Fantasy Short Stories: Five Fantastic Tales Read online

  “Thanks, Rowley,” she said.

  “Don’t thank me,” he said, holding up his hands. “Thank her.” He thumbed towards the dark woman at the end of the bar, who was still spinning the ring around her finger. In Draven’s entire life, she’d never encountered kindness or generosity. On the south side people looked out for themselves, took what they could, and did what they had to in order to survive. Or they lived as slaves. And on this night, of all nights … when she seemed to be at the end of her rope … she’d experienced a wellspring of it. The cold feeling of loneliness that had ached inside her all day melted as she stared into the dark woman’s gray eyes.

  Draven nodded and realized that her eyes were welling up with tears.

  What’s happening to me? she thought.

  Just as she was about to thank the woman, the front door of the Dragon slammed open, followed by the unmistakable grunting language of orcs.

  It was nice while it lasted, she thought.

  She turned her head slightly to the side, pulling her hood down a bit further, and hazarded a glance towards the orcs who now stood before Shines’ door. She saw a couple of wicked-looking maces pass through followed by a single-bitted axe with spikes along the haft.

  When they turned, she got a good look at their faces before she faced forward, pulling the cowl down further over her face.

  “Kral,” she whispered, adding a few silent curses aimed at the misbegotten she-bitch that had borne him. She’d dealt with him before at the Hammer’s warehouse. Any orc would have been bad enough when the Hammer is on the hunt, but Kral had a reputation for brutality and sadism that made other orcs seem like milkmaids.

  She heard the trio stomp away from Shines and shove their way through the crowd, people protesting quietly as the orcs bulled through. They reached the end of the bar to her right, and their heavy-booted feet clomped along the bar straight for her. She slipped her fingers through the handle of the mug, her knuckles going white. It would make a most satisfying sound when she bashed it against the side of Kral’s meaty head. Of course, the other two would probably kill her with their bare hands before Rowley’s Trolls could reach them, but she had every intention of going out on her feet, not her knees.

  Her skin only itched now, the fire doused somehow by Rowley’s swamp water. She focused her thoughts, loosened her muscles, and waited for a heavy hand to drop down onto her shoulder. There would be no hesitation … just violence.

  The boots drew closer, almost on top of her now. She calmed her breathing and prepared for the impossible task of taking on three orcs in unarmed combat.

  A glorious way to die, she thought … not that she’d every really thought about glory. It did have a nice ring to it, though.

  They were directly behind her now, close enough for her to smell. She tensed, ready to spin and unleash everything she had.

  They walked right by her.

  All three orcs, led by Kral, stepped around the corner of the bar and walked right up to the dark woman. Draven turned her head slightly to see what they were after.

  “You’re in trouble, Celeen,” Kral growled, staring down at her. The orcs behind him laughed ominously. “And you’re gonna pay for what you and your people did tonight.”

  Celeen, Draven thought. She’d heard the name before, but she couldn’t place it.

  “Traitor,” one of the other orcs growled.

  “You’re all alone in here,” Kral continued, his voice rising slightly. “None of your crew to back you up.” The woman sat there as if carved from stone, except for the turning of the ring. “Did you hear me?” he shouted. The whole tavern went silent. Draven flicked her eyes to Rowley and caught him motioning for the trolls to stay where they were.

  What the hell? she thought. Rowley hated brawling in his tavern. And she was pretty sure things were about to get very ugly.

  “Yes, Kral. I heard you.” Celeen said calmly without turning. Her voice was low but had iron in it. “And now the whole tavern has heard you.” Draven caught just the faintest trace of a smile on Celeen’s face. “I feel very threatened.”

  “You’re coming with us,” Kral said, reaching out to put a hand on Celeen’s arm.

  Rowley’s voice broke in, booming but in almost a friendly tone: “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Kral.” Rowley punctuated the advice with a smile.

  “Mind your swill, human!” the big orc barked just as his hand rested upon Celeen’s arm.

