Dragonsign: Peril & Profit 2 by M. H. Johnson

Author:M. H. Johnson [Johnson, M. H.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Speculative
Amazon: B07B627NDR
Published: 2018-03-29T23:00:00+00:00

14

The screams heard echoing from the cellar below caused the triplets to widen their eyes momentarily before grimly shaking their heads in unison, Halence's men giving an involuntary shudder for remembered horrors.

Halence just smiled in grim satisfaction while the cowed soldier trussed beside him started whimpering like a babe, until one of the sailors kicked him.

"That's a good lad there, our Sorn," Halence said with a wry sort of fondness. "I'll bet he's teaching our dear friend Hankro that there's a price to be paid for messing with our crew, lads. Take heart, boys, we're past the worst of it, and once Sorn has had his little bit of fun, we'll all be off to the ship and back in quarters familiar and sound. And men? I promise you this. When we land at York, each and every one of you will have a handful of gold royals to your name! For I'm your captain, and I'm damn well going to see that we all leave this bloody city for the better!"

The three surviving sailors gave a ragged cheer of support that died oddly in the eerily quiet house, though Halence's words certainly seemed to have raised the moral of his haunted looking men.

"For that, Captain, it almost makes the horrors we've seen today livable. Not worth it, mind you, but livable," voiced one of the sailors, his companions nodding in agreement.

"So, Captain," queried an intrigued Lieberman, "how many gold royals fit into a handful?"

Halence grinned. "Oh, I would say about a dozen, Lieberman is it?" He turned to his men. "Well, boys, does a dozen royals seem fair?"

"Why yes, Captain," came a breathless reply. "That does seem fair." To which the other two suddenly awed sailors nodded reverently to their smiling captain.

At that moment a beaming Sorn all but bounced up the stairs, effortlessly carrying the huge bulky form of a whimpering Hankro over his shoulder. Halence's all too expert eye saw the telltale signs via the burns seared deep into the back of Hankro's ankles that Sorn had severed the man's Achilles' tendons.

"Why, Hankro, glad you could join us! You look a bit the worse for wear. Hope you're not getting cold feet about your meeting with the king!"

Sorn grinned broadly at Halence’s jest.

"No worry about that, good captain!" Sorn said brightly. "I've made sure he won't run off and get himself into trouble. Now wait right here, you piece of pig slop," Sorn said with mocking sweetness. "I've got your friend to look into."

Whistling a merry little off-key tune, Sorn returned a few minutes later holding a terrified looking Lord Vorstice by the back of his coat, arms dangling painfully at his sides. His right arm was an enthusiastic mess of bandages applied rather liberally by an uncertain Lieberman, and certainly their mass, if nothing else, had prevented any further blood loss. Despite his chalk-white pallor, Vorstice's powerful frame did not appear in any danger of collapse.

"Poor guy was busy as a bee in the corner his

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