Chaos At The Castle (Book Six) Read online

  Where did those people go?

  “Don’t worry about that, Darlene,” Scorch said. The gems floated up to his fingers.

  And that’s when things became odd.

  Scorch talked to himself, ate pickles and cheese, and sipped Muckle Sap for the next hour. He laughed. Scoffed. Mocked. His handsome features changed from one expression to another. Grim. Scary. Bold. Enlightened. But for the most part, he giggled and used the word ‘fascinating.’

  Bored, she began to clean up, whistling a lullaby as she picked up the chairs and tables she’d knocked over. She stopped at the dead bodies and smashed a few flies between her hands.

  “How am I going to dispose of these guys?”

  She had an idea.

  “Uh, Scorch?”

  He sat there, eyes transfixed on the red stones he’d set back on the bar.

  “Scorch, could you?”

  Slowly, he turned, a dark look in his eye.

  Walking over to him, she tossed a rag over the gemstones.

  He blinked at her, eyes regaining their luster. “What is it?”

  She jutted her thumb at the headless bodies.

  “Oh,” he sighed. “Just find some sand and sprinkle it on them.”

  “Sand?”

  “Never mind,” he said. He snatched the rag off the gemstones.

  Puff! Puff! Puff! Puff! Puff!

  “Whoa!” she said.

  The dead men had turned to statues of sand. Walking over, she poked the nearest one and watched it implode over the planks on the floor.

  “Whoa. Thanks, Scorch.”

  But he wasn’t paying her any mind. Instead, he rolled the gemstones in between his fingers. “I’ve got to see this.” He said more, but that was all she understood.

  She tried to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. She’d never had those before, but Scorch had never acted this way before either.

  The door to the entry way cracked open, and one of their followers peeped his gray-haired head through.

  “Darlene, er … well, any needs?”

  She placed her hands on her hips. “Drag in two more of you, and find me a mop and broom.”

  Glancing over at Scorch, she almost peed herself. Only the hand and the pickle jar remained. Scorch was gone with the red gems.

  “I got a bad feeling about this.”

  CHAPTER 29

  “What in Bish are those things?” Fogle yelled. But Cass wasn’t listening. She wasn’t even moving. “Cass!” Nothing.

  Ahead, Barton’s giant feet shook the ground. Running full stride, his arms swung like giant hammers at his sides.

  Fogle whipped the reins on his horse. “Eeyah!”

  Behind him, the angry buzz of the insects got louder, like a hunger. Fogle had heard about swarms before. He recalled the stories of insects that picked the flesh clean from the bone. Inky’s vision of the insects, each as long as Fogle’s finger, was a chilling site. Sharp rows of snapping teeth, black bug eyes, wings and a stinger like a scorpion for a tail. He glanced over his shoulder.

  “They’re getting closer! Eeyah!”

  They’d made it over a mile when his horse began to labor for breath. Ahead, Barton began to clutch at his side. No! Think of something, Fogle!

  No spells came to mind that could put a stop to thousands of insects, and anything from the spellbook would take too much time.

  Looking over his shoulder, he screamed again. “Cass!” The insects were getting closer. His horse was slowing, and ahead, Barton’s feet stumbled. “Come on, Druid! I need you! You’re the one that’s supposed be able to talk to things in this world.”

  The buzzing became louder, not so much a buzz, but more like the sound of thousands of tiny metal scissors opening and closing. Fogle fought the image of his flesh being ripped from his skin one tiny chunk at a time, a thousand times over.

  Do something, Wizard! What had Mood said? You can die doing something or nothing. It’s your life. Make it count.

  Fogle flung his arm back, flinging tendrils of energy from his fingertips. The energy punched into the grey swarm, creating a hole. An eruption of tiny explosions in the sky followed. A second later, the hole closed. Fogle shook his head. He was angry. Every time he overcame one obstacle, he found himself faced with another that he was even less prepared for.

  You can’t be ready for everything. Boon had said. Just be ready to act.

  “I’ll be ready to act, all right. Act dead!” He whipped the reins. “Barton! Think of something. We’re about to have company!”

