The Bomb: A Jason Oler story. Read online

  ***

  The last solemn tones of the electric guitar faded along with the deep undertones of Jason’s bass as the song came to an end. A brief interlude was to follow as the bands switched out. Jason plopped on the edge of the stage. He was well lit by the electric bulbs that lined the bottom of the stage to accent the band. His face seemed to have a permanent five o’clock shadow look that was brought on by the stark contrast between his jet black hair and his rather pale skin. It wasn’t the pale of a man who always stayed inside, it gave off the sense that he in fact did stay outside often but that it had stayed pale in defiance of his lifestyle.

  The jacket he wore was as black as his hair, but it was not the usual kind of black jacket one might imagine. This jacket didn’t have strange zippers all over it, nor did it have emblazoned across it the emblem of a local gang. It was well cut to his body and was all straight lines and business. The kind of jacket that said I will kill you and then file the necessary paper work to avoid the bureaucratic repercussions that might result from such an action, and I will do so accurately and without complaint. This black leather jacket was cut down to about mid-thigh and was the uniform jacket of a King’s Marshall, which local rumor held that Jason had once been. Of course local rumor would also tell you that spilling someone else’s salt was a crime punishable by death in the capitol city and that if you stand over a well and shout “devil can’t catch me” five times that the devil will in fact catch you. Rumors are not things known to be overly trust worthy. This rumor however had some teeth to it. As the man at the bar and the armored dwarf both knew, Jason was not an ordinary musician. He is a former King’s Marshall and a veteran of the Orc Exodus. Others may be able to tell you more but what is important now is that the man sitting on stage with his bass propped on his legs and running through melodic bass lines to occupy the crowd while bands changed is in fact the most dangerous and useful person within ten and a third miles of town. The other guy is pretty insane, so Jason was the default choice for their purposes. These purposes are of course the man at the bar’s job to explain.

  The thick pops of plucked strings blended masterfully with the dull thumps of slapped steel as Jason rolled through some skillful blues riffs. The members of the bars crowd moved rhythmically under the gentle song of the bass. Everything in the bar was calm and peaceful, as rightfully the beginning of every good story should be. Like every good story it didn’t last long. Underneath the drones of the bass guitar a rapid series of cracks split the night air. It was so well timed that it sounded like part of the piece, perhaps the entrance to the song by some overzealous drummer. It didn’t take long for it to be recognized for what it was. A lady garbed in a fine satin dress burst through the front door of the establishment. The bright blossom of blood clashed horribly with the pale green of her dress that she had obviously adorned for a special night out. She opened her mouth to scream but her breath caught in her throat as blood bubbled from the wound. She seized up and, coughing up a steady stream of blood, ungracefully dropped to the floor where the thud of her body served as a final note in Jason’s piece as the last tones began to fade. It was an unkind death for a kind woman. You would have liked her.

  The bar was strictly a no weapons establishment with a guard at the door who checked people for weapons upon arrival. No one however seemed surprised that a large majority of the bars residents drew firearms and were headed towards the door. This far out in the country many folks like to pretend that they live in more civilized lands where firearms are unnecessary however times like these always make them a necessity. Most of the people who carried firearms fancied themselves great shots. They were not. They were bad shots. The only saving grace was that the goblins that raided the town frequently were even worse shots. It was not an uncommon sight to have a group of town’s folk and goblins have ten man shoot outs with minimal injuries and no casualties. Both sides usually just ran out of ammo and have to retreat.

  Jason was a good shot. This had earned him a bit of a reputation amongst the townsfolk; self-proclaimed sharpshooters would test their mettle against Jason and would without exception be made to look foolish if not outright handicapped. Jason was also armed; he hid a lever action 30-30 in his bass guitar case. The guards all knew about it but had never once made issue with it. Jason didn’t get in fights. He was good at talking drunks down and helping settle disputes amongst the townsfolk. He had the rifle in hand as soon as he could swap it out for the bass. He chambered a round with one swift arm motion that looked like it had been practiced over the course of one rough life time. Jason made it out in to the street after most of the other members of the crowd. He spotted the trouble with ease.

