Read Online Ronan the Barbarian by James Bibby - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: James Bibby
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razor-sharp blade had a strange effect on Belladon. Shaking like an elf the morning after a sea voyage, he bared his teeth in that rictus of a smile people use when they want to look terribly, terribly friendly and began to babble desperately.
"Don't! No, don't! I can help! Look, you want to know about Nekros? He was the leader of the Tribe of Fallon, right, the ones who went on the rampage a few years ago. Well, I heard that they came from the northeast, somewhere between Setel and Goblin City, on the other side of the Plains. You could try there."
Ronan stared at the terrified salesman. There was something a little odd about this, but it was the first sniff of a hint of a breath of a clue that he had found all year, and the guy's voice held the desperate ring of truth. He might as well act on it. He sheathed his sword, and Belladon sagged with relief and fell back into a chair. His legs were shaking so much that you couldn't see them through the resulting cloud of dus
Ronan reached out for his beer, but then he thought better of it. The night was still young and he could cover a good few miles before sleeping. The alternative was to stand here, drinking Whitebeard's Flagon and talking to a highly dubious sales rep covered in pigeon crap. Quickly he strode to the door and was gone.
Behind him, the landlord called out "Goodnight, sir. Walk safely now.", then started to wipe down the bar, which had got a little smeary. In the corner one of the elves was suddenly sick. But Belladon said nothing. He just sat staring blankly into space...
In a darkened room in a southern city, six smartly dressed men were seated at an expensive table, watching a flickering image that moved on the wall in front of them. It was a view of the Tavern at the Edge of Darkness, seen through Belladon's eyes. As the door shut behind Ronan the scene seemed to freeze, and then the lights of the room came on and the six men looked at one another.
"So that is the warrior who could destroy us," said one. "Are we sure on this?"
"Anthrax was quite definite in his prediction," replied another.
"Then we must take steps. Can he not be bought?"
"No. Acquisitions are testing this, but again Anthrax was quite definite."
"A pity. He would have been most useful." The first man thought for a moment. "We had best warn Nekros. And I think we could give him Belladon. The man is of no further use..."
He gestured to a wizened old woman who was fussing over a small cauldron that bubbled on top of a fire in the grate. She muttered something and sprinkled a foul-smelling purple powder into the cauldron, and the image on the wall vanished as if turned off by a switch.
Belladon sat up and rubbed his eyes, and then stared round at the tavern. He couldn't seem to remember anything that had happened since he walked through the door. He must have blacked out again. He shook his head to clear the fuzzy feeling. It was a bit worrying - he'd been having these attacks quite often recently, ever since the sales conference last year. Still, no point in fretting. He had more important things to worry him, such as what to do about his poor sales figures for the month.
And there, right at the front of his brain, was the answer to this problem. Of course! Nekros! The guy was rumoured to be the leader of a tribe of rampaging psychopaths. Leaders make decisions, and rampaging psychopaths need swords. He was exactly the sort of person an enterprising sales rep should be targeting.
With a smile on his lips and pigeon crap all over his clothes, Belladon (Sales Executive, South Frundor Region) set off to meet his doom.
MEETING
We have heard already of the wasteland known as the Nevacom Plains... By the time Ronan entered manhood, this was a barren, tortured place. No longer were men able to scratch a living in the arid soil, and few were the creatures that could survive the burning sun. Thus was it fit only for Holiday Village developments, and few who
"Don't! No, don't! I can help! Look, you want to know about Nekros? He was the leader of the Tribe of Fallon, right, the ones who went on the rampage a few years ago. Well, I heard that they came from the northeast, somewhere between Setel and Goblin City, on the other side of the Plains. You could try there."
Ronan stared at the terrified salesman. There was something a little odd about this, but it was the first sniff of a hint of a breath of a clue that he had found all year, and the guy's voice held the desperate ring of truth. He might as well act on it. He sheathed his sword, and Belladon sagged with relief and fell back into a chair. His legs were shaking so much that you couldn't see them through the resulting cloud of dus
Ronan reached out for his beer, but then he thought better of it. The night was still young and he could cover a good few miles before sleeping. The alternative was to stand here, drinking Whitebeard's Flagon and talking to a highly dubious sales rep covered in pigeon crap. Quickly he strode to the door and was gone.
Behind him, the landlord called out "Goodnight, sir. Walk safely now.", then started to wipe down the bar, which had got a little smeary. In the corner one of the elves was suddenly sick. But Belladon said nothing. He just sat staring blankly into space...
In a darkened room in a southern city, six smartly dressed men were seated at an expensive table, watching a flickering image that moved on the wall in front of them. It was a view of the Tavern at the Edge of Darkness, seen through Belladon's eyes. As the door shut behind Ronan the scene seemed to freeze, and then the lights of the room came on and the six men looked at one another.
"So that is the warrior who could destroy us," said one. "Are we sure on this?"
"Anthrax was quite definite in his prediction," replied another.
"Then we must take steps. Can he not be bought?"
"No. Acquisitions are testing this, but again Anthrax was quite definite."
"A pity. He would have been most useful." The first man thought for a moment. "We had best warn Nekros. And I think we could give him Belladon. The man is of no further use..."
He gestured to a wizened old woman who was fussing over a small cauldron that bubbled on top of a fire in the grate. She muttered something and sprinkled a foul-smelling purple powder into the cauldron, and the image on the wall vanished as if turned off by a switch.
Belladon sat up and rubbed his eyes, and then stared round at the tavern. He couldn't seem to remember anything that had happened since he walked through the door. He must have blacked out again. He shook his head to clear the fuzzy feeling. It was a bit worrying - he'd been having these attacks quite often recently, ever since the sales conference last year. Still, no point in fretting. He had more important things to worry him, such as what to do about his poor sales figures for the month.
And there, right at the front of his brain, was the answer to this problem. Of course! Nekros! The guy was rumoured to be the leader of a tribe of rampaging psychopaths. Leaders make decisions, and rampaging psychopaths need swords. He was exactly the sort of person an enterprising sales rep should be targeting.
With a smile on his lips and pigeon crap all over his clothes, Belladon (Sales Executive, South Frundor Region) set off to meet his doom.
MEETING
We have heard already of the wasteland known as the Nevacom Plains... By the time Ronan entered manhood, this was a barren, tortured place. No longer were men able to scratch a living in the arid soil, and few were the creatures that could survive the burning sun. Thus was it fit only for Holiday Village developments, and few who
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