The Darkslayer: Book 05 - Outrage in the Outlands Read online

  The man’s head seemed monstrous in her tiny lap.

  Like a woman tending an ogre.

  “We need water,” Haze said. “I can fetch us some.” She started to get up.

  “No,” Melegal said, rising to his feet. “I’ll go. He needs the likes of you, not me.”

  As he made his way through the door, Jubilee said, “You will come back, won’t you?”

  “Of course he will,” Haze said.

  But Melegal didn’t say a thing as he left. Smart child. Even for a Slerg.

  ***

  Dreams. Nightmares. Most experience both. Brak only experienced the latter. He hung on the edge of an abyss, a great fire licking at his toes as he struggled to pull himself up. On his feet, a man hung, long and broad, a bearded face full of fire. It was Venir, his father, hanging on for his very life as he held on for his own. Brak had never felt such weight before, like a cart of heavy stones.

  His father was screaming up at him, but he didn’t understand the words. All he could do was try to hang on, his strength fading, the pain in his arms and neck excruciating. If only his father would let go, stop screaming, he could save himself. But he knew if he did, he would forever lose his face. He hung on. His father began to slip and fall. Still screaming at the top of his lungs.

  ***

  The next barn was a stark contrast to the one he just left. It was a hive of activity. Horses were being led up and down the concourse. Royal soldiers were adorned in armor from head to toe. Commands and shouts rang out from one end to the other. No City Watch, at least.

  Melegal threw a coarse blanket over his head, pinched it below his neck, stooped down, hunched his shoulders, and shuffled forward. Eyes down, ears up! From one stall to the other he went, doddering along with a discarded rake he found. All he needed to do was snatch a bucket, refill it in a water trough, and disappear as easily as he came. Why am I suddenly responsible? He’s not my bastard child.

  An urchin stumbled into his path, carrying a metal pail.

  That will do. He grabbed it by the handle and said, “Child, is that your stall?”

  “Let go of my pail, Hag. I’ll be whipped if I stall,” the boy said, trying to rip it away. He was quite strong.

  “Nay, Child. I shall fetch it for you,” Melegal suggested.

  “Nay, Hag!”

  “I’m no hag,” he warned, ripping the pail free from the boy's grasp.

  The boy opened his mouth wide. Melegal shoved a large silver talent in it.

  “Taste that silver? Hush your mouth. Fetch another pail, and run along.”

  The boy had the strangest expression on his face as his eyes shifted back and forth. “Ulp.” He swallowed the coin.

  Melegal snorted. He’d have done the same back in those days. Royal urchins could not have coins, but it would serve him well.

  “Go along now. My master's horse is thirsty,” he said.

  Ahead was a row of troughs where a few lathered up horses drank. It would have been better to get water from an Everwell, but that was too far away. What good is a bucket of water going to do, anyway? 'Keep the fever down,' they say. Pah, he’ll be dead before I return.

  He waited a moment, along the outside of an abandoned stall. Two Royal soldiers chatted from horseback by the troughs. Four stable hands, men and boys, checked the fasteners on their saddles and harnesses. Hurry up!

  “On good report, the underlings number in the thousands leagues south, outside the city walls. They say hundreds lie below,” one soldier was saying.

  “Thousands, you say? By my sources, there are tens of thousands and even more below,” the other responded, slapping his comrade on the shoulder. “Ha Ha Ha! My, the tales grow taller all the time. I say we ride south into their belly and they’ll never come this far north again. Black fiends. They fight like girls with steel and armor. High time we stopped toying with the brood. The pests are getting annoying. I’ve lost two of my finest house boys.”

  “Yes, I lost the same. I thought I was going to have to polish my own boots,” the other soldier let out a laugh, “I’ve not done that since my training days.”

  The banter. It was that tireless banter that he’d grown accustomed to in his childhood, and he’d never grown sick of it. All the boots he'd shined until his arms were numb. And now, it seemed the soldiers weren’t going to move. Their chatter continued.

  I’ve got to move.

  Melegal rambled over, a little hitch in his step, and dipped his pail in the water. The soldiers paused their conversation. He could feel their eyes on him as he withdrew the pail filled with water.

