, don't say yes to the other one."
"Who are you? How do you know so much?" He stepped around the table in the room.
The old man never moved. "In some countries I'm called Eloch."
Corgren laughed. "If you're that old wife's-tale of a god then I'm King of Hart." There hadn't been a king in Hart for centuries.
Eloch, or whoever he was, smiled but said nothing.
The crowd-noise rose beyond the ring-door. Corgren turned and put his hand on the door. "Even if I believed, I must fight or face near ruin." He turned back to an empty room. He laughed but his stomach flopped. Must be his nerves. Really. But he'd never seen visions of people before a fight. He held out his hands. They were steady.
He sighed and turned to the door against which washed the muffled chatter of the crowd. He opened it and stepped onto the sawdust. An excited chatter rose with a few cheers or shouts of acknowledgment.
Corgren took a deep breath and the familiar scent of pine sap from the sawdust chased the flutters from his stomach. He turned to the stands beyond the rough, wooden walls where torch and pipe smoke mingled in a haze. Men laid their bets, others pointed at him, their eyes often unfocused from hard drinking.
Paugren stood near Corgren's door, grinning his excitement. He promised he'd remain sober in case they needed a quick escape.
Behind Paugren loomed another person; the man who offered him power for his service. The stranger's lower face showed beneath his hood. He watched for Corgren's decision. The question hung between them. Corgren swung his arms to keep loose. Best let that offer lie rather than distract him.
Cheers rose from the crowd. Corgren's opponent had entered. Paugren gaped and shifted his eyes between him and the man on the other side of the ring. Corgren faced his opponent, froze and gaped as well.
It couldn't be! But it was. One of Lucinda's killers! If his stomach were a kettle it would have boiled. His eyes narrowed.
Mad Morcus was Murderer Morcus. He was certain of the fact. The faces of those rats were etched in Corgren's memory. They had laughed as they rode away from Lucinda's blood-drenched body while he had held her.
Someone spoke and Corgren returned to the moment. His chest heaved to the point that he groaned with each breath. He gritted his teeth as the announcer shouted their names to the gathered throng.
The bell thundered in Corgren's ears. He rushed straight for Mad Morcus and slashed at his throat. For a moment, the murderer's narrow face hesitated before he twisted away.
Morcus countered with slash and a whirling punch.
The knife drew but a thin scratch yet the punch landed squarely in Corgren's kidney. His direct attack almost cost him but he scrambled away as Morcus re-gathered his wits from Corgren's sudden attack.
Morcus rushed him and Corgren surged back, unwilling to defend. They twisted and avoided each other's blades and then grabbed wrists as they grappled.
He stared into Morcus's eyes. His hatred burned as he forced the murderer back.
But Mad Morcus pulled Corgren's knife past him and released his hold. The murderer slammed his fist into his head. Morcus wheeled away from Corgren's weak counter-cut.
Corgren fell back, dazed. He blinked. Morcus knew of his injury. His hatred faded to uncertainty as spots flooded his vision.
Mad Morcus feinted, testing Corgren. He shuffled his feet too slowly and his opponent dove past his defense.
He backpedaled as Morcus pressed his advance, slashing at Corgren's arms as he came. The blade bit his forearm. He tried to side-step but Morcus lowered his shoulder and bore him into the wall. His head slammed the wood.
His ears rang and he fell, pulling Morcus atop him. Somehow, Corgren gripped Morcus's knife wrist. His hands shook, holding the blade from his chest.
Morcus slapped his head once, twice, thrice.
Corgren had been so foolhardy, fighting on his emotion, forgetting his tactics. His eyes rolled. The crowd shouted but he heard nothing of their noise.
Morcus put his weight into his attack. Corgren's arms quivered. The knife descended slowly for his heart. He rolled his head and gritted his teeth. He blinked sawdust from his eyes and spots still swam there.
Paugren leaned over the wall, his eyes wide.
Morcus's knife sank lower.
Behind his brother, the stranger motioned with his hands, a questioning gesture.
The point hovered over his chest.
Corgren had but one choice. He nodded, staring at the stranger who motioned again. His vision cleared and sound returned. He pushed against Morcus, forcing the away blade by a slim increment.
Morcus re-doubled his effort, ignoring everything else, certain of victory.
Swiftly, Corgren worked his feet between them and thrust at Morcus with his feet. The murderer flipped away and slammed into the wall.
The crowd screamed as Corgren scrambled to his feet ahead of Morcus. They met again as before, now covered in sawdust. He grabbed Morcus's knife wrist. Morcus snatched at Corgren who twisted his arm away from the murderer's grasp.
Surprise registered on Mad Morcus's face. Corgren's knife slammed into the murderer's neck below the ear.
Blood spurted as Corgren yanked and cut an artery. Morcus stumbled back and Corgren released his grip. Lucinda's murderer tumbled on his back and flopped like a fish in a net, dropping his knife.
Before the other man even stopped twitching, Corgren snatched up his knife and held it over his head with his own. The crowd roared. He spotted other faces in the crowd, faces red or jaws clenched. Time to leave.
