Tender Mercies: Book 2 - Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Kromlin bent over, carefully sifting through the mounds of treasure. He pocketed a few finely cut rubies. Looking back over his shoulder he saw that his remaining companion was busy inspecting the dead dragons body. Kromlin's hand struck something hard. Looking down he saw that it was a finely crafted and bejeweled sword hilt. He drew the sword out of the treasure very slowly. It was a beautifully wrought sword. A four foot long sword such as this should have taken even the mightiest warrior two hands to wield. However, Kromlin could swing it around like a kitchen knife.

"Kromlin! Get yerself over here!" The burly fighter shouted.

"Coming Martak," Kromlin replied as he slid his new found weapon into its sheath and buckled it on his weapons belt.

"Wha's dat?" Martak asked.

"Just a magicked blade." He responded.

"Powerful?"

"No. Just a little lighter than it should be and it looks good."

Martak grunted and quickly lost interest.

Kromlin suddenly had an unstoppable urge to hack at the dragons body. He drew his sword out and plunged it into the dragons corpse in a blur of motion.

"Wha' the 'ell ye doin'!" Martak screamed at him.

Kromlin withdrew the blade in disgust. "I do not know what came over me. I guess it was anger at how our wizard friend died at this beasts claws."

Once again Martak grunted and returned to searching for anything valuable.

Kromlin stared down at the blade in horror. Never before had he done something as vile or unnecessary. Desecrating the dead, beast or not, was not something a noble warrior did. Two final things disturbed him; the blade was warm in his hands and it had no blood on it.

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After finding a few more valuables and a suit of chain mail to replace his dragon ruined armor, Kromlin left. He and Martak buried their wizard friend, Dunagol, just outside of the dragons cave.

They then marched back to the town that had petitioned them to slay the dragon. After a day of walking they stopped and made camp. Knowing that Martak was not much of a conversationalist,

Kromlin sat down on a stump to take first watch. He found himself wondering how long it would take Martak to die from a sword thrust.

After another half a day of walking they made it back to Valingden. It was a small town of mostly peasants who until just recently were under the terror of a pillaging dragon.

"It's dead!" Martak shouted in triumph.

The townspeople looked up from their various chores at him in astonishment. Recognizing the dragon hunters they flocked to them while the cry went through town.

A sudden fit of anger overtook Kromlin, these insolent peasants dared to attempt to surround him and touch him. In a flash of motion he drew his word and held it above him.

The townspeople near him fell down to the ground to kneel before him as understanding of what he was about to do flooded through him. To cover up he said, "Now that I have your attention, Martak and I lost our wizard to the drake. Has any of you the skill of a magi?"

A man in the back of the growing throng of people said nervously, "I know a few small tricks my lord. Brombar is my name."

"Well Brombar, show us what you can do."

The man concentrated for a moment then raised his hand and said a single word. A pencil thin beam of red light shot out from his index finger and struck a nearby shed. The small wooden building burst into flame and then exploded. All that remained was a crater where it once stood.

"Impressive Brombar. What would that do to a human?" Kromlin asked.

In response Brombar once again cast the spell. This time he pointed at a peasant that was running up to join the crowd.

The man screamed as his stomach and internal organs were disintegrated by the red beam. Then he was incinerated in an intense explosion.

The crowd cheered at the man's magical skills. No one seemed to notice or care about the child that ran out to find where his father had gone, scorching his feet on the blackened ground.

"Well done Brombar. As you may know, my name is Kromlin and this is Martak. Would you care to join us in our adventuring life?" Kromlin asked, already knowing the man's answer.

"My lord, I would follow you wherever you commanded!"

"Loyal, isn't he." Kromlin said to Martak.

Martak merely grunted while staring at Kromlin's sword with greed.

Kromlin, living up the moment, did not notice the strange look in Martak's eyes. "We shall leave this noble village tomorrow," Kromlin said, once again addressing the town's folk. "But first we must have a place to rest tonight."

Cries of protest went up. First because Kromlin was going to leave, then because they all wanted to play host to him. Fights broke out over the last reason.

Kromlin smiled and let them decide amongst themselves. It was nice to have slaves.

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Kromlin smiled to himself. It had been a while since he had slept without the worry of a threat of some sort. This peasant, he had forgotten his name, had managed to impress Kromlin enough that he chose to stay at the peasants home for the night.

Martak and he shared a small room. Martak was sitting on his bed running a whetstone over his double edged battle axe.

Secretly Kromlin hoped that Brombar was a bit more talkative than Martak. He would find that out tomorrow, he told himself.

Martak watched out of the corner of his eye while Kromlin lay down on his bed to go to sleep. He waited for Kromlin's breathing to become even and regular before he acted.

Slowly Martak stood up and walked over beside Kromlin. With a shaking hand he reached down and touched Kromlin's sword. He could not help his sharp intake of breath as he wrenched his hand back from the sword. His fingers had been badly burned.

Kromlin's eyes snapped open. He reached down and unsheathed the sword without a word. Martak was going to try to talk his way out of the situation but the murderous glare in Kromlin's eyes told him that no excuse would be good enough.

Martak took a quick step backward and grabbed his battle axe. His burnt fingers forgotten, he swung it with all of his might at Kromlin's head. Kromlin easily ducked under the blow and thrust upwards with his sword. Martak's axe was back in time to block it.

Martak parried the sword with the axes edge and swung the end of the haft up in to Kromlin's face, breaking his nose. Kromlin acted as if he did not know he had been wounded. Kromlin lifted his sword and swung downwards, meaning to cleave Martak's skull in twain. The sword, acting of its own volition, drew back as Martak's axe swept by and missed the parry. Then it plunged forward, thrusting itself deeply into Martak's chest.

Martak stared down at the sword, at first in astonishment that the blade had lodged itself in his chest, then in intense pain. The sword first turned pink, then blood red. Finally, after a few minutes, Martak's bloodless corpse fell down.

"What have I done!" Kromlin said quietly in anguish. He tried to hurl the blade away from him as far as possible but his fingers would not let go of it.

Somebody timidly knocked at the door.

"Go away!" Kromlin shouted.

The door opened slowly, squeaking as rusty hinges will. The peasants wife looked in.

"Is there a problem my lord? Perhaps... Ahhhhhh!" She started to say but screamed in horror when she saw Martak's corpse.

A new anger seized Kromlin. He swung the sword and the woman's head rolled down beside Martak. Her body stood there, not realizing that it was dead. Then it too joined the ever growing pile.

Kromlin looked at what he had done in anguish. He fled out of the house and ran out into the night, the sword still in his hand. He did not know how far he ran, nor did he care. Every time he looked back he saw either Martak's or the peasant woman's face. All he knew was that he had to get away from there.

He glanced back on final time, this time seeing the face of the man that Brombar had blown up. It did not matter, however, because his feet were no longer on the ground.

He looked down and noticed that he had stepped off of the edge of a thirty or so foot high cliff. A broken leg or two should have been all that would happen to Kromlin. As the ground rushed to meet him the sword twisted in his hand. When Kromlin hit the ground the impact forced the sword into his side and up through his chest.

With its latest master dead the sword waited, as it always did, for its next victim.

Continued in Chapter 7

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