  “Ahem,” one of the soldiers said.

  Melegal shuffled back.

  “I don’t think she heard you.”

  Why do they insist I’m a woman!

  “A fragile thing.”

  “A husk with skin.”

  “Deaf. Mute. Rankled.”

  They were getting under his skin now. Just go!

  He teetered away, turning his back to them.

  “Perhaps it’s an underling,” one soldier said, leading his horse around and blocking his path. “Show me your face, Old One.”

  “My pail! My pail!” a little girl screeched. “That hag has stolen my urchin's pail!”

  It would have been easier to fetch water in the Outland. Of all the fool things!

  “Elizabeth,” one of the soldiers said, chuckling, “Has your pail been stolen?”

  Melegal kept his head down, shuffling his feet, trying to go around. Seem confused. Sell it, Man, sell it!

  “Dullard!” Elizabeth snapped up at the soldier, “Of course I’ve been robbed. This hag has stolen my property, and my stable hand is now with a broken arm. Now, I’m shorthanded.”

  “I’ll summon the Watch and have this one arrested,” the soldier said, dismounting.

  “I’ll have the hag whipped now!” Elizabeth screamed.

  Of all the ridiculous things. Whipped over this? A child no older than Jubilee, nonetheless.

  “I think this matter is better served in the hands of the Watch,” the soldier added, “and I’m surprised you are out with all the trouble of late. It’s not safe—”

  “Be silent, Cretin! I’ll have you whipped as well. How dare you address me like your child? I am a Kling! And you are a soldier! A pawn to my whims. It is you who has to worry about the underlings, not I.”

  The air was ripe with tension. Melegal noticed the man’s hand falling to his sword. Split her skull. I would! Impudent Royals.

  “Elizabeth!” a familiar voice cried out. “Mind your tongue! You are creating a scene, as usual!”

  “Stay out of this, Rayal! This old bitch stole my pail, and I’ll have her head for that! And this soldier sneered at me! No man does that to a Kling and lives. Now give me my pail!” Elizabeth stormed over and wrapped her fingers on the handle.

  Melegal held it tight in his grip as the girl, about as big as Jubilee, tugged away with all her strength.

  “Give it to me!”

  He let go.

  Elizabeth lurched backward and tumbled onto her rear, the pail of water spilling all over her. Everyone fell silent as her face erupted in red rage, except Rayal, who was holding her belly and laughing.

  Elizabeth pulled out a knife, raised it over her head, and charged.

  “I’ll kill you, Hag!”

  Rayal caught the girl by the wrist and twisted the knife out of her hand.

  “Enough of this, Elizabeth! You’ve gone too far. Men, apologies for my sister's trepidations. She gets carried away with her evil self!”

  Elizabeth took the metal pail and swung it into Rayal’s knees.

  Bang!

  “OW! Blast you, Little Fiend!”

  Elizabeth ran away, screaming and pointing. “You still owe me a two-headed dog!”

  So that’s the one. Now what? He’d encountered Rayal before, briefly, and was certain that she would remember him. Rayal, another beauty, was unlike the typical Royals. Not only did she display stren
gth, but grace and kindness as well. But what if she knew about the treachery at the castle? Melegal stepped around in his own private circle, showing he was uncertain where to go.

  “Milady,” one of the soldiers said. “Shall I send for the Watch? After all, she did, it seems, take a pail?”

  “No, but I am curious why this one hides her face,” she said, walking over, “and why she took the pail in the first place.”

  “Er … Milady, she could have a sickness, or a horrible face.”

  “A spy perhaps,” the other soldier suggested.

  Melegal swayed in place, looking down at her booted toes. Her perfume was incredible, just like the Lorda’s. I can’t risk it. He concentrated, sending a tingle through his mind.

  “No,” she said. “But I’ve run into the strangest people that shuffle around here in cowls and cloaks. You’d be surprised. Please, men, go about your business, I think I’ll be fine. Thank you.”

  “As you wish,” the men said, trotting away, their stable hands in tow.

  Melegal let his mind ease.

