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    Yeoldebard
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

The Nekromancer - 45. Chapter 45

It was a duel. Just a duel. Jeremy had gotten into Shelyn knew how many duels before. Now it seemed it was Jakun's turn. Amnor Sen was not happy about being the second in yet another duel. But he was grateful Jakun wasn't swinging from a rope.

"Methusda, do you know anything about this Kurst?" Amnor Sen asked.

"He's another gnome who lives at the Gunworks," the gnome frowned. "Knows everything there is to know about the weapons."

"Do you know if he is honourable?" the elf added. "Neither Jakun nor I have any knowledge of these pistols. I wouldn't know if one was tampered with. Our only saving grace is that the city is magically dead, so there won't be a spell coming out of them."

He saw Jakun flinch slightly, the cat's ears drooping.

"I hope that was not your plan kitten. A duel is meant to be fought with one type of weapon. Pistols were named, so however you fight this dwarf, it has to be with a pistol."

"There are ways around that," Jeremy pointed out. "If you can prove the pistols were tampered with, Jakun could demand a different weapon. Personally, I'd go with magic and take it out of the city. Dwarves aren't typically magically inclined, and it would be a poetic justice to answer an impossible duel with one of our own."

"And if they aren't tampered with? Jakun needs to learn how to use one of these pistols. Do you know where we can find one?" Amnor Sen asked, looking at Methusda.

"The cheapest I've heard of is nearly a thousand gold. Even I couldn't afford it," Methusda pointed out.

"We don't need to buy one, just learn to shoot it," Amnor Sen pointed out. "If we go to the Gunworks-"

"I highly doubt they would let us in," Jeremy said with a frown.

"Well maybe we can ask to talk to Kurst. It is within my rights and duty as Jakun's second," Amnor Sen grunted. "Jakun… are you sure it's to the death? You can't hit him in the leg and win?"

"He specified to the death," Jakun said quietly. "He wants to kill me."

Shaking his head with a sigh, the elf ushered the amurrun out of the shop.

"Jeremy, guard the place for Methusda until we get back."

"Arf arf," Jeremy muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Ass…" Amnor Sen muttered fondly.

He spent the next hour wandering the city, searching for the Gunworks, Jakun following the elf.

"Why can't we just leave the city? I don't want to fight," Jakun said quietly.

"Because you broke the law. If you fled, you'd be running from the law, and the law in this city would probably chase after you."

"I was attacked. I was defending myself," Jakun argued.

"I know, kitten. But you killed a dwarf. His brother is entitled to closure. I just wish it wasn't to the death. I will have words with this gnome and see if I can't lessen the duel. First blood should be enough for blood to be satisfied."

Heading west along a river that ran through the city, they finally reached the large factory, several humans lining the entrance with long guns in their hands. Amnor Sen approached, taking a deep breath.

"Excuse me, I am looking for a… Kurst Brightflame?"

"What business do you have with him?"

"Preparations for a duel. I have to admit, it feels different doing this for someone who isn't drunk…" Amnor Sen muttered.

"He is at his home, back the way you came. Large house with a brass bull. You can't miss it."

"Thank you," Amnor Sen said with a light bow.

He turned back, nudging Jakun gently.

"I know where that is," the elf murmured. "I passed it while following you last night."

Stopping in front of a large house on the river, Amnor Sen pulled a rope next to the door, a loud bell clanging within the house. The door was opened by a halfling, Amnor Sen quickly explaining why they were there.

Soon, the two were standing in a parlor, a fire burning in a hearth. A gnome stood before them, coppery hair flecked with bits of powdery specks. Amnor Sen wasn't sure if that was his hair, or bits of powder from the Gunworks.

"A duel? Strange. Durand hadn't mentioned anything to me. I know Vyl… knew Vyl… It would not surprise me at all to learn he was a part of a robbery. He always wanted more out of life."

Kurst sighed, turning toward a short barrelled gun over the fireplace.

"For Durand to pick a weapon you have never heard of… you understand, he is trying to kill your friend. You can ask all you want, but he will not give in to first blood. It pains me to say this, but only death can decide this."

Holding up the weapon, Kurst showed it to Jakun.

"Durand has trained with guns all his life. But you do have a chance. It is no more difficult than firing a loud crossbow. You pull this lever back all the way, and then you squeeze this trigger. It will fire, and there will be a lot of smoke. You cannot flinch from the noise or you will miss."

Amnor Sen saw Jakun nodding slowly, the catfolk's tail twisting in knots.

"In a traditional duel, the seconds are in charge of the weapons before hand," the elf pointed out.

"I have a pair of pistols kept for dueling. I can show them to you, but I don't think it would help you much. Leave them to me. I give you my word as a mechanist, your gun will work tomorrow."

Letting out a deep breath, Amnor Sen nodded.

"I don't trust you. I don't trust anything in this city. But you are right. I would have no idea if anything was tampered with," he said. "Come on Jakun. Kurst… you'll be on the Bridge of the Gods at dawn, correct?"

"You can count on it," the gnome nodded.

Copyright © 2020 Yeoldebard; All Rights Reserved.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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