Fireteam Delta by J. Halpin (ebook reader that looks like a book txt) 📕

“Was not for lack of trying. Had a few ships circling the bay. Sketa scared ’em off, though—think you saw her coming in.”

“You’ve named it?” Synel looked at the man questioningly.

“Named her? She’s saved us. Town would have been dust long ago were it not for her protecting our shores.” The chief spoke a little louder than Summers expected.

He glanced at a few of the curious eyes looking their way. Most of the townspeople watched their entourage from the safety of their homes and shops, each with the same placid expression Summers had come to expect from the elves. Even with all the time he’d spent with Asleؙ—or Synel, for that matter—he still had trouble dealing with how alien it seemed.

“But enough,” the chief started. “As I said, you are the first visitors our town has had in some time. We should celebrate. Come. The drinks will be on me.”

A short cheer went up from the sailors at those words. Even Synel seemed pleased.

“Thank god for hospitality,” Cortez muttered from Summers’ side.

“You understood that?” Summers looked at her.

“If there’s one thing I learned from the city, it’s how to ask for a drink.”

Summers saw Cortez start forward, a little livelier than she’d been a moment prior.

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The hospitality, it turned out, had been a little overwhelming.

“I shouldn’t.” Summers tried to wave off the mug Synel was offering him.

“Come on,” Synel prodded Summers.

Throughout the night, the sailors had been doing what they did best. That is, drinking themselves into comas. The town hosted a small inn that, with the complete lack of trade, was all theirs for the night.

Even the captain had joined in before excusing himself back to the ship.

They, however, had decided to take advantage of the inn while they could and had rented a few rooms for the night, mostly so they could sleep with some elbow room for once. A week in, and they were already starting to remember just how comfortable the castle’s private rooms had been.

“No. That’s enough for me.” Summers pushed the mug back. “I’m headed to bed.”

“Fine, fine.” Synel reached into a pocket and handed Summers, Nowak, and Cortez each a peg.

“How many rooms did you get?” Summers inspected the wooden key.

“Three,” Synel answered. “Ms. Cortez”—she switched to English, looking at the woman—“would you . . . share with my apprentice?”

Although she spoke haltingly, Cortez seemed to get the message.

“Sure?” Cortez shrugged a bit clumsily. She looked back at Asle, who was nursing a large glass of water.

“Great.” Summers stood, heading up the stairs to their rooms as he waved a goodbye. “I’ll see you guys in the morning, then.”

After a moment, Synel stood.

“We’ll have an early morning. I should go, as well.” She gave them a short bow before heading upstairs herself.

Cortez took a long drink as she watched the woman leave. Then she glanced down at her own key.

“She said we had three rooms, didn’t she?”

“I think?” Nowak replied.

Cortez looked from her own key, to Nowak’s key, then back up to the stairs again.

“For fuck’s sake.”

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Summers lay beside Synel, eyes closed.

It had been a long, long night. Though it was nice to have finally gotten off the ship, part of him was dreading the rest of their journey.

He breathed slowly, trying to clear his mind. He hadn’t slept for most of the night before. Between everyone on the ship moving around and the tight quarters, he just couldn’t keep his mind quiet. The only advantage he had now, besides the company, was the sheer amount of exhaustion he felt.

After a few minutes of internal struggle, sleep finally took him.

He awoke to an odd pressure against his neck.

“Hrk?” Summers grunted as he was wrenched upward. He grabbed at something around his neck—a rope—before pulling down with the slightest bit of force.

Almost immediately, he heard a man yelp behind him and stumble to the ground. Summers hesitated a moment before his half-sleeping brain managed to catch up to the situation.

The man drew a knife and lunged at him. Summers almost casually reached out, grabbing the man’s hand and squeezing. He felt something snap beneath his grip—likely the man’s arm—followed by a scream.

The knife clattered to the floor as he turned to find a second elf staring at him, wide-eyed, his knife moving toward a terrified Synel’s throat.

Summers rushed the man just a second too late.

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The door to the hallway exploded open, the body of an elf slamming into the second-story railing before tumbling to the ground below.

“Are you all right?” Summers bent over Synel.

The man had managed to lift the knife to her chest, probably trying to ward Summers off before he attacked. Now, she was trying to keep pressure on the large gash in her side.

“I’m fine,” Synel gasped before getting to her feet.

The man behind them only cowered in the corner, making no move for the knife.

Summers turned back to the hall to find three men with spears—one standing at the door to Cortez and Asle’s room. They all stared at him, more confused than anything.

He moved forward, kicking one man out of the way, grabbing his spear, and slamming it down on the back of the other man. He worked his way through the hallway, moving until a single gunshot erupted, taking the last man in the leg and sending him to the ground.

“What the fuck is happening?” Cortez moved from the room to the railing, her weapon trained on the floor below. He saw Asle move from behind her, Cortez’s sidearm in her hands.

“I have no idea,” Summers answered. He turned at the sound of a door opening and found Nowak emerging from his own room.

“Whatever it is, we’re