The Dragon God (Book 2) (3 page)

“What did you say, Huey?”

“I need to pray, Master Dulgin.”

“Well, hurry it up, I want to get out of this shady town before someone in our past finds out we are here. Baron Hall holds the best of scum and villainy.”

Abawken closed his eyes as he knelt by a lit candle, his elevated palms resting on his thighs. Giving thanks to God for all he had been blessed with, a smile began to form on his face. He recalled Mistress Raina, and their many meetings together in the Moonstone Mountains before he departed.
They had grown fond of discussing intellectual tidbits, and the histories and customs of their home realms. He chuckled to himself, remembering her strict corrections every time he mispronounced an Elvish word she was teaching him that day. He’d always been drawn to her strong leadership, but noticed a softness when they were alone he had not seen. The more he thought of Raina, the stronger he could feel the emotional link she had taught him to establish.

Dulgin shook his head and began to gather the dark brown cloak to cover himself. He whipped it around his shoulders; it made a sound like a flag unfurling.

“You done, Huey?”

Abawken sighed, his focus broken. “It doesn’t look like you’re giving me much of a choice.”

“Ever thought about talking to God while movin?” Abawken stood, turned to face the dwarf, and grinned. “What are you smiling about?” Dulgin’s eyes squinted.

“Just thinking about the past and now the future, my friend.”

“Yeah, well hopefully the future holds a bar-fight and plenty of ale,” he licked his lips, “and it doesn’t have to be in that order.”

Abawken grabbed his oversized cloak and slung it around his shoulders. He tucked his sheathed scimitar inside and then pulled the hood to drape over his head, concealing his face. Dulgin retrieved his dwarven battle-axe from its place against the wall.

“Time to get out of this shack we’ve been holed up in. C’mon, I can smell trouble.” Dulgin jumped down into the narrow tunnel—the only way in and out of the confined, dilapidated hideout.

Abawken followed closely behind. “I think you are smelling yourself, Master Dulgin.”

“Where are they?” Bridazak asked.”

“I think Abawken was showing Dulgin some new moves,” Spilf coughed. “They’ll be here shortly. Where is Scalve?”

“He is collecting a debt. He said he would be back with the information.”

“Bridazak, would you look at all those leather purses out there. These drunks are just asking for someone to come along and take them off their hands. Don’t you think it is weird that we don’t have that desire to steal any longer?”

“Well, I would say, that makes you an honest thief.”

They chuckled and continued to watch the tavern patrons. Their table was positioned by the back wall to give them the best vantage point. The crowded bar was filled to capacity. Metal steins of mead clanked throughout the tavern, which was in full swing. Scraggly, thieving humans dominated most of the establishment, while some of the half-orc race, the meat-headed muscle type, occasionally showed up. This breed of half-human, half-orc originated in Baron Hall. The Baron, an evil human who enslaved warrior orcs and bred them with his slave concubines to procreate the brutes, formed his own small army over time, known as the Headbashers.

“Why did you pick the Bog, of all places, to meet Scalve?”

“What better place to make Scalve feel comfortable? He knows our history with Dorg and his gang, so it makes sense we do this under Dorg’s very own nose.”

“You are taking a big risk my friend, but I like it.”

“Don’t you worry Spilfer, I have taken care of everything. Scalve will get us what we need and then we will be out of here.”

Spilf nudged Bridazak to alert him of Dulgin and Abawken’s entrance. The cloaked duo made their way to the back table.

“You know you two ordakians stand out like a gnome’s sore nose,” Dulgin commented as they joined them at the table.

“That’s what I told Bridazak,” Spilf jabbed his friend in the shoulder.

“Don’t worry. It’s all under control. Once we get the map from Scalve we will be on our way to find Spilf’s parents.”

“Why do we all need to be here, Master Bridazak? It seems we will stand out even more as a group.”

