King of the Bastards by Brian Keene, Steven L. Shrewsbury Page A

all of that. Tell
on, Javan.”
    Javan fought to hide his smile. “Well, Amazarak consulted with
Croatoan and put himself in terrible agonies for power. Sire, you wouldn’t
believe what this man did to get close to his deity.”
    A red-skinned woman offered Rogan a tiny bowl full of ground
meal. He took it and said, “I’ve traveled the world. The words like Shaman are
only used for those who go through great sufferings for their gods. I wonder
what this food is?”
    Javan accepted a drink of water from another woman. “But Amazarak
was not content with the powers bestowed upon him. He still seeks more.”
    “Is that why this tribe hasn’t destroyed him?” Rogan asked,
sniffing the bowl’s contents. “Akibeel spoke of their tribe’s champions; Takala
and Eyote. Do they not have two balls enough between them to fight or organize
a force?”
    “Amazarak is high on the mountain and surrounds himself with
warriors sporting weapons these folk cannot fight against.”
    Akibeel motioned for Rogan and Javan to sit. Asenka and Zenata
joined them. Rogan sank onto a flattened stump and stretched his aching back.
He dipped two fingers into the bowl and sampled the meal. Grunting his
approval, Rogan ate. Javan was offered a bowl and did the same.
    Two tall men of the Kennebeck tribe appeared from the forest.
Unlike their fellow tribesmen, they were sturdily built. The deformities that
plagued so many of the Kennebeck were absent from their own bodies. Unlike
their pathetic brothers, these men looked battle-scarred, hearty, and well fed.
    Immediately, Akibeel began admonishing with the two newcomers.
Smug smiles appeared on their faces. They stared at Rogan and Javan.
    “Javan,” Rogan sighed wearily. “I grow tired of Akibeel’s
chatter. If you must tell me everything they say, perhaps we should just slay
them all now and be done with it.”
    Zenata and Asenka glanced at each other, unsure if Rogan joked or
not.
    The two newcomers continued staring. One of them muttered
something which caused gasps from the rest of the tribe. Their demeanor ran
clearly disdainful of the new arrivals.
    “Do those two wish to propose marriage to us?” Rogan asked. “If
so, please explain to them that I was married once and have no plans to do so
again.”
    “I do believe these are the champions, Takala and Eyota,” Javan
said. “They appear unimpressed with you and me, sire. Akibeel is angry because
they refuse to treat us as welcomed guests. Takala just made a rude comment
about your parentage.”
    Rogan’s expression darkened. “What was it?”
    “I do not know, sire,” Javan lied. “My understanding of their
language has failed me.”
    “I told you before, lad; don’t lie to an old liar. Now, what did
that ox say about my lineage?”
    “I-I believe it may have involved a g-goat and perhaps a sheep
herder.”
    Rogan stared at the two men as they argued with Akibeel, studying
their voice tones and body language. The larger of the two champions shed his
quiver of arrows, his belt, knife, and bow and stepped into the open of the
clearing. Grinning, he pointed at Rogan.
    “Apparently,” Javan translated, “Takala intends to—”
    “I know a challenge when I see one, Javan.”
    Javan eyed Eyota, only slightly shorter than Takala. Akibeel
turned to Javan and spoke quickly.
    “He says,” Javan translated, “that I must fight the other after
Takala kills you, sire.”
    “So be it.” Rogan set his feet. He did not disarm, but neither
did he draw steel. “This is a stupid waste of time, but I shall meet his
challenge. This doesn’t aid these people or get us home any faster. After I
have slain him, I say we be done with this entire tribe and just kill them
all.”
    Takala was almost as tall as Rogan, but the aged king outweighed
him in mass and muscle. The two circled each other. Takala spat something in
his dialect. Rogan remained silent. Takala said something else and several in
the crowd laughed. Glowering, Rogan reached