He backed toward his door with a glance to cheering Paugren who slipped away from the ring-wall. The stranger in the cloak no longer stood behind his brother. No matter, he'd gotten his victory. The stranger knew where to find him.
Corgren feigned his exultation in the crowd's adulation. He waved once and slipped through the door. He shoved the knives inside his belt and retrieved his shirt and a dark cloak Paugren had left for him. Without pausing to wash, Corgren sauntered out of the building and into the night. Paugren better move quickly - but not so fast that he aroused suspicion. There was enough of that. And those other men were certain to be Morcus's friends, maybe even some of them were Lucinda's other Hartian murderers.
In the street, Corgren slipped into the opening of a dark alley. People exited the warehouse. Some staggered and shouted their pleasure or dismay at the outcome. Others milled by the door. They were casual, but several of them didn't fool Corgren; they were waiting for him.
A shadow shifted in the alley. Corgren whirled and pulled a knife, holding it out of any light. A pale hand motioned for quiet and then beckoned him further into the alley's darkness. The stranger wanted a meeting now? Most of the lingering men at the door wandered along the street but a few remained. Corgren followed his benefactor deeper into the alley but held his knife ready.
The cloaked figure stopped at the end. "You've agreed to serve."
Corgren shifted peered along the alley. "Yes but we need to be quick here. Paugren's coming with the purse and those thugs are waiting." No doubt there were plenty more men waiting in hiding.
"Paugren is well. You need to take my marks now." The stranger flipped his cloak aside.
"There's no time for tattoos." Voices echoed along the street beyond the alley.
"There's time and it's now. Roll up your sleeves."
Corgren hesitated. This man was powerful to heal him so easily - that was clear. But many men threatened. "What's your name?"
"Put the knife away and show your arms. We must seal the agreement." The stranger's eyes glowed beneath the hood and his voice deepened. "Now! Will you renege on this and your other debts to me?"
Corgren shoved the knife into his belt and rolled up his sleeves. He extended his hands, palms up. But his eyes strayed along the alley. Pain seared his arms and he whipped his head back.
"Listen now to my instruction, always listen. First, be still for this ritual." The stranger's voice rumbled like thunder. His fingers clawed the skin on Corgren's arms. The wounds glowed as the fingers wiggled.
He clenched his fists and strained against the pain.
"Concerning spells, write them if you wish but know the proper tones or suffer the consequences." Twin dragon's heads appeared on his arms, glowing and bloody. "Blood is the price of my powers. It's why your brother put you in so many fights of late." Now shoulders and forelegs glowed in the alley. "Learn these words now." The fingers writhed and the stranger snapped foreign words.
Corgren repeated what he heard, but he knew nothing of their meaning. Through the last of the searing pain, the dragon's tails grew in his flesh, lashing for a moment across his skin and then stilling. He finished the words.
"There goes the brother!" Voices shouted in the street beyond the alley. Boots slapped upon street stones.
The stranger pulled a curved dagger, its pommel worked into the shape of a snarling wolf's head. "To you I give a new knife. It sears the soul for the blood you must pay."
He took the dagger.
"Corgren!" Paugren stumbled into the alley and fell.
"Here we have him! Pay your fees, Rokan dog!" The sounds of a beating began behind Corgren.
"You owe me more than service now, Corgren. Twice I've saved you and now again. Each is a blood payment. How will you pay? Your brother who risked you for blood or those you hate?" A long-nailed finger covered in scales pointed behind him. "I am Magdronu, the Terrible and Glorious, who will ascend to the heavens! Say my name and choose the blood!"
Corgren stepped toward his brother and the ruffians. The knife flashed in the darkness.
One man looked toward Corgren. "And here's the brother!" Eight men dropped Paugren and faced him.
Corgren raised the dagger and pointed it toward the Hartian thugs. "Magdronu, the Terrible and Glorious, who will ascend to the heavens!"
The Hartians gasped. "I can't move!" They struggled but failed to lif
t even a finger.
With the dagger raised, Corgren advanced on the attackers. "Hartian dogs, now you pay for all you've done!" He slit the first man's throat and the others begged. He ignored them and killed in the name of his new master. Blood spattered the walls, ran along the alley and festooned Corgren's clothes.
Paugren lay at Corgren's feet and groaned. "Brother, so good of you to join me."
"It is complete." Corgren found Magdronu at his side, a hand, now human-looking, laid on his arm. "You shall have all you need to rid Rok of Hartian rule. Only follow my commands."
Corgren helped Paugren to his feet. He turned back to his new master and found him gone. But at the far end of the alley, the shadow of the old man in the hat stood back-lit against dim lamp-light. That crazy geezer. He dismissed "Eloch" with a wave of his hand. When he looked again, that man was gone too.
"C'mon, let's get to the boat and cast off." Paugren snatched Corgren's sleeves over his forearms and the exited the alley.
As they turned into the street, Corgren paused a moment and surveyed the lifeless shadows in the alley. "Everything I've done is for you, Lucinda." He followed Paugren to the dock and their boat.
The End
Thank you for reading Trading Knives, feel free to review it at your favorite retailer or site. I'm pleased to present an excerpt from The Bow of Destiny on the following pages:
THE BOW OF DESTINY
Sample Chapter