“Scalve insisted. He never deals with anyone he hasn’t looked in the face. Plus, you have the loot we are trading with. Did you bring them?”

“Yes, I have the gems.”

“Are you sure you want to part with them for my sake? Maybe there is another way,” Spilf asked.

“It’s fine. Any wealth I can offer in the way of finding your family will be yours.”

“My deepest thanks, Abawken.”

“Ever going to tell us where you got those beauties from?” Bridazak asked.

Abawken remained silent, and Dulgin piped up, “Good luck cracking this Huey. I’ve been asking since we met where he got that sword of his and he has yet to explain that supposed gift.”

“Now is not the time, Master Dulgin.”

“Yeah, when is the time? Now you suddenly have a small pouch of diamonds as if you plucked it from the royal treasure itself. I’ve never seen their like before. They’re not from this region. Where did you say they came from, Bawky?”

“Dulgin, it’s not gemology time. I agree with Abawken, now is not the place. Once Scalve gets here then I need you all to follow my lead. Understand?” Spilf and Abawken nodded. “Dulgin, do you understand?” Bridazak asked again.

“Yeah, I get it. Now, where is this Scalvey fella?”

“He just entered,” Spilf pointed.

“Okay, all of you be quiet and let me do the talking. I’m mainly referring to you, Dulgin.”

“I get it. You do the talkin and I’ll do the fightin.”

Scalve approached. He was a scrawny looking human of average height with gangly arms and brown short hair, whose only real distinguishing features were bad hygiene, and that he was missing his entire left ear. The heroes scanned their contact intently, noticing the leather armor underneath his beige pants and tunic and dark brown cloak draped down his back. They knew a weapon could be easily concealed, as there were none out in the open.

“Well met,” he bluntly announced as he joined them at their table.

“We are all here, per your request.”

“Good, I always want to know who I am doing business with. Speaking of business, do you have what we discussed?”

“Yes. I take it you have what we need?”

“You are correct.” Scalve drew forth a folded parchment from within his tunic.

Bridazak nodded to Abawken, who withdrew a small pouch containing the diamonds. Scalve inspected the goods without taking them out to display to the world. Bridazak took the leather parchment and lowered it to his side to take a quick glance. They both were satisfied.

“So, when will your other ear fall off?” Dulgin blurted.

“I’m sorry, forgive my friend here,” Bridazak tried to parlay the insult.

“What did you say?”

“I’m sorry, let me talk into your good ear. Wait, which one is that?”

“Oh brother,” Spilf sighed.

“Enough, we both got what we wanted so let’s part ways before we get to a point we can’t back out of,” Bridazak motioned with his hands out to try and keep them separated.

“This just makes things a lot easier,” Scalve said with a smirk, raising his hand to signal someone.

“What does that mean?”

A squad of the Headbasher Gang entered the Bog tavern, answering the question. They shoved the other patrons aside to clear a path. Stepping through the doorway last came the infamous Dorg, the Baron’s right hand thug. The greasy haired, half-orc leader had broken pieces of banded mail armor crusted with dried blood dangling from him. Bridazak focused on the unforgettable deformed and jagged teeth protruding from the sides of his snout-like mouth. He was the ugliest out of his entire entourage.

Silence fell upon the establishment and Dorg’s thunderous boot steps echoed off the wooden floor boards as he moved toward the heroes in the back.

“You traitorous bastard!” Dulgin spat at Scalve.

“It’s business. Dorg has quite a bounty on your heads.” Scalve stepped aside and made his way to the exit.

Bridazak whispered to his friends, “Stay calm. Trust me.”

Dorg’s voice crackled, “Well, well, well. Look what the trolls dragged in.”

There was no rebuttal, only a calm grin from Bridazak. Dorg scoffed, “What, no funny comments from the halflings? Let’s see here, we have Bridazak, Spilf, the ugly red-bearded dwarf, and a newcomer.” Dorg yanked the hood away from the newcomer’s face and growled, “What’s your name, Human?”