  A throng of goblins were making their way up the street. Normally goblins had one of two kinds of guns. They had stolen, low complexity guns that were easy to operate and use such as revolvers and shotguns or they had ones that they had managed to make for themselves. These usually consisted of muskets and single shot pistols. The goblins in the street were cutting loose with fully automatic machine pistols. Goblins and automatic weapons were a bad combination under most circumstances; these goblins appeared to be very well trained. They cranked out waves of suppressing fire towards the bar as Jason made his way across the street. The construction of most of the buildings was solid concrete in this part of town. This normally wasn’t an issue in fire fights but with the crawling streaks of automatic fire bits of concrete were flying off in all directions throwing shrapnel that was making it hard to see or concentrate for the un-trained town’s folk. In front of Jason’s position posted up behind a wall corner three armed dwarves were taking turns blasting off rounds with their revolvers. They were merely blind firing at the goblins. Joining in with the twenty or so others firing wildly it was always impressive to Jason that they had never managed to have friendly fire issues. I guess they were at least good enough to avoid that. It seemed as if none of the goblins had yet been felled by the hail of bullets as they made their way up the street. The way several walked it appeared that at least some had been injured. Jason was always a compassionate man and aimed quickly for the head of one that seemed injured and drilled a round right in to its skull. The goblin dropped over like a wet sack. Jason pumped another round in to the chamber as he tucked back behind the corner. A spray of return fire showed him their appreciation for his delicate aim and careful trigger finger.

  You may at this point think I had forgotten the man at the bar and his little group. I have not. You might also assume that they would slink away from the fight or that they would somehow show up just in time to save the day with brave heroics or in fact just narrowly miss the fighting all together. These are quaint notions that have no place in any reality. Real fights are messy and never over so quickly. Sometimes good guys miss. Sometimes bad guys don’t. Our armored dwarf friend was the first person on the scene. Apparently they had decided to turn their weapons in to the door guard and been caught up in getting them back. The dwarf had a white label emblazoned across his back that Jason took note of as he moved up. Normally Jason didn’t care about who else was involved in the town’s occasional shuffles. The difference was this guy moved with tactical precision. Not common in these parts. His label read Grom. Grom had a pistol grip pump action shotgun clutched in his hands. It appeared to be made of fine dwarven crafted steel and was no doubt very well made. Grom hustled up to a door stoop that was made out of concrete and stone. He blasted three rounds over the top of it before he tucked down. At least one goblin toppled over due to his efforts. Jason re-shouldered his rifle using Grom’s distraction as an opening, he popped out and nailed two rounds in to a goblin as fast as he could load and pull the trigger.

  Up the street a trio of sharp cracks blended together. The human guards from the entourage were duck walking down the street blasting off triple bursts from compact machine guns as they walked. Half a dozen goblins fell under the hail of gun fire before the goblins shuffled off to the sides of the street. They were now dug
in to cover. This was the part of fighting that got really dangerous. Both sides had angles on each other and had sufficient cover to become problematic. Jason knew he needed this fight over fast but he wasn’t the first person to make a move. Grom made a motion to the two human guards and they let loose with a flurry of triple shots that smattered over the goblins cover. A few unlucky goblins had been peeking out at the time and received surprise lobotomies.

  Grom vaulted the stoop and tore down the alley pumping rounds in to goblins as he ran past goblin hiding spots like a mad man. He was reloading shells as he went, using the covering fire to keep any goblins from plastering him while he reloaded. He was a flurry of action as he systematically cleared out the goblin.

  Suddenly Jason heard an all too familiar click. Both machineguns ran dry simultaneously whilst the dwarf was in mid run towards a goblin crouched behind a metal rain barrel. It happened much faster than Jason would have preferred. The goblin popped up from its hiding place and blasted rounds in to the dwarf. He caught them all in the chest and kept his momentum and pasting the goblin but a second goblin fired blindly from a stack of bricks and something must have connected with the dwarf because he flopped on his back. By that time Jason leveled his rifle and perforated the first goblin. The two human guards seemed pretty inept as they had ducked back behind cover to reload. In a flash three goblins jumped from cover and advanced towards the dwarf. Jason slammed two rounds in to one of the goblins before having to tuck back in from return fire. Suddenly two huge blasts rang out in the narrow street like a gong. Both goblins had huge pieces missing as they crumpled down to the cobblestone dirt. The man in the business suit stood in the street clutching the suitcase in his left hand and in his right a revolver that would have put any other to shame. He walked forward towards the dwarf and Jason started that way as well. Jason stopped suddenly and shouldered his rifle. He fired seven rounds in quick succession, each round striking the head of a different goblin that had previously looked as if it had the capacity to regain consciousness. This was now not the case. The man in the business suit didn’t flinch at the sounds but the human guards whipped their guns up. Jason responded faster than they would have anticipated and had his rifle leveled aimed and ready on the head of the first guard before either one had finished shouldering their rifles. Neither gun was actually aimed at Jason yet but he hadn’t made it so far in life because he was trusting, especially not of people totting military hardware through the middle of nowhere.

