Death Comes To All (Book 1)

by Travis Kerr

  Drom was brave, at least in his own opinion, but he didn't consider himself stupid. He was, however, dangerously low on funds. His parents hadn't given him much to see him on his way. After paying the taxes to the mage they barely made enough for their own needs. He had enough for food and lodgings at the Staghorn for five days, perhaps a week if he stretched it out. Until he found some sort of work he knew he would have to be frugal with what little he had.

  The place seems clean at least, he thought as he looked around the room.

  The lights were dim, although Drom suspected that most of the customers preferred it that way. The majority of the light in the room came from the small fireplace set halfway across the room from the bar. The few small oil lamps scattered around the rest of the room gave off little light, but it was enough, just barely, for Drom to see by.

  The bar room was large, with thick, unpainted wooden walls. The heads of various animals, mostly deer with large, multi-pointed antlers and glass eyes that gazed unblinkingly at the patrons around the room, decorated the walls. Drom was grateful that the two round wooden tables gave incoming patrons a clear pathway to the bar. Judging by the smell of stale beer and unwashed bodies that assailed his senses as soon as he walked in, he believed it better to avoid brushing against his fellow patrons as much as he could.

  Perhaps a half dozen more tables, square instead of round but otherwise unremarkable, were set against the walls. At the wall opposite the door a long, wooden bar spread out, taking up half the length of the back wall from the right corner to well passed the center of the room. Drom kept his eyes down, avoiding eye contact with everyone, as he walked straight to the bar and sat down in one of the uncomfortable, backless bar stools.

  Behind the bar stood a large canis, a cunning race with the large muzzle, pointed ears, and long grey fur of a wolf. According to Drom's mother the canis had once hunted and fed off of sorvinians, as well as several of the other races, during the time before the Age of Learning began, but that had been thousands of years ago.

  Looking at the bartender now, who stood a good six inches taller than his own six foot two frame, Drom felt a certain irrational fear, remembering his mother's nightly stories. That sort of thing didn't happen anymore though, he knew, if it ever really had. The intelligent races no longer hunted and killed each other, at least not openly, and this bartender was more interested in Drom's coin than in his hide.

  "I'll take an ale and a plate of greens," Drom said to the bartender, trying to keep his voice from wavering.

  It would hardly do to act like a frightened rabbit in a place like this.

  "That's two coppers for the ale, one copper more for the greens," the canis replied. "It'll be a few minutes for the food," he added as he set down a large mug of ale on the bar directly in front of where Drom sat. The bartender didn't walk away, but waited expectantly for his payment.

  Obviously this establishment expected payment up front.

  Drom put the copper coins on the table and turned away from the bar to look around the room. The bartender swept up the three coins, mumbled something about the lack of a tip, and stalked off through a door at the end of the bar, presumably to get Drom's dinner.

  No wonder the ale here is so cheap, he thought to himself after taking a long pull from the mug.

  It was room temperature at best, although the taste was not as bad as he had expected. Glancing around, it seemed like the rest of the customers were enjoying it well enough. To Drom, who had never seen any race other than a few human traders and other sorvinians, it was exactly the sort of thing he hoped to find in this port city.

  At one of the round tables a pair of sloveckii drank and gambled over a set of red dice, their thick reptilian tails swinging side to side from underneath their coarse wool tunics. Behind them stood a group of three dreks, a race of beings who could quickly and easily be distinguished by their massive ears, both wider and longer than their shoulders, and equally long noses that hung down passed their chests. All three were dressed in long, flowing, blue robes made of light silk and a red silk sash. It seemed like they were also betting on the outcome of the dice, or perhaps on how long it would take before the two sloveckii started brawling over the game. They were known for their quick tempers, Drom had heard.

  At a table not far from the dice game sat two of the elvish races, named so by the mages, or so his mother had told him. It was said they were given that name because they resembled tales of creatures that existed in ancient human folklore, but since the origins of those tales had long since disappeared no one could be certain of how true that was. They wore loose clothing of a light green color. Drom could not tell what it had been made of, but as the two moved the cloth shimmered around them like wet leaves in the sunlight.

  Perhaps the clothing was magical in nature, Drom thought.

  The most noticeable feature on the two of them, a man and a woman, was their hair, which flowed down halfway to their waists. It was a deep, vibrant red, with orange and yellow streaks intermittent throughout. It would stay that color until winter, Drom knew from his mother's teachings, and then the color would disappear completely, leaving it a stark, bright white. In spring it would become light green blended with a light brown, like the color of tanned leather, turning darker in the summer and then back to its current color again in autumn. The shifting colors helped them stay invisible in the treetops where they made their hidden homes.

  Sitting in the far corner of the room, in perhaps the darkest corner, sat two more figures, a man and a woman. The man appeared human, and the woman, at least Drom believed her thin, curvy figure to appear female, he couldn't even make a guess at, since her face was completely concealed under a thick black hood. Both were dressed in a black tunic and trousers, with a thick, blood red belt around their waists. Like everyone in the room, except for Drom, they carried swords fastened to their hips.

