The Darkslayer: Book 01 - Wrath of the Royals Page 23

  “Tsk, tsk. Pickin’ on children already, are you?” Venir said.

  “That wasn’t a child, it was an orc. And he reminded me too much of Georgio.”

  “That’s just wrong,” Venir said, shaking his aching head. “Just plain wrong.”

  “You know, I’m starting to remember why we left this wretched place. Those orcs are stupid, a real nuisance. I can see they haven’t changed. I’m starting to recall another reason why we had to leave last time.”

  “Me too and I wouldn’t be surprised if they were still around,” Venir said as something he hadn’t considered entered his mind.

  “I’d be surprised if they weren’t.”

  Venir forced a chuckle, giving the thief a big slap on the back.

  “I guess we’ll know soon enough.”

  He led the way towards a rundown tavern that stood near three stories high. The oak building was covered in dirt and grime. It was as ugly as it was unnatural. A sign hung cock-eyed on the wall that read: THE BEATEN BOAR’S BUM. Venir could hear the plank walls creak as the building seemed to sway in the breeze. The Bum stood in defiance of its odd and decaying appearance. Some said it was magic that somehow held the giant tavern together, while others said it was the dwarves who had built it so soundly centuries ago. The stories had grown in extravagance over the decades, and it mattered not. The Beaten Boar’s Bum was one of the lowest and dirtiest places to be found on Bish, unless you were underground.

  “Shall I stable your pony sir?” enquired a small, black human lad sporting a heavy afro, blue eyes and a small nose.

  Melegal gave the boy a thoughtful look.

  “Keep him close to the Boar’s Bum,” replied Melegal, handing over the reins and a few coppers, “and be sure to feed him well.”

  The thief flashed a few more coins and the young boy smiled as he led Quickster away.

  Venir stood before the decrepit building and gave a sigh. The refreshing thought of ale, grog, and women began to surge over his aches and pains. A bosomy older woman in a revealing short dress was rocking in a chair on the porch. Her leathery lips and crooked fingers were beckoning for him to enter.

  Venir’s thoughts shivered in mid-fantasy as he turned his boot away from the porches front step.

  “We’d better go in the back. Let’s fetch that boy and have him get us a room.”

  The thief gave an excited clap.

  “I’m with you, Vee,” Melegal said, winking at the woman,” but let’s make haste. My tongue’s dry and my bellies groaning, and I’ll be having enough wine to pickle me purple. That trip down was rough.”

  “Go on after the boy, then,” Venir urged. As Melegal hurried away he looked back at the older gal and gave her a quick nod. Her seedy smile gave him pause. Maybe coming back to Two-Ten City wasn’t such a good idea afterall.

  CHAPTER 53

  Oran’s face was filled with glee as Eep took his pinned up frustrations out on many of the imprisoned humans. He made swift notes of the reactions the people had defending themselves from the blood thirsty imp.

  “Pace yourself,” Oran had said, but the imp tore through them like a milling stone.

  Oran jotted down quick sketches with his deft hand, black lips mimicking their shrieks as he recorded their final words at the threshold of death. They all pleaded, begging for mercy, promising everything a human could imagine. Every word of it would have made him laugh, but he didn’t know how.

  He watched all of them cringe in horror, but for one. A lone woman was fighting for her very life, a short mop of strawberry hair hanging down in her eyes. Oran noted how she bit, clawed and kicked, one time clipping the imp’s eye with a long fingernail. Eep silenced the screaming women after that brief moment of triumph with quick clawed blow to the neck. It was one of the better sessions Oran had ever recorded, all five minutes of it.

  In a separate cell, the remaining humans had emerged from their drugged calm. Four stout men stood at the bars, while the rest were wailing with tear-filled faces as he let Eep out from the cage. The imp walked by, snapping at them. The men shuffled back as the dripping imp hissed and walked away.

  “Eep, come over here so we can get moving,” Oran said, strolling back to his lab. “It’s time for part two of your journey.”

  “Ah, thank you, Lord Oran, thank you,” said the imp. “That was just what I needed … I just had to rip something apart. They were perfect.”

  The imp wiped the blood from the lid of his large eye.

  “I’m sorry it went so fast. Catten and Verbard made me so angry I couldn’t contain myself.”

  Eep’s wings began buzzing as he shook off the blood like a rain-soaked dog, splattering droplets all over Oran.

  “Foolish imp!” shrieked Oran. “Look what you’ve done!”

  Oran tore off his modest robes and hurled them at the distracted imp.

  Nah-rollah!” he shouted.

  The robes caught Eep full in the face, becoming alive and smothering the imp like a living thing. Eep struggled as the robes constricted around his small body, restraining his wings, dropping the imp to the ground with a plop. Oran watched his robes confine the entirety of the imp like a waxy mold. Oran focused on the robes squeezing every crevice air tight, suffocating the imp. Eep’s body lurched and kicked from within then lay still. Oran gathered his composure, considering all he had to do.

  “Stupid imp.”

  His hand passed through the air.

  “Rollahkem,” he said.

  The robes slackened, and Oran walked over, pulled his heavy robe off of the limp imp and kicked Eep in the head.

