Five Tales from the Rusty Scabbard

By Ty Johnston

Five short stories from the author's Ursian Chronicles series of epic fantasy tales:

Deep in the Land of the Ice and Snow: A young barbarian named Belgad goes on a quest to have his future told, but does he really want to know what fate has in store for him?

Road of the Sword: In a moment everything changes, and young Lerebus Shieldbreaker must leave his past behind him to tread into his future.

Six Swords, One Skeleton and a Sewer: A discovery takes six city guards below the streets of Bond into a maze of madness and mirth.

Blade and Flame: No one escapes the Prisonlands, but some exiles are making the attempt. Border wardens Kuthius Tallerus, Darkbow, Fist, and others are on the trail of the potential escapees, but these prisoners are not operating without some hefty magical aid.

Kron Darkbow: He lurks within shadows, he hunts those who deserve his wrath, but sometimes Kron Darkbow shows a touch of a soft side. But not often.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ty Johnston
• Release date: Aug 22, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476312132

Ty Johnston

Originally from Kentucky, Ty Johnston is a former newspaper journalist. He lives in North Carolina with loving memories of his late wife.Blog: tyjohnston.blogspot.com

Book preview

Five Tales from the Rusty Scabbard

The Ursian Chronicles

by Ty Johnston

a Monumental Works Group author

Copyright 2012 by L. M. Press

visit the author’s website: tyjohnston.blogspot.com

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

for Alan, who started it all

Table of Contents

Deep in the Land of the Ice and Snow

Road of the Sword

Six Swords, One Skeleton and a Sewer

Blade and Flame

Kron Darkbow

Acknowledgments

The story Deep in the Land of the Ice and Snow originally appeared in the Rogues Blades Entertainment anthology The Return of the Sword.

The story Kron Darkbow originally appeared in a slightly different version in the Rogues Blades Entertainment anthology DEMONS: A Clash of Steel Anthology.

Note to readers

What you have in your hands is a collection of five short stories, all of which take place on the continent of Ursia in my fictional fantasy world related to what I collectively call The Ursian Chronicles. For those of you who have read some of my works, you will find some familiar names and places here. For those of you new to my writing, I hope you are entertained and will seek out my novels based in Ursia.

As you find yourself walking toward the building, it is difficult not to notice that it has seen better days, yet it is not a dive. Here and there a brick has crumbled, a shingle has tilted, a window has a lacy, cracked line running through its thin glass. Hanging above the well lighted entrance is a wooden sign proclaiming the establishment as The Rusty Scabbard, a tavern which you have no doubt heard of on your wanderings. The Scabbard is known near and far as a resting place for weary travelers in the city of Bond, situated just across the bridge from The Docks district where ships of all makes and sizes anchor themselves every day in the confluence of three rivers that collide at the city’s heart. However, before you can enter the place to wet the dust of the road from your tongue, an old man with a dark, wide-brimmed hat smashed atop his gray head comes out the door and sits himself on the stoop. Soon a long pipe appears in his mouth to belch black smoke into the sky, and it is then that he seems to notice you, his shady eyes rocking in your direction. So, you want a story? he asks. Without waiting for an answer, he removes his hat and drops it at his feet, the open end facing upward. For a few coin, old Midge Highwater will spin you some of the wildest, strangest tales you have ever heard. Only a few coin, for storyteller has to eat. Besides, I’ve got five hungry mouths to feed. That last bit isn’t true, of course, but it sounds good to the marks ... er, customers.

Deep in the Land of the Ice and Snow

1,965 years A.A. (After Ashal)

The wolves were too many. Belgad knew that as he soon as he spotted the beasts. There were nearly a score of them, and if that were not bad enough, the creatures were huge, nearly the size of a riding pony. What was worse, the wolves were quiet and had managed to surround him without his spying them sooner.

No, this was no ordinary pack. They had appeared from nowhere, and they had no qualms about scaling the side of a mountain for their human prey.

