The Darkslayer: Book 05 - Outrage in the Outlands Page 7

  Georgio blanched as his hand rubbed his chest below his neck and his forehead burst into beads of sweat. Fight or die!

  “And there will be no dancing and delays, Men! The flame gets hotter as time goes on. It will seep down the steel until that handle’s as hot as a poker. It will cauterize your skin to the metal. The first challenger to drop his weapon loses. Or the first one to yield.”

  Georgio could feel the warmth growing in his hands.

  The barkeep took a long draw on his cigar and exhaled a plume of smoke in the air. There was a glimmer in his sagging bloodshot eyes as he spoke.

  “Ready yourselves, then!”

  The room stiffened with tension.

  “One!”

  “Two!”

  Georgio raised his flaming sword.

  ***

  Mikkel’s muscles were as taut at bowstrings as he watched his young friend Georgio lift his Dussack from the floor. Over the past few months, a bond had grown between him and Georgio, who served as a reminder of his own son, Nikkel. He couldn’t help but think. What would it be like if Nikkel were out there, about to get cut to ribbons by a man? So far as he could tell, Jeb was a cold-blooded killer. His hands clenched at his sides. One poke was all it took.

  “Come on, Georgio!” he said with encouragement.

  Billip’s eyes narrowed at his side, flitting back and forth as he twisted the hairs under his chin. Billip wasn’t much of a sword fighter, but he’d fair better than Georgio, who was still swinging steels like hatchets. Whatever possessed the boy to take this fight was beyond him. Maybe it was his fault. After all, he’d been saying for weeks, You have be a man sometime. People grew up quick on Bish, and it had been no different for him than any other.

  “Put these on the young man,” Billip said, filling a bet taker’s hands with coins.

  Mikkel pulled Billip up by the cloth of his shoulder and said through his teeth, “What are you doing?”

  “Gambling.”

  “On the life of our friend?”

  Billip shrugged and said, “I can’t help it. I just like long shots. You know that.”

  “That’s sick, even for you.”

  “It’s quite normal; you know that. Besides, I’ve bet for and against you, too.”

  “I was a man. That was different.”

  “It seems our Georgio is a man now, too.” Billip brushed his arm away. “Now pay attention.”

  Georgio was squared up with Jeb as the barkeep backed away. Jeb’s round face with the squared jaw leered down at Georgio, who stood chest out only half a head shorter. Georgio’s thickset frame was almost as broad, but his muscles weren’t developed like those on the hardened criminal across from him. Jeb’s body was covered in thick hair. Corded muscles bulged under his heavy jerkin, and Georgio looked soft as a lamb by comparison. Mikkel could feel the fight was going to go bad really fast as all the betting was shifting against Georgio.

  “Two!”

  Oil from the burning swords dripped to the floor, sizzling on the planks. Georgio’s back foot slid back, and his stiff legs began to bend. Good stance. Be ready!

  “Three!”

  Georgio leapt back as the flaming tip of Jeb’s Dussack ripped at his neck.

  “Move, Georgio!” Mikkel cried as Billip grabbed hold of him and pulled him back.“Ha! You’re pretty fast for a chubby one,” Jeb said, clashing his sword into Georgio’s and almost ripping it from his grasp. Oily flames scattered and fell, leaving sizzling little fires on the floor. “You got sticky hands, too!”

  Georgio wrapped both hands around the hilt, feet shuffling back and forth, shoulders rocking left and right.

  Clang! Clang! Clang!

  The crowd roared in jubilation as Jeb hammered his heavy blade down, juttering Georgio’s arms at the elbows. Mikkel could feel the steel ringing his teeth. He’s a sitting duck.

  Jeb sprang away, cutting his sword in arcing flames back and forth like a sickle.

  “Is that blade getting hot on those soft hands of yours, Boy? I’ve got callouses as thick as an ogre’s hide.”

  Georgio’s chest was heaving as he wiped the sweat from his face and said, “It seems you’ve got the ogre’s breath, too.”

  “Har!” One man laughed so loud he dropped his tankard.

  “You’re funny for a dead man,” Jeb said, lunging forward.

  Slice!

  The flaming blade ripped a gash in Georgio's thigh.

  Mikkel wanted to stop the fight, but it was too late. Live a man, die a man.

