The Darkslayer: Book 01 - Wrath of the Royals Page 18

  None on Bish ever needed so much, but the Royals were the most selfish beings in the world. Each house competed with one another to obtain more material, slaves, and bragging rights. Lord Almen would not be undone. It was his passion, the acquisition of beautiful things. But how he acquired them was dark, dark indeed. Fear and killing was the formula for success in this cruel world, and Lord Almen and his family had perfected this.

  Lord Almen descended down a spiraling set of stone cut stairs. At the bottom, a lone door and sentry appeared. The sentry saluted, opened the door, closing it behind him. He now stood in a makeshift bedroom with a large, plush bed. The room was dry and dusty, unlike the chambers of the rest of the castle. Two figures stood beside the bed and one turned to greet him with a bow. It was the house cleric, Sefron. The other was scrawny, black-robed, with a sharp fuzzy face and a sparkle of violet in his eyes—an underling.

  Sefron was flabby and naked, except for a small cloth around his waist. His body was shaven from head to toe, and his crystal blue eyes were bulged and watery. The look on Sefron’s face would draw questions about his sanity and Lord Almen never got used to it. The strange man had his uses though. Many clerics in the City of Bone had disturbing ways, and Lord Almen made the most of it. Sefron shuffled forward, wheezing, going down on his knees in front of him. The underling stood silent, without a single glance his way.

  Lord Almen walked past Sefron and stood alongside the bed. The figure of his son, Tonio, lay on exquisite blue silk sheets and spreads. Tonio’s face was bandaged with wet salves of damp medicated cloth. Only his nostrils and eyes remained uncovered. His chest rose and fell. The rest of the young man’s mangled body was wrapped like a mummy. Strange symbols were drawn on the blood stained wraps.

  “He lives?”

  Sefron shuffled along his side, speaking in an excited lisp.

  “Oh yes, he lives, dear Lord Almen. He lives indeed. I did not think it could be done after we found him after many hours of bleeding. He is strong like you Lord.”

  Sefron cast a wary glance at the black-haired underling.

  “Of course, I merely stopped the bleeding and applied the bandages. Your lordship’s … er … underling acquaintance brought him back to life … it seems.”

  Lord Almen gave Sefron a stern look.

  “Of-of course, you know that.”

  Sefron edged back and began checking Tonio’s bandages.

  “I appreciate your service to my son, Oran.”

  Almen turned and gave the small underling a slight smile.

  “My most promising son would have been a great loss to the family.”

  The underling was the size of a child by comparison, but Oran’s dark eyes showed power and wisdom unlike that of any child or man for the matter.

  “I care not, Royal Almen,” Oran said in an insulting retort. “My race will never understand this human attachment to family. We underlings do not mourn the dead.”

  It was a lie, as underlings cherished their lives more so than men.

  “It is pathetic. There are always more to take a dead one’s place.”

  Oran, black to the bone, was also a cleric for his kind. The underlings were Bish’s most prominent race in the mastery of magic. Underlings could heal, but they focused more on the aggressive forms of magic. Still, in order to dominate, even underlings sometimes needed their lives saved, though none would care to admit it.

  Oran was unique among underling clerics, for rather than merely healing, he had also mastered ways of causing great harm—especially to other races. But, as much as he hated humans and other races, he could not help but be fascinated by them. Oran’s meddling with the other races had made him a renegade among his kind.

  He was a studious underling, whose eyes revealed a deep knowledge of the black arts. His coal black hair was thick, long, and matted. Simple robes and shoes adorned his body. His face was narrow, with high cheeks, a strong chin, and with the sharp gray teeth of his kind. His eyes were round and hypnotic. Lord Almen struggled to keep the underlings stare. Yet, he feared no underling, or he would not have been where he was today.

  “Do you have my payment?” Oran said. “I have no time to waste like a human. I have studies to complete and travel to make.”

  The underling began to fidget.

