The Man With One Name

by Tom Lloyd

Genres: Fantasy; Fantasy action & adventure; Epic Fantasy

Synopsis

Salterin is a town full of fear. Fear and sheep. But mostly fear. It lies in the north of a principality recently shattered by the Hanese war, cut off from its neighbours and warily watching the advance of winter. Bandits and wolves haunt the woods, but something worse lies within. A monster named Therian has installed himself as lord of the manor and no one is foolish enough to oppose him. In their hour of need comes a man with one name. A man who will not suffer monsters. Or mutton. But mostly monsters.

Release date: March 22, 2018

Publisher: Gollancz

Print pages: 68

Sample

‘Reckon ya can’t get much deader’n that.’

‘Oh blackest hells.’

‘Still say those are farmer’s hands, Lynx? Or was it merchant’s hands? I forget. Many merchants out your way got so many anger issues?’ The old woman sniffed. ‘Mebbe out your way I guess.’

The skinny man at his feet clearly had no further interest in the conversation, or breathing for that matter. A little further down the bar his friend gave a strangled squawk on his behalf.

‘What the screaming shits …? Jinks? Shattered gods, you killed him!’

The grey-haired woman cackled, voice as rough as the calluses on her hands. ‘Ya think? Was it all the blood that gave it away?’

Lynx flinched at the laughter and stared at his closed fist. ‘Didn’t mean to.’

‘Aye, luck o’ the deepest black it was, that – but don’t fret overmuch about it,’ she said. ‘I always reckoned Jinks there was soft in the head, you were just the one to prove it.’

The other man’s lip curled as he backed away. Either he’d forgotten the mage-pistol at his hip or he didn’t want to try his luck.

‘You shut your trap, you old bitch.’

‘Careful now,’ she replied, ‘old bitches can still bite.’

As though to make her point, she raised her tankard and took a swig before waving it in his direction. It was old and battered, but made of pewter and would mess up most faces. Though the wielder had limbs like an elderly sparrow, she’d already displayed a wiry strength. In a backwater farming village like this, when your strength failed, your life soon followed.

‘Sulay,’ Lynx said. ‘A man’s dead already, leave off.’

‘You ain’t the boss o’ me.’

‘The fella’s twice your size and half your age.’

‘You’ll make no friends with that attitude, my Hanese acquaintance.’

‘Last thing I need is lessons in not making friends, woman.’

She gave him a toothy grin. ‘Ah, but you’re a man who’s always honing his craft.’

‘Tell me something I don’t know.’

‘If you like – first off, Ashel there can’t shoot for shit at the best o’ times, I’ve seen him try. Also – he ain’t as stupid as he looks, for all he might look like the shitting end of a toad. He takes a shot at me and, hit or miss, he’s not long for this life o’ suffering.’

‘Cos your rug will get him?’ Lynx said, glancing down.

‘Yup.’

‘It is a pretty scary rug.’

‘Don’t try to be funny, Lynx, it don’t suit you.’

Ashel continued to back away towards the door, gaze switching from Lynx to the dirty-white heap at Sulay’s feet as though unsure which was the more dangerous. He was an average man in most respects – shorter than his cooling friend, whose name Lynx hadn’t caught as firmly as his jaw. He was on the slim side with pale skin and lank brown hair, his eyes narrow, his ears oddly small. Ashel managed to be mostly unremarkable bar the fact he carried a gun with less conviction than anyone Lynx had seen survive to claim the name of gunfighter.

‘He’ll kill you for this,’ Ashel spat as he reached the door.

Sulay shook her head. ‘For Jinks? Pah – you reckon anyone in this world ever felt so strongly about that dumb-as-a-stone wretch? I doubt the man’s own ma cared much. Must’ve been better children to hand – mebbe neighbours or passing urchins, even.’

‘Fuck you, Sulay!’

The sudden shout made the rug twitch and a deep growl rumbled across the room like thunder. Lynx looked down again. He honestly couldn’t even see which end was making the noise – no part of it looked anything more than a shapeless heap of rough, thick cords. Ashel seemed more concerned though, and he fell backwards through the tavern door. Lynx caught a glimpse of snowflakes falling, a thin frost on the ground beyond, before the door banged shut again.

Sulay gave a snort and turned to the bar, banging her tankard on the bartop. ‘Dalis, stop cowering and fetch me another drink!’

‘Reckon it’s time we left.’ Lynx made to drain his own beer, but hesitated and put it back down untouched.

‘Listen to the man,’ called Dalis from his back room. ‘Bar’s closed.’

The big barkeep had retreated there as soon as voices had been raised, anticipating gunfire. The other occupants of the room were like statues at their tables – only four people in total, all farmers in heavy coats despite the fire burning to the right of the bar.

‘You takin’ advice from strangers now?’ Sulay replied.

‘Ones who speak sense, aye. I don’t want you round here when … When he comes.’

‘Load of old women you all are,’ Sulay declared, cheeks flushed pink. ‘And I should know, what with being one myself. Least I ain’t about to piss myself from anything but elderly lady problems.’

‘Sulay,’ Lynx said again.

‘Aye fine.’ She looked down at the dead man on the floor with an appraising expression. ‘Might need this though,’ she said, groaning as she eased herself down on to one knee.

Lynx watched her unbuckle the man’s gun-belt and pull it out from under him. He made no sound until she started patting his pockets, looking for his purse.

‘Leave it,’ he said firmly, one eye on the rug that had only just stopped growling.

‘Oh right,’ she said, squinting up at him. ‘Yeah, yer morals. Damn useless things if you ask me. The pistol’s okay though?’

‘We might need it, true enough,’ Lynx said, only too aware of the paper-thin distinction he was making.

‘And here’s me with all this money I don’t need?’ Sulay grumbled, but she straightened up all the same.

‘It’s different.’

‘If you say so, my stupidly named friend.’

She buckled the gun-belt around her waist and seemed to stand a little taller once she was done, the heel of her hand resting with familiar ease on the pistol grip.

‘Well there we are then,’ Sulay said, taking Lynx’s abandoned tankard and draining it with one gulp. ‘Heel, boys.’

The rug eased itself up, a straight back and the hump of a head that described the rough shape of a dog somewhere underneath. It was huge; its back almost of a level with Lynx’s waist and made even more bulky by . . .