The Darkslayer: Book 04 - Danger and the Druid Page 3

  CHAPTER 5

  CLONK!

  White spots burst into his eyes, and pain lanced back into his brain. Georgio’s legs wobbled as he fell hard onto his butt. He clutched his stomach and head, fighting the urge to retch, fuming at the giggling sounds of halflings followed by Mikkel roaring in his ear.

  “BOY! If you don’t cut that out, I’m gonna skin you!” the large black man said, jerking him back to his feet. “That’s not what I meant by using your head, Stupid!”

  The little giggles ensued.

  Georgio tried to shove Mikkel away, saying, “Get off me.” He turned and faced off with his opponent, a mintaur, ram-faced and horned, and a full five feet of fight. He stood taller than the hooved creature and sneered down at him.

  “Get him, Georgio,” Lefty cried, sitting on top of a wall nearby, eating an orange pear.

  The halfling wasn’t alone. A small brood of halfling children, all barely two-feet tall, were scrambling around with sticks, attacking one another in joy, screaming aloud and laughing. It had been like this all day, hot and annoying.

  “Wrestle, Boy!” Mikkel said, shoving him forward.

  The mintaur charged, rounded horns catching him under his chin and driving him onto his back. He wrapped his arms around the mintaur's waist and fought to regain his feet.

  Mikkel huffed in his ear.

  “No! No! No! That’s not what I taught you. Get up! Escape!”

  He grunted, twisted and forced himself upright only to be slammed into the dusty ground again.

  “Oooooh!” the audience exclaimed.

  Georgio fought to suck the air in through his teeth. His lungs were thinning, and his own sweat was stinging his eyes.

  “COME ON! GET UP!”

  He clawed at the dirt and screamed in frustration. The mintaur was tying his legs in a knot, and the pressure was beginning to hurt.

  “Are you just going to sit there and let him break your legs? Huh? Do something or die, Georgio!”

  It wasn’t fair. He was a boy, or a teenager, but the mintaur was a man, older, smarter and more experienced. He wasn’t ready to fight. He’d been training all morning, and he didn’t want to any more.

  “Come on, Georgio,” Lefty cried again, “you can do it!”

  “Aye, Boy, ye’ can do it.”

  Gillem!

  Ever since the older halfling had arrived, Lefty had never been the same. Georgio hated Gillem. Something inside him began to boil over, and his ears began to steam. He cast an angry glance at the little cheerful pie-faced man, sat up and began wailing on the surprised mintaur's face.

  “Stop it, Georgio! You’ll break your hands!” Mikkel warned.

  They didn’t break. They hurt, but he didn’t care.

  Whap! Whap! Whap! Twist!

  As the creature loosened its grip, Georgio seized it by the horns and twisted. The mintaur's neck was like iron, not meant to be broken, but it happened. The creature cried out like a sheep, thrashing left and right. Georgio held onto the mintaur, his stare never leaving Gillem.

  “RRRRAAAAAH!!!”

  He hoisted the mintaur over his head and tossed it to the ground at Gillem’s leaping feet, scattering the tiny children like flies.

  Georgio was heaving in the silence as all eyes, man, halfling and mintaur, looked on him as if he had gone berserk. The mintaur snorted, breaking the awkward silence, shaking its head as it regained its feet. Lefty was pale. Mikkel held his hand on his head, mouth agape, while Gillem dusted off his boots and lit his pipe with a nod. Georgio wanted to shove that pipe down the man’s throat.

  “Very impressive, my boy,” Gillem said with elegant cheer. “Did you children see that? Georgio the strong one!”

  The little halflings looked at him wide-eyed, then burst into applause and cheers.

  Georgio shook as his eyes began to water. He covered his face and ran.

  ***

  Mikkel slapped the mintaur on the shoulder and said, “Sorry about that.”

  The ram-faced man patted the big man on the back, nodded, gathered his gear, and departed.

  “Same time tomorrow then?” The mintaur waved.