  He couldn’t tell if Barton could hear him on not, but the giant slowed and turned.

  “Keep moving, Giant!”

  Barton just leered at him, clutching at his sides, huffing for breath.

  “What are you doing?” Fogle said, riding up to him, stopping.

  “No more running, Wizard. No more. Wooooo. Barton tired.” His hands fell to his knees.

  Fogle tried to summon his energy but couldn’t think of anything to cast. It was too late. The swarm was only seconds away. He pulled Cass tight and looked up at Barton.

  “I guess this is good-bye, Barton.”

  Barton scooped out two massive handfuls of dirt from the ground and reached for him.

  “What are you doi—ingggg!”

  Barton picked them both up off the horse, set them in a large divot in the ground, and huddled over them.

  Fogle tried to squirm away, but an infant could have done better. “Get off—mrph!”

  Everything went black. Fogle and Cass were trapped beneath the hot sweaty mass of Barton’s belly flesh.

  I’m going to suffocate in sweaty lard!

  Barton’s body groaned and twitched over top of him and Cass. He could hear the muffled cries of the deformed giant’s moans of pain. All he could imagine was the insects eating Barton alive. How long would Barton hold them off until they got to him? Would he suffocate first?

  “Cass.” He caught a drop of Barton’s sweat in his mouth. “Yecht!”

  He tried to think of something. Anything that might help. He needed air. Barton needed help. He grabbed Cass’s face and stroked it tenderly. He held her tight. Above him, Barton’s big body shuddered. He didn’t know who to feel worse for, the giant or himself. Inside him, he wanted to fight, but there was nothing he could do.

  This is pathetic.

  A minute passed, then two. Barton’s moans and cries subsided slowly.

  He’s dying! The bugs will be through any moment.

  Barton’s body stopped shuddering. The only thing Fogle could feel or hear was his own heartbeat. He pushed up on Barton. “Let us out!” He drove his knee into his belly. What if Barton died and they were trapped? “No! Blast it, Barton, get up!”

  He summoned his energy. His fist lit up and he drove it into Barton’s belly.

  Ssssrack!

  Barton’s body lurched upward and rolled over. Fogle gasped, basking in the white daylight that greeted him. He could breathe again! One last breath of sweet air before the bugs got him. He crawled out of the hole that Barton had dug and scanned the sky. It was empty aside from a few clouds. The humming of bugs was gone.

  “Where did they go?” he said, spinning around.

  Barton groaned. The big giant lay flat on his back with hundreds, if not thousands, of red welts all over his body. “Oooooh,” he moaned. “My belly hurts.”

  Fogle stood over his side and patted his belly. “Uh… looks like you’ve had too much bug poison. I’m sure it will go away.”

  Barton rolled his big neck his way, staring at him with his one good eye. “You alright, Wizard? Barton helped you, right?”

  “Indeed, Barton. I’d be dead without you.”

  “Pretty lady alright too?”

  “She just needs something better to drink than your sweat, but she should be fine. Can you get up?”

  Slowly, Barton rose to a sitting position.

  “Belly hurts,” he said, rubbing it. “Like I got whopped by a giant. Did you do that?�
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  Fogle turned away. “Have you seen the horse?”

  Barton pointed east.

  “Ah,” Fogle said. Making his way over to the mount that stood basking in the haze of the hot day. “Oh.” When he got close, a chill ran through him. The horse still stood with the saddle and his bags intact, but every ounce of flesh and skin had been picked clean. Only the bones remained. He glanced back at the giant. Barton’s thick skin had saved them all. All but the horse, anyway. He grabbed what gear he needed, headed back, and tried to make Cass as comfortable as he could.

  “How are you feeling, Barton?”

  “Dizzy. Little bugs stung me and bit me, but Barton too tough. Too strong. Belly still hurts though. They didn’t bite my belly. I don’t understand why it hurts.” Barton scratched his head. “Was something else underneath me with you? Huh, Wizard?”

  Feeling guilty, Fogle was ready to confess.

  “Barton, I—”

  The giant’s eye closed, and he fell backward.