  The woman's weapon was very thin, ornately carved around the hilt, and something on the crosspiece glinted in the dim light like jewels. Drom couldn't tell what kind of jewels they might have been in the dark room. The man's weapon, in contrast, didn't seem to have any sort of ornamentation at all. The thick blade, covered in its sheath, had only a small, unadorned crosspiece painted with a flat black color. The grip appeared to be nothing more than a piece of black cloth wrapping the metal underneath.

  While the woman’s features were hidden from Drom's eyes, Drom could see the man fairly well. His skin a was a dark, golden copper, obviously a man who spent time often in the sun, with jet black hair that fell just passed his shoulders. He was clean shaven, with a thin, hawk-like nose and angular features. It was not, however, the man that held Drom's gaze for so long, but the animal that sat on his shoulder, with its tail wrapped tightly around his neck.

  It was a dragonling, a rare creature created by magic long ago. A few of the richest, most powerful mages kept them as pets, or so Drom had been told by one of the laborers that came through his father's farm.

  Certainly this man couldn't be one of those, Drom thought.

  The powerful mages rarely left their castles. Even if they did go out, they certainly wouldn't be found in the Staghorn. There are few places where rumor had it wild dragonlings could be found. Drom guessed that the man must have located and tamed one of those.

  The animal itself was exceptionally beautiful. It had deep blue scales that glistened in the dim light like sapphires, and an orange crest, edged in deep red, that ran down its back and around its head.

  It almost looks as if its back is on fire, Drom thought, enthralled by the little creature.

  Drom watched as the man fed it a small piece of what looked like raw meat, although Drom didn't care to know what it was exactly. Like all sorvinians, he was a vegetarian, and the thought of any animal eating meat sent an unwelcome shiver down his spine.

  "Your food," the bartender said behind him, causing him to jump a little bit. Drom turned around and saw his generous plate of greens sitting on the bar befor
e him. The bartender grinned, or at least Drom supposed it was a grin. All he could see were the sharp, wolf-like teeth.

  "Thank you," Drom said simply. The bartender merely grunted and returned to his work.

  Drom fell into his food with gusto. He hadn't realized just how hungry he had been. He had run out of the food his mother had packed for him the day before, and so hadn't eaten at all that day. He had known he was close to the city, and so hadn't thought it all that important. He was not used to skipping meals though, and skipping an entire days worth of them had certainly given him an appetite.

  So intent was he on his meal that he hadn't even realized that the door to the bar had opened, and a new group had entered. The newcomers walked in and their leader strode up behind him imperiously.

  "You're sitting in my seat," a deep voice growled from behind him. Drom turned around to see a huge barrel chest standing above him.

  He looked up into the frightening visage of a huge trog. The man had to be eight and half feet tall, Drom guessed. He easily dwarfed Drom, as well as everyone else in the bar.

  He wore what appeared to Drom to be the uniform of the city guard, though he had tied the top half of the uniform around his waist, leaving his heavily muscled upper body bare. His hairless, dark grey skin was slightly lighter on his chest and face than it was on the rest of the visible portion of his body. Massive ivory tusks protruded horizontally from his cheekbones, and together with four inch long cuspids on his lower jaw gave him the most horrifying visage that Drom had ever seen.

  "I said you're sitting in my seat," the trog repeated. "You'll go somewhere else if you know what's good for you."

  Behind the trog, clearly backing him up, were nearly a dozen trills. Before he had left his farm his mother had warned Drom about these two races. Trills were only about four and a half feet tall at best, but made up for their small stature by traveling in numbers. They often traveled together with a trog leading the group, such as this one.

  They barely followed the rules, on those occasions when they obeyed them at all. Some cities wouldn't even let them through the gates, but open port cities such as this one allowed in anyone as long as they brought capital to the city, and most mages cared little about how that capital was gained as long as they got their cut. Trogs and trills generally worked as mercenaries or guards. When they couldn't find honest work or just didn't take an interest in it, they often became pirates and thieves.

  "I'll move," Drom said quickly, not wanting to cross this dangerous foe. He quickly gathered his plate and moved a few stools down, almost to the end of the bar. He quietly turned and went back to his meal, hoping that the trog was only trying to make a statement and wasn't looking for trouble.

  "That's my seat too," he heard the trog say, once more moving up behind him. "In fact, all of these are my seats. Get the hell outta here. I don't wanna have to smell your kind while I'm drinking."

  Behind the trog Drom could see the three dreks shuffled out of the door as quietly as they could, and the two sloveckii wasted no time in following them. This trog was obviously looking for trouble, and they didn't want to have any part of it. Drom didn't either, but it was beginning to look like this trog wasn't planning on giving him any choice.

  The bartender moved as if to slip out the back door into the kitchen, but wasn't given the chance. Unexpectedly, the man that had been sitting in the corner came over to the bar and pointedly sat in the stool Drom had previously occupied.

  "Bring me an ale," he said to the bartender, completely ignoring the trog, who eyed him fiercely.

  "You gotta problem little man?" the trog asked, moving over to stand behind him.

  "Not as long as you step a little farther back," the man answered. "It smells like you haven't bathed in a month."

