Death's Collector

Death's Collector: Sorcerers Dark and Light


Bill McCurry


Contents
Books By Bill Mccurry
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR


Books By Bill Mccurry
DEATH-CURSED WIZARD SERIES
Novels
Death’s Collector
Death’s Baby Sister
Death’s Collector: Sorcerers Dark and Light
Death’s Collector: Void-Walker (OCT 2020)
Novellas
Wee Piggies of Radiant Might


© 2020 Bill McCurry
Death’s Collector: Sorcerers Dark and Light
First edition, April 2020
Infinite Monkeys Publishing
Carrollton, TX
Bill-McCurry.com
Editing: Shayla Raquel, ShaylaRaquel.com
Cover Design: Monica Haynes, TheThatchery.com
Interior Formatting: Vellum
Death’s Collector: Sorcerers Dark and Light is under copyright protection. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Printed in the United States of America. All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-0-9848062-7-0 (e-book)
ISBN: 978-0-9848062-8-7 (paperback)


To Cyn:
“He who jumps into the void owes no explanation to those who stand and watch.” —Jean-Luc Godard


ONE
Every girl has accused somebody of ruining her whole life, and my little girl said that to me too. Not every girl gets stabbed to death by her father, though, not the way I killed mine. Wise and good people told me she was too dangerous to let live. They said I had done the right thing, but I loved her and could never think it was right.
I killed Manon in the thickest part of winter, which then shuffled on like it didn’t care. I rode west, away from the city of Bellmeet on the Great Empire Road. Five hundred miles ahead of me, the road was a heroic, paved thoroughfare, but at piddly Bellmeet, two farmers’ carts could hardly squeeze past without a fist fight.
I rode for two months, flung my sword in the ditch twice along the way, and went back for it both times. When the Great Empire Road thawed to a thousand miles of mud, I stopped in Bindle township and fell into habits that I figured would attract vermin. After the first week, everybody in town knew where to find me at anytime. That’s how four frilly dead men came to be standing in front of my sad, swayback cottage, muttering among themselves about killing and thievery.
They did not believe themselves to be dead, of course. Young men can’t comprehend a world that might exist without them. They had followed me from the tavern with plenty of life left in them, trailing fifty paces back, hands on their expensive swords, speaking rash words and giggling like girls. When I paused to straighten my cloak, they stopped too and stood by the muddy lane as innocent as fence posts. One of them had told me a joke in the tavern yesterday, laughed until his tears ran, and bought everybody drinks. I would kill him in a few minutes.
The idea was pleasant. My purpose in Bindle was to kill foul sons of bitches, the kind who would try to murder an old man for gold. I lured men like that by showing the gold around, a lump the size of a toddler’s fist. I would cut off a sliver to purchase my meal before thunking it down on the scarred table in the tavern. Then I’d let it lay there while I ate and ignored every avaricious eye in the room. My hair had gone gray early, and I could appear so feeble that a child might knock me over with a fart. All the foul sons of bitches knew where to find me, so they followed me home, or to the privy, or to the stables, and that’s where I murdered them.
I waited just inside my door in the first bits of twilight. The four ambitious thieves whispered and shuffled in their soft leather boots. Their cloaks were cut for style, not warmth. They didn’t even need the damn gold. The porch groaned when I stepped outside. The young men jerked and gaped as if their ma had caught them stealing pies.
Hell, I couldn’t just walk over and kill them for making a bad decision. I yearned to, but they looked too stupid and pitiful. One had cheeks shaved so pink he looked like a baby. I swallowed hard and waved the back of my hand at them. “I just sanded my floor last week, and I don’t intend to let you boys bleed to death on it. You go on back to the tavern and get drunk. It’s healthy. Healthier than this.”
I think they may have walked away with a few curses and a bad gesture or two if it hadn’t been for the short, gawky one with a chicken neck. He poked his tall, homely friend on the shoulder, and the tall man forced a smile. “Toss over the gold, Papaw, and don’t fuss. I could break you the way I’d do a stick.”
I sighed and didn’t gut the insolent tadpole. “I don’t have that gold anymore. Lost it between here and the waterfalls. You’re welcome to search for it.”
The tall one sneered. “You horrible, old liar. It’s right there in your pouch, bulging. Isn’t it?”
I touched the faded green pouch on my belt and nodded. “Let nobody say you’re too stupid to piss downward.”
He snorted, but his eyes were wide and he shuffled his feet.
Rather than kill them, I shoved my sword hand behind my back and grabbed my belt. “Boys, my only treasure is wisdom, earned with bruises and broken hearts. Go home, marry rich wives, make a bunch of fat babies, and spoil the shit out of them.” I nodded toward a couple of shabby houses across the lane. “Forget all this. You can tell people how you faced down death in the wild lands.”