  The two guards were professionals but it was very clear that they were out matched by the steady hand of Jason. What the guards did not realize was that Jason was merely making a mock display of carefulness. In reality Jason knew where the armed men came from though not their purpose here. He knew that the men of the 42nd Special Tactics Guild would most likely not shoot him without provocation. He knew that they had two other firearms on their persons besides just the rifle and he knew how fast they could draw them, but what decided his next action was none of those things. Jason was out of bullets. A fact that seemed lost on his heavily armed friends but that Jason himself was all too aware of. If he kept his gun aimed at them they would start to get jumpy and one of them would make a move. Jason hadn’t gotten this far by getting shot when he could avoid it.

  Jason dropped the butt of the gun from his shoulder and held it like one might hold a misbehaved dog. The guards lowered their guns as well. Jason didn’t wait before he slammed open the lever of the rifle and started feeding in rounds one at a time from a pouch in the pocket of his coat. He turned aside and let the guards walk past him to join up with their fallen compatriot and the business man who lay crouched over him. As Jason finished loading the rifle he ratcheted the lever back in to place chambering a bullet in to the gun, a habit he tried not to get in to. He slung the rifle out spinning it by its lever handle and slid it gently in to a sheath inside the jacket that you wouldn’t have noticed if there wasn’t a rifle sticking out of it.

  From this distance Grom looked to be okay and breathing, but the extent of such injuries was often hard to tell without a closer look. The blood often soaked in to heavy cloth like his and made determining the nature of his injuries hard. Jason strode up behind the guards and peered over the shoulder of the business man who was poking around in the dark cloth surrounding the dwarf’s armor. His fingers came away dry so Jason assumed he wasn’t bleeding. Though as long as you promise not to share this with Jason, the dwarf had only been dealt a glancing blow. The shot had merely knocked the wind out of the dwarf and knocked him flat, though the dwarf would never admit to such a fall. I trust you will keep his secret.

  The business man helped the dwarf to his feet and turned to face Jason all in one grand movement. “I’ll assume that you are Jason, your coat and skill at arms are truly recognizable. Either that or you happen to be a different former King’s Marshal who also happens to be a talented bass player.” The man in the business suit waited for a reply. Jason was not forth coming with one.

  “Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear Mr. Oler. My name is Frank, Frank Neil. You may call me Dr. Neil, but the semantics of the issue are unimportant. We need you to come with us Mr. Oler. Your skills will be greatly necessary for the coming events.” The man named Dr. Neil stood his ground in front of Jason waiting for a reaction and gauging Jason’s movement to determine if those actions might be hostile. King’s Marshals are not known to be unreasonable people but a number of them have been known to be the shoot first and ask questions later types. Fortunately for Dr. Neil, Jason Oler was not such a man.

  “Meet me in the bar in five minutes. It will be relatively empty by then and I imagine there will not be much call for music.” Jason said in a Southern Durnham accent that the reader might associate with the place called Brooklyn. “It seems we have something to discuss, but I must first assign the other townsfolk to gathering’ the weapons and burning’ the bodies.” Dr. Neil nods politely and returns to talk to his cohorts as they make their way up to the bar.

  Jason walks over to a nearby goblin and picks up one of their weapons. He takes the ugly machine pistol from the clutching grip of the deceased goblin. The weapon is the very definition of crudely made. There was not even a mark to denote the craftsman. Jason quickly deduced that the weapons must be of goblin craft, but how they got the blueprints or the know how to craft such a weapon was beyond him. Most goblin weapon smiths have a hard time with single shot pistols that don’t explode in the user’s hand, much less anything so complex. The rounds were simple 9mm slugs. They hadn’t had access to good ammo but they had access to a lot of it and despite their ability to craft the machine pistols Jason doubted the bullets were goblin made, they were too uniform and to exact. Jason could have loaded them in to any other 9mm and they probably would have fired just fine. Goblins had a hard time with any precise ammo making and it was in part to their lack of good precise guns and part in lack to no uniform measuring system. Each goblin tribe usually had a different measuring system and most goblin weapons craftsman didn’t belong to any specific group. They worked for any and all of them, thus making precise measurements and ammo that was mass produced a bit problematic.

