Read Online Shadowdance 05 - A Dance of Ghosts by David Dalglish - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: David Dalglish
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yanked it free, he kicked the orc across the face to send him to the ground to die.
His lone saber dangling from his hand, Haern approached Gremm, who stared at him with a mixture of hatred and abject horror.
“What are you?” Gremm asked, lifting his swords and preparing to fight. “Why attack us?”
Haern yanked his other saber free from a corpse as he walked past, not even slowing his walk.
“Because I wanted to,” Haern said, and he grinned as he realized he was parroting his father’s words. “That reason not good enough?”
Gremm swung both his swords in a dual chop, and when Haern blocked, he realized how much smarter it’d have been to just dodge. The orc was incredibly strong, and his swords connected with his sabers in a ringing clang that jarred his arms and hurt his elbows. Gremm took a step closer, trying to ram him with his shoulder while their weapons were interlocked, but Haern was the faster. Instead of avoiding, he slammed his shoulder right back into Gremm, and as they hit, Haern rolled along his body, spinning as fast as his feet could allow. Coming out of the turn, he slashed for Gremm’s neck, but the orc was quicker than the others. Around went his swords, parrying away Haern’s finishing hit.
“You’re fast,” Gremm said, slashing again. Haern, never one to consider himself a slow learner, hopped back and out of the way. “But I am strong. Stronger than you!”
“Perhaps,” Haern said, catching movement from the corner of his eye at the wagon. “But I have better friends.”
He closed his eyes as another brilliant flash surged across the battlefield. As Gremm screamed, Haern slipped both his sabers between the orc’s defenses, then jammed them upward through his chest and into his neck. The orc lifted his swords to strike, but the blood was draining out of him fast, and his legs gave way before he could swing. The weapons hit the ground with a thud, followed by the orc and a much heavier thud. Haern stepped back, shook blood from his sabers. A quick look to the other wagon showed Thren finishing off the last of the orcs, chasing down two that had turned to flee.
“Well, then,” Haern said, walking toward the wagon he’d defended. “I daresay you all owe me a…”
He froze as a woman hopped out from the back of the wagon, red hair falling down past her neck and a smile on her lips.
“I was wondering if you’d show up,” said Delysia, and as the rest of the survivors piled out of the wagon, relieved men and women in plain clothes and dresses, she flung her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.
“…thank you?” Haern said, and as the rest surrounded him, eager to offer their thanks, he glanced back to the other wagon in search of his father, found him at the edge of the clearing, arms crossed over his chest, bloody swords leaning against a tree.
Strangely enough, he was still smiling.
CHAPTER
5
I t was the pins that were the worst of it. Ghost had endured stabbings before, broken bones, and brutal beatings. Those he’d always known how to black out in his mind, to ignore as if they were happening to someone else. But the gentle touchers were too clever and too patient. As he wandered down the street, his entire body wrapped in a thick robe with a heavy hood, he could still hear the sick words of the man first sent to torture him after he’d been found dying in Leon Connington’s room.
“You’re a big man,” the gentle toucher had said. In all four years, Ghost had never learned his name. His face had been withered, his nose thin and scarred, his skin paler than the moon. “A big man, and you might be responsible for the death of our lord. So, I’m going to break you with the tiniest of things; do you hear me?”
The first pin slid into the flesh of his forefinger.
“The very … tiniest…”
Every hour, that man had come and inserted another pin. Underneath his fingernails, into his fingertips, his toes, his toenails. If the man slept, he
His lone saber dangling from his hand, Haern approached Gremm, who stared at him with a mixture of hatred and abject horror.
“What are you?” Gremm asked, lifting his swords and preparing to fight. “Why attack us?”
Haern yanked his other saber free from a corpse as he walked past, not even slowing his walk.
“Because I wanted to,” Haern said, and he grinned as he realized he was parroting his father’s words. “That reason not good enough?”
Gremm swung both his swords in a dual chop, and when Haern blocked, he realized how much smarter it’d have been to just dodge. The orc was incredibly strong, and his swords connected with his sabers in a ringing clang that jarred his arms and hurt his elbows. Gremm took a step closer, trying to ram him with his shoulder while their weapons were interlocked, but Haern was the faster. Instead of avoiding, he slammed his shoulder right back into Gremm, and as they hit, Haern rolled along his body, spinning as fast as his feet could allow. Coming out of the turn, he slashed for Gremm’s neck, but the orc was quicker than the others. Around went his swords, parrying away Haern’s finishing hit.
“You’re fast,” Gremm said, slashing again. Haern, never one to consider himself a slow learner, hopped back and out of the way. “But I am strong. Stronger than you!”
“Perhaps,” Haern said, catching movement from the corner of his eye at the wagon. “But I have better friends.”
He closed his eyes as another brilliant flash surged across the battlefield. As Gremm screamed, Haern slipped both his sabers between the orc’s defenses, then jammed them upward through his chest and into his neck. The orc lifted his swords to strike, but the blood was draining out of him fast, and his legs gave way before he could swing. The weapons hit the ground with a thud, followed by the orc and a much heavier thud. Haern stepped back, shook blood from his sabers. A quick look to the other wagon showed Thren finishing off the last of the orcs, chasing down two that had turned to flee.
“Well, then,” Haern said, walking toward the wagon he’d defended. “I daresay you all owe me a…”
He froze as a woman hopped out from the back of the wagon, red hair falling down past her neck and a smile on her lips.
“I was wondering if you’d show up,” said Delysia, and as the rest of the survivors piled out of the wagon, relieved men and women in plain clothes and dresses, she flung her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.
“…thank you?” Haern said, and as the rest surrounded him, eager to offer their thanks, he glanced back to the other wagon in search of his father, found him at the edge of the clearing, arms crossed over his chest, bloody swords leaning against a tree.
Strangely enough, he was still smiling.
CHAPTER
5
I t was the pins that were the worst of it. Ghost had endured stabbings before, broken bones, and brutal beatings. Those he’d always known how to black out in his mind, to ignore as if they were happening to someone else. But the gentle touchers were too clever and too patient. As he wandered down the street, his entire body wrapped in a thick robe with a heavy hood, he could still hear the sick words of the man first sent to torture him after he’d been found dying in Leon Connington’s room.
“You’re a big man,” the gentle toucher had said. In all four years, Ghost had never learned his name. His face had been withered, his nose thin and scarred, his skin paler than the moon. “A big man, and you might be responsible for the death of our lord. So, I’m going to break you with the tiniest of things; do you hear me?”
The first pin slid into the flesh of his forefinger.
“The very … tiniest…”
Every hour, that man had come and inserted another pin. Underneath his fingernails, into his fingertips, his toes, his toenails. If the man slept, he
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