  In a blur, Celeen’s hand darted up and the golden ring flashed in the lamplight as she jammed rigid fingers straight into Kral’s left eye.

  Kral roared in agonized fury, staggering back as Celeen leaned backwards in a flash, bending over the barstool. The barmaids screamed as Celeen did a back somersault over the stool. The man who had been sitting beside Celeen dove out of the way, clambered over one of the tables, and disappeared beneath it. As Celeen rolled backwards, she lashed out with a vicious kick that slammed into the jaw of the nearest orc, sending him staggering backwards.

  She was rising up before the third orc even knew that the fight had started. She paused, facing them in a low crouch, her hands raised and ready.

  “KILL HER!” Kral roared, one hand held over his ruined left eye as blood ran down his face onto his leather jerkin and across the gray skin of his chest and shoulder.

  The third orc came to life and charged Celeen whose back was to the wall. He smashed into her, pinning her, but she slammed her elbow down into the middle of his back, one-two-three times in rapid succession. The big orc grunted with each impact, and then her knee came up into his face.

  Nobody else in the tavern moved, stunned by what was going on. Draven’s eyes darted to Rowley, who seemed to be simply watching the brawl. He even had a small smile on his face. Draven’ shifted her focus back to the fight.

  What the hell? Draven thought.

  The one that had pinned Celeen backed away, his face a grimace of pain just as the second orc moved with his massive fists cocked and ready to swing.

  Something inside Draven stirred. Anger… fury over what was likely about to happen to Celeen. “Over my dead body,” she said out loud. She grabbed the other mug, slid off the stool, and slithered down to the end of the bar in the blink of an eye… and without spilling a drop.

  Kral, shifted around to the far side of Celeen, but the first orc had backed up and now stood directly in front of Draven.

  She did what any self-respecting woman would do in that situation.

  She set her back leg and struck out with her foot, kicking as hard as she could, straight up between the orc’s legs. He howled and doubled over. Kral’s eyes flicked to his injured comrade and spotted Draven as she stepped around her first victim.

  Kral recognized her immediately. “You!” he shouted.

  “Hello, Kral,” Draven said with a smile. She leapt up, both hands raised high, and came down as hard as she could, smashing both mugs into the skull of the orc still doubled-over before her.

  He dropped to the floor like a sack of grain. And he wasn’t breathing.

  Kral’s eyes shifted to his comrade, who was doing his best to crush Celeen’s skull with fierce jabs and fast haymakers that the woman dodged and blocked with loud slaps of flesh on flesh.

  Kral then locked eyes with Draven and charged, bellowing.

  Draven threw the mug handles straight at his good eye. He smacked them out of the air, but she had already stepped up onto the rung of a barstool. He reached out for her as she leapt up onto the bar and then spun mid-air with her leg extended in a high, swinging arc that nearly brushed the ceiling.

  Kral twisted and raised his left arm, but he was blind on that side. Her foot dropped inside his block and hammered into the side of his face, sending him sprawling across the floor to slide into someone’s chair.

  Draven landed on her feet lightly, just in time to see Celeen step in close to the orc she fought. She caught him with an elbow across his chin. His head jerked. She came around with the other elbow, smas
hing it into his face, and his head swiveled back. And then she twisted back, tensing her whole body as she put everything she had into another elbow smash across his jaw. His head spun around, his body following, and his glassy eyes tried to focus on Draven as she rose in front of him.

  Smiling wickedly, Draven moved like a cat, stepping into him and jamming her knee into his mid-section with her whole body behind it. He whoofed and doubled over. Celeen stepped forward and brought her foot up between his legs. He grunted in pain just as Draven dropped her hands behind his neck. She brought her other knee up into his face hard with a wet crunch of bone. And then she did it again, just for good measure.

  The orc toppled forward slowly, his face a bloody wreck, and collapsed on the floor. Celeen glanced at Draven with an appraising look and then her eyes turned Kral, who was just getting off the floor.

