The Darkslayer: Book 05 - Outrage in the Outlands Page 5

  “Let’s take as many as we can. There will be no time for burials. On my command, we’ll retreat. You know what to do.”

  “This will be glorious,” Jottenhiem said, lowering a full iron helmet over his skull and cutting his swords through the air. “On your command, my lord, and we shall remove the skin from their bones.”

  Verbard felt a charge of energy surge through him at having his natural enemy so close, as if he were running with a pack of timberwolves who were taking down a tired elk.

  I can’t believe I’m actually doing this. Yet, it feels so right somehow.

  Eep, lead us to the largest group of people.

  The City of Bone was moments away from never being the same again.

  ***

  Kierway, the Vicious, three Juegen and three underling magi departed from the barge and the current.

  “Stay here,” the underling ranger said with iron eyes that seemed to glow.

  Another twenty underlings, well-armed and ready, remained on the barge as Kierway drew his sword and led the way through the dark caverns beneath Castle Almen. Oran had described his dealings with Royal Lord Almen before, and he knew the way inside, but still, the very thought of entering the castle of his enemies was a bit unsettling. It was one thing to strike in the dark of the Outlands that he’d been so accustomed to over the decades, but striking within their walls was another matter entirely. This should be Verbard, not me.

  He led the way up a set of stone stairs to a man-sized wooden door trimmed in discolored iron. He chittered a command and stepped aside as an underling mage floated up to the threshold. The mage’s clawed hands flared with energy as it pressed them on the door.

  Kierway noticed all the hungry looks on the faces of his troops. Each was a mask of concentration, starving to be the first to strike a lethal blow on behalf of underling kind. Maybe his father, Master Sinway, wasn’t being so frivolous after all. Things seemed natural, as if he was returning to regain his home. Impossible. But maybe the key will explain what is going on.

  There was a flash of energy followed by a sizzling sound when he found himself staring through the other side of a gaping hole. Warmth and the scent of human sweat filled the air around him. The instincts of his black blood pulsated with new life as a craving for battle consumed him.

  “Kill anything that moves,” he said, pointing the Vicious forward. Everything tingled from head to toe as he stepped through the door into an uncharted battle ground.

  CHAPTER 9

  Venir felt like he’d been struck by a hundred hammers as he struggled to lift his hulking frame from the ground only to collapse again into the turf. He spit dirt and blood as he pushed his chest from the ground and rolled into the light of the blaring suns. He could smell the charred flesh of the underling that was on his back, a rancid smell like that of a burning skunk as he pinched his nose, fighting nausea and rising to his feet.

  He mumbled as he took a step forward, staggering and dazed. Above him, the underling mage let out an angry hiss. Venir’s helm beckoned action, but he could hardly move as he fought through the numbness and pain. He glanced up as a coat of webbing fell from the sky. Move or die. He slung his shield into the net of webbing and dove to the side.

  The underling hissed as the shield carried the webbing to the ground, negating the spell. Venir let out a triumphant growl as he felt life begin to flow back into his fingertips and tried to spit the taste of nails from his mouth.

  “What else do you have, Fiend?” Venir said, twirling Brool in the air.

  The underling floated backward now, slowly retreating towards the battle at the camp, its yellow eyes burning with hatred. Yet, Venir could feel its confusion and sense its doubt.

  “That’s right! Your moments left on Bish aren’t many. I’ve returned!”

  The webs dissipated as he drew Brool’s keen edge over his web-coated shield. Strapping it on over his back, he began chasing the underling down. In the dusty distance, the clashing sounds of battle rung inside his helm, and the wind whistled through his ears. He was gaining on the underling. Somehow, Venir could feel its magic fading as its dark robes dipped and brushed over the barren landscape's stones.

  “Ha!” Venir cried, churning ahead, long stride after stride, gaining speed.

  Twenty Feet. Ten Feet. Five feet. He dove forward, crashing into the back of the much smaller creature and driving it to the ground. Venir wrapped his fingers around its neck and squeezed. The blue veins in his arms rolled up like snakes as the underling kicked and flailed beneath his waist. Its black tongue jutted from inside its mouth as its citrine eyes bulged. Venir felt the taut wiry muscles in its neck heave then slacken as its wind pipe was crushed in his grasp.

