The Darkslayer: Book 03 - Underling Revenge Read online

  The sounds of rats' claws scratched on stones beyond a metal barrier. Reaching out, he touched a cold iron door. There was a scurry of rodents on the other side. His fingers found the edges on an opening at the top of the door, barred. Ah … a window.

  There was a rustle of clothes. His heart began to race. He waited, the pounding in his chest too loud for him to concentrate. He exercised his breathing. Another minute went by, then two. The silence returned, no rats and no rustle. Use your nose. He inhaled slowly, in and out. There was a strange odor he couldn’t identify. Rot, rust … dirty toes?

  The darkness in the stairwell covered him like a cape now. He swore he heard something. He must have. Possibly it was the rats running over rotting clothes. Above, the rain became heavy once again, sending the stream of water in more of a rush, filling the landing, raising water about the soles of his boots. He wondered if the heavy rains could drown a man inside these buried cells.

  Melegal had to decide whether or not he needed to see Tonio in order to be sure he was alive. Would the sword do? Should he tell Lord Almen where he thought his son was? Let Almen send someone else to find the proof? It was a bad idea. He didn’t want to give the Royal Lord any reason to choke him again; the next time might be the last. He would have to see for himself if Tonio was in there.

  He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a satin pouch. It was soft with something hard inside. It was an item he had taken from McKnight’s clothes. He had never seen the need to use it before now. He wiggled his finger in the mouth between his purse strings, closed his eyes, and dumped the purse's object into his other hand. He gripped it tightly. The warm metal of a small coin was in the palm of his hand. Just a little, Melegal. Just a tad.

  Turning his head away, he opened a crack in his fist, between his thumb and index finger. There was light, radiant as the sky, a thin beam was all. His pupils shrunk as he squinted. Careful. The coin had blinded him once, the day he first discovered it. It had taken two days to be able to see again, another week before the spots went away along with the headaches.

  He shined the beam of light on the door. The iron was thick, the hinges large. There was a padlock with a big key hole, almost the size of his finger. He could pick that lock if he had to, he was sure of it. Interesting. He kneeled down, inspecting the lock. It was unique; a key for that lock would have been centuries old, he guessed. He’d never seen one like it before. He had an urge to pick it, just to make sure he could.

  He saw the water rushing under the door now. A rat squeezed out from underneath, red eyes glowing in his light, and scurried up the steps. When he eased the light up the door, the entire space seemed to glow, revealing the colors of the green mold, the yellow slime, and the brown and black stone patterns underneath. There were stains: blood, most likely. A torch was mounted on the wall. There was a small, square, barred opening in the metal, with a sliding door that was almost closed.

  He closed his hand over the coin and cupped his other hand to his ear once more. He heard nothing, but his instincts assured him there was something. He reached up and slid the portal open. It screeched. It might as well have been a cymbal crashing in his ears. Fool!

  He crouched down and waited.

  Idiot, nothing’s in there but rats and roaches. Stupid Motley Girls.

  He let more light spill out, running it back up the door. His heart leapt in his chest.

  Bish!

  Two eyes separated by a jagged scar were burning into him. In his hurry to shut and cover his eyes, he dropped the coin.

  The man sounded like something else as it cried out in an inhuman voice.

  “GO AWAY!”

  WHAM!

  It was Tonio, alive and kicking the door, rattling the hinges. Melegal saw spots. If he opened his eyes, he would see the light, so bright it was clearing the muck from the walls. With his eyes still closed, he searched through the rushing water, feeling for the coin.

  WHAM!

  The sound resounded up the stairs like a gong.

  He felt the coin, snatched it up, jammed it into the purse, and clutched it to his chest. He heard heavy footsteps sloshing through the water on the other side. Tonio was screaming.

  “GO! GO!”

  Melegal stayed, hunching over the steps, soaking in the darkness. Settle down. He can’t get through that door. He listened, hearing the sound of Tonio balling up in the corner. He had the urge to toss the coin inside, shut the portal, and lock it shut. Maybe it would destroy the man! But no: if an axe couldn’t do it, then certainly a bright light wouldn’t fare much better. Pah! He lives, that’s all the matters.

