Menacing Misfits
DARKTHORN ACADEMY
Book One
Copyright
Menacing Misfits© copyright 2019 Robyn Wideman
Published: Dec 2019
Publisher: Magicblood Media Corp
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Author notes
1
“Hey, shorty, where you going?”
Jack kept walking down the dark and narrow alley. He immediately regretting the decision to take a shortcut away from the busy main street. He ignored the voice behind him. He’d heard it all before: shorty, little man, runt. It wouldn’t be long before they moved on to the second round of racial slang and slurs instead of just commenting on his height.
“Oi, short stuff. You deaf?”
Jack didn’t look back. If he kept moving, perhaps they would find someone else to pick on. Although in this quiet alley that was a remote chance, about the same chance of seeing a goblin, male or female, in a dress and wearing heels. He was already late to meet his grandfather at the market, and nothing good would come of replying to the young men behind him.
“I don’t think he wants to talk to you, Todd,” said a second voice. “I don’t think he thinks you’re worthy of his time.”
“Damn dwarven folk,” said Todd. “Is that the problem, stumpy? Are you too good to talk to me?”
“He’s not even a real dwarf,” said a third voice. “He’s too tall to be a real dwarf. He’s just a bloody half-breed.”
And there is the second round of slurs, Jack thought, keeping his head down and quickening his pace. It wasn’t hard to identify his dwarven heritage, and besides. but most folks didn’t care—after all, Westdrift was supposed to be an empire open to all the races. But Jack knew from experience, race hate still was a problem, despite it being hundreds of years since the last great race wars and the devastation those days had wrought on the world.
“A half-breed, are you sure?” Todd asked. “Who would be desperate enough to sleep with a dwarf?”
Jack clenched his fists. The right thing to do was to keep walking. However, they were starting to become really annoying. It was one thing to suffer through dwarf or short-man jokes, but it was another to insult his mother.
“What do you think, Todd, maybe he’s just a dwarven bastard?”
Jack spun around to confront his hecklers. He looked at the three young men following him down the alley. They all looked to be about his own age, perhaps a little older, and they had a hard look to them, like ganging up on strangers wasn’t new territory to them. “What’s your problem?”
Todd, by far the largest of the boys, a good foot taller than Jack, sauntered up to and poked him in the chest. “You’re my problem. I think dwarven folk belong in Nurangaurd, and that includes half-breeds. I think you should go home.”
Jack shook his head. He’d never even been to Nurangaurd. He’d been born and raised in Westdrift. “Westdrift is a free territory to all races.”
“The council might say that, but everyone knows, your kind will get sent back to where you belong once we have a proper emperor again. And what’s more, here in Cottonridge we’re far from the council’s rule,” said the second boy, lips curled in a sneer.
Todd poked Jack in the chest a second time. “Why don’t you just go home, runt? We don’t want your kind here.”
Jack could feel his blood beginning to boil. He’d tried to walk away like his grandfather wanted him to do, but they wouldn’t leave it alone. “Don’t touch me again.”
“Or what? What is the son of a dwarven slut going to do?” Todd jeered as he pushed in closer.
Jack ignored the fact the fool’s insults weren’t even correct about his lineage; he even ignored the proximity of Todd to his face and the smell the onions and garlic on the boy’s breath. What he couldn’t ignore was Todd’s finger making its way towards Jack’s chest for the third time.
When Todd put his finger on Jack’s chest, Jack reacted. He snatched Todd’s finger and bent it back as far as he could.
Todd yelped in pain as his finger bent back in an exceedingly unnatural and excruciatingly painful way.
Knowing it wouldn’t be a fair fight against the three boys, Jack slammed his fist into Todd’s exposed stomach. The blow caused Todd to hunch over, allowing Jack to deliver an uppercut to his chin, sending the older boy sprawling backwards and into the cobbled wall of one of the alley’s buildings.
Jack moved forward to hit Todd again, but before he could get to him a fist smashed into the side of Jack’s head. The hard blow sent him stumbling to the side, right into another solid punch coming from the third boy. This blow landed right between Jack’s eyes.
His vision blurred by the last blow, Jack swung with all his might at the boy in front of him. His wild haymaker caught the third boy on the shoulder bone, twisting him sideways.
Jack’s momentum carried him into the boy, and together they fell to the ground with Jack on top.
Knowing he wouldn’t have a chance to get up before the other boys hit him, Jack focused his efforts on the boy below him. He buried his head against the boy’s chest, pinning him to the ground while he landed as many shots to the boy’s ribs as he could. It wouldn’t be long before the other boys rejoined the fight and he needed this one to stay down.
The boy cried out in agony. Jack almost felt sorry for him.
A hard kick to Jack’s ribs swiftly put an end to Jack’s advantage over the second boy and to any feeling of sympathy he felt for the pain he’d inflicted.
Jack winced as a second kick sent him toppling over the boy and to the ground.