  “Eleven!” he said, wiping the sweat from his eyes and rushing for the battle. His long strides couldn’t get him there fast enough as the Royal Riders were swarmed and ripped down from their saddles.

  “BONE!”

  The tide had turned. The element of surprise was gone. The riders were outnumbered three to one, and that didn’t include the giant spiders that shot webbing from one side of the camp to the other. Horses nickered and neighed as the hairy black creatures from the Underland cut and stabbed at their thundering legs.

  From the distance, Venir saw one Knight catch a spear in the neck and tumble into the fray. Another’s head was blasted open by a barrage of mystic red missiles. Venir’s inner core burned. A knot of fury needed release as he witnessed the battle unfold, blow by blow.

  Seek! The helm urged him. Destroy!

  Thirty yards. Twenty yards. Ten yards. Brool pulsated with life as he hefted it back behind his shoulders and exploded.

  A throng of underlings were pulling another rider from his horse. Venir slammed into them, carving into them like canoes. A giant spider as big as a horse had a rider pinned down, its two protruding tentacles poking holes through the man’s plate mail. Venir disemboweled the creature, leaving it twitching on the dusty floor. He was in the thick of the fight, powerful arms chopping left and right, splitting dark faces and cleaving through bone. Brool was humming now, a living thing weaving a path of destruction like black lightening. Seventeen!

  Venir was bigger, faster and stronger than them all. His mind and the armament merged as one, punching holes into the army of underlings one by one.

  Glitch!

  Hack!

  Slack!

  Chop!

  Chop!

  Stab!

  The underling bodies piled up at his feet, yet they kept coming on, in pairs and triples, crossbow bolts careening off his helmet, darts bouncing from his shield. Venir snarled down on them and growled like a savage beast, swinging his war-axe in an arc of death that ripped two underlings' heads from their shoulders.

  More! The helm pleaded as black blood fertilized the Outland ground.

  Still, unlike before, Venir’s vision was clear, his mind concise, his body and armor taking all of the punishment he could handle. He could sense their worry; he fed on their fear, his hulking frame moving as fast as thought, a half second faster than everything the underlings threw at him. He kept swinging; they kept coming. His mind forgot about all of the others engaged in the battle.

  The helm's black eyelets smoldered like blazing fires; Brool's black blade was a tornado of steel. No mercy!

  Venir felt in control, his body as strong as a gale, the helm telling him when to duck, twist and turn, but he stayed on the offensive. Move and die, Underlings! Run and die! I’ll have you all!

  They screamed. With rage. With defiance. With fear. Their evil faces were twisted with hatred as they realized their old foe had returned, his vengeance like they’d never seen before. Still, with gnashing teeth they piled on, blades arcing high and low.

  He jabbed Brool’s spike through one and ripped its heart out. “RRRRRAHHH!”

  In the back of his mind, he remembered the Warfield, the Vicious, and Georgio. The armament had propelled him there and pushed him past his limits to where he had
collapsed and died, or almost died. Now, he felt invincible. He should be exhausted by now. What was different this time?

  He snapped his head around as a massive shadow fell over him. The biggest spider of them all’s eight eyes looked down on him like a treat as a burst of green fluid shot from its mouth. Venir bounded away, the splash of the acid sizzling into his legs. He roared as he scrambled into another wave of underlings. Slice! Chop! Glitch! Twenty-Eight!

  The smoldering helm screamed a warning.

  “What!” Venir yelled, casting an upward glance.

  Four magi hovered above, a net large enough for twenty men in their grasp. One second Venir was a blur of destruction. The next, he was a helpless heap, trapped like a fish in a net full of piranhas.

  ***

  There was no time left. Slim sagged alongside Adanna as the spiders crept down the walls and out of the light. Adanna had screamed herself hoarse as she trembled at his side, her body drained of all the rush of fright.