  Melegal dashed up the steps, back into the rain, chest heaving. He understood why the Motley Girls never wanted that man out again. Those eyes were like nothing he’d ever seen: cold, dead, and angry. Tonio’s fate wasn’t up to him, he hoped to assure himself. But, what would Lord Almen do? Or Lorda Almen, for the matter? Who should he tell first?

  Just get the sword first.

  Maybe he didn’t have to tell either one of them that Tonio lived. Head bowed, cloak tight, he navigated through the rain, a maze of thoughts in his brain, a dead end after every turn. Maybe it was time to get out of Bone, once and for all.

  Chapter 39

  He watched and waited. Undetected, he hovered high in the sky watching the man and the dwarf below by the fire. Verbard, as powerful as he might be, was wary. The Blood Ranger had the eyes of his brother, and was the one that concerned him the most. Months ago, at the Warfield, he had witnessed what those rangers did to the Badoon Brigade. He had watched his brethren cut down like saplings, falling into piles only to be trampled by dwarven boots. The Blood Ranger would be the hardest to kill, but it could be done.

  The mage offered another concern. This same mage had surprised him and Catten a few days ago, blasting into them from the distance. Catten had locked into a mind grumble with the man, and somehow the battle had been a draw. Verbard didn’t see how that was possible. My brother was weak. Perhaps he deserved to die. As Verbard hovered in the cover of the clouds, he watched with interest the mage's glowing eyes below. Interesting. He noted the spellbook resting in the mage's lap. That could be useful.

  Verbard reached in his robes, searching the inner pockets. There were over a dozen of them, each filled with as much space as a backpack. He didn’t care to carry many things, unlike his brother, so most of his were empty. He was certain that his brother's pockets were full. I’ll be needing Catten’s as well. There were things his brother had that he could use. Inside his own robes, he pulled forth another vial and sniffed it. This will help. He focused on all of the things that he wanted: the eyes, the spellbook, and Catten's robes. He would only be able to get one of the three, but the eyes weren’t possible. The potion wouldn’t work on something that still lived. One drink should do it.

  He watched as the dwarf stripped down his brother, tossing the robes aside. Catten’s naked body lay cold on the ground, unmoving as the dwarf raised his axe high. Verbard winced with every dismembering chop. Through the bond he had with his brother, he felt himself burning as the dwarf tossed each limb onto the fire. Sweat began dripping into his eyes. He wondered if he would come to such an end. Suddenly, his own death seemed more imminent, and he felt old. He pulled his robes tighter around his body. All of his life had been spent with his brother, century after century, a single day without end. Now, for the first time in his life he would have to face it on his own. A great void grew inside of him as he watched his brother’s body burn. I’ll make them pay, Brother. The foul smell of his burning brother filled his nose. He fought the urge to retch. I’ll scatter their limbs and feed them to the dogs. I’ll flay every man and dwarf I find. His chest heaved as his clawed fingers drew blood inside his palms. He took a deep breath.

  The distant fire reflected in his silver eyes. His thoughts were on his next move. He knew what he had to do. He had vanquished the Darkslayer on his own; surely he could handle what was left. Brother, if you could only see
me now.

  Below, the dwarf and mintaur sat in the quiet, watching the fire dwindle away. The moons sank, and the suns began to rise. Verbard was ready. He drank the vial. He stared at the small spellbook that was tucked underneath the sleeping mage's arms. Verbard closed his eyes, reached out, and grabbed it. He could feel the leather, the thickness of the tiny tome. When he opened his eyes, there it was inside his clawed hands. He chuckled as he tucked it inside his robes and saw the mage bolt up from the ground.

  Chapter 40

  Life in the City of Three offered freedom that the young halfling could enjoy. He could go anywhere he wanted: the lakes, the stores, and the races. It had everything, as long as you were cared for. Lefty had Kam to thank for that. Still, as time went by in his life, Lefty felt compelled to do things out of the ordinary. His curiosity about the acquisition of things drove him onward. He didn’t realize this was the nature of a halfling, though. No, his family, now long gone, had not been around to guide him in this world. To some degree, he was still alone.

