Chaos At The Castle (Book Six) Read online

  “Ugh! Blast it!” Creed cried out. He could feel the blood dripping down over his thighs already.

  The floor made an eerie sucking sound.

  Creed’s face showed horror. “What in Bish is going on?”

  “Interesting,” Kierway replied. “It seems the floor hungers. I think I shall feed it.”

  Creed banged his blades together. One blade the finest of steel, the other enchanted by a mystic forge master. Until today, he’d always felt himself invincible with them and his skill, but it seemed for the first time in his life he’d met his match. He banged his blades again and muttered angrily to himself. “Come on, Creed! Draw his blood at least!”

  Use your reach. You’re longer!

  Steel scraped against steel. Sweat mixed with blood.

  They say, ‘When your final battle comes, you’ll know.’

  His father had told him that, years ago, hours before he died at the Warfield. He’d always wondered who killed his father. A great sword. A great hound. Now he’d never know.

  He charged. One sword high, the other low, he swung.

  Kierway caught both blades on the outside with a smirk.

  Creed’s booted toe lashed out into Kierway’s chin, clattering his teeth and splitting his lip.

  Shocked, the underling hissed.

  Creed kept swinging hard and fast.

  Bang! Clang! Chang! Chang! Bang!

  Back and forth the pair went. One master. One ancient master.

  The underling’s arms were strong like steel, but tireless and flexible as snakes.

  For seconds, Creed pressed the advantage.

  Slice.

  Kierway ended it with a lightning fast stroke across Creed’s thigh.

  Slice.

  Followed by another one across his belly.

  Slice.

  A hunk of flesh fell to the floor. It was Creed’s.

  “Hear that, Human? It’s the sound of your death getting closer.”

  Parry, Fool! Parry!

  Blue sparks showered the air.

  Kierway pounded at his blades. Knocked Creed’s steel down, numbing his hands.

  That was Creed’s plan. To beat his opponent’s arms down until they felt like lead. But now his own arms felt like lead. Laboring for breath, he struggled to keep up with the blinding speed of Kierway’s blades. Below, something sucked at his feet on the floor.

  “You tire, Human.” Kierway swatted Creed’s blades away like toys. “Drop your blades, and I’ll give you a merciful death.”

  “No. I’m going to cut you just once, Black Fiend. I can’t go down like this. I can’t.”

  Bang!

  Kierway ripped one of Creed’s swords from his hand and paused.

  Creed’s lone sword arm trembled. He grabbed his wrist with the other to support it.

  “You are a fine swordsman, Human. But I’ve faced many better. All dead now, of course. So take note that you’ll die at the hand of the finest swordsman this world has ever known.”

  Creed labored for breath.

  Kierway was barely winded, his eyes darting around, looking for something.

  “So be it then, Underling.” Head down, Creed took a knee and set down his sword. “Vanquish me.”

  “With pleasure.”

  Catching a glimpse of Kierway’s nearest knee, Creed lunged forward with everything he had, stabbing with a dagger concealed in his bracer. The blade sank into flesh and hit bone.

  Kierway howled.

  “I swore I’d cut you!”

  Kierway’s blade came for his head.

  CHAPTER 42

  Corrin rubbed his eyes. For hours he’d sat watching the images in the fountain, mesmerized. Trinos had shown him the world outside the City of Bone, the home he’d never left. It was all fascinating and horrifying at the same time.

  “What do you think?” Trinos said.

  Corrin stretched out his stiff arms and shook his head. “It’s a horrible, horrible world out there.” He cleared his throat. “And just as bad in here.”

  Trinos lifted her brows without making a crease in her perfect forehead.

  “How so?”

  Corrin wasn’t sure how to respond at first. After all, he was a murderer and cutthroat, even though he was pretty certain that was all behind him now. Watching all he’d seen―people dying of thirst or getting lost in the Outlands, battling for honor in a place she said was called the Warfield―it seemed as if someone was always fighting something else somewhere in this world. All his years, he’d assumed Bone was the worst the world had to offer, but it clearly wasn’t. The entire world was in a struggle, and the driving force behind it all was the underlings. Or was it? He wasn’t so sure.