  Lefty was numb: smiling outwardly, but in turmoil inwardly. He’d never seen such fury on Georgio's face before. It was frightening to see his once cheerful friend so grim. He felt responsible. He didn’t know why, but he felt responsible somehow. He looked over at Gillem, who was handing each of the children a copper talon to spend in the markets. In a moment their existence in the small proving grounds was vacant, leaving only Lefty, Gillem and Mikkel.

  “Think I’m pushing him too hard?” Mikkel asked of Gillem.

  “Never.”

  Mikkel’s smile broadened.

  “Maybe I’m going too easy on him.”

  “Seems likely,” Gillem winked. “Very well then, I’ll see you two later on I assume, but if you don’t mind, try to stay away for a few days. Georgio loses his focus with all of you halflings running around.”

  “You’re the boss, Master Mikkel.”

  Lefty was silent as Mikkel walked away. He was sad, too. He didn’t see enough of Georgio as it was with all of the demands of Gillem and the guild. His own thief training was intense, even rigorous at times, but he liked it. He liked Gillem, too.

  “Don’t worry about yer friend, Lefty.” Gillem said, stroking his long fingers across his back. “He’s getting to the age of puberty. Young men start acting strange, is all.”

  “What’s puberty?”

  “Er … nothing you need to worry about for another decade er so. Now follow me.”

  “Where are we going?” Lefty said, hopping from the wall.

  “First, we have some stealing to do. Then, it’s time to pay Palos his dues.”

  Lefty’s chin dipped as Gillem passed him by.

  ***

  “Georgio, slow down,” Kam ordered.

  The teenager stomped through the kitchen, his face turned away.

  “Don’t you dare walk through my tavern looking like that: a frowning, sweaty little dirtball—get back here.”

  He stopped with his back still towards her. Kam wasn’t in the mood for another of Georgio's fits. She couldn’t relate. She looked over to Joline, her confidante and full-time "boys growing up too fast" sitter. Joline’s pleasant face mouthed the words, Be nice.

  “Hungry?” She asked.

  Georgio turned and gave her a sheepish look.

  “Yeah.”

  When wasn’t he hungry? Georgio was a big boy going on big man. She was taller than most women, but now Georgio’s head was up past her chin, and that was big for a fourteen or fifteen year old. At least, that’s how old she thought he was. Joline put a steamy bowl of soup and half a loaf of barley baked bread on the table before him.

  “Thanks,” he mumbled before shoving in a mouthful from the loaf.

  She pulled a stool beside him, grabbed his chin and lifted his eyes to meet hers. She loved his big brown eyes and his thick mop of brown hair. He’d be a handsome man one day, any day now at the rate things were going. Some of the waitresses had already expressed keen interest in him, batting their eyelashes, brushing against him, everything but removing their amply-filled blouses before his innocent eyes. She shook her head.

  “What?” he asked, frowning.

  “Oh nothing. You know, I’m starting to miss those chubby cheeks of yours. Are you sure you’re getting enough to eat? Joline, bring him some more food: cheese and milk, lots of it.”

  “Huh?” both boy and woman replied.

  “Eat, it’s good to have a belly full for your nap.”

  Georgio gave her a funny look and said, “Are you right in the head, Kam? You’re acting strange.”

  It was a fair question. For the most part she was feeling as good as ever, strong and fearless, but busy. Deep down she had come to accept that Venir was gone. He was hard to forget, but without Georgio and Lefty around so much, it was getting a little easier. She wiped his mouth off with her apron.

 
A waitress came inside the kitchen: a few years older than Georgio, long legged and pretty, her bright eyes attaching themselves to him.

  “Pardon me,” she said, smiling. “Need some frupp steaks, onion skins and deer broth, Joline. Hi Georgio.”

  Georgio stopped chewing, grinning from ear to ear. “Uh … hello …”

  “Get your arse out there and wait tables!” Kam blustered.

  The girl’s face turned ashen as she said, “Sorry Kam,” and scurried out the door.

  Kam squeezed his face in her hands and said, “Don’t be anywhere alone ever with my girls. Do you understand me? Not ever!”

  “Sure, Kam. But what’s the harm in it and all?”

  She summoned up her energy; the rims of her green eyes began to glow.

  “Never.”

