The Dying Kingdom by Stephen D. Sullivan

Author:Stephen D. Sullivan [Sullivan, Stephen D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-7869-3324-2
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast Publishing
Published: 2004-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

“Surely we can work this out,” Elidor said. He tasted blood in his mouth and his ribs ached badly. The two ruffians holding him laughed.

“Trying to sell things from the castle!” shouted a third man, a big, lantern-jawed oaf. “Are you trying to curse us all?” He again slammed his hamlike fist into the elf’s gut.

The town of Arngrim was turning out to be much less “entertaining” than Elidor had hoped. After leaving Sindri in the marketplace to question the townspeople, Elidor had hurried off to do a little business of his own. But as soon as he’d shown these men his wares, they turned on him, seizing his arms before he could draw his concealed daggers. The elf made a mental note to himself: never do business with strangers in dark alleys, even if they promise a fat payday.

Bert, the lantern-jawed fellow hitting him, smiled showing a set of crooked yellow teeth. In one of his hands—the one he wasn’t using to punch with—he held the small statuette that Elidor had found in the burned-out house, along with the lion-head pin the elf had pilfered from the king’s study.

“This statuette you tried to pawn off on me belonged to me sister,” Bert said. “I ain’t heard from her in months. Where’d you get it, scum?”

“I acquired it during my travels, from a wandering salesman,” Elidor lied.

In payment, he got another of Bert’s fists crashing into his ribs. “Been in my family since before the Cataclysm, that has!” Bert said. “This lion-head pin you offered to throw in, I suppose you got that from a ‘salesman,’ too?”

Bright white spots danced before Elidor’s eyes and gongs rang in his ears. He fought down nausea and tried to wriggle free or reach his knives, but Bert’s friends held him too tightly.

“Want another?” Bert asked. “Or do you wanna talk?” He reeled back his fist again.

“All right! All right!” Elidor said. “I’ll talk.” Blood burbled up in his mouth, and he spat it onto the pavement. “I found the statuette in a burned-out house on the edge of the mountains. I didn’t know it belonged to anyone. Keep it if you like.”

Bert’s yellowish eyes went wide. “Burned-out house ...?” he said, as if pondering. Then his face twisted into a mask of rage. “If it were burned, ‘twas you that did the burning!”

“No, honestly,” Elidor said. As usual, telling the truth had only made things worse. The elf didn’t know why he ever resorted to it. He had the distinct feeling that Bert now intended to kill him.

“Ask Prince Alric if you don’t believe me!” the elf gasped. Unfortunately, one of his teeth seemed to be loose, which made it more difficult to speak. “Ask the king and queen! I arrived here with their son!”

Bert’s eyes narrowed. “Ask the king and queen,” he said mockingly. “Maybe we would, if we ever seen ‘em. They sit in their towers, lording over us while the land rots. Only justice is, they’re trapped in this dying kingdom, same as us!”

“Careful what you say, Bert!” one of his companions cautioned.

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