Jack wiped blood from his right eye as he jumped to his feet and assessed the situation, the three boys quickly pressing in on him. Cornered and outnumbered, Jack did the only sensible course of action and crouched against the closest building, giving him some semblance of protection against the boys’ kicks.
“Damned mixed-freak,” Todd cursed as he kicked Jack in the back. “There is no place for your kind in Cottonridge, nor Westdrift for that matter.”
Despite his rapidly narrowing field of vision and a hollow ringing in his ears, Jack couldn’t help but reply defiantly. “Piss off you bunch of low-bred bullies. I’d take any of you one-on-one.”
Todd grinned viciously as he kicked Jack in the back of the head. “But we aren’t fighting one on one, are we?”
Jack’s world went dark as the blows continued on for what seemed an eternity. Laughter carried him into nothingness.
Todd looked down at his fallen foe. It had been more of a fight than he’d expected but the results were going to end up the same. No one would miss one mo
re dwarven bastard.
“Little bastard could fight,” said one of the boys as he rubbed his chin.
“He probably cheated and was using dwarven magic,” said Todd as he delivered one more kick to the unconscious Jack.
“Didn’t feel like magic, but you might be right. What you want to do with him?”
“Check his body for any money,” Todd said as he pulled out his knife. He knew exactly what he was going to do to the damned half-breed boy.
“Hey, what’s going on down there?” called out a voice from the end of the alley.
Todd turned and saw a large man moving down the alley towards them.
“Constable,” said one of the boys. “Let’s get out of here.”
Todd looked down at Jack, his anger flared as he realized he would have to leave the boy alive. In his mind the only good dwarf was a dead dwarf. “Next time, I’m killing him.”
“Whatever. But let’s get out of here before that constable calls for backup,” said the third boy as he took off down the alley to escape.
Todd took one more look at the constable. He scowled and then delivered one last kick to the downed Jacked. He then took off running, leaving Jack in a bloodied mess.
…
The constable watched as the three boys ran away. Experience told him that chasing street rats was a foolish endeavor, but he did have a duty to inspect the situation.
He walked down the alley until he arrived at the scene of the altercation.
Standing above the body of Jack, he frowned as he decided whether to attempt to chase down the boys or see if the lad on the ground was alive. He reached down and shook Jack’s body. “Ye alive?”
Jack woke to the hard shaking the constable was giving him. He groaned as spikes of pain hit his ribs every time the constable roughly moved him.
“Get up, lad,” the constable said, as he grabbed Jack by the scruff of his collar. He scowled when he saw the boy was obviously part dwarf.
With the forced assistance of the constable, Jack got to his feet. He shook his head, trying to free his brain from the boot-induced cobwebs.
The constable didn’t let go of Jack’s neck. “What were you doing? Why’d they attack you?”
“I was just cutting through the alley on my way to the market when they attacked me,” Jack said.
“A likely story. I’ll bet you were up to something sneaky. Your kind always is.”
Jack bit his tongue. He knew talking back to the constable would serve no purpose other than to get him another beating, or worse, thrown in jail.
“Well, whatever shading business you were up to, it looks like the lads taught you a good lesson. Now, why don’t you take off before I decide to throw you in the lockup and sort out the details later?”
The constable shoved Jack towards the end of the alley. “Best to stay out of dark alleys in Cottonridge. There is still plenty of hard feelings here over the Great War. Your kind don’t do well here.”
“Thank you,” Jack said as he limped out of the alley. It was the only thing he could think to say that wouldn’t get him another beating. It was ridiculous that the constable was accusing him of doing something shifty or wrong. But all he wanted to do now was get out of the alley before things got worse. Trouble with the local riffraff was one thing, trouble with a constable was another thing entirely.
Back on the streets, Jack made his way to the market. He stumbled a bit as he walked, bumping into a few people who gave him hard stares.
“Watch it,” one lady said as Jack accidently stumbled in front of her.
“Apologies,” Jack said as he swerved to avoid her. One of the kicks had broken a rib, or at the very least cracked one. But at least he was out of the alley and out of danger from the boys and the constable.
2
When Jack arrived at the market, he found his grandfather sitting on the back of a wagon sharing a pipe with another trader.
“Hello Jack,” said trader Waldor, as he passed a pipe to Jack’s grandfather. “You look like you been through it.”
“Hello Waldor, I feel like I’ve been through it twice. Cottonridge isn’t the most inviting town is it?”
Ramy, Jack’s grandfather, stood up from his perch on a wagon and gave Jack a once over, quickly running a hand over Jack’s ribs and gritting his teeth as he examined Jack’s new black eye.
“Been fighting again,” Ramy said. It was a statement, not a question.
“I didn’t start it,” Jack protested. He flinched as his grandfather roughly pushed against his injured ribs.
“Cracked ribs, I’m guessing,” Ramy said. “Doesn’t feel like they’re broken. And you’ll have a couple goose eggs on the top of your head. But we’ll hit the healers up to make sure.”