  Thoom!

  “Great! Just great!” Fogle put his hand on Barton’s chest. It still rose and fell. “I guess he’s alive.” He kicked the dirt.

  Now what, Wizard? Now what?

  Cass had curled up like a baby, and Barton began to snore, leaving him as alone as he ever felt before. He found a place beside Cass in Barton’s ditch and took a seat. Inky!

  Closing his eyes, he tried to summon the familiar. The last thing he remembered was the bird flying into the swarm, and he’d completely forgotten about the bird after that. He gave it a minute or two and gave up. He pulled at the locks of his hair with both hands.

  What have I done? What have I done? What have I done?

  Little more than an hour ago, he had things under complete control. Cass was fine, Barton cheerful and his horse reliable transportation under his legs. They were going after Venir, the Darkslayer. Following the dog Chongo. His ebony hawk would lead straight to them.

  Now, all of his plans were crushed. Inky was gone. Barton and Cass were almost comatose, and his horse was dead. He could only think of one thing. Well, two things.

  Go east. Or sleep―and wake up dead.

  Going east should have been simple, but it wasn’t. The suns and moons didn’t always rise in the same places, not than anyone ever thought about using them as a compass. Mood had always complained that getting around Bish would be easier if the suns and moons rose in the same places. Instead, you had to know the terrain.

  Look for the signs.

  A keen eye could see for miles in any direction, and the layout of Bish was simple. All you had to know was where places were and how to get there. Just don’t be too forgetful. To make matters worse, some days, especially in the Outlands, were longer than others.

  Probably have our bones picked clean out here.

  He noted a bird of some sort circling above.

  Great. Probably man-eating condors. Let’s hope I can handle them.

  Fogle pulled his spellbook from his pack. It fit on his hand at first, then, opening and closing, it got bigger and bigger, until he had to set it on his lap. He thumbed through the pages.

  There ought to be something in here.

  Meanwhile, Barton’s snoring made the ground rumble.

  Page by page, Fogle scanned his book, finding nothing immediately useful. He’d need more time and rest to learn anything new, and he had other spells in mind he had to keep until he used them. He nudged Cass. Her pale pink lips were cracked and dried. He poured a little water from his canteen on her lips, bringing forth a sigh. Poor thing. The feisty woman seemed so vulnerable right now, leaving him uncomfortable.

  He stuck his nose back inside his book and read through more of Boon’s spells. A bad feeling crawled through him. Was Boon still alive or not? The old man was crazy enough to fight an entire army of underlings and willing to die for it.

  Bish, don’t’ let me get that crazy.

  Spell after spell he read, not recalling hardly any of them. He felt ashamed now at his reluctance. Boon’s written pages were a treasure that never should have been ignored. He giggled at one of them. Breast replenishment. With a special note. For aging wife. Fogle shook his head. Much of the magic in the City of Three was used to upkeep images, a practice which Fogle, unlike most, found detestable. He wondered if Boon was one of those who created such a spell to begin with. Page after page he went. Transfigurations. Polymorph. Elementals. Enchantments. Transmutations. Conjurations. A dozen forms of evocations and illusions, and so on. The ones that were most effective on underlings were highlighted. But there wasn’t anything he could find that would give him directions. Fogle marked a few pages and closed the book.

  “Now what, Cass? Now what?”

  She didn’t stir.

  If only Mood or Eethum were here.

  He sat for a while, before he got back up. Nightfall would be coming soon.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll take the first watch.” He stretched out his arms and yawned. “No, no, you two go ahead and rest. I’ll take the second one too.” Instinctively, he started to gather sticks and pile them up together. “What am I doing? I can’t build a fire now, can I?” He shook his head. “Am I talking out loud to myself? Am I?”

  I can’t be. I can’t be. I can’t be.

  He poked one of the nasty red stings on Barton’s arm with a stick. Nothing. Barton kept snoring. “Well, I won’t fall asleep with you around, that’s for sure. And we can’t have you drawing any underlings, giants, nasty bugs or dragons straight to us either.” With both hands, he tried to pinch Barton’s nose shut.

