Fireteam Delta J. Halpin (top 10 books of all time TXT) 📖

strip of paper in his hands. “I mean, it might be better—”

“Nope,” Cortez interrupted. “Either it works, or it doesn’t. Not taking shit from you until we see what happens.”

“This one’s not up to a vote, Corporal,” Nowak emphasized the rank. “My job’s to get as many of my people back home in as few pieces as possible. That includes what’s in your head. You’d lose the vote, anyway.”

Summers sighed, looking out to the city in front of them.

“All right, then. Let’s get started.”

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Synel guided Summers through a maze of stalls and wagons. The building actually reminded him more of a modern mall than a market. It was a large, half-circle structure filled with alcoves the merchants used to display their goods.

“So, what’s this thing supposed to do?” Summers looked at Synel questioningly.

“It is a creature with a legendarily tough hide. In fact, every bit of it seems armored,” Synel explained.

“Uh huh, and you think that will help me?”

“I once saw a spear shatter while stabbing into this creature’s heart. Just the heart, mind you. So yes, I think it’s worth exploring. Now, stay here, please.” Synel gestured to a stall in the corner. “When you see me signal you, walk over and offer around fifty silver more than I am.”

“What?” Summers looked at the woman, confused.

“Just trust me.” She leaned forward, kissing his cheek before she moved in the opposite direction of the stall.

Summers watched her approach a small boy, handing him a handful of coins and directing him toward the same stall.

She passed Summers again.

“I forgot to ask, does it matter what cut we get?”

That was a good question, and Summers thought a moment before responding. He trailed a hand up to his now long, elf-like ears.

“Blood . . . or something in the head. Since that’s what I’m trying to fix.” Summers tapped the side of his skull.

The woman didn’t seem to understand, but she nodded after a moment. “Head it is, then. Ah, right.” She reached into her coat and handed him a small pouch of coins. “Just in case you don’t have enough.”

Summers felt the weight of the pouch in his hands. There had to be a small fortune in there. By the time he looked up again, she was at the stall, speaking with the older elf behind it.

They spoke for some time before the man moved to the back, taking what was unmistakably a horn and placing it gently on the counter in front of him. It was as big as Summers’ chest, with some kind of gold metalwork ringing the bone.

He assumed it was something like a drinking horn.

Synel waved a hand behind her back. Summers took that as his signal and started forward. As he did, the same boy Synel had spoken to earlier darted by, grabbing for the tray with the horn on it. The kid clearly didn’t have a grip on it, though; the horn tumbled to the ground as Synel screamed, some of its contents spilling onto the stone ground before the merchant was able to right it again. By the time he looked up, the kid had already disappeared into the crowd.

Summers watched the scene for only a moment before he saw Synel’s hand gesturing for him again.

Synel spoke loudly, telling the shopkeeper off for his carelessness and refusing to pay full price. Summers took the hint as he approached the counter himself.

“Excuse me . . .”

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Summers sat with the drinking horn over his shoulder, Synel by his side as they watched the bustle of the marketplace.

“I can’t believe that worked.” Summers felt at the horn. Apparently, it was part of the actual monster.

“Why wouldn’t it? I happen to be very good at this.” Synel turned up her nose at him, and he laughed for a moment before catching himself. Synel blushed in response.

In the end, Summers had still spent two stone on the horn, most of which had been Synel’s money.

“Thank you. Even if this doesn’t work, please don’t let me forget that I owe you big time.” Summers gave the woman a slight bow.

“Don’t worry, I won’t,” she assured him.

Summers opened the horn with a pop, brushing a small coating of dirt off the lip. Inside was a wine-red liquid, small pieces of something floating inside.

“What’s in this?” Summers wrinkled his nose.

The smell wasn’t unpleasant, but it was definitely not something he was used to.

“It’s an alcohol of the creature’s blood and . . . soft tissue,” Synel explained. “It’s not terribly strong. You should be fine.”

“Tissue? From its head?”

Synel nodded after a moment.

Great, he was going to drink brain slushie.

Synel shifted in her seat, watching him.

“How long will it take?” Synel looked at him as he considered the horn. “For you to . . . change, I mean.”

“I have no idea,” Summers answered. “But . . . one way to find out.”

After another moment, he put the horn to his lips and drank.

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Asle sat leaning against a wall as Nowak and “Pat” spoke with the merchant beside her.

“I have proven to you who I am, and I can promise you generous payment later if you’d simply sell to us now,” Pat spoke in a pleading tone.

Asle already knew the man wasn’t going to accept the deal. Pat had produced a small signet ring that acted as a pedigree for the northern tribes. Mr. Nowak had thought that was a bad move, but in truth, the gray army’s cities were largely independent. Since news of the war in the north hadn’t yet reached here, the man had no reason to trust Pat’s word that it was over.

Asle jumped as one of the animals in a cage at her side let out a small growl.