  Jason didn’t like the idea that they might have been given these bullets and weapons, or worse still that someone had taught them how to craft weapons such as these. Jason directed several towns’ people to gather up the weapons and take them to the town militia leader. He knew not all the weapons would make it there. Most of the town’s people only owned revolvers and would relish the chance to own an automatic weapon. He remembered he had a date to keep and left the town’s people to their business. After all Jason felt no true connection to the town’s people and only partook in their activities when it suited him, which was not now.

  He arrived at the bar and moved towards the stage first thing to makes sure that his bass guitar was not in any way damaged. It was not. He grabbed the case and carried it towards the table where Dr. Neil sat. The dwarf and two humans sat at a table
nearby drinking from abandoned flagons. Dr. Neil was now wearing a dark black trench coat over his business suit. Jason had long ago learned not to trust people in long jackets. After all he wore one and he wouldn’t trust himself as far he could throw himself which due to the laws of physics and other largely philosophical reasons was not very far. Jason sat down quietly across from the doctor. He had no intentions of being difficult. The doctor probably wanted him to leave town and join him on some silly quest. This suited Jason quite fine. After all he himself did not enjoy the city life. He was a nomad at heart. Years of misspent youth had taken place on the roads between towns and in the dark places beneath the earth that dragons and demons dwelled in. The dreary and dangerous corners of the wilder lands held no fear for Jason. He had long ago realized that if death was to claim him he would rather it be a screaming fiery death at the hands of some unspeakable evil than to simply pass quietly in the night or to simple drop away on the table of some tavern such as this on one dark night in the future. No, his body would break and shatter long before it stopped working of its own accord. He would make sure of it. However the doctor was going to have to work for it. He should know by now that whenever recruiting for a glorious mission one must be willing to run a few side missions.

  The doctor spoke first, something Jason was hoping for. He hated asking unwarranted favors. “I assume that you are aware of the advances being made at the War and Conquest research center to the south.” He waited for a response from Jason.

  “You mean W.A.C. yeah I have heard of them. Sound like a friendly bunch of guys.” Jason replied trying to seem aloof and doing a rather admirable job, if I do say so myself.

  “Ah, yes whack an unkind if not entirely untrue colloquialism. Well as you may also know, they haven’t produced anything of excessive value in all the fifteen years they have been in operation. The elves of the southern wilds have managed to build aircraft faster than they have. Their insistence that magic can be replaced solely by science is a bit of a setback. However, what if I told you they had built something. What if I told you that they had built something that was a terrible abomination of all things good in this world. That they have perverted their science in ways that could only be described as demonic.” The doctor looked deadly serious and stared at Jason with eyes that burned with the intensity of knowledge.

  “I’d probably ask you why it’s any of my business.” Jason leaned back in his chair.

  “It is called the Atom Bomb.” Said Dr. Neil.

  “Ah, is it some kind of new TNT for mountain blasting? Because the dwarves of Grahmrun Deep have blasting charges that will knock holes in mountains.” Jason said dismissively.

  “No, Jason, I do not expect you to understand so readily what it is I speak of, Grom here took at least half a day looking at the papers to figure it out for himself.” Dr. Neil gestured towards Grom. “This bomb is the metaphorical mother of all bombs. Figures are still coming in from a test done on an island out in the ocean but the data suggest that the blast radius could cover the entire Carthinia peninsula.” Jason leaned back forward.

  “Doctor, I’ll assume for time’s sake that you aren’t insane because you seem to have most of your mental facilities available to you. That of course means you are a liar. Not even magic could detonate that much space.” Jason did not buy in to that kind of destruction power. He had seen a Grabath demon lay waste to a city once. Biggest explosions he had ever seen, but what Dr. Neil was suggesting to him was an explosion thousands of times that scale.

  “Look Mr. Oler, what I have in this briefcase is highly classified and needs to reach the king as soon as possible. I need someone who can help me get it there safely.” Dr. Neil said hoping to appeal to the innate sense of helpfulness in Jason.

  “Then why didn’t requisition an armed escort.” He looked at Grom and the two fighter’s guild members. “Unless this is what constitutes an armed escort these days” Grom ignored the comment.

  “Mr. Oler, what I am about to share with you is beyond classified, your knowledge of it would be deemed as treason and most of what I have told you so far will get you a stern talking to and a possible flogging. It is also stolen, so if you make even the slightest move to halt our progress I will gun you down in the street.” Dr. Neil’s hands were on the table and Jason’s were not. He didn’t doubt that he could pull his gun faster than Dr. Neil; it was the question of maneuvering it in this tight space. Then of course Grom and the two guards would do their best to take him out. Jason put the odds at 4:1 that he would die if he started something.