  “I would like to inspect the specimens now if I could.”

  Lord Almen’s voice took a harsher tone as he studied his boy.

  “I was wondering if you have discovered the cause of my son’s death, Underling Oran. Your work is not complete until I know this. Surely, you know what brought my son to such a brutal end, Oran?”

  Oran huffed and gritted his teeth, before he answered.

  “I don’t know what stabled beast could have done this. It’s not the bite of a horse, a mule, or a giant bug, for that matter. It seems to be an Outlands creature, but I cannot say what. It had four legs with paws and canine teeth, possibly a Fenris wolf.”

  The underling shook his head.

  “It is odd because they reside in the far north. Big though, big enough to ride, I would say.” Oran rolled his eyes in indifference.

  “He has spoken a bit. He has said ‘heads’ over and over. Odd … he may mean a symbol, or something else, but I found no evidence on his—”

  “—How about a giant two-headed dog?” a bold voice offered from inside the doorway.

  Sefron and Lord Almen looked up to find McKnight standing in the entrance of Tonio’s chamber.

  “A what?” Lord Almen said with a look surprise and agitation.

  McKnight removed his hat and bowed saying, “I am sorry to interrupt, Royal Lord Almen, but I could not pass up the moment.”

  “I have never heard of such a creature. Did you see it?” snapped Oran. His eyes were wide now, almost fearful.

  “No, but I’ve questioned enough people to know there is such a creature. And I’ve tracked it outside the city heading toward the Red Clay Forest.”

  Lord Almen caught a moment of shock showing on Oran’s furry face.

  The underling composed himself and asked in a soft hiss, “How many were there?”

  “The dog thing, a pony, and three people; two men and a boy, based on the tracks I found.”

  Lord Almen was thrilled, but did not show it.

  “It seems you have earned your keep this day, McKnight. Your interruption is forgiven. Ready a score of my finest—”

  “—Wait, Lord Almen,” interjected Oran. “I can help you here. I think I know who and what attacked your son.”

  “Do tell?”

  “We call him the Darkslayer.”

  “And why is that?” questioned McKnight.

  “Well … he has been a scourge of my people for quite some time now,” Oran said dejected.

  “A scourge of the underlings?” Lord Almen was incredulous. “Can this be? Hah!” he said, smiling at the thought of a man that troubled underlings.

  “Is it the beast or his rider that you call the Darkslayer?” McKnight asked.

  “Ah,” Oran grew flustered as he spoke, “… he is a man, a thick man at that! He is like no other and he wields a war axe like a stick. He appears a split second before he kills, made of magic and changing shapes. He is the only one known to ride a two-headed beast.”

  The candles seemed to flicker as the room became silent.

  Oran continued, “But maybe I can help track him down and kill him.”

  Almen, McKnight, and Sefron were looking at one another, and all eyes fell back on the underling. It was common knowledge that underlings feared neither human nor any other race. The fear and respect with which Oran had spoken of the Darkslayer was unheard of; not that any man ever dared—or survived long enough—to repeat what an underling had said. It was an amazing turn of events.

  “What now, Oran?” Almen asked. Lord Almen’s mind was beset with more questions. Has a rival house hired out this Darkslayer’s services? Was the Darkslayer a member of another house? The Klings? The Caapes? The Crones
? Slergs? Who could it be? How did Tonio fall into their midst?

  “Let us finish today’s business with my payment. I shall contact you soon. Your servant has provided helpful information to me,” Oran said.

  McKnight cocked a brow at Oran’s words.

  “Tomorrow then, Oran,” Almen said. “I think you know the way to your payments. I bid you farewell.”

  Oran turned, walked out through another doorway in the back without any further courtesy.

  “My lord,” McKnight said, “may I ask what his payment is for the resurrection of your son?”

  Sefron looked up from checking a bandage, his watery eyes feverish with interest.

  “More humans,” he said. “He wanted twenty of them; men, women, boys and girls. Some elderly, too.”