  She huffed. “Now, tell me, Old Woman, are you thirsty?”

  Melegal didn’t reply. I can’t tell her to sleep, run or look away. The first two would look odd, and the latter wouldn't be enough. Think!

  Rayal turned, picked up the pail, and handed it to him.

  He grabbed it, shuffled over to the trough, and refilled it, then started to shuffle back the way he came. Eyes down, feet moving forward, not looking over his shoulder, he continued on. Rayal was right behind him. Melegal could hear not one set of footsteps, but three, trailing close behind him. Drat! An Escort.

  “I’ll be curious why this person is so desperate for water that they’d cross a Royal,” she said under her breath. “And there’s always something strange going on in that barn over there.”

  Just as he made his way over to the doorway that traversed between the barns, Rayal said, “Halt!”

  Melegal kept going.

  “Detective Melegal,” she said again, “I suggest you stop.”

  His heart jumped a beat. Not possible. He kept going.

  “Don’t think to fool me; I'd recognize those delicate hands anywhere, especially those scars on your knuckles.”

  He didn’t slow.

  Her voice turned cold. “You are a wanted man, Detective. And with a word, I can have every soldier in these barns coming after you.”

  Mercy, is there no limit on my pursuers!

  CHAPTER 50

  The Under-Bish. Preposterous. Verbard sat on his throne deep in thought. Eep had filled him in on The Darkslayer. It seemed the man lived after all, but in another world below his. One that he never would have believed for himself. Eep had given him few details, other than the fact that he’d bitten the man’s fingers off, or a portion of them rather.

  He’s no longer a threat. Could he escape the world beyond the Mist? Perhaps, but I cannot worry about that now, without proof. I’ll forge ahead and press on. Stay on course.

  Eep was still after the keys. Kierway still made preparations to overtake a castle. Jottenhiem kept his men in good order, biding their time. With or without keys, a living Darkslayer or not, he was going to press on. Bring the wretched humans to their knees, one citizen at a time.

  Eep, have you found that man yet?

  No, Master, but it won’t be long. Do you require anything else? I hunger. A quick bite, perhaps?

  Stay on course!

  At his side stood the Vicious: tall and silent with the musculature of a hairless feline. How many of these powerful creatures did Master Sinway have at his disposal? How many, indeed?

  “If I had a thousand of you, this would be much easier,” he said, rising to his feet and drifting away. He cast his silver eyes above. How many thousands of humans could they take out with one lethal strike? With enough force, could they take the entire city? Eradicate the humans once and for all. If anything, he just wanted to get his charge over with.

  Now wasn’t the time to second guess himself. No. His plan was sound: take a Castle by force, and have a stronghold. It would work, but Kierway was an important part of that plan. He didn’t trust him. No, once the castle was located, he’d send a portion to invade. He would lead a full scale assault on the world of men above first, in one giant wave. The castle would not expect an attack from within.

  He rolled his fingers. The orb of imbibing floated from the ground and into his grasp. Then he noticed someone was coming. It was Kierway. That was quick.

  “You have good report?” Verbard said.

  “Castle Almen,” Kierway stated, running his clawed fingers over his shaven head.

  “Again? Have we not drawn enough attention to ourselves at that point?”

  Kierway sauntered up, poured himself a glass of wine, and slumped down on the makeshift throne of rock and stone. “Fitting for you, vastly inferior to the one I’ll inherit from my father. But for a lesser family, it will do.”

  Verbard sneered. “I believe your father was very clear with your role and mine. You are beholden to me, and you’d be served well to remember that.

  The Vicious stepped forward and bared its fangs. Kierway remained in place.

  “You need me as much as I need you, Verbard. Now, let’s set our differences aside. I want to fulfill this quest as much as you.”

  “Go on.”

  “Castle Almen. Yes, its access to the Current is now overfilled with guards, but they number less than a hundred. Still, it would be difficult to penetrate that small but heavily defended port.” Kierway took his first sip and spit it out. “Pah! Did an urchling make this? I wouldn’t let a cave dog drink it.”

  Verbard's silver eyes flashed. It was his favorite port. “Get on with it, Kierway.”