  “He’ll be fine,” Billip said. “He’s got skin as thick as his skull.”

  Mikkel shook his head. Healing took time, even for Georgio, and no matter who you are, getting cut and stabbed always hurts like fire.

  Georgio cried out as Jeb cut his arm. The smell of burning flesh filled the smoke-filled air as the red hot sword tip instantly cauterized the wound.

  “Feel that, Boy! Wait till I drive this blade into that soft belly and scorch your innards like coals. Won’t that be a fine way to die?”

  Jeb swung downward in powerful orange flamed strikes, one after the other, driving Georgio to his knees. Tiny flames singed holes in his clothes and burned dark patches on his skin. His arms began to sag, and Jeb knocked his sword back into his head.

  “Let go, Georgio!” Mikkel warned. “Blast your pride.”

  Jeb was toying with the boy, but now his voice took on a deadly tone as he lifted his arm up for the final strike.

  ***

  Georgio fought for his breath as sweat trickled in his eyes. His arms and legs burned like they were on fire. Jeb was killing him. But he wouldn’t let go of the sword. Fight! He hadn’t even taken a swing. Was this what fighting was really like? He’d never felt so exhausted before. He could feel the sword heating up in his hand. It seemed every inch of him hurt. He felt like he’d fallen in a bucket of knives. Take the pain! Fight! Get one piece of him before you go!

  He gathered himself to his knees as Jeb’s sword came arcing downward, and then he lunged. Something bit deep into his shoulder, cutting it to the bone.

  The crowd reeled with delight as Georgio screamed on the floor, his shoulder inflamed with pain, his body going into total recoil. He looked for his opponent. Jeb was shuffling back, flaming sword in hand, patting out a flaming streak across his belly. Yes!

  He heard Mikkel’s voice booming over the rest.

  “You got him, Georgio! Go after him!”

  Georgio rose to his feet. As a blinding pain erupted in his shoulder, he moved his sword from one hand to the other. It was hot now. Like the handle of a metal coffee kettle. Don’t let go!

  He staggered forward, his shoulder feeling like an anchor was tied to it, his other arm barely able to lift his flaming sword. The steel was glowing red hot to the end.

  Jeb switched his sword from one hand to the other, shaking his former sword hand. He snarled, spit coming from his lips, and charged.

  Clang!

  Georgio parried, but the jabbing pain erupted in his shoulder. Jeb was slower now, and Georgio felt his wind returning. He parried the next series of blows as Jeb’s face became wracked with anger and pain. He locked him up, flaming swords inches from their faces.

  “I’m going to gut you, Boy! Yield, before I fill your belly with steel.”

  “Not if I fill yours first!”

  Crack!

  He head-butted Jeb in the nose.

  Blood flowed over Jeb's teeth and lips as he staggered away.

  The crowd cried foul.

  “It’s a fair move!” the barkeep shouted.

  Jeb spat the blood from his face, grimacing as he switched his sword from one hand to the other, then back again. A desperate look was filling his eyes.

  “Kill him, Jeb!” one of his men said.

  Georgio held his sword up and out and said, “I can do this all day.”

  It felt like his entire hand was on fire, and the steel was beginning to stick to his skin. He fought the urge to switch hands after
one person said:

  “He’s not even switched hands yet. Jeb’s done so three times!”

  Jeb charged.

  Georgio backpedaled away from Jeb’s lunging swings and misses.

  “Getting hot, isn’t it, Jeb!” Georgio said.

  Jeb’s sword clattered to the ground as he fell to his knees and cried, “Sweet Mother of Bish! Water! I yield! Water!” The thug was blowing his smoldering hands.

  “Somebody piss on the baby’s hands!”

  Billip strolled over to Jeb with a bucket of water and said, “Ah- Ah –Ah … pay first, then take this bucket and get your arses out of here!”

  “Georgio! Drop the sword; you won!” Mikkel exclaimed.

  Georgio was stunned. His hand kept burning until it was almost done. He looked over at the barkeep, who nodded, shook his head, and walked away.

  He flung the blade from his palm, felt his legs buckle, and then the strong hands of Mikkel dragged him away. He thought he heard someone cry out something about underlings as he started puking in the floor.