  Draven turned and Celeen stepped up beside her. Both women put their hands on their hips, heads cocked sideways, bored expressions on their faces as Kral turned towards them.

  Fear and impotent rage filled his eye, and a streak of blood and clear fluid dribbled down his face. He glanced at his fallen comrades and uttered a filthy, orcish curse. He knew he was outmatched.

  “Guess it just isn’t your night, Kral,” Draven said. “Care to have another go at it?” She stepped forward and raised her fists, lowering into a crouch and tensing her leg as if she were about to kick him. Celeen remained silent but stepped forward as well.

  Kral’s good eye shifted from Draven to Celeen and back again. “Miserable bitches,” he growled. “You’ll both pay for this!”

  “Perhaps,” Celeen said a bit tiredly. She had a smooth voice with just the hint of an accent that Draven couldn’t place. “But not tonight.” Her eyes narrowed down to slits, and there was finally anger in her face. “You should go home before I lose my temper.”

  Kral stepped sideways and then backed away from them. Both women moved forward, almost driving him towards the far end of the bar.

  “I’ll see you both again … real soon,” he said.

  “Bring more friends,” Draven taunted. “And you should have someone look at that eye of yours. It looks terrible.”

  There was snickering throughout the bar. Kral made it to the end of the bar and turned. He dashed towards the door and ran out into the night, his weapons forgotten. Draven lowered her fists and tried to calm her pounding heart.

  “Sit with me,” Celeen said quietly beside her and turned back to the bar.

  Draven followed and spotted Rowley motioning to the trolls.

  When the two women sat down, Celeen turned partially towards Draven and ran her eyes over the young woman. “I’m surprised.” She motioned to Rowley for him to bring them ales.

  “About what?” Draven replied.

  “That you stepped in to help. You could have just stayed where you were.” She turned her face more fully towards Draven. “I assume the Hammer has a price on your head?”

  “Yes,” Draven said quietly.

  “They know where you are now.”

  The trolls appeared behind the two women, and each hefted an orc over its shoulder with deep-throated grunts.

  “True.” Draven replied, watching the trolls stomp towards the door with their burdens. “When they first came, in I thought they were here for me.” She let out a long sigh and added, “But I wasn’t about to let them work over another woman.” She smiled at Celeen. During the fight, she’d forgotten how much her skin itched, but she felt it now. Celeen’s generosity had put out the flames, though. “Besides, I owed you for the swamp water. Thank you. It helped.”

  Celeen faced forward and was quiet for a while. With nothing to say, Draven followed suit.

  “I saw you come in,” Celeen said, finally breaking the silence. “You know how to get through a crowd.”

  Draven pressed her lips together and thought about that. About what it had been like growing up on her own. “Around here,” she said slowly, “a woman on her own learns one of two things very quickly.” She ran her finger through a splash of ale on the bar, the past ten years of her life washing over her. “She either stays soft and becomes a slave, or she gets hard and learns to survive on her own. I chose to survive.”

  “And you think doing grind is a way to survive?” Celeen asked. There was an edge in her voice, almost as if Draven had somehow betrayed her personally.

  “No,” Draven replied, and there was both shame and embarrassment in her voice. “It was an accident.”

  Celeen laughed, a harsh sound that cut through Draven. “No such thing when it comes to grind.”

  “A lapse in judgment, then.”

  “But you want more.” Celeen’s voice was cold.

  Draven thought about it … about the hunger for it … the need for another dive into what grind had done to her. “My body does,” she admitted quietly.

  Celeen nodded. “If I put some on the bar right now, would you take it?”

  Horror and desire filled Draven to the bursting point, the two feelings at war with each other. After a long time, she whispered, “I don’t know.”

  Another nod, and then Celeen gently placed her dark hand atop Draven’s. It was a gesture of kindness … and understanding. The golden ring, a beautifully carved visage of a feline, glinted in the light, almost seeming to wink at her. “You have a choice to make,” Celeen said quietly.

  Draven chuckled hopelessly. “Not without any money, I don’t.” She looked at the ring … and the hand covering her own. “It seems that decision was made for me when I ran out of coin.

