Read Online Rise of the Death Dealer by James Silke, Frank Frazetta - Free Book Online Page A

brawny menace. His wide, flat lips, spread in a sardonic smile, allowed a low mocking laugh to escape. When he spoke all the play in his eyes and voice was gone.
    “You are right. You are responsible. Your minstrels sent them.”
    Brown John flushed. “Yes,” he said weakly. “That is a fair conclusion, but I assure you, that even without our vulgar songs and antics, the tale of your heroics would have soon spread throughout the forest.”
    “No, you bandy-legged
bukko
!” His tone was a threatening whisper. “You took a great risk making me the clown of your stories. If I were not so fond of your wine, my axe would have talked to you about it long ago. Now your foolishness brings these arrogant chiefs who want my head and hurt my friends… while you sell what you call my magic to weak and gullible fools.”
    “I assure you,” Brown John pleaded, “there is no mockery in our tales, nor the least desire to cause you displeasure or discomfort. Only praise. Glory. I…”
    “Do not flatter me,
bukko
,” Gath interrupted with an ugly whisper.
    “Forgive me.” Brown John dipped his head in a slight bow. “I am accustomed to dealing with dancing girls and jugglers who require an excess of praise and protection from hard truths. From now on I will attempt to keep my language simpler and to the point.”
    He moved gingerly around the blood dripping from Sharatz’s stumps, parked himself on a rock and spoke with a semblance of confidence. “How may I call you?”
    “By my name.”
    “Of course. Then let me tell you, Gath of Baal, why I have involved myself, my family and the Grillards in your business.” He paused, wet his fingers, slicked his hair away from his eyes. “I have created the totems and sold them for a more serious reason than even you, with your keen sense of observation, might suspect.”
    Gath’s eyes hardened in warning, and he scratched his kneecap with the flat of his axe blade.
    “Ah yes, forgive me, the words of flattery come habitually. But allow me to continue, please. The silver I have collected is to be used to employ a war master, a champion, to defend Rag Camp… to keep my people from having to sing their songs and tell their jokes from behind the bars of Kitzakk cages. To put it as plainly as I can, I am offering you a job.”
    Not waiting for a response, Brown John untied a heavy pouch from his belt and tossed it to Gath. The Barbarian did not bother to catch it; it dropped in the tall grass at his feet, breaking open to spill silver on the bloody ground.
    Taken aback, Brown John, not daring yet to meet Gath’s gaze, peered at the coins saying, “I intend, of course, to hire other mercenaries from the Soldier’s Market in Coin to serve under you. The best in the forest.”
    Gath said in his low thick tone, “We in The Shades do not use silver… or mercenaries.”
    Brown John looked up, smiled lightly, then said just as lightly, “That, then, will change. With the Kitzakks riding this way, you will need better weapons, stronger armor, and the strongest men fighting beside you.”
    “I have what I need.”
    “Yes,” said the Grillard quickly, “I can see you seriously believe that.” He hesitated, then stood facing Gath. “But there must be something I can offer you? More wine? Women?” Gath did not reply. Brown John edged forward hopefully. “If it is women, I dare say, I can supply the most beautiful and eager girls ever to lie on a blanket.”
    Gath eyed him with disgust and slung his axe on his back.
    Defeat washed across Brown John’s flushed face, but he forced a warm smile. “Then… then all I can do is ask you to help us… my people… out of friendship.”
    “Friendship!” Gath grunted with a harsh thick growl. “I have no friends who stand on two legs.” He moved across the glade, stopped and picked up the strip of violet cloth then looked back. “But I will still buy your wine.”
    Brown John smiled lamely.
    Gath studied the Grillard a moment, then