  “Ooch,” the imp whimpered as it struggled to draw breath.

  “No more games, Eep. Let’s track this Darkslayer and be done with it. Come.”

  Eep drug himself up and followed Oran into a study that was filled with less experiments and more paperwork. Oran sat down on a stool and rolled out a long weathered parchment, a map, and pointed at it.

  “This is the plan. I have to return to the City of Bone. You need to head southeast to this area. The Darkslayer has to be somewhere between the Red Clay Forest and Two-Ten City. Our human troublemaker will most likely be in the city, so look there first.” Oran’s black nail circled the spot.

  Eep’s head tilted, nodded and said, “Yes.”

  Oran continued saying, “We have to resolve this quickly in order to help Verbard and Catten. Even if we don’t actually catch the Darkslayer, at least we’ll have aided them. That will go a long way with the underling lords. Then hopefully,” he paused and hissed through his teeth, “I can finally go home.”

  Oran was thinking back to the last time he had met with Lord’s Catten and Verbard. Oran was outspoken and they didn’t like it. He had dared to speak against them in the presence of like brethren on the issue of mingling more with humanity and the rest. The mistake had almost cost him his life, but instead he had been banished. Oran had power and status in the Underland, but Verbard and Catten had it removed. Since then, he had not spoken little with another underling in years, but he had his ways of staying informed.

  With a wave of his hand Oran watched Eep speed out of the cave, over the Current as fast as his wings could take him. Oran headed that way as well, stepping onto his barge while muttering a spell. The barge glided over the black river towards the City of Bone. He could still hear the screams of the humans calling for him as he went. Why? They were begging for food. He wondered if any would die of starvation depending on how long he was gone. Would they try to eat one another? He hoped he wouldn’t miss it. Oran’s stomach rumbled. It had been days since he had last eaten himself.

  CHAPTER 54

  It was late evening before Venir and Melegal sauntered down the cobbled steps leading them to a balcony that surveyed all below. He inhaled the smells of exotic smoke and long-brewed ale. It gave him a welcoming burst of virility. Melegal stood along his side, rubbing his eager hands together, his eyes glinting at the roughshod faces below.

  Venir bustled p
ast scornful faces as he made his way to the main floor below. The smell of mead and grog was so strong he could taste it on his watering tongue. Testosterone blinded his manners as he created a path through the crowded bar. The common orcs, often pushy and brash, stayed clear of the man who stood taller and broader than even them. He thought of Mood, thankful of that last sliver of snake meat that melted in his mouth. His aches and pains began to wash away.

  Melegal cruised, flanking his side. The thief cooed with the scanty bar girls and dispensed winks, kisses, and nods as he went. A curious kind of music filled the main tavern, mingling with the sounds of laughter, anger, and triumph. Venir rocked his shoulders with the rhythm as he shoved into a spot along a waxy blackened bar.

  Unlike the taverns in the City of Bone, the Beaten Boar’s Bum had few fully human occupants. There were plenty of part-humans, but the full-blooded ones stood out like flowers among the thorns. Also absent were the expensive perfumes and beautiful ladies in elaborate silks and colorful make-up. There was nothing to hide in Two-Ten City, and the miscellaneous folks were proud of that. Appearances weren’t as important as coin.

  The room was weathered, yet maintained. The tables, chairs and wooden mugs seemed as well-worn and hardy as the heavy planked floors. Torches lit the room on all sides, their orange flames casting shadows onto the mishmash of faces as they laughed, drank, smiled, cursed, and even wept. Despite the plethora of torches it was not hard to find enough privacy to commit a scrupulous act or two. The room was live and engaging. No judgment was to be found here among Bish’s unwanted. It provided a respite for its occupants from the harsh realities they all faced, whether due to shame, ugliness, or their crimes. It was a tavern that didn’t know a stranger even though it was full of them, coming and going just like the light. And tonight, Venir had returned to a scene he had once thrived, but had to leave behind.

  Venir felt memories swelling up inside him that he hadn’t anticipated. The room and its ambience made him feel as if he had stepped back in time. He felt like the younger man he had been before he became the Darkslayer. He thought back to other nights like this and about what had happened before he acquired Brool and the rest. In those times he had lived so free, as a soldier, a mercenary, a scout, and even a brigand.

  Best of all were the days when he had lived for the hunt, as his reputation as a tracker and killer of underlings and beasts preceded him. He had been vibrant, whispering words in jeweled ears that drove the ladies in the taverns wild. Things had never been the same since. Venir had buried the flickers that longed for those days, but tonight it hit him like a great slap in the face. So much had happened since he last left this place. Two-Ten City may have been the last place he remembered truly having any fun.

  He watched Melegal talking up two formidable part-orcen soldiers along the bar, their grim faces turning upward at the words of the thief’s uncanny jokes. A soothing expression crossed his face as he recalled some of his daring, foolish, and even childish adventures with the thief. It seemed as if they had come from nothing, only to have the whole world of Bish at their very feet. But she had changed it all. A woman, an inhuman woman some would say, whose exploits he had heard about in Two-Ten City one sweltering night. It was with more than a mere glance that Jarla had caught his eye. Friendships like his and Melegal’s were put to the test, and changed forever. A familiar voice jostled him away from the unwanted thoughts.