  “Wrap this around your face,” Slim said, tearing the sleeve from his robe.

  She didn’t respond. He covered her head with his sleeve and whispered something in her ear. He could feel the tension in her chest ease as she slipped to the floor. Slim covered his head with his robe as well and huddled over Adanna, muttering another spell, and then he had nothing left. His magic was spent. He let his body slacken in the dim light of the pit. He could hear the clicking and sucking sounds of the spiders as they made their way down the walls. He clutched Adanna tight as her body recoiled.

  “Don’t flinch. I’ve got you protected,” he whispered in her ear. But he didn’t. Not from their acidic or blood-sucking bits. But with something else. A gamble. I hope they’ve been well fed today, or else I’m going to be spider crap real soon. He lay still, huddled over the warmth of Adanna’s body as the spiders began to coat them with their silk. The strong creatures pulled him and Adanna apart from one another and covered them from head to toe, one by one.

  CHAPTER 10

  Once, he'd been nothing more than a common rogue who pilfered in the streets and enjoyed cheap wine. Now, Melegal sat in utter misery inside his calm exterior as the loud and distraught pleas of Brak ran loops in his thoughts. Pitiful. Sick and pitiful. Down in the arena, the young Royals were hoisting their swords in jubilation and chanting praises to one another as the sentries dragged the bloody corpse of Hagerdon the Slerg across the floor and out of sight.

  Disgusting little wretches!

  He shifted on the hardened bench beneath him as they paraded around, wiping the blood from their swords before tasting it. Lord Almen and his cohorts were standing and applauding, offering congratulations to the young men. Melegal couldn’t help but be disappointed. This seemed beneath someone like Lord Almen. He shifted his attention back to Lorda Almen.

  She bit into some sliced fruit, a catty smile on her face as if nothing in the arena was going on. Her servants fanned her face and wiped the sweat glistening on her brow. She’d made him an offer he couldn’t refuse, simply because he had no choice. Just as wicked, twice as beautiful. But he still couldn’t help but be tempted by what her offer meant. Kill the Brigand Queen. What an honor! For a fool.

  “Who shall we kill next, Lord Almen?” one of the young Royals shouted up into the stands. “The taste of Slerg blood is divine!”

  Melegal’s fingers caressed the triggers on the dart launching bracers concealed inside his clothes. How many times had he been tolerated and chastised by their kind as a child? The whippings and humiliation were nothing to be forgotten. He’d seen all the things these young men got into: defiling, lying, cheating and stealing from one another like it was their rightful cause. If part of that lingering sentiment made it easy to watch the Slergs go, then they could all die for all he cared. He’d been a part of their castle up until he and Venir escaped, but he’d never desired vengeance upon them. He'd gotten away and left them alone. Now he sat watching them die, one by one, with nothing but an empty feeling inside. I hate Royals!

  “Leezir the Slerg,” Lord Almen spoke, disrupting his thoughts, “my old foe, come … step forward.”

  Leezir, now a haggard man, once short and shifty, shuffled forward in his chains, head down and fighting the shivers and a cough. He stood in the middle of the arena and lifted his chin up, his pale eyes no longer intent and filled with power like the man Melegal once knew as the fearless and callous leader of his house.

  “Ah, Leezir, it seems your final game is over,” Lord Almen said with smug satisfaction in his voice. “You attempted to overtake my castle, yet you failed. And now, I, Royal Lord Almen, noble and wise …”

  “Hear! Hear!”

  “... now stand willing to entertain your pleas. And …” he held his jeweled fingers out, “perhaps I’ll show mercy.”

  Leezir opened his mouth to speak but was overtaken by a fit of coughing.

  Lord Almen chuckled, the others as well.

  “Come now, Leezir, certainly you can do better than that?”

  A hearty burst of laughter filled the room.

  Leezir raised his head once more, his eyes drifting into the stands, taking in every face one by one. Of all the Slergs, Leezir was the most reasonable, and he’d be the last one Melegal wanted to see go. After all, Leezir'd had a small hand in freeing them, which was something Melegal had never make sense of.

