The Darkslayer: Book 05 - Outrage in the Outlands Page 26

Scorch sighed. Was she brave or foolish? If she'd stayed with him, no harm would have come to her. He could have given her anything she needed, just about. So he stood in contemplation, wondering if he’d grant her request to bury her or not.

  CHAPTER 46

  Shards of lightning blasted a pair of underlings that were crawling from the fiery scene. Their bodies sizzled and popped as muscle was charred to a crisp on their bones. The smell was as malodorous as Fogle had ever experienced, so he held his nose under his cloak. The underlings, more than twelve of them, were nothing but remains.

  Boon’s eyes were filled with energy; his arms were draped over his head, fingertips crackling with power. He was a man possessed, standing in the middle of a smoldering hole on a mission to destroy every black thing that tried to crawl out.

  Fogle held a spell on the tip of his tongue, eyeing the ridges and the sky. If there were more underlings about, they would come, unless they were scared. He led his horse by the burning trees and smoking bodies on a direct path for Boon. A moment later, the old man’s eyes returned to normal.

  Boon took a deep draw in through his nose and said, “Ah, there’s nothing quite like the smell of roasting underling in the morning, is there?”

  Fogle didn’t know if it was a question or not. He didn’t know whether to be upset or glad. But he didn’t hold back the words on his tongue.

  “At least if the giants and underlings are trying to find us, they know where to look.”

  “I hope so. I’m just getting warmed up,” Boon said, trying to shake the radiant wisps of energy from his hand. “Oooh, that felt so good.”

  “Do it again!” Barton said, stomping the remains of an underling to ash. “Smelly. But bad things always smelly.” Barton held his nose, stomping another and another.

  Fogle grabbed Boon by his robes and said, “Did you even take a second to think that you could have hurt Cass or Chongo? You could have scorched them as well!”

  Boon scratched the thinning white hairs on his head and replied, “Well, no, but I wasn’t trying to destroy them. I sent my Scout to destroy the underlings ... not them.”

  “How could you know if they were engaged with them or not?” he said.

  Boon grabbed his wrist. The old man had a grip of iron that Fogle struggled to twist away from, hurting his arm in the process.

  Boon then said, “Instinct, Grandson. You worry too much. If they wish to run off, let them. We’ll catch up … eventually. Barton!”

  Barton had pulled a pine tree from the ground and begun sweeping the underlings up. “What, Boon?”

  “Do you smell anything?”

  Barton scratched is head. “Huh?”

  “Do you smell anything?”

  The giant took a long snort through his nose.

  “Just underlings. Dead ones,” he said, brushing more of the bodies aside.

  “No other giants, then?” Boon asked.

  Barton didn’t say anything as he swept more piles into the flame, stirring up the dust.

  Fogle caught a mouthful of the tiny debris.

  “Barton! Quit that, will you?” He shot a look a Boon. “Stop him, will you? He’s your child, not mine!”

  “Oh, you’ll be fine.” Boon hopped off his horse, stuck his hand into the skull of an underling, and pulled out its eyes. He rubbed the soot covered eyes on his sleeve. A dark blue color was underneath. Boon’s face crinkled up when he twitched the marble like objects in his fingers. “Eh, just hunters, it seems. Hardly any magic in them at all.” He tossed them into Barton’s fire.

  Fogle spat the grit from his mouth and asked, “Do they really have magic in them?”

  “Finally, a question worthy of my attention,” Boon said, taking a seat on the ground.“Just wait a second. We can’t just be sitting around. We may be downwind from the north, but I’m certain the south can smell us coming by now.”

  “Oh, even if they do, they’ll proceed with caution. We have a giant, after all. Even underlings are unsettled by giants, being so small and all. Plus, I’m tired. That took a bit more out of me than expected.”

  “We need to keep moving. It’s risky to stay in this spot too long.”

  “I need rest!” Boon huffed. “Oh, if it makes you feel any better, I’ll procure some additional security. Barton!” The giant swept with a mind of his own.

  “BARTON!” Boon tried again.

  Barton stopped and turned. His face was scrunched, and his head cocked as he slung a tree onto his shoulder.