  “Okay, I’ll play nice, doctor.” Jason replied.

  “The contents of this briefcase are the entire works and knowledge of how to build and manufacture this bomb. It has the detonation dynamics and the projected force capacities. If you sign on with me then I will let you read them at your leisure. Provided of course that you don’t intend to replicate the device.” He smiled in a way that hinted that he didn’t think Jason would have the knowhow to build the device. Jason’s crafting abilities were weapons based but he was definitely not an engineer of any type. “I must take this information to the King. As for why I don’t have a more… sizeable… guard force and am recruiting on the road, the contents of this briefcase are wanted by the W.A.C. research teams. They haven’t produced a sizeable number of these devices and the information in here will take years to replace. We need the King to see the truth of these weapons before they make more.”

  “Jason, we are not asking that you believe what we say. We are asking that you lend your marksman ship skill to our group to help us secure safe passage to the Capitol city.” said Grom, finally speaking up. These words seemed to cut through to Jason. He nodded slightly.

  “Fine, but I have a slight favor to ask of you guys. You are all relatively skilled with a gun. I need to find out who or what is arming these goblins before I feel comfortable leaving this town to its own devices.” Jason genuinely was not sure that the town would have survived last time had he and Dr. Neil’s group not intervened.

  Dr. Neil stood still as stone for a fraction of a second. Grom nodded slightly from his left and Dr. Neil took careful note. “Yes.” Was all Dr. Neil said. He was aware that if he stopped at every side road and helped every meager farmer along the way, his expedition to the Capitol City was doomed to failure. However Dr. Neil always did have a soft spot for the plights of others and absolutely needed more gun hands on his trip. The miles ahead would cross through many places much more dangerous than Neil would have liked. The dwarves of the mountains and the Orcs of the plains would be dangerous enough.

  Jason was also aware of what was being asked of him. Jason did not care. He would either survive the journey and go on to die elsewhere or he would be shredded by some unmentionable horror. Either way Jason was satisfied. One does not survive the things Jason has without feeling a bit like you should have died a long time ago. There are points in Jason’s life where he wishes he had died during the Orc Exodus.

  You see, before becoming a Kings Marshal, Jason was sergeant at arms in the military regulars stationed on the border lands to the Great Plains. Jason had missed most of the intense fighting to dig out the orcs and move them, but he participated in the Battle of Red Ditch. The battle was so named because a particular drainage ditch that filtered away from the battle field ran red with the blood of orc and man for a day solid after the fighting had stopped. It is estimated that more beings died in those three days than lived in the Capitol City at that time. The army its self counted fourteen thousand casualties. The orcs lost at least four times as many. That single decisive battle was echoed as the cruelest marking of the passage of King Drayman. After news got around of the things done in that conflict alone King Drayman was eventually executed by a legion of knights. But that is a story for another time. Perhaps another tale? We shall see.

  Jason had some mild packing to do. The goblins were coming from the east and that was the direction that the expedition was headed in. Now before w
e go too much farther I must explain something. Mechanical transportation is widely available at this time. It is however a relatively new technology. Cars are things that many people in the big city have so that they can get around the large cities but many people in smaller communities simply don’t bother with the expense. Dr. Neil’s car is a small sedan, it is a sedan in exactly the sense that you would take a sedan to be. It was small, bland and had comfortable seating for four. Much less five. Much less in armor. Suffice to say that it would not do as transport at this phase of the trip and as the vehicle its self would hardly make the trip to Durnham on its fuel supply, it was sold. Cash would be of greater value on the road.

  With Jason’s packing he could bring only that which he carried. Now this might be an unappealing thought to less traveled folk but this meant little in the way of clothing. He wore his trusty old jacket, an item he was rarely without. He had on some loose fitting jeans that appeared newer than his previous pair. His shirt was a simple blue button down with a plain white t-shirt underneath. Jason had a dull grey satchel made out of tough cotton. This bag was present in almost every major conflict since the fall of Drayman.

  In to the bag went several loose bags filled with 30-30 rounds. He knew those rounds could be gathered in larger quantity in other places of the world and was not overly concerned about arming himself with bullets for the whole trip, merely enough to make it to Durnham. Several pairs of socks and underwear went in stuffed in to places that looked more as if they were being packed to protect the bullets than as articles of clothing. Next went in several dried bars of ground jerky. A small canvas wrap went in next. It contained sewing needles and thread and other things for make shift medical needs. The cloth was stained slightly; it was not exactly a sterile setup.