  Stopping on Melegal, he locked his gaze for a moment, sending a jolt to his senses, before moving on. Lord Almen gave him a casual glance as well.

  Thanks for that, Slerg! As if I wasn’t a greasy blemish already. Blast, I’m getting a headache. What is wrong with me?

  “Lord Almen,” Leezir managed with a voice that belied his calm appearance, “you are as vile as a pit of vipers. A snake within the roses. Your black heart is filled with nothing but treachery and darkness. You betrayed me,” he pointed into the stands, “and he’ll betray the rest of you as well. Mercy, you say!” Leezir spat on the ground. “Pah! You don’t know the meaning, you murderer of old women and children in their sleep!”

  Hear! Hear! Melegal thought, fighting the urge to applaud. Remember, never sleep near an Almen.

  Lord Almen’s body noticeably stiffened at the resounding truth in those words. His glance drifted over to his Lorda, who now sat up glaring. Sefron gaped, and his lips looked to be mumbling a spell, while Jarla the Brigand Queen sat with her legs crossed, hands clasped on her knee, smiling.

  Almen cleared his throat and smiled.

  “You’ve an interesting way of pleading for mercy, Leezir. Perhaps your tactics are why all of your negotiations failed. It’s almost a shame to see such a slow-witted family go. I’m sure you’d have made excellent grape pressers,” Lord Almen needled his chin in pose, “or grave diggers.”

  “Let us kill him, Lord Almen!” the same youth as before said.

  “Arm the young Royals with their bows,” Almen ordered. “I think I’ve found an excellent practice target.”

  Leezir shouted back, shaking his fist. “I’ll not run like some rabbit, Almen! I’ve seen this game before. You might as well take me as I am!”

  “Perhaps you won’t, but I’m sure your … granddaughter will,” Almen added.

  “Let the child go!” Leezir's face reddened as he fell into a fit of coughing. “She’s not guilty of anything. She’s only a child.”

  “Oh, but she is guilty of being a Slerg though, isn’t she? And I can’t have any legacy Slergs hanging around my castle. As you know, I think we all do, revenge can be such a powerful motivator, and I can’t have that kind of weapon scurrying around my city. It’s best to end this once and for all. It’s for the better.”

  The young Royals, excluding the one who had lost his fingers earlier, had formed a line. One by one, they nocked their bows. Melegal leaned forward on the edge of his seat. He remembered seeing this game before, played with blunt arrows. He and many urchins had suffered welts and bruises from it, even an eye out or two. He stiffened and frowned. In this case however
, the arrows were steel tipped.

  “You’ll burn for this, Almen! I’m not your last enemy standing, you know. Cough-cough There will be more, and your blood will run red into the sewers down below, I swear it!” Leezir didn’t struggle as the guards dragged him and the wailing girl into the middle of the arena.

  Her high pitched screams were unnerving. Melegal fought the urge to cover his ears. He looked to Lorda, but she had her head turned away in chatter. No mercy there, either. I see.

  “What about the big one?” one of Almen’s’ guests asked.

  Brak!

  Time was running out to save Venir’s son. He had no plan, nothing at all. It would almost be better if he dove in the arena himself and caught a few shafts in his chest to get it over with. Way to go, Rat. If I can’t save myself, then how can I save anyone else? He felt a pair of eyes on him and looked down. Jarla’s dark blues probed his, like a cat cornering a mouse. Her nostrils flared, and her lips twitched, standing Melegal’s hair on end. She narrowed her eyes and turned away.

  Witch! What does she know? I think the Lorda has it right, after all.

  “We’ll save the big one for last. The main event,” Lord Almen said. “Carry on!”

  The guards knocked the chained figures of Leezir and Jubilee to the ground and backed away. One of the sentries in the arena began counting down.

  “Five!”

  They could at least take off the chains.

  “Four!”

  Melegal could read Leezir’s lips as he clutched the girl in his arms. He was saying, Don’t run, Jubilee. Stay close to me. I’ll keep you safe. That wasn’t possible, Melegal knew. Every blood thirsty Royal knew that, too, but it was still the right thing to say.