  He was backtracking now, heading back to The Nest, where his captors had failed to secure him. Now that he had been to the Magi Roost and back, things didn’t seem so far away, either. It was early afternoon, and the suns were at their zeniths; many shopkeepers were seeking the shade after working early in the morning and enjoying lunch. It was the time of day when business slowed to a crawl and storekeepers took snoozes.

  Lefty wiped the sweat from his face with a handkerchief. He was hunkered down in the shade of a smokestack on a rooftop. It was hot and humid, and the mists from the three waterfalls in the back of the city drifted in his eyes. He could smell grilled fish and chicken in the air. The scent of baked bread and the sugar of pastries watered in his mouth. Now he waited, eyes closed and listening for familiar tones. It would have been easier to concentrate if there was a breeze. Everything’s good but the heat, he thought, as he stretched his legs.

  He leaned his head over the building’s rooftop and spied the alley below. He was sure it was the alley he had emerged from earlier in the day. It led to The Nest, the rogues had called it, the base of the thieves' guild, he assumed. He was so very curious. Palos, the prince of thieves, had left an impression on him. Something about the pleasant demeanor of the rogue still reminded him of Melegal. He thought often of the man, who was the only reason he cared to return to Bone. He didn’t like being cooped up in that tiny room at the Drunken Octopus. That was too much, even for him. It was good to feel safe and free again. It was easier to breathe in the City of Three.

  The City of Three had halflings, too, but not many. As soon as Lefty got to know some, they were gone, moved on or chased from the city. One family had even asked him to come with them, but he couldn’t and wouldn’t leave Georgio. He had made the choice of who he was going to stick with. It was the ones that were willing to give their lives for him, and him for them, that mattered most. Still, he wished he had another halfling to talk to. Something was still missing from his life.

  He rubbed his eyes and thought about what he had seen in the dark hall during his abduction. The warm images of the other thieves were still fresh in his mind. There were other things, too that he didn’t understand, like sweaty feet and lightning speed. It came and went. Melegal had taught him things that he picked up with ease and Kam taught him magic. His deft little hands allowed him to replicate her writing as well as her own. Reading was easy, and writing a snap. He wondered if that was all normal for his kind. No one had ever told him that.

  It was warm where he sat, and a breeze began to freshen up the stagnant air. He could feel some of the mist from the falls now. The longer he sat, the heavier his eyes became, and he was fast asleep ….

  It was dark when Lefty awoke. A smell of burning tobacco was in the air, sweet and fruity. He looked around. He didn’t feel any heat from the chimney stack, but the smell was strong and near. He blinked his eyes, a hazy red bulge was in front of him. He blinked again; it seemed to be smoking something.

  “Enjoy your nap, Boy?” a rough voice said.

  He froze as the figure in front of him shifted on the ledge of the building. It was short and dumpy, not much bigger than him, just a lot heavier. Whatever it was, it was smoking a pipe. Lefty’s heart was pumping hard inside his tiny chest as two sets of boots stepped from around the side of the chimney and surrounded him. Run! He sprang straight up, fingers gripping the lip of the chimney. In a second he was on top and leaping away. A single hand snatched him by the ankle, jerking him in mid-air, whipping back his neck. He hung upside down, looking at a familiar buckle.

  “He’s quick, just like I told you,” Palos said, hoisting him in one hand.

  “Quick indeed,” said the unfamiliar voice that spoke earlier. It sounded like a man, but different, more like the men from his own village. A halfling?

  The figure walked over to his dangling head, eye to eye with him, only upside down. Lefty’s vision had focused in the light, the infravision gone. The halfling man had a pie-face, big round eyes, a head of curly brown hair and a beard, no moustache. The man was almost three times the girth of him. His clothes were loose and refined, similar to Palos. The pipe he smoked had a long stem with a narrow chamber and bowl. His breath smelled like fruit, ale and tobacco. It reminded Lefty of home.

  Palos flipped him rightside up, catching him under his arms, setting him down on the roof, still holding him tight. “Be still, Boy, and no harm will come to you, or the others,” Palos said.

