City in the Sky Read Online Free PDF Page A

who'd kill readily and without remorse. It's killing you, though, and that scumbag who came for you isn't worth that.”
    He raised a hand as Erik opened his mouth to speak. “Hear me out, grandson. Killing a man isn't an easy thing to live with, no matter the cause. Your father was a soldier. It was his duty to kill for his people. I don't know how he managed it, but I know that those he killed haunted him. There's a fighter in you, grandson, and we both know it,” he said grimly. “But being a fighter is no bad thing, and the difference between a fighter and a killer is remorse over those you killed.”
    Erik was silent for a long moment, and then met his grandfather's eyes. “What do I do?” he asked quietly.
    “You go on,” Byron admitted. “Killing a man was never a demon I had to deal with, thanks be to the Gods, but none can deny you'd little choice in the matter. You deal with it, and go on. You've a life ahead of you, grandson, and I won't see you throw it away over the death of that sort of scum.”
    Byron released his grip, and Erik slowly massaged his hand. His grandfather's words made sense, indeed, they repeated what part of his mind had been saying all along. But saying 'deal with it' and actually dealing with it were two different things.
    “How?” Erik asked quietly.
    “You can start ,” Byron observed, “by not trying to work yourself into the grave. Go out and spend some money on your own enjoyment. You've little enough time to yourself as it is, without throwing away what you have.”
    Erik hesitated. He'd never been inclined to spend money on entertainment, mainly because it had always been in short supply. Before he said this aloud, Byron laughed. “Grandson, between the King's reward for that Draconan bastard and the way you've overworked yourself these last weeks, you can afford to do almost anything you want to. You can easily afford a night at a tavern, relaxing. Go.”
    With a tiny smile on his lips, the first he'd felt in weeks, Erik yielded to his grandfather's demand.
     
     
     
    The Iron Hammer was the tavern Vidran's smiths tended to frequent on the occasions where any of them had the time and money to do so. Nestled onto the corner at the end of Smith's Row, the two-story brick and wood structure still bore the scars of being one of the few survivors of the fire that had burned through the Row twenty years ago, killing Erik's parents.
    While on the end of Smith's Row, the Hammer was also conveniently placed on one of the major roads from the harbor to the city's main gates, and the rooms on the second floor were usually full of travelers. The smiths provided steady business, keeping the old tavern afloat, but it was the travelers that made the Hammer's profits.
    The main floor of the building was one large taproom, with a large wooden bar stretched along the wall dividing the kitchen from the taproom. An even dozen wooden tables, some of which were as old as the tavern but had weathered the years far worse, were scattered around the room.
    The bar was attended by old but still sturdy wooden stools, and it was one of these Erik had taken when he'd entered the tavern. A half-empty stein of ale rested on the bar in front of him as he listened to the bard in the corner.
     
    “ Twelve swords, twelve dances,
    Twelve battles of legend,
    Twelve lords so dire they slew.
     
    Twelve bearers, twelve keepers,
    Twelve heroes of Cevran,
    Twelve keys to the dragon-king's cage .”
     
    Erik snorted at the lyrics. The Lay of the Dragon-King was quite popular in certain circles – most schoolchildren at least knew the chorus – but only bards knew it all. It was a grand mythic epic of battles and sacrifice and gods, and no-one believed a single word of any of it.
    “Wings and Sky!” four voices said quietly but together, cutting through the din of the bar. Erik turned almost involuntarily, and saw that the table nearest to him had been occupied by four men, none of whom could have been