Chaos At The Castle (Book Six) Page 8

  This can’t be happening!

  There was nothing she could do. The underling reached down, fondled her hair, and wrapped a rope around her neck. Chittering an order, another hulking albino underling, the likes of which she never imagined, grabbed the rope, jerked her stiff body to the ground and dragged her up the ravine through the creek.

  She could feel everything.

  CHAPTER 13

  “Just tell me,” Boon said.

  They were doubled up on the horse’s saddle, and Fogle had gotten tired of telling Boon no. It did feel good however to have his grandfather by the short hairs of his beard for a change. Still, he wasn’t going to tell his secret about how to find the underlings.

  “No!”

  It felt good saying it.

  Ahead, Barton led the way with great strides, swinging his heavy arms that almost dragged on the landscape. Fogle still had a difficult time wrapping his head around people being so big. It didn’t seem natural or possible, yet in the City of Three, there were three giant statues in the park he remembered seeing as a boy. The stone-faced figures seemed so real at the time, but as he got older he gave them little thought.

  And all this time they said the city was named after the great waterfalls. How many other lies have I been led to believe were true?

  Boon hopped off the saddle, scowling. “I’m tired of riding.”

  “Good,” Fogle said.

  It was dark, overcast above, the clouds giving off a dull light from the moons.

  “Tis a good way to travel, with the clouds out. The moons cast too many shadows, making it easier for things to hide,” Boon remarked.

  “Well, what are you up to now?”

  Boon was floating along his side, arms crossed over his chest, smiling.

  “Are you using magic? I thought you told me to save my power for battles. In the book it says, and you wrote it yourself, ‘Not for frivolous use’.” Fogle’s brows were knitted.

  “I didn’t write that for myself, but for you. Besides, I have a great deal more power than you.”

  “What?” Fogle began to object.

  But Boon floated high in the air, stretching his arms out exclaiming, ‘Weeeeeeeeeeeeee’.”

  Fogle huffed.

  Madman!

  As he watched his grandfather swoop up and down in the sky, he couldn’t help but be a little jealous. He wished he could be carefree and dangerous at the same time. He wished he had Boon’s fearless edge.

  How did he get like that?

  Barton stopped, eyeballing the floating wizard. He pointed his log of a finger at the man, looked back at Fogle, and giggled. “Barton wants to float like birdie too, Wizard. Can you send me up there? Hee hee!”

  I’d love to send you both sailing away. Nothing would delight me more.

  Fogle rode his horse alongside the giant, stared into Barton’s good eye, and smiled. “No.”

  “Aw.” Barton kicked up a chunk of dirt. “I’ve never flown before. If I could fly, I could beat that dragon!” He punched his fist into his hand. “Hate that dragon!”

  Dragon?

  “Barton?”

  The giant was staring into the sky, looking for Boon, who’d disappeared.

  “Barton!”

  “Hmmm?” Barton still eyed the sky.

  “What dragon are you talking about?”

  “Blackie.” His fingers clutched in and out.

  Whatever Blackie is, Barton really doesn’t like it.

  “Eh … can you tell me more about Blackie?”

  Barton yawned and started walking away, watching the sky and craning his neck as he did so. “I can tell you about Blackie. Barton hate Blackie. Barton hides and Blackie always finds him. Picks him up and flies him home.”

  “Picks you up? All of you?”

  “Blackie’s big. Strong wings. Picks Barton up like a hawk and rodent. Hate Blackie. Hate him.”

  Oh great. Giants, underlings, and dragons are after us. And all I have is this horse to ride on. Bish! I wish Mood were here! What else is there in this world?

  “Barton, tell me more about where you come from. Are there many giants and dragons?”

  “Oh yes. Many of both, but more giants.” He scratched his head. “I think so. Barton likes to hide in the Mist. Many things do.”

  “Is this dragon, Blackie, coming after you now, you think?”

  “Hmmmm … well, little man with axe said he chopped Blackie’s wings. Maybe, maybe not, but you’ll know. ‘Whump. Whump. Whump.’ You’ll know. Hate that sound. ‘Whump. Whump. Whump.’”