  The black woman smiled and ran her eyes up and down Draven’s lithe form … it was an evaluation, plain and simple. “Then let me ask the question a different way. Do you want to take another shot at life?” she asked.

  “Maybe.” Draven cast her eyes sideways, sizing up the strange woman who had troubled herself to help a nameless dreg.

  Celeen reached inside her cloak. “I’m about to make your life more difficult, but if you decide you do, meet me tomorrow in front of the castle gate.” Celeen placed a gold coin on the bar between them. “Here,” she said, almost taunting Draven. “You can either get a room tonight, clean yourself up, and meet me tomorrow…” she locked eyes with Draven, “or you can use it to go back the grind and die in some alley.”

  Celeen nodded to Rowley who nodded back, and then she slipped through the crowd almost as easily and silently as Draven had. She picked up several weapons from Shines, a long sword and several daggers, and then disappeared out through the front door without turning back.

  Draven stared at gold on the bar. Her body screamed at her to go get more grind, to disappear into a blissful, maddening haze. And her mind screamed back in defiance. She felt the two urges warring within her.

  Rowley stepped up and placed two ales on the bar.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  Draven looked into his eyes and smiled weakly. “It would take all night to answer that question, Rowley.” Her eyes flicked to the front door. “Who was she?” she asked, and then her eyes drifted down to the coin.

  Rowley leaned in, lowering his voice as he asked, “Did you see that ring on her finger?”

  “Yeah. It was a cat of some sort, right?” she asked.

  “Mmm-hmmm.” He stared at her over the dirty mug that had miraculously appeared in his hands from somewhere. “Recognize it?”

  “No. Should I have?”

  “Not really. The King gave it to her … before he was King.” Draven’s eyes went wide. Rowley merely nodded. “A long time ago she was you. Strung out on grind and one foot in the grave. But she had a talent with those blades of hers. She used to be an enforcer … for the Red Hammer Clan, coincidentally. I don’t know the whole story, but the man who would become king took her in … got her off grind. Then the revolution came, and she used those blades of hers to free us all.”

  “You’re kidding …” Draven said.

  He shook his head slowly. “She’s re
cruiting, Draven.” He looked deep into her eyes, searching for something. “Now that the war with Gallerey is over, the King wants to clean up Maevelon … even the south side … put an end to grid here.” He looked at Draven. “Everyone comes from somewhere, and in this life the odds are it’s not a happily ever after sort of place. You know that.” He paused and raised an eyebrow. “Right now, the only thing separating you from her are a few years … and the choice you’re about to make.”

  Draven stared down at the coin for a long time, considering her options, debating who and what would win the battle inside her. Finally, she picked up the coin and flipped it across her fingers, the lamplights glinting off it as it tumbled from one knuckle to the next. She palmed it, squeezing it tightly in her itching hand until pain shot up her arm. She contemplated a future she’d never believed she would have. She slowly set the coin upon the bar and slid it towards Rowley with her index finger.

  “I think I’ll take that room, Rowley … and some more of that swamp water.”

  One corner of Rowley’s mouth rose in a half-smile. He nodded his head, reached under the bar, and put a large, iron key in front of her.

  “Room six,” he said quietly. “Top of the stairs, last door on the right. I’ll have one of the trolls bring up the water for your bath. And I swear, the Hammer won’t disturb you so long as you are here.”

  Draven stood slowly and headed for the stairs, preparing for the rough night ahead of her as the grind worked its way out of her system.

  She’d been a dreg her entire life, and the morrow held a promise she never dreamed of. It was a promise of opportunity—of changing her life for the better once and for all.

  The End

  The Godfairy

  Small fists pounded on my front door, waking me out of what I wished had been a permanent coma. With a titanic headache pressed between my sweaty palms, I watched two dwarves in green police uniforms barge into my bedroom. They dragged me to my feet, informing me that my “old friend” Lumpy was calling in a solid I owed him.