  He took an apple from a wicker basket, started peeling it with his knife, and looked into her eyes.

  “I always figured there was solitude somewhere in this world. But if there is, I’ve never seen it. And I’ve never experienced it. At least not until you came around.”

  “Well, Corrin, you’ve only seen what I’ve shown you. Don’t you find it entertaining?”

  “I can’t tear my eyes away from it, if that’s what you mean by entertaining, but I have to ask, is all of this real?” He stuck a piece of apple in his mouth and chewed. “Or is it an illusion? Are these places you’ve been to?”

  Trinos’s smile was warm and radiant, creating a soothing vibration in his chest. He almost felt ashamed just for looking at her, and even when he tore his eyes away from her, he glanced at her perfect figure constantly. Trinos was a mystery. Powerful. Unlike anything he could imagine in this world, but real. He didn’t know what to make of her, but he’d do anything she said.

  “Do you want to keep watching, Corrin?”

  He shrugged, staring back into the waters where a new image started to form. This time it was different. His jaw dropped. This time it was people he knew, and they were in danger. He felt his heart speed up inside his chest, eyes transfixed.

  “Perhaps you’d rather see something,” she stuck out her hand and the waters wavered, “more pleasant?”

  “No-No!” he said, shoving his hands over the water. “I want to see how this ends.”

  The waters steadied, and the image cleared. Trinos leaned towards the fountain and said, “Me too.”

  CHAPTER 43

  Melegal felt his stomach tighten into knots.

  The cleric’s hair grew and thickened. His sagging jawline toughened. Sefron’s disturbing features transformed into the countenance of a man full of strength and vitality. It was unlike anything Melegal had ever seen before. In seconds, Sefron went from a hapless weakling to a formidable foe that was about to kill him.

  “Oh yes, Rat.” Sefron’s teeth were straight and strong. “You thought you would take me. Avenge the honor of a worthless little slut, but now, just imagine what I’ll have in store for her the next time I see her. She’ll think I’m handsome, will she not, you fool? She’ll be having me instead of you.”

  Melegal wanted to scream for help, but his tongue shriveled in his mouth, and his throat was dry. The chaos surrounding him was in full force where men and underlings battled. The Keys skittered over the mosaic floor. In his mind, he could hear them, count them all. One-Two-Three-Four-Five... Forget the Keys! Save yourself!

  “Oh, this feels so good.” Saliva dripped from Sefron’s mouth.

  In horror, Melegal watched his own age spots and crooked fingers form. It felt like Sefron had the grip of an ogre. Am I to die like this? A rotting old man? His doubts overwhelmed him. His anger and surprise turned to shock and confusion. What do I do?

  “Heh-heh-heh.” Sefron gloated, licking his lips. “It’s time to die, Melegal.”

  Die? He let out a feeble cough. The air in his lungs felt thin. For the first time in his life, he wheezed. He was confused.

  “Ha! Painful, isn’t it?”

  Melegal shook his head. Can’t let this happen! What do I do? His mind was drifting. The pain was growing. His focus deteriorating.
<
br />   “I think I might have what’s left of you for soup. Melegal stew, stirred with your own bones and sautéed with your eyeballs.”

  Now, Melegal’s eyes looked at Sefron like a complete stranger. He tried to withdraw. Fear overwhelmed his feeble mind. Let go! Let go! Let go!

  The hat on his head ignited.

  Sefron’s grip popped open, eyes blinking, shaking his head.

  “Why—why did I let you go?” Sefron reached over, grabbed his staff and raised it over his head. “No matter, I’ll just bash your sock ridden he—”

  Glitch!

  Melegal stabbed him in the heart, plunging his blade hilt-deep in the chest.

  “No!” Sefron coughed up blood, groaned, and gurgled before falling over, dead.

  Melegal pulled out his dagger and stabbed him once more.

  Sefron’s stare was glassy, and the cleric’s body reverted back to normal.

  Filthy Bastard.

