The Crossover Read Online Free PDF

something?” The merchant was careful to keep his voice neutral.
    “Yeah,” the biggest one—obviously the leader—said. “Just hand over the cash register.”
    At last , Chelinn thought, something familiar. Thugs robbing a merchant. “And why should he do that?” he growled. The three turned to face him, a tinge of fear swept away by contempt.
    “Oh look,” the big one said to his friends. “A geek who thinks he’s tough in his dress-up!”
    “Let’s see how tough he is,” another suggested. A device in his hand sprouted a tiny knife blade with a nasty snapping sound. They grinned and the others drew their weapons as Chelinn took two steps back, hands raised.

    “What are you doing?” Lodrán asked the youth stuffing his pockets with small packages.
    “This don’t concern you, dip-weed,” the youth said.
    “It does. You steal, but have no stealth. No style. You’re an embarrassment to the Silent Art.”
    “Whatever. Shove off.” The youth pulled a small knife, in what Lodrán thought a clumsy maneuver. “Unless you want me to cut you a new smile.”
    Lodrán’s dagger came to hand. To the youth, Lodrán flicked his hand and the weapon just… appeared. “Put those things back,” Lodrán ordered. “Or just leave them here on the floor. Unless you think you can take me.”
    “Hey!” the youth yelled, taking a wide-eyed step back. “Over here!”

    Chelinn’s hands came down, his sword Gonfanlon in one hand, dagger in the other.
    The big thug snorted. “Like you can actually use those?”
    Chelinn gave them a monstrous grin. The dagger flashed, and all three felt a draft and a stinging across their stomachs—they looked down, and saw their shirts slashed open. Blood oozed from a scratch across each of them. “I’m not the greatest swordsman on Termag, but I can indeed use these well enough. I suggest you go on your way. And don’t come back.”

    The youth grinned at Lodrán as his friends rushed from the desk; the grin turned to a confused grimace as they ran through the front door. He took a step back, waving his pitiful knife at Lodrán. “Stay back!” he yelled.
    “Just leave what you would steal, then you’re free to go.” Lodrán tossed his dagger back and forth between his hands, giving it a lazy twirl in flight. The youth watched this display with horrified fascination, then dropped his own knife and the stolen goods.
    “Good.” Lodrán stepped out of the aisle, leaving the way out open. The youth bolted past him and out the door.
    “Oh… I wondered what happened to the last one,” said Chelinn, still grinning. “I see you took care of him. Any trouble?”
    Lodrán looked as if he wanted to spit. “Against that ? I’ve faced dead men more dangerous.”
    Chelinn chuckled and turned to the gaping merchant. “If they have any sense, that’s the last you’ll see of them.”
    “You’re not hurt, are you?” Lodrán asked him.
    The merchant shook his head. “No. But I’m not so sure they won’t come back. They’ll either bring guns, or torch the place some night.” He grinned. “But I kind of don’t care—that was amazing!” He gave Chelinn a goggle-eyed look. “When you swung that knife, I thought I was gonna have a bloody mess to clean up for sure! It might have been better that way—the police would ask questions I’d have a hard time answering, but at least I wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore. So who are you guys?”
    “I am Chelinn sim Chell, scion of House Chelor of Dacia. I have been called both Captain and Madman, but I gave up one title and laugh at the other. This is my companion and friend, Lodrán sim Marl, of Ak’koyr, a practitioner of the Silent Art.”
    “Of Roth’s Keep,” Lodrán corrected. “I was born in Ak’koyr, but I will not claim it as my heritage.”
    “Dacia? Ak’koyr? Where the hell are they?”
    “Our world we call Termag,” said Chelinn. “We’ve already concluded we’re somewhere else. What do you call your