  "I think you need to be taught some manners," the trog returned angrily. Behind him the trills gibbered expectantly, looking forward to the trog's method of teaching a lesson. It was unlikely they would get involved themselves, at least not until the trog had already beaten the man to a pulp, which Drom was certain was about to happen.

  This strange man in the black uniform is obviously out of his mind, he thought. Not even one of the great mages would try to pick a fight with a trog at close range.

  "I'd be shocked if you actually thought about anything," the man replied, his voice so low Drom could barely hear him from where he was sitting only a few feet away. "You don't strike me as someone who's burdened with an over-abundance of brains. How about you do yourself a favor and take your little pack of rodents out of here before someone gets hurt."

  "Someone's gonna get hurt all right," the trog bellowed loudly, causing the dragonling to fly off the man's shoulder. It flew up to the rafters where it settled itself on one of the crossbeams. "That someone's gonna be you!"

  The trog pulled back his right arm, dropping it hard on what should have been the top of the foolish man's head. The man, however, was no longer there. The blow continued downward to shatter the bar stool he had been sitting on into splinters, throwing shards of wood in every direction. The trog started to turn his massive frame around to search for his prey, but before the giant completed his rotation it was already too late.

  The man in black did not pull his weapon, nor did it seem that he needed to. In a movement so quick that Drom, who was nothing more than a bystander at that point, could just barely follow, the man spun with a vicious kick to the back of the trog's head. Like a tree under the woodman's ax the trog toppled to the floor, unconscious.

  Trills are not normally known for attacking a superior combatant, which this man had certainly proven himself to be, but their leader had just been beaten with one swift kick. Individually they were not dangerous, but there were a dozen of them in the room, giving them the courage they normally would not have possessed by themselves, and they had to defend their leader. The entire group of them pulled their weapons and attacked.

  Drom had never seen anyone move the way the strange man before him did. The trills charged, swinging their short, wicked looking weapons wildly, but not a single blade touched its intended target.

  He slipped through them like a shadow, laughing hysterically like a wild man the entire time, as if the entire fight was nothing more than a game to him. Each movement he made was fast, precise, and devastating. In seconds he had reduced the numbers of the trills by half, and he still hadn't pulled his weapon.

  The remaining trills backed off, spreading out in an attempt to surround the man, but it was useless. Their movements only served to make things that much easier for him. He laughed and leaped forward to attack the trills instead. He appeared to be thoroughly enjoying himself, or so it seemed to Drom. Within a minute every single trill was on the bar room floor, either unconscious or dead, Drom wasn't certain of which.

  "If you're finished with your workout we should be going," said a high feminine voice. Drom followed the sound to see the woman who had been sitting with the strange man slide out from behind the table in the corner. "The chances are good that those dreks will bring the city guard down on our heads. I don't think we should be here to greet them when they arrive. They're not exactly fond of you Garan. We need to finish up here and get going."

  "Don't remind me," the man she had named as Garan replied. "What do we do with the boy?"

  It took Drom a moment to realize that Garan was referring to him.

  "It's up to him, and to you," the woman said with a shrug. "I don't mind if he joins us. If he does, he's your responsibility. I don't have to remind you that we don't have time to wait around for him. If he can't keep up I have no problems leaving him behind."

  Garan turned, looking directly at him for the first time. It seemed to Drom as if his dark brown eyes penetrated directly into his soul. "You should know boy, that the trog who was trying to pick a fight with you is a member of the city guard," he said at last. "He tends to pick fights wherever he goes, then has whoever he assaults thrown in the prison. He thinks it's fun. The rest of
the guards put up with him because he's handy in a fight. He's been getting away with it for years."

  Garan walked over to the fallen trog and unsheathed the sword that had stayed in his belt up to then. In one swift motion he stabbed downward, imbedding the long blade through the back of the man's neck. Drom heard a brief gurgling sound that lasted only a second, then the trog fell silent, dead.

  "He won't be doing that anymore," Garan continued. He whistled, a low, short sound, and the dragonling that had been waiting up on the rafters flew back down to its perch on his shoulder. "I don't know what you were planning on doing before now, but you shouldn't stay here. The guard will be looking for someone to blame, and the dreks would have seen this trog picking a fight with you before they left. I'd say it's likely that they'll throw you in the dungeon if you're still here. Most of the guards in this city aren't much better than this one was. You can come with us, if you think you can keep up."

  "Why would I want to go with you?" Drom asked, trying to sort through the confusion that jumbled his thoughts. "I just watched you murder that trog. I know he seemed like a bad sort of guy, but he was already out cold. You didn't really need to kill him. How do I know you won't just kill me as soon as we get to wherever it is you're going?"

  "If I was going to kill you boy, you'd already be dead and I would be gone from here," Garan replied casually. "I certainly wouldn't be offering to help you get out of the city. I can promise you that the guards will be scouring the city looking for you if they don't find you here. I've never seen anyone who looks quite like you do, and the guard isn't completely incompetent. If you don't have somewhere to go they will eventually find you. Come on. I'll at least help you get out of the city and you can decide where you want to go from there."

  "You still haven't told me why you murdered him," Drom said hesitantly.

  What Garan is saying does make sense, but there is more to things than what I know. That much is certain.