  “Hey, Vee, it’s the same band!” Melegal said, nudging him with a knobby elbow.

  Twin orc men with large noses were strumming tall bases, one with three strings and one with four; a halfling man banged a tambourine and danced; while a bald and beardless dwarf was playing a lengthy cone-shaped flute. It seemed as if the band had never changed, never left the stage since the day they were last here, many years ago. Venir had snapped up out of his daze. It was time to unwind.

  Venir’s booming voice cut through the room like a cymbal, causing heads to turn.

  “The Bone if it isn’t!”

  Venir was tapping his hands on the bar, trying to catch the eye of the barkeep. It felt like it had been days since he had a drink of anything and his throat felt as dry as sand. The barkeep was at the far end of the bar that ran the full length of the tavern’s floor. Venir could see the barkeep’s big bald head, keeping his back turned on him. The barkeep hadn’t so much as glanced his way.

  Venir slammed his fist down on the bar.

  “Hey, you big black son of a boar!”

  Venir bellowed, drawing dozens of eyes on him.

  “How about some drinks down here!”

  Parts of the tavern fell silent as the band still played, but the bartender stayed leaned over the bar, continuing his conversation.

  Venir shouted, “Hey! Are you deaf? If you don’t give me some drinks I’m gonna come back there and get them myself.”

  Venir hopped onto the bar counter. Bewildered folks snatched their drinks and vacated their bar stools. The barkeep stood straight up, head towering above the rest, muscles thick and supple under his apron. As Venir opened his mouth again he saw a small cask of ale hurling across the counter like a missile. Off-balance and unable to dodge it, Venir caught it fully in his chest, and was sent tumbling off the end of the bar with a resounding crash.

  The tavern jumped and fell silent, but the band still played. Melegal stood alone at the bar, eyes down on his friend on the floor. People were murmuring and craning their necks, peeking back and forth between the floor and the bartender.

  “If I catch it, it’s free!” Venir said with a roar as he bounced up, hoisting the keg over his head, flashing a smile. The crowd stared and shouted out in astonishment.

  “You better not have spilled any, you big jerk, or I’d a busted yer tail … Venir!” the big black man said with a broad, white-toothed smile.

  The man reached Venir’s end of the bar in a few strides, leapt the bar in a single bound, and snagged the keg of ale.

  “What on Bish brings you back to this rat hole?” The big man said, lowering the keg on the bar as another man, frail as a fiddle, tapped it. “I didn’t think you could leave the pretty women of Bone behind!”

  The ragged and motley crowd of humanoids, shifted around, as whispers of Venir’s name began to spread between their lips. Venir and Mikkel faced one another, both standing tall and proud, like men among babes. Venir slapped and clasped the bartender’s shoulder.

  “You know me, Mikkel, I can’t stay in one place too long. Besides, I missed the finest mead ever brewed. By a man, that is!”

  Mikkel’s broad smile turned downward.

  “Yer not saying I don’t make the best mead in the Bish, are you?”

  “Come now, there is one better, made by a beautiful gal in Bone—”

  “You shut your mouth, Vee!”

  Mikkel’s light eyes were hot with anger. “

  “You know that heifer stole my recipe!”

  Venir poked the man in his chest.

  “She said it was hers.”

  “By Bish! It’s from my grandfather’s grandfather and it’s older than his tavern, you know that!” Mikkel was clutching his head and squeezed his eyes shut as he said, “Why do you torture me with her memory?”

  “Ah, I just like screwing with you.”

  “As long as it ain’t with her,” Mikkel said, giving him the eye.

  “You know me better than that. The last time I saw her she was as big as a six-legged cow.”

  Mikkel let out a thunderous laugh.

  “Now you’re talking, she was that big when I kicked her out. Now let’s drink the best stuff ever.” Mikkel snatched the barrel off the bar saying, “Nikkel! Get us some mugs and tumblers and a bottle of grog. Today I drink with old friends!”

  The three men took a separate table near the bar and each pulled up a chair. The young black boy with blue eyes brought over the grog and mugs. It was clear to Venir who the boy’s father was, although Mikkel wasn’t sporting an afro anymore.

  “H
ey, why did you start shaving your head Mikkel?” Venir said.

  “Don’t ask,” the big bartender said, frowning as he filled the glasses.

  Puzzled, Venir started slurping some drinks before it hit him.

  “You went bald!”

  Mikkel stiffened.

  “Well, you aren’t so far off yourself. But I am older than you, so show some respect.”

  Mikkel then turned to Melegal.

  “So, what’s up, Me? What kinda trouble has he got you into this time?” Mikkel said.

  “Oh?” Melegal said, straightening from his slump. “Are you going to start acting as if I’m here, now?”

  “Ah, come on, you know better than that. I’d never snub you,” Mikkel said in a sincere apology.

  “I know that, Mik, I’m just messing with you.”

  The thief finished off his first mug of mead.

  “Anyway, to answer your question, let’s just say some simple skimming turned ugly and we’re trying to avoid any further Royal trouble.”