Belgad forced himself to climb higher, the bitter cold winds whipping at his long yellow hair. His fingers, the tips protruding from rags he had used to swaddle them, gripped the edge of another boulder and lifted him with the help of solid placement from his fur-lined boots.

On top of the boulder, Belgad found a flat spot and sat there, letting the cold air fill his tired lungs. His body needed rest after days of hiking dense forests and climbing steep hills, but he would not close his eyes; the wolves were drawing nearer, below and above. It would only be a matter of time before they would pounce.

After what felt like hours to the big man wrapped in furs, one of the wolves, the largest, began to creep its way along a narrow path toward him.

Belgad watched the animal with anticipation, knowing soon he would be in battle.

Eventually the wolf was below Belgad, just out of reach of the man's legs hanging off the side of his stone seat.

Will you eat me today, wolf? the large man said to the animal.

The wolf's only reply was uplifted ears and a tilted head.

I think not, Belgad said, drawing in his legs and pushing off them so he was standing on the boulder.

The wolf blinked, and that was when Belgad took notice of its eyes. The animal had eyes the shade of morning blue ice.

I think not, Belgad repeated. With hands numb from stinging frost, he reached behind his head and pulled forth two swords. Gripped in his right hand was the long, heavy blade that had been handed down to him from his father; resting in Belgad's left hand was the shorter, wider sword taken from a Truscan mercenary during Belgad's first raid as a boy.

A low growl from behind made Belgad turn his head to the side. Tricky beasts, he said as he spotted another wolf above him choosing its steps cautiously in the rocky terrain.

Suddenly the wolf below sprang up, its claws digging into the side of the boulder and pulling itself to a firmer standing.

The movement was so swift Belgad had no time for a full swing with a sword. Instead he punched out with his shorter weapon's hilt, smashing the blue-eyed wolf across the snout and sending it sprawling back the way it came with a gash of blood across its muzzle.

The wolf above took that moment to launch itself, landing on the barbarian's back and sinking in its claws.

Belgad screamed out and raised his swords high above his head. The wolf on his back clawed at the man's fur coat, trying to get a firmer grip.

The barbarian slashed over his head in a downward stab at his back and the wolf there. The short sword caught the monster in its jaws and sliced its mouth to give the thing a wider grin. The wolf howled in pain as Belgad shook and twisted to one side, sending the injured animal plummeting to its wounded companion below.

Not taking time to notice the pain of his wounds, Belgad glanced around to see the rest of the wolves were moving in through the trees below. He dared a glance over his shoulder and found no more of the beasts above, only a ridge a good distance away.

Without another look at his closing foes, and without sheathing his swords, Belgad darted up the steep incline to the ridge. This part of the world was foreign to him, and he knew not what lay on the other side of the mountain, but he could not make a stand in the open. He needed a cave or a steep valley, some place where his foes would have to come at him one at a time.

The wolves followed.

His lungs running out of air and his legs cramping, halfway to the ridge Belgad lost his footing, his boots sliding out from beneath him on gravel covered with frost. He would have fallen and tumbled back down the mountainside if he had not dropped one of the swords, the shorter blade, and grabbed hold of a gnarly branch sticking up from frozen ground.

Hanging there on the side of the mountain, his feet out over a lip of stone in open air, he heard the wolves howl. They were near, much nearer than Belgad would have thought.

His only hope was the mountain ridge. It was the only path open to him not layered with the monsters.

Belgad yanked on the frozen root and pulled himself near to standing again. Another howl, closer than before, had him glance down the mountain.

The wolves were coming. The bitter north winds shook the gray hair on their backs like a summer storm blowing across fields of grain. The nearest was only a dozen yards below the big man.

Belgad sheathed his heavy sword in its scabbard on his back and pushed himself forward, more climbing than running now. His numb fingers dug into frozen dirt and lifted him another few feet. He kept clawing away and kicking with his feet, not daring to look back.

On his hands and knees, Belgad pulled himself the last little distance to the top of the mountain. Once there, he paused to catch his breath, staring down at his frozen hands and the gray stone beneath them. He almost wished the wolves would hurry and catch him. He had had enough,