  CHAPTER 13

  Thorn sunk one blade into the plank floor were Lefty was a blink ago. The halfling boy leaped from table top to table top as the big rogue ran roughshod through the tavern.

  “Somebody grab that little bastard,” Thorn yelled.

  The big thief’s face was pink and white, the raw skin exposed. It was pretty clear Thorn blamed them for his demise. But it had been Kam who shoved him into the fireplace, not them. Of course, they'd had a little something to do with the fact that he was jailed. Gillem had walloped him over the head, and Kam’s spell had silenced him for a while. But it seemed Thorn’s corrupt connections had won out. He was free to avenge himself.

  “Settle down, Thorn. We’ve got nothing to do with you!” Gillem said from atop a table. “I’m still the Master here, not you. Sheath those swords or be trialed!”

  Thorn lowered his short swords by his side and sneered under his burnt and crooked nose as he walked towards the table.

  “The Bone I will, Gillem, you little halfling toad!”

  Gillem ducked under the first cut and leaped over the other.

  Lefty threw a wine bottle that careened off the side of Thorn’s head.

  “Blast you two rodents! Somebody grab them! That’s an order! They’re traitors! They left me behind!”

  Gillem leapt to another table and surveyed the room. Lefty watched from behind a chair. There was a shift in the room as everyone got a closer look at Thorn’s face.

  “They watched the woman burn me and did not come to my aid,” Thorn whined. “Had me jailed, my lips sealed by magic, and dragged away by the Watch.” He spat. “Gillem, you’re not the thief you used to be. Nothing more than an aging mushroom.”

  Gillem stood his ground, stuck his pipe in between his lips and laughed.

  “Is that so, coming from the man who guards a door? One trip up top, and you come back roasted like a log, blaming me.”

  The older halfling had the room's full attention now. His voice the father of all fathers. A thief among thieves. “How embarrassing that must be for you. And naturally, being the bully that you are, you take the fight to the tiniest man in the room, Lefty.” Gillem puffed a smoke ring. “And when you can't manage to lay a finger on him, you come after me, and asking for the aid of your brethren as well. I’m ashamed. Ashamed for you and ashamed for the thieves' guild.”

  Thorn’s swords were quavering in his hands, his knuckles white, his face full of shame and anger.

  “Why you little liar! Fraud! You’re cohorts with that wench up there! When I speak to Palos, I’ll prove it.”

  The rogues in the house looked back and forth between the two men and each other. Lefty remained still. He knew Palos wasn’t going to take Gillem’s word for anything anymore. He could tell. The way the man spoke to Master Gillem was often harsh and uncalled for. It was clear to him the Prince of Thieves didn’t like that halfling anymore.

  “Talk all you want, Thorn. Please do. I’m sure Prince Palos has nothing better to do than hear your petty excuses. It was my plan that snatched the child, and my plan that got the woman here. You come back with nothing but a sack full of blame …”

  Lefty looked down at his watery feet on the floor.

  Oh no! What’s wrong? Why are my feet sweating?

  He scanned the room. No other daggers were drawn. Where’s Diller? He looked up at the top of the stairs. The man was there, toothpick and all, a devious look on his face, but he wasn’t alone. Lefty’s tongue clove to the roof of his mouth as he tried to yell out.

  “… Ha!” Gillem continued, chest out, hitching his thumbs in his pants. “I’m sure he’ll enjoy that more than gold.”

  Clatch-Zip!

  Thorn jumped five feet backward. Gillem stood with eyes as big as the moon as he looked down at the bolt protruding from his chest.

  Clatch-Zip!

  The next one caught him clean in the throat. Gillem swayed left and right as the pipe fell from his mouth and clunked on the table. Lefty caught him as he fell, and searched his eyes, only to find an empty blank stare. Now the only friend he had left in the world was dead. No! Just like that! How? No! He looked up and saw the leering face of Palos. Cold and crazy.

  “The trial has begun and ended, in the favor of my newest Master, Thorn!” Palos said, handing Diller back over his crossbow. “Now, bring me the halfling boy, and dispose of the other one in the cemetery beneath the water.”

  No hope. Drained of all vitality, Lefty was limp as several rough hands dragged him up the stairs.