  Others? Georgio? Kam? Be silent. Listen. It was what Melegal had taught him. He nodded his head and felt Palos' strong grip release him.

  “Sit down,” the halfling man said. Lefty did so.

  He looked up into the faces of the two men and the halfling now, each expression non-threatening. The other man with Palos, one that he had escaped from before, had a busted nose. Palos had changed clothes from earlier in the day, his face much more serene since dealing with Kam’s flaming snake. The halfling man’s expression was as warm as a village elder, a wizened face full of stories and adventure. Still, Lefty could see the deadly intent deep behind each of their eyes. He looked down, hands between his knees.

  “What is your name, Boy?” the halfling man said.

  “Lefty.”

  “Is that all?”

  “… Lightfoot,” he said in an audible mumble.

  “Ah … no wonder you move so fast. I’ve known Lightfoots in my time. A very rare and unique breed of halflings Palos, especially these ones with blue eyes. Look at me,” he pointed to his face, “heh-heh, two-eyes like pools of mud, much like the majority of all of my kin.”

  The halfling chuckled with delight and kneeled down beside him.

  “… as for me, my name is Gillem … Gillem Longfingers.”

  Lefty’s eyes immediately went to Gillem’s extended hand. It was as big as a normal man’s, unnatural with a halfling’s palm and extra-long fingers. He could feel the warmth and strength in Gillem’s when he placed his hand in it. The fingers reminded him of Melegal’s, smooth and slender.

  “Nice to meet you, I think,” Lefty said.

  Palos pulled over a box crate and sat down along with them, while the other man was leaning on the chimney side. Lefty was feeling jumpy, but his feet didn’t sweat.

  What’s this all about?

  “I told you, Gillem.”

  “Aye, and I had my doubts, Boss, but you were right. Shame on me,” Gillem said, sucking on his pipe.

  Palos continued, “Pretty impressive, Boy: you escaped my men, found your way home, and tracked us back again. Where’d you learn to do that?”

  Lie! Lie! Lie! It was all that Lefty thought, but the eyes of Palos and Gillem told him that he wouldn’t be fooling them. It was a test perhaps. What would Melegal have him do?

  “I used to live in the City of Bone before I came here.”

  Palos and Gillem looked at one another and back at him.

  “Interesting … I didn’t think they let halflings in Bone,” P
alos said.

  “I’d say, I mean, I’ve never been there,” added Gillem. “How long were you there, Boy?”

  “Not long, less than a year.”

  “Did someone from Bone teach you stuff? Clever stuff?” Gillem asked.

  He felt pressure mounting between his eyes all of a sudden, more so than before. He didn’t want to nod his head, but he did.

  “Man or halfling?”

  “It matters not, Gillem. He’s been taught and he stands to be taught more.”

  “Agreed. All right then, Palos. The boy looks good by me. This is your show. Your decision is mine.”

  Lefty was beginning to shake now. A tremor was going up and down his spine. He didn’t know what to make of his situation. A shroud of danger had enveloped him. For the first time in the City of Three he felt all alone.

  Palos’s tone then changed from that of the friendly neighbor to a venomous serpent.

  “I’ve caught on to your skimming these past few weeks. Such matters don’t escape the guild, no matter how small they might seem.” Palos pulled a curved dagger from his belt and began whittling on a block of wood. “You’ve crossed the line. Kam is your keeper, and she has crossed us as well. You owe us, your big friend owes us, and she owes us. Favors, that is. Whether Kam likes it or not, she owes me.”

  Lefty didn’t like the look on the man’s face. It suggested something more than a favor, something he didn’t yet understand.

  “I’ve got a lot of men, Lefty, all over this city. Kam may be of Royal blood, but she has no authority over my kind. If something bad was to happen to her, the guild would be the last place they looked.”

  He looked over at Gillem, but the halfling man was expressionless as Palos spoke.

  “And I bet you’d hate to see anything happen to her or that boy you run around with, either. Why, you’d both be orphaned if she died in a fire as her place burnt down.”