The Silver Tower (The Age of Dawn Book 3) by Everet Martins Page B
Authors: Everet Martins
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his eyes. “Hey you, you’re friends with those wizard scum, aren’t you?” The man demanded, cute little fists clenched.
“That was my sausage,” Grimbald said, frowning down at the bald man.
“Are you working for the Silver Tower, boy?” the man asked, hand reaching for something behind his back and resting his hand there. A blade hilt no doubt.
Two other men in white robes walked up beside the angry little man, the bottoms black with ash. A silly outfit for a city covered in ash. City folk are sure an impractical lot . He bent over with a groan and picked up the sausage, dusting it off with the back of his hand. They seemed to be the kind of men who he and his Pa would’ve had to toss out of the Hissing Gooseberry after having too many ales. All talk and no bite.
“I’m talking to you, big boy,” baldy snapped, taking a step forward. Grimbald slid the sausage into his pocket for safekeeping.
“I don’t know much about the Silver Tower. Run along now, you don’t want any trouble. I can guarantee that.”
“Oh yeah?” Baldy barked, drawing a carving knife from his belt. The other two beside him had followed along, small knives of their own gleaming in the sun.
A couple walking arm in arm turned the corner, saw the scene and hurried right back around the other way. At least some folk had some sense around here. He thought it strange they didn’t believe him. He was telling the truth.
The two men beside Baldy fanned out, covering his flanks. Grimbald took a long step back, slowly reached his arm back over his shoulder, fingering Corpsemaker. Its wood was cool against his fingertips and was a perfect fit in his calloused hand.
“You boys don’t want me to use this and I don’t want to use it on you,” Grimbald said, drawing Corpsemaker in a flash. The men in white jumped back a step. He held the axe by his side, flat side facing them. The axe head was wide as Baldy’s torso and twice as menacing as his scowl. The well-oiled weapon spelled certain death for anyone one the receiving end of it. Even fool men like these would know that, wouldn’t they?
“C’mon, get him!” Baldy pointed with his dagger at the man to his right and shoved him towards Grimbald. The man recovered and the weapon in his hand trembled from dagger point up to his shoulder.
“I don’t know nothing about the Silver Tower, other than that’s where the wizards come from. I’m hungry and don’t much want to shed any blood here. So why don’t we go about our separate ways in peace?”
“That sounds like a fine idea to me,” Trembles said.
Baldy seemed to lose a bit of his zeal now, as most men did who saw his size and strength up close.
“Alright then, no blood.” Baldy said, sheathing his pointer. “Stay away from those wizards. They ain’t up to no good.”
“I don’t care much for magics myself,” Grimbald said, hanging Corpsemaker behind his back. “But they have their place. They do a lot of good too. You should learn to live in peace with the wizards. They don’t mean no harm.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about! They want to enslave us all, make us their masters,” Baldy said, stabbing with his finger.
“You guys need to find work. You have too much free time,” Grimbald said, pushing past them, his dark axe still lazily hanging behind his back, just in case they had a change of heart. They didn’t.
Some of the soldiers on the streets recognized him from the battle of the Plains of Dressna and gave him proper respect, but other’s didn’t and sniggered as he passed them by. Men would always laugh at him, something he’d come to accept. Mediocre men blended in, but they didn’t have the chance to shine as he did, his dad always said.
Grimbald stood before the barracks at the end of the road, shrugging his big shoulders and blowing out his cheeks. He stared at the arched doorway, the shining sigil of the Midgaard Falcon mounted on the heavy banded door. The building was
“That was my sausage,” Grimbald said, frowning down at the bald man.
“Are you working for the Silver Tower, boy?” the man asked, hand reaching for something behind his back and resting his hand there. A blade hilt no doubt.
Two other men in white robes walked up beside the angry little man, the bottoms black with ash. A silly outfit for a city covered in ash. City folk are sure an impractical lot . He bent over with a groan and picked up the sausage, dusting it off with the back of his hand. They seemed to be the kind of men who he and his Pa would’ve had to toss out of the Hissing Gooseberry after having too many ales. All talk and no bite.
“I’m talking to you, big boy,” baldy snapped, taking a step forward. Grimbald slid the sausage into his pocket for safekeeping.
“I don’t know much about the Silver Tower. Run along now, you don’t want any trouble. I can guarantee that.”
“Oh yeah?” Baldy barked, drawing a carving knife from his belt. The other two beside him had followed along, small knives of their own gleaming in the sun.
A couple walking arm in arm turned the corner, saw the scene and hurried right back around the other way. At least some folk had some sense around here. He thought it strange they didn’t believe him. He was telling the truth.
The two men beside Baldy fanned out, covering his flanks. Grimbald took a long step back, slowly reached his arm back over his shoulder, fingering Corpsemaker. Its wood was cool against his fingertips and was a perfect fit in his calloused hand.
“You boys don’t want me to use this and I don’t want to use it on you,” Grimbald said, drawing Corpsemaker in a flash. The men in white jumped back a step. He held the axe by his side, flat side facing them. The axe head was wide as Baldy’s torso and twice as menacing as his scowl. The well-oiled weapon spelled certain death for anyone one the receiving end of it. Even fool men like these would know that, wouldn’t they?
“C’mon, get him!” Baldy pointed with his dagger at the man to his right and shoved him towards Grimbald. The man recovered and the weapon in his hand trembled from dagger point up to his shoulder.
“I don’t know nothing about the Silver Tower, other than that’s where the wizards come from. I’m hungry and don’t much want to shed any blood here. So why don’t we go about our separate ways in peace?”
“That sounds like a fine idea to me,” Trembles said.
Baldy seemed to lose a bit of his zeal now, as most men did who saw his size and strength up close.
“Alright then, no blood.” Baldy said, sheathing his pointer. “Stay away from those wizards. They ain’t up to no good.”
“I don’t care much for magics myself,” Grimbald said, hanging Corpsemaker behind his back. “But they have their place. They do a lot of good too. You should learn to live in peace with the wizards. They don’t mean no harm.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about! They want to enslave us all, make us their masters,” Baldy said, stabbing with his finger.
“You guys need to find work. You have too much free time,” Grimbald said, pushing past them, his dark axe still lazily hanging behind his back, just in case they had a change of heart. They didn’t.
Some of the soldiers on the streets recognized him from the battle of the Plains of Dressna and gave him proper respect, but other’s didn’t and sniggered as he passed them by. Men would always laugh at him, something he’d come to accept. Mediocre men blended in, but they didn’t have the chance to shine as he did, his dad always said.
Grimbald stood before the barracks at the end of the road, shrugging his big shoulders and blowing out his cheeks. He stared at the arched doorway, the shining sigil of the Midgaard Falcon mounted on the heavy banded door. The building was
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