  Georgio had a bewildered look as he shook his head.

  “I … Said … Never!”

  He nodded over and over.

  “Good. Now, tell me what is wrong, and don’t lie. Be honest; I need to know. Is Mikkel being too hard on you?”

  “No.”

  “Are you still mad at Lefty?”

  “No.”

  His eyes flitted, though. Even she had a hard time with Lefty. Her sickness, so sudden and strange, by all account might have killed her. Little Lefty, for some reason, seemed to know more than he let on. Call it women’s intuition, but something was no longer right. Not after that encounter with Palos, the prince of thieves. She was certain that their encounter was far from over, but what that had to do with Lefty, she didn’t know. She kept her eyes open. Billip and Mikkel were very helpful look-outs.

  “Is it one of my waitresses? Do you … uh … have feelings for one of them in particular?”

  “No Kam! Can I just eat and go? I mean, thanks and all, but I’m not hungry any more. Can I please go? I’ve got chores to do.”

  “Just tell me what’s bothering you. Don’t be hard headed. I don’t want you stomping around here any more, so let’s fix this and be done with it. Tell me, Georgio!”

  “NO!” he yelled, jumping out of his stool.

  As Kam drew her hand back, Joline wrapped her arms around her with a hug and said, “Georgio, go and do what you have to do, but don’t you ever do that again.”

  “Pah!” he said, storming away.

  Kam was shaking. “Did he just yell at me? At me? I’m gonna kill him!”

  Joline squeezed her even harder. “You’ll do no such thing, Kam. The boy's growing up and missing his friends something terrible. You don’t see it so much as I do, being so busy with little Erin and all. Now take a deep breath.”

  She inhaled and exhaled deeply.

  “Oh my,” Joline said.

  “What?”

  “Looks like you’ve got a hungry baby to feed,” Joline said, glancing down at her chest.

  Kam’s breasts were soaking through her blouse.

  “Aw, I hope Georgio didn’t see that.”

  “I’m thinking he did,” Joline giggled. “No hiding those things. Now get up there and feed that baby.”

  Kam muttered a spell—concealing her clothes—before she cut through the tavern and made it up the stairs. Her chest was aching. Someone’s awfully hungry. As soon as she opened the door there was the awfullest scream. Oh my!

  CHAPTER 6

  (The Past: 5 years earlier, after Venir escapes the Brigand Queen)

  The colorful banners of the Royal houses of Bish flapped above the massive wooden walls of an ancient fort. Outpost Thirty-One was one of a kind, the only structure in Bish built from the massive trees of the Great Forest. Yet these trees had not been cut down. Their hard dark woods were rare, fallen specimens, carried by giants long ago. They had been gifts to the good men of that time.

  Such was the story passed down over the centuries. None knew if it was true, but none cared, for such was the way of most men: self-centered, cold, and focused only on the present. The fort complex sat high on a forested hilltop in the southern lands of Bish. It was a perfect square, with outer walls twenty feet high. The gates in the opposite corners of each wall faced north, south, east, and west, from which straight, gravel-filled roads ran. They were busy roads, which made Outpost Thirty-One a strategic foothold that maintained order and protected key commercial trade routes in this region. All of the subordinate forts scattered throughout the south were commanded from here.

  In the burning midday haze the fort appeared like a majestic castle, blending in with its surroundings among the distant hilltops that gazed upon it. Many unwanted eyes now stared at Outpost Thirty-One, for the outpost was the subject of their siege. The underlings and the brigand army had cut off all the roads and laid waste for miles around. All human communication throughout the southern lands of Bish was halted. Many would have agreed that the Royals had it coming, but when it came to defending against an underling assault on the upper world, the proclaimed Royal superiors of the selfish human race were Bish’s one and only hope.

  Jarla’s brigand army was busy taunting the confined Royal soldiers, sending kobolds close to the southern gate to deposit the mutilated torsos, heads, arms and legs of the fallen. The tiny horned humanoids cowered behind small wooden shields, but occasionally an arrow from a vengeful archer would pierce their small bodies, adding to the stinking heap of flesh and flies that lay baking in the suns.