  Last but not least Jason went to the drawer beside his dresser. Should he return he could gather the remainder of his clothes and what little he had for sustenance, if not then he could replace it. These things he could not. He nimbly lifted from the drawer a large wooden box that he then set on top of the rest of his things in the bag. Leaving his house was not a long good bye. It looked exactly like all of the rest of the houses on his block and he had no doubt that if he were gone for longer than a few weeks he would not remember which one was his without some assistance.

  He walked the street to the bar in quiet contemplation, remembering his travels in Durnham; it was not a friendly city in the least. However he also knew that Durnham was a first stop in a long line of places leading to the Capitol City. The capitol city resides on the opposite coast from where W.A.C. and Jason had decided to settle and for precisely the same reason. The Kingdom, which has had no steady name for years, just came out of a time period where the Capitol City changed leaders more often than one might change socks. This ended up in the mad scatter of decrees and sanctions and all other manner of political nonsense that frankly Jason could not care less about, no matter how hard he tried.

  W.A.C. was an experimental research facility started by the original King Drayman. King Drayman the second, was barred from the throne after his father’s death leading to a small series of micro-governments beating each other to death in the void left by monarchy. This period of leadership neglect allowed for an increasingly free lifestyle for people who lived away from the capital city. Anything within messenger distance of the capitol often found its self subject to frequent law changes and rules designed to influence the region negatively for the next micro government. This happened for nearly twenty years and the kingdom went through nearly as many governments. One government lasted as long as two years and one as little as three weeks. W.A.C. relocated to avoid being hastily disbanded. Jason moved to avoid hastily shooting at politicians, or worse being drafted.

  Only recently had Draymon the second reclaimed the throne after the citizens of the Capitol city decided it would be for the best. The kingdom was tentatively being called Drayonia, but this was not yet widely adapted and most people did not care. Jason had decided he liked living in the peninsula and apparently so had W.A.C. or perhaps it was there nasty pet project that kept them here. Either way W.A.C. was of no concern to Jason, his job was to get Neil to the Capitol City. Jason was good at doing what he was told and held it as a point of pride that he always completed a mission. He would walk Neil right to the front gate even if he had to carry him.

  Jason grabbed another large sack off of the table in his living room as he walked out of the cramped place he had inhabited. It would be wrong to call it a house as he would never himself use the term to describe the place he slept at night and stored all of his things. It would be incorrect because he hadn’t felt genuinely at home since the barracks at Fort Narium. After that was burned to the ground by orc raiders he had never again felt like he was truly safe in a place. This is a deep fear, one he would never voice, much of Jason’s humanity and the things you and I can relate to were left behind in that barracks along with many of Jason’s friends. This was the first time his mind ever flirted with the idea that he could and would die. It wasn’t until later that it became a cemented thought, later than that when he realized he didn’t want it to be from old age.

  The door eased open, rather uncaring and unaware that its owner was departing forever. It isn’t clear whether the house was genuinely oblivious or if it was just being a jerk. The streets where empty and quite as Jason stepped down the stairs leading away from his dull grey cement, cookie-cutter abode. He strode down the street with his large boots clomping along the cobbled roads. They were wide enough to accommodate a horseless carriage even though the town did not have any. The edges of the street were lined with boxes that lounged about as lazily as the people who had left them there.

  Jason reached the edge of town and walked up to Dr. Neil. “I am ready to go doc.”Jason said calmly as he eyed the hills to the East. Somewhere in those hills someone was arming goblins with automatic weapons and Jason intended to find them and put several inches of cold steel in to their face. Professional courtesy. Some people could live after getting an arm chopped off or could heal from a bullet wound. Few could live with a knife in their brains. It tended to be a show stopper.

  Dr. Neil spoke in a tone that indicated rehearsal. “The path ahead will be dangerous if you do not think you are up to the task I ask that you do not come as we will not stop for you. You have proved yourself to be most capable but your skills alone are not what is required. The trek may well save the Kingdom but first and foremost, it may kill you. If you are unwilling to lay your life on the line I ask that you turn and go home.”

  Jason didn’t break stride as he walked past Dr. Neil and towards the hills. Grom grunted and followed suit shortly followed by Neil himself.

  Thank you for reading books on Archive.BookFrom.Net
Share this book with friends