Pulling back from Dorg’s bad breath, he answered, “Abawken.”

“That’s a funny name for a human.” Laughter erupted from his goons behind him in support of their master’s comment. “You’re not from around here. Where are you from, Human?”

Abawken glanced at Bridazak who gave him a slight nod to go ahead and answer.

“I come from the province of Zoar to the East.”

“Oh, we have a foreigner in town boys!” Another eruption of laughter heightened. “There is a foreigner tax here at Baron Hall. Isn’t that right, boys?” Snarls and nodding heads responded to Dorg’s question.

“Bridazak, I’ve had enough of this!” Dulgin said loudly, staring down the half-orc.

“Oh, finally, I was wondering how long it would take before the dwarf came around. I was getting bored with the human.”

“Dorg, it was an accident those ten years ago. You can’t still be upset after all this time?”

“Upset, Bridazak? You think I’m upset? No, on the contrary, I’m so very happy that you all decided to come back to the Hall. When Scalve told me you were in town, I was overjoyed. In fact, the Baron is preparing a feast in your honor as we speak. Isn’t that right, boys?” More chuckles and snorts resounded.

Bridazak calmly replied, “Well, that is good to hear. I’m looking forward to catching up with the Baron after all these years. Is it alright if I invite a few guests?”

“Guests? Why sure, I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he grinned.

“Good. Dulgin, do you mind sharing your thoughts about Dorg’s mighty fine tavern he has here?”

“Yes, enlighten me, Dwarf.”

Dulgin pushed his chair back and stood, planting his hands on the table. He stared deeply into Dorg’s recessed eyes. “The Bog is a great name for this place,” he started off. “It stands for a ‘Bunch of Garbage,’ and I’m here to take out the trash.”

Dorg guffawed, “There’s the dwarf we remember.” Then, quickly twisting his face into a scowl, he snarled, “I’m going to savor the years of torture in the dungeons awaiting you.”

Dorg moved toward Dulgin but Bridazak suddenly stepped between them and whistled loudly. Cloaked patrons at several tables sprang to their feet and revealed their faces. A huge, seven-foot tall human wielding a gigantic maul with an arm’s length anvil at the end rose and stepped forward as their apparent leader. Muscles bulged out from his leather armor draped with animal skins, and fur boots to his knees. His steel grey eyes glared through his thick blondish brown hair at the half-orc leader.

“Bridazak, my debt is paid,” his deep voice resonated throughout the room.

“My thanks, Griplock. You have my gratitude for coming all this way in from the tundra, my friend.”

Dorg and his gang were completely surrounded by the barbarian tribe that had infiltrated the town—they were long time rivals over a deep family grudge lasting many years. Explosive attacks at any given moment between the two factions were common.

Dorg spun back on Bridazak, “You will pay for this.”

“Have a nice chat with my invited guests. Give my love to the Baron,” he mocked.

The heroes moved quickly out the back door. They heard angry, muffled words exchanged that escalated into an all-out brawl. Shouts from fleeing patrons, mingled with the sounds of chairs toppling, tables crashing, and glass shattering.

“I love the sound of a good bar-fight,” Dulgin said.

“Well played Master Bridazak. How did you know we would be set up?”

“C’mon, we can’t expect to come to the Hall without someone recognizing us. It was inevitable. Just glad it worked out.”

“I hope this map is something we can work from to find my village,” Spilf chimed in.

“We’ll find it.”

“Can we go back and join in the fun?” Dulgin pleaded.

“Perhaps next time, my friend.”

“I will remember you said that.”

They moved further into the shadows of the town—heading for the outskirts of the open tundra beyond. Suddenly, Abawken smelled the scent of lilac. It stopped him dead in his tracks.
“She is here. She is following me,”
he looked around nervously.

“Abawken, what’s wrong?” Bridazak asked.

“Nothing. Let’s go.”