  Deeper south in the forest was the large beige tent that quartered Jarla, the Brigand Queen. Alone inside, she was studying maps and battlefield notes. Her beautiful face—now scarred and twisted from a fate she'd been unprepared for—was drawn in a tight frown. Unlike most women on Bish, she was a born warrior. She stood taller than most men, with strong shoulders and arms that were sinewy from years of battle. Her jet black hair was tied back, revealing deep blue eyes over her tanned face and scarred cheekbones. She took a deep breath and exhaled, bit her thin red lips, and flung the table over. Everything she had planned for years was about to unfold, yet everything was wrong. She cursed, spat, and drained a glass of wine. Venir!

  Not only had he stolen her magic armament, but he had also embarrassed her by escaping her camp, slaughtering her commanders, and evading the underlings' bounty on him. Her alliance with the underlings had never been on solid ground; now it was falling apart. She wanted to break the alliance and disappear. She had even felt her grip on her army loosening not long after the young warrior slipped from her side. She spat at the thought of his cocky grin. But, the worst was he had taken her precious, powerful weapons, or they had taken him? For the first time in years she felt vulnerable, rather than invincible.

  Nevertheless, she was not ready to abandon her loyal brigand army, who had taken her in when others would not. As for the underlings, they were her best vehicle to take revenge on the Royals who had ripped her life asunder. She had once been one of them, a Royal household member and a rare soldier, rising to become a trusted leader. She clenched her teeth; how naïve she had been not to see it coming. Men were men, after all, and Royal men were the worst. They took what they wanted, willing or not, and made it their own. She, too had been taken, against her will, and she had never been the same. She wiped her dry eyes and sneered. Her hatred burned like a hot iron. It would have to do.

  She was on the cusp of extracting her revenge. Outpost Thirty-One would fall. But then what? She sensed in her gut that Venir would come for her. With the mystic arsenal in his grip there wasn’t much she could do to stop him. She only hoped she would live long enough to see the outpost destroyed. She was almost certain the underlings would ensure that.

  Stepping outside into the light of the two burning suns, she walked up a rocky hill and grabbed a spy glass from a kneeling orcen sentry. She peered at the great outpost, taking mental note of the defense arrangements underway. The outpost should have been taken by now. She knew Venir was in there, and it left her uneasy. They had tried to catch the man, but could not. He and his comrades were far fleeter than her cumbersome army.

  She slung the spyglass
at the orc, returned inside her tent and called for her commanders. They discussed how the siege might take weeks or months now, thanks to Venir’s warning. She had to remind them that she had people on the inside of the outpost as well. They snickered. The day of her reckoning had come.

  A small group of scouts were still outside the walls of Outpost Thirty-One. The three men were outlanders of repute, even among the Royal soldiers that had dealt with them over the years. It was no coincidence that they had been the ones who had given the troublesome news of the underling invasion.

  Dusk had settled over the thick green forest that surrounded the outpost. All around the fort were steep ravines that served to drain the heavy rains. They also created vulnerable points where foes could creep undetected right up to the complex. Deep within a ravine, the three men crouched with eyes and ears intent on finding any comers. Skirmishes had been breaking out day and night. Shouts of pain and terror, blended with the sound of battle, came and went as the thick foliage muffled the noise. It was difficult to tell who was winning, but the trio sensed that it was only a matter of time before the fort was stormed.

  They had already encountered three underlings earlier and five the night before, but the foul creatures had been no match for Billip’s deadly arrows. He possessed a special short bow and arrows that were a gift from an old Royal soldier in the fort. The man’s son, who was to inherit them, perished at the hands of the brigand army. It was clear to Venir that Billip relished the rare quality of this bow. The archer made good use of the power and accuracy, grinning each time he dropped an underling with an arrow straight between the eyes or clean through the heart. His comments to the archer irked Mikkel, who cared little for his friend’s success. The big man wanted the first crack at the underlings himself.

  “Come on, Vee,” urged Mikkel in his deep voice, loading his heavy crossbow. “Let me take the first shot. He can’t shoot better than me and Bolt Thrower.”