Jason Cosmo: Hero Wanted

Chapter 9

Thinking fast, I thrust my sword into the mud and hefted a dead wolf by its hind legs. Winding my torso, I swung the carcass above my head, splattering blood and muck in every direction. The war stallion backed away, giving me a clear shot at my real target. The Red Huntsman had his back to me. It would be a long throw, but I was a three-time champion in the dead pig toss back in Lower Hicksnittle. I let go. The wet wolf whirled through the air and struck the Huntsman, knocking him to the ground. 

That was the break Mercury needed. He exerted his mental power. The bola unwound itself from his neck and smacked against the war stallion's skull. The animal rolled its eyes, took two jerky steps sideways, and toppled.

I scooped up my sword. Merc's weapon flew to his hand. We stood side by side as the Red Huntsman regained his feet.

"Brand new fight," said Merc.

"I have no quarrel with you, Mercury Boltblaster," said the Huntsman. The leather mask muffled his deep voice. "Jason Cosmo is my prey. You have troubles enough, I think." He indicated the onrushing Black Bolts. "Though I am willing to assist you in exchange for Cosmo."

"That is wonderfully generous of you," said Merc. For one frightened moment, I thought Mercury would accept the Huntsman's offer. Then he snorted derisively. "But a blind cripple armed with a teaspoon could beat those buffoons."

"So be it."

Dylan and the Black Bolts reined in their horses.

"I am the Red Huntsman," said the Red Huntsman, lest they mistake him for a Blue or Green Huntsman. "This man is mine." He pointed his sword at me. "The wizard you may have."

Dylan smiled. He had ugly teeth. "The wizard is all we want."

"But can you take me?" asked Merc, making a showy little flourish with his sword.

Several of the Black Bolts cursed. Scowling, Dylan raised his hand to silence them. He addressed the Huntsman. "We would appreciate your aid in apprehending the wizard."

"How great would this appreciation be?"

"A tenth of our fee."

"Half."

Dylan hesitated. His men made ugly noises. "Done."

"Two-thirds."

Dylan's face reddened. "Outrageous! You said half!"

"Now I say two-thirds. Take it or leave it. It matters not to me."

Several Black Bolts coughed into their hands.

"Very well," Dylan said testily. "Two-thirds. But no more."

"Hold this one for me," said the Huntsman. "I will only be a moment."

At Dylan's signal, four smirking Bolts dismounted and drew their swords, ranging themselves in a half circle around me.

"Who is this filthy cur?" asked Dylan, giving me a contemptuous once over.

"Jason Cosmo," said the Huntsman. 

The smirks vanished. The Black Bolts backed away. Dylan screamed for his men to resume their positions. I saw the fear in their eyes, the tremble in their grips, the nervous shuffling of their feet. These were warriors, hardened killers, and veterans of countless battles. Yet they were no less terrified of me than the twins had been back in Offal. They obviously didn't recognize me as the fumbling and frightened peasant they met in Whiteswab. I might not have recognized myself, covered as I was in blood and gore.

I recalled Merc's lessons on artful intimidation. Slashing the air with my sword, I forced a contemptuous laugh. "Slaying giant wolves with my bare hands was a good warm up for the likes of you! Who dies first?"