Free Ronan the Barbarian by James Bibby Page B

For a while, the Life and Death Stud Poker Game at Gashnik's Palace was the biggest game in town. And then people began to realise that maybe it was a bit too dangerous. It was fine if you won. You'd had a real evening's excitement. But what if you lost? That was it. Finito. You lost your life. End of story - and end of you.
    Then someone hit on the idea of gambling with other people's lives. Anyone who was foolhardy or desperate enough could hire themselves out as a Gambling Chip. If your employer won, he paid you a sizeable fee. If he lost... well, that was life. Or rather, death. Your death, of course, not your employer's.
    Habitually lucky gamblers would usually find a host of Gambling Chips clamouring for employment at the casino door. Notoriously bad gamblers had an unfortunate way of ending up with a knife in their back down some dark alley on the way to the casino. Well, the odds were stacked against the Gambling Chips, so it wasn't surprising if they wanted to increase their chances of survival slightly...
     
    In the hollow on the Nevacom Plains, the fire was dying down. Ronan and Tarl had swapped a lot of stories, and drunk a lot of wine. Ronan, bathed in that rosy glow of well-being that comes after a few drinks, had decided that Tarl was a Good Guy. A bit lacking in the Ethics and Morals Department, perhaps. Well, OK, completely lacking. But otherwise, a Good Guy. Slowly, he raised the nearly empty wineskin to his mouth. He'd almost got used to the taste now, and you had to admit it gave you a lovely warm glow in the stomach. Just the thing for cold nights in the middle of nowhere.
    On the other side of the fire, Tarl was slumped against a rock, with a silly grin on his face. Spending a night in the middle of the wilderness miles from the pleasures of civilisation was not his idea of a good time - but if he had to do so, to do it with a skin-full of wine in the company of a guy who liked him, and who could have kicked sand in a dragon's face with impunity, was definitely the best way. Happily, he watched Ronan swig from the wineskin.
    "Great wine, isn't it?" he said proudly. "Wonderful vintage."
    Vintage? Ronan found that surprising. "What vintage is it?"
    "Thursday."
    "What?"
    "I made it last Thursday, the day before I ran off."
    "I wouldn't have thought you could get grapes that far north."
    "Oh, you don't need grapes! My Gran taught me how to make wine. Elderberries, dandelions, nettles... you can use just about anything you find lying around in the countryside."
    "So what's this one made out of?" Ronan took another swig, savouring the flavour and trying to decide what it could have come from.
    "Sheep shit."
    Tarl sat up in concern as a spray of wine jetted from Ronan's mouth. It hit the embers of the fire and ignited with a loud " whuff ", burning with a weird blue flame. Tarl went to speak, and then stopped. Something a little strange was happening. The blue flame grew to a height of three feet, burning brightly, yet seeming to suck in heat rather than throw it out. Deep within it something was moving. Something dark but tenuous, which slowly coalesced into a recognizable human shape, a moving image barely two foot high.
    Ronan was staring in disbelief. "Father!" he gasped. In the flame, an image of the Smith seemed to be arguing with someone out of vision. As Ronan spoke it turned and looked out at him with pride, and he was shocked to see his father's face disfigured by a livid half-healed slash where Nekros's sword had struck.
    "Listen, my son. I haven't got much time!" The voice was faint, not whispered, but like someone speaking normally fifty yards away. "Your path lies through the city of Welbug, but beware! Your enemies are everywhere! Trust no man."
    Ronan looked across at Tarl with suspicious eyes. The image of the Smith turned to follow his gaze, and peered at Tarl for a moment. "Oh, don't worry about him!" it said, dismissively. "He's harmless." For a moment, it reconsidered. "Well, relatively