  “Yes, Boon Wizard.”

  “Will you be so kind as to keep watch on the south side of the fire? It’s possible more underlings will come, and I’d like to be prepared.”

  Barton started tearing the branches from the tree he carried with his bare hands. Fogle felt miniscule in the presence of the giant's raw strength and power. How did we ever overcome giants even bigger than he? He felt a small amount of pride realizing he’d pulled off the incredible.

  “Yes, Grandson, they are big and powerful on the outside, but it’s better to be big and powerful on the inside.”

  Fogle combed his fingers through his hair. He realized it had never been so long before. Not even when he was a boy. “What’s he doing to that tree?”

  “Barton!” Boon yelled up at the towering figure, “What are you doing with that tree?”

  With his good eye, Barton looked at them both like they were stupid, and said, “I’m making a club so I can smash the underlings.” He slapped the club into the meaty palm of his hand and disappeared through the smoke.

  “Feel safer now?”

  Fogle sat down and replied, “Actually, I do.”

  “Good then. Now, what was your question?” Boon looked up into the sky. “Yes, yes the underlings' eyes. I’ll tell you all about them. Of course, if you’d read all of my spellbook, most of it you’d know.”

  Fogle pitched a stick over into the fire. He’d always been reluctant to delve into the works of his grandfather, seeing how he believed, as did the rest of the City of Three, that Boon had gone mad. How could a madman be a great wizard? But even in his own young age, he knew that the dynamic power of magic could erode the mind. It seemed improbable that it could happen to him, so he’d considered such accounts weakness. Yet, here was his grandfather, quirky but in control. He sensed he was in the presence of the most powerful wizard he'd ever known. And for the first time in his life, he decided he would listen. The way things were going, he could stand to learn a thing or two.

  “Not all underlings use magic, but they have it. Some can use it, some can’t. Those we just killed were hunters. I’d need a dozen pairs of their eyes at least to cast the simplest of spells.”

  “They hold power?” Fogle asked.

  “They can give you a charge if you know how to use it. But you don’t want to carry too many of those eyes around.” Boon said.

  “How come?”

  “They’re heavy. Like rocks or gemstones. No, it’s best to burn them like the rest. The underlings hate that. Seeing their kin burned. It makes them extra mad, and they’re mad enough at men already.”

  Fogle wasn’t even going to ask why that was. Even if Boon somehow knew the answer, he was pretty sure he wasn’t ready to know. He had enough on his plate already.

  “But, if you kill an underling mage, well, then you have some power. For the strangest reason, underlings leave power in their eyes. I collected them like a dwarf hoarding gold.” Boon’s fingers tickled the air. “Oh how I enjoyed turning their own power against them. Delicious,” he said, licking his mustache.

  Fogle felt a prickling sensation on his neck.

  “What color eyes did you collect?”

  “Now, there were all sorts. Of course, underlings, whether it be fighters or magic users, still have a variety of color. But the magic users tend to be the lighter shades than the others. I’ve seen many colors, some like rubies, others like sapphires, peridots, an odd violet quartz in color. The oddest I ever came across was rose-colored pink. You ev
er seen a pink gemstone before?”

  “No.”

  “A fascinating thing—”

  “Boon, have you ever seen golden-eyed underling eyes before?”

  His grandfather looked like he’d swallowed a bug.

  “Aye …” he said with a loathing sound under his breath, “and silver, too.”

  Fogle felt a chill race up and down his spine. He and his grandfather had more in common than they'd realized.

  Boon’s eyes were intent, and his voice had a dangerous tone. “Tell me what you know, Grandson.”

  Fogle grabbed his grandfather by the arm and said, “Why don’t I show you instead?”

  Boon grunted, a wry smile coming to his lips.

  “I like this way of thinking. So be it then, Fogle. Take my mind away.”

  It was a mind grumble of a different sort. Two willing minds coming together with no concern or conflict, only the sharing of knowledge. The trick was keeping your most closely guarded secrets from coming loose, as it was difficult for invading minds to fight their natural tendency to pry. Muttering, Fogle opened the doorway, and Boon quickly stepped through.

