Free PURE OF HEART by Christopher Greyson

good time for you to die, boy.”
    Dean’s muscles tightened. His arm swung back. With all of his power, he threw the rock at Taviak’s head. The stone flew through the air. Dean sprang forward. The rock slammed into Taviak’s helmet. As Taviak’s head snapped back, his neck was exposed. Dean’s sword flashed as the first rays of morning came into the clearing.
    Taviak fell to the ground with a loud thud. Dean stood, panting, and his hand trembled.
    “Is he dead?” Han scurried away from the body.
    “Dead as a doornail.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “The guy doesn’t have a head. Usually when you don’t have a head, you’re dead.”
    “Are you okay?”
    Dean shook his head. “I never killed anyone.”
    “You killed the Krulgs.”
    “They were monsters.” Dean wiped the blood from his sword on the grass.
    Han looked down at Taviak’s corpse. “He was a monster, too, Dean.”
    Dean swallowed and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and nodded. “Let’s get out of here.”
    “The horse got away, but I got our packs. They’re in the woods.” Han gave a small smile.
    “Nice work.”
    “Thank you.” Han walked beside Dean. “I mean . . . thank you for saving my life. If you hadn’t thrown that rock . . .”
    “Don’t worry about it. You’ve been saving my neck too,” Dean said. “Was that a throw or was that a throw? I was just like Babe Ruth.” Dean laughed as they walked into the woods.
    “You weren’t like a little girl. You were great!”
    “What? A little girl?” Dean wrinkled his nose.
    “Baby Ruth,” Han said.
    “No. Babe Ruth. He’s a guy. He’s a baseball player.” Dean laughed.
    “Baseball?” Han asked.
    “It’s a game. Baseball. Apple pie. Hot dogs. Baseball.”
    “Hot dogs?” Han asked, now looking very confused.
    “You eat them.”
    “Dogs? They eat dogs in the Heavens?” Han shrieked.
    “They don’t eat dogs in the Heavens.”
    “That’s what you said.”
    “I didn’t . . . Oh, skip it.”
    “Oh, skip it. That’s what you always say. Oh, skip it. I just want you to know if I go to the Heavens, I’m not going to eat a dog.” Han turned to face Dean, who burst out laughing.
    “Don’t worry, you won’t go to the Heavens,” Dean said, and Han’s mouth fell open.
    “I won’t go to Heaven?”
    “No. I mean, you will someday. Not my Heavens but the Heaven. You know what I mean?”
    Han shook his head and looked dejectedly down at the ground.
    “Don’t get all bummed out. When I go back, you’ll come to the Heavens with me, I promise.” Dean held up a hand.
    “I knew you were from the Heavens.” Han laughed and then took off running as Dean chased him into the woods.

CHAPTER SEVEN
The Midget Viking
     
    The Dwarves all stood in a battle line with their massive two-headed battle-axes in their hands and their metal shields slung over their broad backs. A new wave of Krulgs approached them, led by Varlugs, the creatures’ larger brethren who stood nearly eight feet tall. Both sides had taken heavy losses in the earlier attacks; the wicked beasts lost far more, but they had the advantage of numbers on their side, outnumbering the Dwarves nearly four to one. The field before them was littered with the dead of both sides. The ground turned a sickly red. The sky was in shadow, and the lack of wind stirred the smell of death now hanging in the air as thick as the darkest fog.
    “Bravic, my brother, if I fail to make it through this next attack, I leave to you my belongings.” A tall Dwarf, nearly five feet, laid his hand down on a smaller Dwarf’s armored shoulder.
    “We’ll both survive, Braga. We’ll make it through all of this. Besides, you haven’t got anything except me.” The smaller Dwarf chuckled.
    The two turned back to overlook the field and braced themselves for the awaited battle horn. Bravic stood with his short, stocky legs set. He had brown eyes and long dark hair that he tied back. His hair was nearly as long as the braided beard that