  “What does he do with them?” McKnight asked, stroking his goatee.

  The room seemed to darken before Lord Almen replied.

  “Various experiments—while they are alive he studies their reactions to torture, mutilation, rape, and breeding with various sorts of creatures. Once they have breathed their last, he tries to find other practical uses for their bodies.”

  Lord Almen could see McKnight’s skin turn as pasty as Sefron’s.

  “Yes, McKnight, we are cruel. But the underlings are so much crueler.”

  With that, he walked out, leaving Sefron and McKnight to their thoughts.

  CHAPTER 38

  Venir jerked up from his slumber, eyes darting back and forth. A monstrous howl cut through the branches as he snatched Brool and charged through the foliage. He burst into a clearing just as the Mood cut the neck out of a silver-backed grizzly bear. The massive animal sunk into the ground. He watched as the Mood wiped the blood from his axes, looking toward him. “Enjoy yer nap.”

  Mood and Venir skinned the beast as Mood devoured lumps of the raw flesh, its blood deepening the color of his beard. Georgio still napped while Melegal sat grim-faced, holding his stomach, and retching. Venir shivered a tad himself. Some things you never get used to.

  Chongo devoured his portion of the treat with vigor. Venir bundled up the remainder of the meat and gathered the hide and head for Georgio’s poor family. They would be thankful for such a fine gift.

  Mood led them to stream that was as cool as cave water. Georgio jumped in, while Melegal rinsed out his dingy hat. Chongo barked away the fowl on the water as Mood rinsed out his beard. Venir eyes began to swell and he splashed water into them. He was thinking about home, so long ago. The familiar scene of content faces splashing in the water tugged at his heart.

  “Let’s go!” Venir said.

  “Ah …” Georgio said, kicking at the water.

  Venir let Mood take the lead. The terrain was rough, slick, steep, and narrow. Mood chopped brush like wheat with his axes, and Venir towed Chongo from behind him. Georgio bounced as he rode on Chongo, sweating with a funny smile. Melegal brought up the rear on Quickster, scowling as he kept having to shift in his saddle.

  “When will we see the suns again?” Melegal said. “We’ve been half a day in this tangled mess, and then some. My butt hurts, the bugs are eating me, and the humidity’s sweating me dry.”

  “Shut up, Me, it won’t be much longer,” Venir said, shaking his head. Too much time the city.

  Venir didn’t care how hot it was, anything was better than sweltering inside city walls. Here the air was fresh. He didn’t miss the odor of muck that filled his nose. The climate could be perfect and Melegal would still complain. Venir knew what to expect from the thief, but it was still annoying.

  “Almost out,” added Mood. “A few more miles and we’ll be back in that blazing desert.” Mood’s broad body trudged forward unfazed by the briars and thorns that tore at his clothes. The dwarven people preferred cooler, darker, and damper places, most of the time. They were the hardiest of races on Bish and not ones to complain. Venir had seen dwarves lose ears, even limbs, and never shed a tear. They were tougher than chewed leather, Venir always said, and Mood was no exception, rather the exceptional.

  CHAPTER 39

  Tonio’s fatal experience still didn’t add up in the mind of Detective McKnight. Why was the young lord alone at the stables on the day of his debacle? Did he encounter the Darkslayer? And why was he armed with a crossbow—a weapon rarely carried unless one was guarding the wall or marching off to war?

  Maybe Tonio would be able to recall why he was there, if the brat wasn’t too ashamed to tell. Even with his pride on the line, a man like Tonio would not venture into danger alone. Did a friend or an ally accompany him? Had someone set him up?

  The young Royals kept tight circles. They competed with one another, jumping at openings to grab more power. After all, Lord Almen’s house had been moving up over the years, and so too would his son. Had Tonio been set up by another house, or had the brat messed with the wrong man this time? McKnight was out to get the whole story, even if Tonio was not willing to talk.