  Boon tugged at his mind, strong but not forceful. Fogle shoved back, bringing forth a hollow chuckle. Show me. There they stood, two apparitions sharing one mind, one memory of a cataclysmic sort. Fogle showed him the battle he'd shared with Venir and the silver and golden eyed underlings.

  Ha! Boon exclaimed. It cannot be. Catten and Verbard!

  Fogle could feel his grandfather’s respect for him building.

  A grumble! With the most powerful of underling Lords, and you live?

  Barely, Grandfather.

  Fogle showed him the rest. The grave of boulders. The underling's corpse. The battle with the earth elemental and the exchange of the eyes for the spellbook.

  Fogle felt a tremor of anger rippling through his mind. There was a brilliant flash of light, and his mind was again his own.

  Boon punched him hard in the arm.

  “Grandson, I cannot tell whether I want to hug you or kill you!”

  The word kill stung, and the dark look in Boon’s eye didn’t leave him feeling very comfortable.

  “Kill me? Why?” he asked, rising to his feet, readying a defensive spell on his tongue.

  Boon swallowed hard before he opened his mouth to speak.

  “OOOOOOOW!” Barton cried out from beyond he smoking crater.

  Bang! Bang! Womp!

  “What now?” All he wanted to do was track down Cass, and now something else had to happen. Fogle dashed towards the sound of the commotion with Boon on his heels. Emerging from the trees, he spied Barton with one hand full of an underling and the other swatting the club.

  Wham!

  Barton pulverized the underling into a greasy black smear. The bones of the other one cracked in his mighty grip before Barton bit its head off and spit it into the oncoming horde.

  Fogle lost his breath. He’d never seen so many underlings before. They were coming from up one side of the ravine and down the other. If those underlings were alive, were Cass and Chongo dead? He felt the strong hand of Boon squeezing his arm.

  “Whatever you used to save yourself from the gold and silver eyed underlings, you better unleash it now, Grandson!”

  With so many underlings, Fogle didn’t even know where to begin. Cass!

  CHAPTER 47

  “Come on then, rabbits!” Venir said, rising to his full height, staring down on the men. “The first one up will be the first one down!” He whirled his axe around his body. “Any takers?”

  The scouts stopped their advance, but the dogs howled on.

  “Let your mangy curs loose, you raggedy man! I’ve not eaten in days!”

  The soldier yanked back on his dogs' chains. They fell silent.

  Venir had their attention. Their eyes passed back and forth between one another. Even the large part-orc slid a half-step back.

  “What! I’d expect better from Royal soldiers. Is there not a valiant one among you?”

  He hopped off the rocks. The small band shifted back.

  “What about you, Orc? A big one, I see. Looks like your mother was diddled by trolls, I’d say!”

  The orcen man’s eyes darkened, his canine teeth flashed, but not a muscle moved.

  Venir chopped Brool back and forth, low strokes beneath his knees that trimmed the foliage like wheat.

  “Awfully quiet for an orc. I’m used to more talk and bravado.”

  The leader, tall and rangy, made a quick nod with his head. His men, aside from the half-orc before him, began to spread out. Venir’s veins were charged with energy as they pulsated under his skin. These men, shady in movement and décor, disturbed him.

  “Who are you, Man?” the leader spoke up, lowering his sword.

  “Man? Aye, indeed, I am a man! I’m not some slug that crawled from the sewage to cavort with underlings. I’m a killer of such things, along with their cohorts, such as you.”

  The leader stuck his bastard sword in the ground and said, “You have us wrong. We are not cavorters but slaves. We’d just as well see these vermin skinned the same as you. But we’ve over a hundred men—”

  “And orcs,” the orc said.

  The leader nodded up the hill and continued, “shackled, starving and half-dead. Mostly depraved. It’s better to serve moving on two legs than serve with none at all. There are many of our brethren living with less than that already.”

  Venir sensed some truth in the man’s words. But he was going to need more than that before he lowered his blade.

  “Tell me then, Soldier, how many underlings hold that Outpost?” Venir asked.

