Chaos At The Castle (Book Six) by Craig Halloran

Author:Craig Halloran [Halloran, Craig]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Two-Ten Book Press
Published: 2013-10-18T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 36

Blink!

“Say!” A dwarf, black-haired and mangy, couldn’t hide his surprise. “Where’d ye come from?”

Lefty tumbled onto his butt, shaking his head. “I-I don’t know.”

The dwarf slammed his fist on the table.

Lefty jumped.

The surrounding men and dwarves erupted in laughter.

Lefty shook his head.

What has happened? Where am I?

He was in a tavern. That much was clear by the layout, the drinking and eating that surrounded him. A fireplace sat cold at his back, and suspicious eyes drifted over him and onto the next patron. There was something else, something weird about where he was. It was misty.

Gathering his thoughts, he looked to the dwarf, who now had his nose buried in a tankard of ale. “I’m from the City of Three, I think.”

The dwarf eyed him from behind his tankard, gulping it down.

Clonk!

“Bring another and one more for my out-of-the-city friend here. Say!” The dwarf rubbed his beard. “You’re pretty small, even for a halfling. Humph. The City of Three, ye say. Well, that might explain your appearance. Are you one of those magi or wizards I hear about there? I didn’t think halflings could take to magic with such fashion.”

Lefty crawled up on the chair and sat down. He wasn’t certain what to say or think at the moment. The last hours of his life had been incomprehensible enough.

“Dwarf, uh, my name is Lefty Lightfoot, and I really have no idea where I am. Can you tell me?”

The dwarf guffawed as the barmaid, heavyset but not uncomely, set down their tankards, laughing as well.

“Can’t ye tell?”

Lefty scanned the room. It wasn’t the City of Bone; there were no dwarves there. And it couldn’t be the City of Three; the distant roar of the falls didn’t catch his ears. And other than the few other places he’d been in his life, he didn’t really have any idea at all. It wasn’t a village or a logged outpost. He shook his head.

“Have a drink, Halfling,” the dwarf said, reaching over and squeezing his shoulder. “Hmm. Hmm. Hmm.”

Being polite, Lefty took a sip, glancing around as he did so.

There were women, some dressed in thick but scant clothing, and the men were of a dour but rugged sort. A pair of full orcs sat in the corner, quiet and unusual. At the next table over was a man that might have been half-gnoll with a heavy sword on his belt. Somewhere he couldn’t see, someone played a flute, another strings. A sad tune, a slow tune that settled over the room.

“Are you going to make me guess… Apologies, but may I have your name?”

“No, you might just ferget it. Dwarf will do, and no, I’m not telling you where you are.”

“I could ask someone else, I suppose.”

The dwarf’s bushy brown brows buckled, and his calloused hand reached under the table. Lefty heard a dagger or knife slip from his belt. The dwarf leaned inward.

“Ye could, but I’d consider that rude. And I don’t like rude people. You aren’t rude, are you?”

I might as well be.

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