  ***

  Kam sat, chin dipped, huddled in a rocking chair by the fire, arms folded across her chest, rubbing her shoulders. She was an empty vessel as Palos got up to check the commotion outside.

  “Don’t move an inch,” he ordered, slipping a thin dagger through the belt on his robes and strutting to the door.

  Think, Kam!

  Fear ruined her hopes as Palos crossed the threshold of the door, his back to her, but Diller, long and sly, stood just outside the doorway, leering at her from time to time. She ran her fingers between her neck and the choker Palos had imprisoned her magic with. It was a wispy thing that tightened like a garrote if she tugged on it.

  “Ugh!” she growled.

  Time was running out for her; she could feel it. Not only her, but Erin as well. It was only a matter of time before Palos tired of her, unless of course, she played his little strumpet. No! I’ll die first! She scanned the room. Certainly Palos had hidden things that she could use. He’d just produced a dagger from nowhere. That meant there had to be something else. Paintings, a great sword, etchings in the marble mantle, fanciful rugs over a polished hardwood floor, statues, candelabras and more.

  “Hmmm …,” she muttered, eyes flicking towards Diller, who at the moment seemed to be enthralled with the commotion on the lower floor. There were marble ashtrays as big as her hand. A poker for stoking the wood and coals in the fireplace. An onyx figurine of a part woman, part fox stood over a foot tall on a pedestal. It seemed there were some things, unconventional things, she could use to bash his head in, after all. She picked at her lip. Then what? She’d still need help to remove the choker, and how would she escape after that? It can’t be hopeless.

  Clatch-Zip!

  She jerked in her chair, biting her lip. Immediately, her thigh began to throb, and her heart pounded like a fearful rabbit's.

  Clatch-Zip!

  She jerked again, more so than the last time. She pulled her legs up and curled into the chair. She heard Palos’s words to the men below before he strolled back in, sneering and angry.

  “Good!” he said, walking in and taking a seat at the table. “You didn’t move. I’d hate to have to cut a toe off, but I’ve had it done before. Now, make yourself presentable. We’re having company.”

  A lurking figure filled the doorway. It was Thorn. He leered at her like a hungry dog as he stepped inside and took a seat at the table. I should have killed
him.

  Diller followed, chewing his toothpick, dragging Lefty by his collar like a heavy sack.

  Kam felt her heart sink. Is he dead? No, it can’t be! Her nose started to run as the door was closed from the outside. She sniffled.

  “Don’t start blathering, Kam.” Palos took a quaff of wine. “Your little friend is alive, for now. But, I’m sorry to say, it seems Master Gillem has had a most unfortunate accident.” Thorn and Diller snickered. “He impaled himself on a pair of crossbow bolts. One of the most bizarre things I ever saw.”

  Kam’s eyes drifted to Palos’s. There was nothing but the cold-blooded look of a butcher in his eyes. He enjoyed seeing her suffer. He thrived on his power over people. She could feel it. She looked over at Lefty as Diller lifted him to his feet by the scruff of his neck. The little liar’s feet were dripping wet, and his swollen eyes were glued on the floor. She almost felt bad for him. He sobbed. Her heart opened as the boy stood there … broken. She turned away, head towards the burning coals under the mantle. She realized it couldn’t have all been his fault.

  “Kam, Dear, please come and sit at the table with the rest of the family. We’ve much to discuss,” Palos said, stretching his arms over his head and yawning. “Whew … the hot bath you gave me took a lot out of me.”

  Slime! She rocked forward, shuffled over, and slid into a chair, head down. She’d never been in the presence of people she actually hated, and now there were three of them. The most hated men in the world.

  “When can I see Erin?” she said, trying to hide the quivering in her voice. “You were about to send for her before all the commotion.”

  She jumped as Palos rapped his fist on the table.

  “That can wait! We’ve business to discuss. It seems Master Thorn has brought a different story forward as opposed to the one spun by the former Master Gillem and his apprentice … er … Lefty.”

  “What would you know?” she said, the fire rising in her voice. “Both men are liars. What difference does the truth make at this point? You have me. Does it really matter how I got here?”

  “Well …”

  She sat up and pulled her shoulders back and twirled her hair.

  “What does this roasted oaf have to offer you that I cannot, Prince Palos? It seems quite peculiar.”