  “Oh, well, now I can’t readily answer that, nor my colleagues. Such talk would be treasonous and put all of our heads at the mercy of our masters. No, you over-sized metal shade. I’d rather die that let you be privy to that.” The leader pulled his sword from the ground and flicked the edge of the blade. “And at this point, a meaningful death in combat is vastly more preferable than facing the consequences of failure.”

  Treason! How could any man stand to be accused of treason by an underling? Venir had been deceived before by Jarla. The woman consorted with them. She'd been ready to turn him over to them and collect a bounty they had on his head. It was beyond him how any man could serve an underling, willingly or even unwillingly. Certainly death would be preferred. His knuckles whitened on Brool’s shaft, his blood bristled, and the air became hot and stale. The shadow of death hung in the air. The men spread farther apart, blades ready, creeping in.

  “Why don’t you drop the axe and come quietly, Fool? You cannot defeat as all,” the orc said, stepping up the hill.

  “Maybe, but I’m certainly going to kill you,” Venir said, pointing Brool’s spike at the part orc's chest. .

  Venir was never comfortable killing men, no matter how rotten they were. It was something he sought to avoid over the years. But sometimes, it couldn’t be avoided. He hadn't hesitated to kill the brute Baltor; he'd sensed the evil. But with this group, he was uncertain. He couldn’t just kill every man he didn’t trust, or like, for that matter.

  “Turn the dogs loose,” the leader ordered.

  Bish! And killing dogs was another issue. He was used to Chongo settling such matters. He shifted his feet down into the dirt.

  The orc raised his arm and said in his rough voice, “Perhaps a challenge then, Stranger?”

  “No, I like the odds I have at the moment, and I don’t gamble with swine.”

  The orc was buying time. Not only for himself but for all of them. The men, as rugged as they appeared, now lacked the overbearing fortitude of being Royal soldiers.

  The orc laughed, his brown teeth breaking into a grin.

  “Heh-heh. You’ve got a sharp tongue for a man. Brassy as a lantern. But a fight is not what I had in mind.”

  “True,” the leader interjected. “Stranger, we’ve no quarrel with the murderer of our tormentors, but our predicament is dire.�
� He held a hand up. A sign of peace and welcome for some. “I don’t want to die any more than my men, or you, for that matter. Perhaps we can sort this out.” The soldier pointed up the hill towards the outpost. “And, time is short. The shriekers alerted more than us and them.” He chopped a sapling down. “We’re only the first patrol. There will be more, and they’ll be in no mood to parlay.”

  Venir didn’t sense any such thing, however. The soldiers were still making their way up the hill. The dogs' necks were straining on the leash, claws digging up the loose soil. The threat wasn’t there. But something about the man’s body language wasn’t right. The leader was nervous, more desperate than a moment before.

  “I’m beginning to think there are not so many up there as you say. Over a hundred Royals, you say, prisoners? I’ll tell you what. How about you name me some names?”

  The leader rubbed his leather gauntlet under his chin and said, “How about I start with mine first, then?”

  “No, I don’t know you, but I’ve known men inside.”

  “I see, so you were a soldier like us once?”

  “No, nothing like you.”

  “A mercenary then?”

  “A hunter. Now, let me hear some names.” He waved his axe in the air. “I’m getting antsy.”

  The leader said nothing at first, then he began, “Well, it seems unlikely your sort of character would have known any of those honorable men. Perhaps if you removed your garish helmet, one of us would know you?”

  “If you knew me, you’d have recognized me already,” Venir said, stepping back up the hill.

  His mind was beginning to catch up with his brawn. For all he knew, these men only wore the uniforms of the Royals. Only the leader, aside from the orc, offered much talk. At first, he'd thought they might be holdovers from the Brigand Army, but he would’ve recognized them. They didn’t carry themselves with the gaits of soldiers, either. Their movement was not refined or disciplined. Even the dogs seemed more savage than trained. Who in Bish were these men?

  “A challenge, Stranger?” the orc said again, sheathing his blades. “You and I.”

  Venir looked at the leader and said, “I thought you said more would be coming. It seems you have more time than you bargained for.” He hefted his axe back over his shoulder. “What exactly did you have in mind, Orc?”