  Melegal fell flat on his back, sucking for air. Rolling onto his belly, he groaned. “Slat, I feel like I’m a hundred years old.” He crawled over the floor, aching from head to toe.

  Nearby, Creed was about to die.

  So much for him.

  He turned his attention elsewhere. Get to one of the doors! He had a Key; he could still feel it, but at the rate he was moving the nearest door might as well have been a mile away. Going up the stairs looked impossible. Everyone was fighting everything everywhere.

  Bone, I’m not going anywhere! I might as well die right here.

  ***

  Clang!

  The sound of clashing steel was music to Creed’s ears. He rolled away and sprang to his feet, limping. The underling, Kierway, was tangled with a big, ugly menace of a man he would not have known had he not called Lord Almen Father. Tonio had changed.

  “I like these odds!”

  Rejuvenated, Creed jumped into the fray, stabbing his gleaming sword.

  On the other side of Kierway, the big ugly brute hammered away with fast, heavy blows.

  Kierway parried, the man on one side, the monster on the other, with speed and expertise Creed never before imagined. Still, Kierway was hobbled, blood dripping from his thigh onto the blood-sucking floor. Wear him down!

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  Creed pounded at the underling’s steel. Now, Kierway’s chest began to heave, and sweat dripped from his nose.

  Stab!

  Kierway poked straight through the monster’s belly and ripped it out.

  The monster grinned.

  “You’re no man!” Kierway exclaimed, side stepping a heavy swing and chopping into its leg.

  “Nay, underling. I’m a monster the likes you’ve never seen!”

  It chopped high.

  Creed sliced low.

  Kierway howled, tumbling to the floor.

  The Bloodhound swordsman felt his sword hit bone.

  Kierway’s sword clattered over the stones; with the other one, he still parried. In the next instant, Kierway stuck a small whistle in his mouth and blew.

  Creed smacked the whistle from Kierway’s lips with his blade.

  Two more underlings emerged, but Tonio was already assaulting them.

  “Time to finish this!”

  “Hah, Human! You think you’ve defeated me. I still have one sword,” Kierway said, rising.

  “And a really bad limp.” Creed huffed. He didn’t have much left in him, if anything at all.

  “Tell you what, Human. Let’s settle this with a draw.” Kierway lifted his eyes and made the motion to sheath his sword.

  “You first.” Creed panted, wiping the sweat from his brow.

  Kierway slid his steel over his back and extended his hands. “Now you?”

  Creed did the same, over his hip.

  “First one out gets the first swing.” A wicked smile formed on Kierway’s lips.

  Creed swallowed the little spit he had left. He’d never been beaten in a draw, but this underling was quick. At least it was an honorable way to go. At least he’d bought more time to live. Come on, Creed! Think of all those years of training. All those Royals snubbing you. Fight or die.

  “On my wink, Underling.”

  “Perfect.” Kierway casually dropped his hand over his head.

  Creed took a half breath, cleared his mind and focused. One. Two. Three. He blinked one eye and drew.

  Kierway’s blade was already out.

  Impossible!

  CHAPTER 44

  Melegal inched his way over the floor towards the nearest door in sight. Look away! Look away! So far, his plan seemed to be working, either from his hat, or the confusion that was going on around him. Not my kind of party. Look Away! Look away! He had to go at least two dozen feet more, every movement in his joints stiff and painful. Still, he was aware of everything.

  Jarla cut an underling down with a stroke to its throat.

  Lord Almen buried a nasty-looking dagger in the spine of another.

  Tonio and Creed battled the one called Kierway with flashes of lightning and the resounding sound of steel meeting steel.

  No, it wasn’t his kind of party at all. Vee! I need you. Come through that door any second now. Grumbling, he slid over the floor: one foot closer, then two.

  Down the stairs the underlings kept coming: one to a man, then two.

  All the while, the floor seemed to wriggle, draining the life of the fallen, turning their bodies to husks.

  They’ll never make it out of this.

  Everything was happening so fast, but he was moving so slow. What did that Cleric do to me? He clutched at the Key inside his clothes and touched something else. What is that? Curious, he produced the black rectangular case he’d take from Lord Almen’s study above. Opening it, he found a wand-shaped rod made of dark wood with ornate carvings.