  McKnight had just finished choking some fresh information from a disheveled chap he found wondering around the barns. He slit a piece off the man’s ear, whispering a warning, and headed for the tavern called the Chimera. He knew it to be a seedier place where Tonio and many others among Bone’s finest jackanapes hung around.

  It was evening as he pushed inside the heavy doors. It was just as he thought. Pompous snobs and overbearing jerks pretending to be scoundrels, like me. McKnight felt flattered as small groups of eyes darted his way from every corner. He would find out what he needed to know, with or without their cooperation. And their evil little minds need never know. He set his wide brimmed hat on the bar and ordered.

  “A goblet of your finest please.”

  CHAPTER 40

  Oran did not waste time traveling away with new information about the Darkslayer. The lords and masters of the Underland might find his musing useful. Oran the cleric, also known as Oran the outcast, might regain some lost favor. They were not very approving of his dealings with the other races. In fact, they had forced him from his home, the Underland.

  The underling’s always feared he might reveal too much about his own kind, despite his proven reliance. He had not betrayed his kind, but still he was mistrusted and shunned. The pit in his stomach deepened at the thought. He was an odd underling, and that much he would admit. He was more concerned with the pursuit of knowledge than the pursuit of world domination. You cannot have one without the other. But they did not listen.

  Oran was one of the few underlings to have stepped inside a human city of his own free will. An underling in the City of Bone was unheard of and so far as he knew, he may have been the only one inside of Bone in centuries. He had crossed paths with Lord Almen after the siege of Outpost Thirty-One. Lord Almen became a person of interest with him and he allied himself with the man.

  Oran wasn’t a fool though, knowing Lord Almen was a dangerous man who liked to take risks. He saw it as an opportunity to learn more about his enemies. Oran was one of the main reasons the Almen house had moved up so fast over the recent years. So far their relationship had paid off, for Oran also liked risk—and its rewards. One day, Oran would make Almen pay much more for his services, but so far Almen had served his needs well.

  Oran had left Almen’s mansion via the dungeons, and through a secret tunnel that led into massive caves far below the castle. He traveled by torch, with his twenty new captives, until they reached an underground river. There, an ample barge was waiting, and he loaded the slack-jawed humans aboard. They offered no resistance as he shackled them with chains and gagged them with dirty rags. Pathetic. Their glassy stares showed no alarm. He tossed the torch into the murky black river. It was extinguished with a hiss and sank.

  The cavern that hosted the stagnant river was pitch black and the sound of dripping water echoed inside the tunnel. Oran sat, soaking up the darkness, and muttered an incantation. The barge slid over the water, deeper and faster into the darkness. A mild breeze ruffled his robes, raising goose bumps under the ha
irs of the naked prisoners.

  The prisoners sat, silent and helpless in the darkness, in the last moments of peace they would ever know. Oran’s sanctuary was only a few score miles south of the City of Bone, where they would come to learn that true horror lay not in the hearts of men, but in the world deep below.

  CHAPTER 41

  Bish’s orange-red suns were setting on the skyline, casting long shadows over the burnt plains.

  “Stop staring at the suns, Georgio,” Venir said with a snap. “It’ll burn your eyes into the back of your head.”

  It was a fair warning, for many on Bish had lost their eyesight trying to stare down the suns. Georgio, however, loved the suns and seemed unfazed by his staring. Even Mood held a perplexed look over the paunchy boy’s obsession. Venir gave it no serious thought. They had arrived at the Red Clay Village and he was keen to dispatch the boy. Georgio resisted being left behind.

  “I’m going with you guys!” he said, hands locked on Chongo’s saddle horn.

  The boy’s pleas fell on deaf ears. Venir decided he had to bargain with the boy.

  “Now Georgio, you keep your mouth shut. No talk about Mood or Chongo. Your people here won’t understand,” he lectured. “Your folks don’t trust outsiders, so you’re lucky they finally came to trust me.”