“Margenna, the elven lady on Fifth Street, is your best bet,” Waldor said. “She’s got good healing magic and she doesn’t charge outsiders extra like some of the other locals.”
“Were you at least able to deliver the herbs without incident?” Ramy asked.
Jack nodded. “She was asking about ground hornscale flower, but I told her we haven’t been far enough east to get any of late. I told her you’d try to collect some before we came to town again.” Jack reached down and took off his shoe before passing the coins he’d squirreled away to his grandfather.
Waldor grinned. “The old ‘hide your coins in the shoe’ trick. That is a good one. Another good one is when you hide your coin sack in your—”
“No one wants to know where you hide your coins, Waldor,” Ramy said. “It would be nice if he didn’t need to resort to hiding his coins and could just carry them in a coin purse like a normal person, but the lad has a tremendous talent for finding trouble.”
Jack lowered his head. He could feel his grandfather’s eyes on him. “I don’t go looking for trouble, honestly.”
“No, but you have a hard time looking the other way when it finds you.”
“Some of these small towns are pretty ignorant when it comes to other races,” Waldor said, gently patting Jack’s shoulder. It was all Jack could do not to wince.
“That’s funny, as I’ve seen several dwarven folk, at least a dozen elven traders, and several that had at least a smidgeon of orc’s blood, and I didn’t see a bruise on not one of their faces,” Ramy said, passing a skein of cold water to Jack. He gulped it down, surprised at his thirst.
“That is true,” Waldor said. “I suppose young Jack here does need to learn to avoid such situations. Can’t be a good tinker if you’re always having to visit the healers, cuts into your profits and gives your customers the wrong impression. If you want to be like your grandfather, you’re going to have to learn to avoid trouble.”
Jack sighed. He did want to be like his grandfather. Ramy Vance was known as one of the best tinkers in all Westdrift. It always filled Jack with pride when his grandfather’s clients bragged about his work in sharpening their blades, or their having purchased a Ramy Vance weapon. Ramy might like to trade in goods, but he was renowned for his skills in blade restoration. Nothing was as sharp as a Ramy Vance blade.
“Perhaps the boy’s destiny isn’t to be a tinker,” Ramy said.
Jack raised an eyebrow at his grandfather’s statement. Why would he want to be anything but a tinker?
“Well, it isn’t the life for everyone,” Waldor said. “Maybe once he turns sixteen, he’ll get an invitation to one of the academies. Maybe he’ll become a dragon rider,” Waldor said with a wink, “all the kids dream of becoming a dragon rider.”
Jack smiled. Waldor was right- all kids do dream of becoming a dragon rider. Dragons were menacing creatures., and to become a dragon rider was the ultimate career, one of prestige, excitement and flying! “That would be fun, but I have a better chance of growing wings and becoming a dragon myself than of getting into an academy. Only the well-off have a chance at that.”
Waldor chuckled. “You’ve a point, lad. These days you either come from an established family or can pay the bribes to g
et in.”
“There are other ways than being rich to getting into an academy,” Ramy said. “One doesn’t have to have a pocket heavy with coin to get in.”
“Well, it never hurts,” Waldor said with a grin. “I’m off, I don’t think I’m going to sell any more apples here today, and if I hurry, I can get to Hampton’s inn tonight.”
“You’re heading to Vargoville?” Ramy asked.
“Yeah, they’d had a dry summer. I hear they’re paying two coppers for a dozen apples. I’ll sell this load and then head back south. Where you two off to next?”
“Aside from the healer to see if the boy’s ribs are broken? We’ll head north, hit the capital and then possibly Hargrove.”
“Hargrove? Too close to the Ancient Lands for my liking,” Waldor said.
“It’s dangerous, but the best weapons come from the Ancient Lands. But we’ll see how things go in the capital first.”
“Best of luck. If you make it to Hampton tonight, I’ll buy a round of ale.”
Jack was surprised to hear that they were heading to the capital. Baybury was the largest city in all of Westdrift, but they hardly ever visited it. Ramy said it was full of cheap misers and criminals, and any tinker worth his salt avoided it as much as possible. Jack could only remember two times when’d they gone to the capital, and those trips had been years ago.
“Good luck in Baybury. I hear things are just as bad as ever there, but you’ve always had a way of knowing which towns to hit. Perhaps I’ll have to reconsider it,” Waldor said.
“Take dry goods and avoid fruit if you do,” Ramy said. “The rats will eat your goods at night and the thieves will take it when you wake.”
Waldor shook his head. “Never mind, I’ll stick to the smaller villages. Be seeing you.”
“Safe travels.” As Waldor loaded his wagon, Ramy fixed Jack with a stern glance. “Let’s go visit that healer.”
Jack nodded. He was more than happy to visit the healer.
…
“Hello there,” said the elven healer as they approached her door. “I’m Margenna.”
Menacing Misfits: An Epic Fantasy Adventure (Darkthorn Academy Book 1) Page 1