Tinker's War (The Tinkerer's Daughter Book 2) by Jamie Sedgwick Read Free Book Online

across the street from the small wine shop, when I saw two Vangar footmen entering the front door. My breath caught in my chest. I grimaced, wondering what foolish thing he had done to attract their attention. No doubt, he had made a noise of some sort at just the exact moment that they were walking by.
    I watched, praying that Robie had had the good sense to get out of sight before they found him. Then I heard a loud crash and Robie’s voice cried out: “For the King!” The sound of breaking glass and clashing steel filled the night.
    The sensible thing to do at that point would have been to withdraw and search for a way to rescue Robie later. After all, there was slim hope that we could best even one of those massive Vangar warriors, much less two of them at the same time. The logical part of my mind knew what I should do, but instead I took leave of my senses and raced across the street, plunging into the darkened store without a second thought.
    I found Robie backed up against the far wall, sword drawn, desperately parrying blows from both of the Vangars’ massive swords. Robie was strong, muscular in build, but I knew he didn’t stand a chance against those two giants. Without thinking, I reached behind the counter and pulled a wine bottle from the wall. I hurled it at the closest Vangar, aiming for the back of his head.
    My aim was true, but the Vangar lunged forward just as the bottle was about to hit him. It missed and instead struck the wall. Robie twisted, turning away from a blow as the wine splattered across his face. The Vangars turned, and broke out in laughter when they saw me. One of them muttered something in their strange language. He broke off from the fight with Robie and turned to attack me instead.
    As the eight-foot barbarian stomped across the floor, kicking chairs and tables out of the way, I shrank against the wall. I found myself desperately wishing I had the old sword Tinker had given to me when I was a child, or even a black powder blunderbuss. At that moment, I’d have been happy even to have a dagger. I had fallen out of the habit of carrying weapons over the years. There isn’t much use for a cutlass on a mail plane.
    I reached behind me and pulled out another bottle. This made the Vangar warrior laugh even harder. “Unga va shaeden,” he said in a taunting voice, making a gesture that clearly meant take your best shot. I hauled back and threw with all my might.
    I felt the weight of the bottle in my hand as I let it go, calculating the spin, the distance between us, trying to judge what part of the bottle would most effectively damage the target. I sorted all of this out in an instant, and let the bottle fly. The Vangar was still laughing as the neck of the bottle struck him square in the forehead. If it had been a knife, it would have embedded in his skull.
    The bottle shattered, shards of glass slicing down his skin as they fell, and a ring of blood appeared on his forehead. Rivulets of blood and red wine mingled, streaming down his face and trailing from his shaggy beard. The smile vanished. A look of pure insanity washed over the warrior’s features. He shouted something in his harsh native language and leapt forward, closing the distance between us in a single movement.
    I shrank against the wall, the bottles pressing into my back as he reached out and caught me by the throat. I tried to scream but the sound caught in my chest. The slightest whimper of breath escaped my throat as he squeezed. I reached up, grabbing his hairy, muscular wrist in both hands. My fingers wrapped around his forearm, my fingertips barely meeting. I was like a child in his hands.
     I tried to push him away but he might as well have been a mountain. My chest convulsed, trying to suck in air. Spots swam before my eyes. I felt warm blood on my hands as my nails dug into his flesh. The Vangar only smiled as if this gave him pleasure. I reached out to him with my mind, searching for some way to damage this