  Out of nowhere, Lord Almen came and snatched it from his hand. “You just gave your worthless life a few more precious moments, Detective. Enjoy them while they last.” Lord Almen snapped his wrist. The rod flared with life, a glowing purple tendril of energy extending from it.

  Melegal shielded his tired eyes.

  WUHPAZZ!

  Two underlings whirled on Lord Almen, ruby eyes wide.

  “Taste this, underfiends!” Lord Almen stroked the mystic whip of energy.

  WUHPAZZ!

  It sheered the arm off one, shooting blood over the room.

  WUHPAZZ!

  It coiled around the other one’s neck. Its skin sizzled. Its eyes rolled up under its head.

  Lord Almen popped its head from its shoulders with a yank, and then methodically made his way around the chamber.

  The underlings, even the armored ones, were cut up with the whip, like butter with a hot knife.

  WUHPAZZ! WUHPAZZ! WUHPAZZ!

  Melegal, keeping his eye on Almen, continued towards the door. I’m going to steal that… again. Less than ten feet away. I’m going to make it out of this slat hole! Five feet away.

  WUHPAZZ! WUHPAZZ!

  Good for you, Lord Arsehole! He reached inside his shirt and wrapped his hand around the Key. He was all alone. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught someone else.

  A golden-eyed underling floated in. Surveying the room, it shook its head, sneered, and opened its mouth.

  Melegal’s hat pulsated on his head. Move! Mustering all the strength he had, he lunged for the door.

  A single word burst forth from the golden-eyed underling, turning the chamber asunder.

  A wave of energy slammed into Melegal, jarring every bone, every fiber. The Key fell from his grasp, but he didn’t hear it land. All he wanted to do was cover his head. Instead, he collapsed, unable to move, hands twitching. He’d never felt anything so painful before. Please don’t do that again. Kill me first instead.

  In the center of the room, Lord Almen, Jarla, Creed and all the underlings aside from Kierway were sprawled out over the floor. Alive or dead, he did not know.

  Tonio still stood, listlessly dragging a gore-dripping s
word around the room.

  Melegal’s Key twinkled nearby.

  He stretched out his fingers. So close.

  Kierway stepped on his hand and picked up the Key.

  Melegal’s vision faded. The last thing he saw was Kierway’s dripping blade.

  Will death be as painful as life on Bish?

  CHAPTER 45

  “I’m hungry.” Brak moaned.

  You aren’t as hungry as me,” Georgio shot back, pushing back his sweaty brown locks. “Nobody gets as hungry as me!”

  “Am too, hungrier!”

  “Please stop it! Both of you,” Jubilee shouted from Quickster’s saddle. “You two idiots ate all our food!”

  Billip wanted to kill both the young men. They’d all departed the City of Bone in a rush, but were amply supplied, a couple of weeks’ worth anyway. But three days into it, the food was almost gone, with maybe a day left, maybe two, and it was still at least another week to make the City of Three.

  “I didn’t eat it all; he did,” Georgio said.

  Brak, whose big feet shoved the dirt like a plow, chucked a rock at Georgio, smacking him hard in the back. “I’m going to cram the next one in your biscuit hole, so you’ll be swallowing your teeth.”

  Good, Billip thought, stopping to look. I hope they beat each other to death.

  Georgio picked up a rock as big as his hand and slung it back. “Eat this!”

  Brak jerked his forearm up.

  The rock skipped off his wrist and clocked him in the head, drawing blood.

  Brak’s eyes widened then buckled, his big face drawing up. “You’re going to die for that!”

  Georgio widened his arms and slapped his chest. “I’d like to see you try, you droopy face bastard!”

  “You shut up, Georgio!” Jubilee shouted. “Go beat the crap out of him, Brak!”

  Closing the distance in two long strides, Brak took the first swing.

  Georgio raised his arms up, blocking the blow and laughing. “You’re too slow for me, Goon. I’m going to pummel you—oof!”

  Brak uppercutted him in the belly, lifting him from his feet.