  “The strange thing is,” he tipped his finger up, “the passages to the other castles are quite narrow, and most castles don’t have any access at all to the Current. Most are sealed off, as if no passage was ever there to begin with. It wasn’t always so. That leaves us with taking one from the upside in, or from the downside up. Castle Almen, it seems, is the only choice.”

  Kierway kicked his legs up on the armrest and leaned back with his arms behind his head.

  “I say we attack from the up and the down. We have more than enough w—”

  Kierway’s eyes were full of alarm as he sailed from the throne to the ground. Copper eyes filled with rage, he jumped back to his feet, swords ripped from his scabbards.

  Verbard rose from the ground, spikes of energy fueling his claws. He’d had enough of the impudent Kierway, and he didn’t have to take any more if he didn’t want to. The time to let it loose was now.

  “Take him out!” he ordered the Vicious.

  The Vicious sprang like a cat, claws ripping at Kierway’s feet. Kierway twisted away, sword chopping backward, clipping off a pair of the Vicious’s fingers. It did not howl or slow. It pressed on. The edges of Kierway's blades danced through the air, licking across the hardened skin of the Vicious, sending black slivers of flesh into the air. The creature's ears matted down on its head. It wasn’t accustomed to fighting a faster opponent.

  Curse those magic blades. Verbard watched in amazement and alarm. Kierway was a split second faster than the Vicious at every strike or blow. It was as if he’d fought against one before. I should have known. What an excellent sparring partner one would be.

  “It’s only a matter of time before I whittle him down,” Kierway said, shifting, juking and parrying. “I can do this all day, but he won’t last that long; trust me.”

  No. Verbard could see that now. But once the Vicious pinned the man down, it would be all over. Perhaps it’s time to intervene. Good-bye Kierway!

  The fluid motion of the Vicious’s body had begun to slow.

  Slice! Slice! Slice! Slice!

  Kierway rolled his wrists with the rapid rhythm of a drummer, whittling two fingers off. The Vicious was hobbled, chopped and gashed like a wounded dog.

  Verbard summoned
his power. Let’s even the odds, shall we? The rock beneath the combatant’s feet turned to mud.

  “No! What are you doing, Verbard? There is no honor in this!” Kierway cried out, sinking to his ankles as the Vicious closed in.

  Verbard waved good-bye.

  Kierway’s blades chopped and parried, keeping the pressing Vicious at bay. A look of concern formed in Kierway’s eyes, his legs now sunk knee deep in the sludge. The Vicious was not slowed. Its mighty limbs still lunged. Kierway clipped its ear off as the Vicious wrapped one good arm around Kierway’s neck and drove him into the mud.

  Excellent!

  Kierway thrashed like a fish on a line, small daggers from his bandolier rising up and down in his hands, blades breaking on the hardened back of the creature. Kierway shouted a plea with a mouthful of mud.

  “I yield!”

  Verbard dusted his hands off. He wanted to laugh out loud as the Vicious pushed Kierway face down below the mud. In but a moment, it would all be over. One of his least favorite underlings would be gone forever. Bubbles of mud popped on the surface. Verbard glided back to his throne. So be it. Taking a seat, he brought a cup of port to his lips. Might as well enjoy this.

  “STOP!”

  Verbard went numb.

  CHAPTER 51

  Bamf!

  One underling burst into dust.

  Bamf!

  Another did the same.

  Bamf!

  Followed by another. The rest of the underlings fled back down the hill, leaving Darlene’s shattered body bleeding over the pine needles. Scorch took long strides down the slope, over the slippery terrain, watching the underlings go. Several black heads were running at full charge, one exploding into black dust after the other until they were nothing but fertilizer for the terrain.

  Darlene lived, blood trickling over her puffy lips that sucked like a catfish out of water. How disturbing it was to see such a lively person dying like this. She tried to speak, lips struggling to form words. The gashes in her belly and chest prevented the effort.

  A shame.

  Scorch looked over the bright horizon towards the east. It was still a long walk to the City of Three. He kneeled down, grabbed her bloody hand and smiled.