  Barton snorted and started to roll over.

  “Not on top of me!” he said, jumping to the side.

  Barton lay on his stomach now, no longer snoring.

  “Sheesh!” Fogle got up and dusted his tattered robes off. “Aw, what’s the point?” He snatched up the spellbook. “I need something else to keep watch in case I fall asleep,” he said, yawning.

  Every scrape, bump, and bruise began to settle in on him, and he wondered if the Outland was making him tougher or deteriorating him faster.

  I’m no dwarf. That’s for sure.

  Instead, he was a man. A lost man. A lamb in the Outland waiting to be devoured by Bish.

  “There’s always tomorrow if we live that long,” he said to Cass. Something strange howled in the wind. He eyed the sky. “I really hope you wake back up by then, because, even though you’re small, I can’t carry you too far.”

  Barton stirred and farted.

  “Ah!” Fogle held his nose. “Hmmm… I think I have an idea. Did a fart inspire that?”

  Stop talking to yourself!

  Over the next hour, he dove into the spellbook, eyes pouring over and committing to memory what he could. He muttered a cantrip after his final yawn. A Wizard’s Alarm should wake him if anything got too close. He needed rest. He had to risk it. Besides, he couldn’t wake them up anyway. “Forgive me, Cass.” After kissing her forehead, he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, oblivious to a unique sound in the distance.

  Whump. Whump. Whump…

  CHAPTER 30

  Melegal squirmed. He was only a few seconds from being a cripple if he didn’t twist away.

  “My, you’re a shifty one. I’ll give you that,” the leader said. “Like a big fish in man’s clothing.”

  Think of something, Thief!

  Melegal’d been captured before, sometimes willing, sometimes not. But when being pinned down by a superior force there were a couple of ways you could play it. Fight with everything you had, or panic.

  “Help!” he screamed.

  Or at least act like you were panicking.

  One of the Blood Hounds slugged him in the gut.

  “Ooof!” Melegal groaned.

  The one that hit him said, “His stomach’s harder than old leather, Creed.”

  “Is that so?” Creed drew back and also socked him in the gut. “That ought to soften it some. Sorry, nothing personal. Just business
, squirmy one.” He pinched Melegal’s face in his hand, grabbed his hat, and stuffed it in his mouth. “Any more of that, and your gonads will be dog food. Understand, Detective?”

  Melegal blinked twice.

  “Good. Now, be peaceful about this, or we’ll be forced to kill you.”

  Melegal’s eyes widened.

  “That’s right, but you’re wanted alive rather than dead. Good thing for you.”

  One of the dogs snapped in his face. He resisted less and began to turn over. He forced a hardy cough, spit out his hat, and screamed.

  “Blast it! Just knock the man out,” Creed said. His voice was refined. Confident. Patient. “Hand me your black jack. We’ve enough fooling with this. Underlings might be crawling all over us if we’re not more careful.”

  Melegal coughed again, dodging.

  He felt Creed’s hand rise up with the black jack.

  Now or die!

  Slick as a snake, Melegal twisted free of all of them and took aim.

  Zing! Zing! Zing!

  “Aarggh!”

  The dart launchers caught one man holding him in the face and Creed in the chin.

  He rolled beneath another man’s fist.

  Zing! Zing! Zing!

  The man wailed out, clutching at his eyes.

  Zing!

  One dog yelped.

  Zing!

  Another dog fled, dart protruding from its neck.

  “Yer gonna pay for that,” one said, ripping a heavy sword from his scabbard.

  Melegal slid out his swords, the Sisters, and faced off the goon.

  “Nice trick, Detective,” Creed said, plucking the dart from his beard, watching. “But hardly effective.”

  Melegal shrugged. “What the dart won’t do, the poison will?”

  Creed drew his longsword and smiled.

  “Then you’ll be going down with us.”

  Run!

  It was the preferred resolution for his survival, but there was a problem. His hat and case were on the ground, and he wasn’t willing to part with them yet.

  ‘Greedy gets you killed,’ they say.

  Melegal shifted his footing, gently bending his knees.