62

Fighting Over What?

Granthurg

Granthurg shouted, "ANTONERRI!" before he jumped up and broke through the bushes in the hedgerow. He unslung his hammer as he started running. The pounding of his heart in his head matched the heavy thud of his feet on the ground.

He could see Antonerri struggling with the two men at the wagon. Hold on, there, friend! I'm on my way!

In an instant, something swept his feet out from under him, and he fell forward, reaching out to block his fall. He hit the ground hard, and the handle of his hammer bounced and struck the side of his face. That pain was harsh, but immediately a heavy weight landed on his back and grabbed at his neck. The blow knocked Granthurg windless, and dropped him fully to the ground, pinning him there.

"You're going to sell it, aren't you?" a voice said. A sword blade appeared in Granthurg's peripheral vision. He rolled a bit to one side and brought up his arm to shield his face from the blade. The motion caught his attacker off guard for a moment. "You're going to sell it to the Dragon's Flame, aren't you? They'd love to get their hands on it!"

Won't these people ever leave me alone? Granthurg took advantage of the moment by twisting his body the other way, throwing the man off balance. He rolled away, grabbing his hammer as he did.

They both stood and faced each other. Granturg felt warm blood running down his face. Was that from the hammer or the blade? He wasn't sure, and didn't want to lose his focus on the attacker. He held his hammer before him ready to block with the handle or swing with the mass.

"Maybe you idiots would get some useful answers if you just told me what it is you're after!"

"Maybe I'll just take it from you after I kill you!"

Granthurg steeled his stance. He could hear Thissraelle's voice shouting, but couldn't make out what she was saying. I don't have time to waste on this! She needs my help!

"Not today, you won't!" He lunged ahead. The man was nimble and quick with the sword, but Granthurg blocked his assaults with the hammer's handle. Twice he landed hard blows with the butt end of the handle. "Does that feel good? It hurts, doesn't it?"

They danced a tight choreography of thrust, parry, hit, shift. The attacker faked a motion to the left and went in with a lunge from the right. Granthurg twisted to barely avoid the blade, which cut through his vest and shirt. The man stepped back to re-set his stance. Granthurg wiped the blood from his face, then shifted the grip on his hammer.

"Didn't it ever occur to any of you," he hissed, "That if I had it, I would probably use it to defend myself?"

The man's eyes narrowed, and he rushed in, sword first, reaching in for the kill.

Granthurg shifted, and swept his hammer by the handle, parrying the incoming sword to the side. He continued to swing it up above his shoulder and back down onto his assailants extended hip, with a crackling and crunching noise. The man shrieked and collapsed onto the ground, writhing in agony.

Granthurg stood and caught his breath. "You wait here."

63

She's Just Fine

Thissraelle

"Thissraelle!" She raised her head from the crying children at the sound of Granthurg's voice. His face was wide, covered in worry, surprise, and quite a bit of blood.

"Granthurg! Are you alright?" She released the children from her embrace across the back of the wagon, and reached up to his forehead. It was cut and still drizzling blood over his eye and cheek. "You're hurt!" She turned to the wagon and began to tear a strip of cloth from the covering.

"I'm fine! Are you harmed? Where's Antonerri?"

She laughed quietly and turned to him with the torn rag. "I'm OK!" She began wiping his face. It was cut, but not deeply. He winced as she touched it. He looked over and saw the unconscious forms scattered around. He stepped over to Antonerri, who was beginning to moan. Granthurg leaned over him. The side of his face was beginning to bruise, and his shallow breath sounded raspy.

Thissraelle said, quietly, "I can't heal him now. My powers and will are drained."

Granthurg nodded. "We need to leave. I was attacked. There could be more." Granthurg gently picked Antonerri up and lifted him into the back of the wagon. The children made room for him, and watched Granturg warily. Thissraelle climbed into the back of the wagon with them, and set some blankets under Antonerri's head. He was dressed differently than he had been earlier. He was wearing a finely made shirt, which was rumpled and roughed, even though it looked newly crafted. His scruff of a beard was gone, too, shaved off.

She looked out of the back. Granthurg was staring intently at the man on the ground. He bent over and moved his shirt collar aside, as if inspecting the man's shoulder. He mumbled something.

"What?" She said

He looked up at her with a quizzical look on his face. "It's a dragon. Breathing fire. Tattooed on his shoulder."

Mhmmm. Is that supposed to mean something? He stood and walked to the front of the wagon, then climbed up. She and the children had to reach out to steady themselves as his weight shifted the wagon. Then, the horses moved and the wheels creaked and groaned. They surged forward.

She noticed, as they moved and picked up speed, that Granthurg kept looking off to the right, back toward where the fight had happened. After a moment, the wagon paused and stopped. It shook again as Granthurg stepped off. "What's happening?" she asked, but didn't get an answer. Then, Granturg appeared in the opening at the back of the wagon with another unconscious man. This one, she recognized as the man in grey that had been following them. She looked up with surprise.

"He's badly hurt, too. I can't just leave him."

The End of Part 5

Up next: Part Six "Distance"