  All of his life, Fogle had seen many things named after dragons. Taverns. Streets. And so on. But he never knew anyone that admitted to seeing one until now.

  I wonder if Mood has seen one? I wonder if it’s true.

  Fogle dug his heels into his horse. It lurched forward and caught back up with Barton.

  “What else can you tell me about where you’re from? Is it just like this, but bigger?”

  “I guess so. But, I’ve only seen little of this place. More water though. Much more water. Splash. Splash. I like the water. I like to drown Blackie in water. Yes! Yes! Drown Blackie!”

  He’s demented.

  “Are there people my size?”

  “Yes. Many.”

  “Are there underlings?”

  “Those little black peoples that try to kill Barton?”

  “Yes.”

  “No.”

  Feeling a little foolish, Fogle realized that if he ever got the time, perhaps it would do him some good to ask his grandfather more about where he’d been and what he’d seen. And to remember that Venir had been there too.

  Barton stopped.

  Fogle pulled on his reins. An eerie feeling fell over him as he watched the backs of Barton’s ears bend up and down with a life of their own. Thoughts of a giant black dragon dropping through the clouds raced through his mind.

  “Woof. Woof.”

  “Blackie?” Fogle said. He crouched down, eyeing the sky.

  “No. Woof. Woof. Like dog. Big one.”

  “Like Chongo?” Fogle said, sitting up, excited.

  Barton nodded and pointed.

  “That way! Uh oh.” His ears wiggled.

  “What!”

  Barton looked back at him, scratching his shoulder, sniffing the air. “I hear many of those little black things too.”

  “How far?”

  “Pretty far for you, not so far for me,” Barton said. He turned and jogged off.

  Fogle snapped the reins. Inky, his ebony hawk, swooped down from the clouds and soared above him. Focusing, his eyes and Inky’s became one.

  Scout ahead.

  Inky darted through the air, a black streak in the night, soaring by Barton’s head and out of sight.

  Cass! Is she close?

  “Slow down!” Boon said. He dropped from the sky. “I can only float so fast!”

  Fogle wasn’t listening. He was galloping.

  Come on! Come on! Cass, where are you?

  Inky’s vision was different than a man’s. Where a man saw shadows and the dark shapes in the night, Inky saw pale illuminating lines that separated one object from another. Ahead, rocks and brush, typical of what they saw, but they weren’t heading south anymore. They were heading west, or so Fogle thought.

  “Barton! Slow down!”

  The giant kept going. One mile became two, then three.

  How far can he hear, anyway?

  Inky, flying ahead, didn’t pick up anything extraordinary, but a series of jagged cliffs was ahead. Fogle whipped the reins. He was right on Barton’s heels.

  The giant labored for breath, clutched his side, and slowed. He waded into a pool of water. He pointed towards the top of some cliffs, where a small stream of water gushed like a waterfall.

  Fogle’s horse clomped into the water, bent its neck and began to drink.

  “Hold on, Barton,” he said. He closed his eyes.

  Inky soared along the edge of the cliff, and Fo
gle could see everything.

  Trees. Trees. Bushes. Creek. Is that a giant spider? “Mother of Bish—Underlings!”

  Speckled eyes were like bright dots in the forest as Inky sailed by. A series of crossbow bolts assailed the bird.

  Fogle lurched in his saddle and toppled into the water.

  “What happened? Barton said. He helped him up.

  “Slat happened! That’s what! They’re up there, Barton.” Fogle pointed. “I can feel it.”

  Barton dug his hands into the ravine rock and began climbing up. “I know.”

  Fogle sent Inky into the fray above.

  “I’ll be ready this time,” he said, wringing the water out of his robes.

  Inky sailed above the top of the grove, dove down and landed high in the branches. He could see the pale figures of the underlings heading back up the creek, dozens of them. And clumps of black hairy flesh on the ground were burning.

  What is that?

  Bringing up the rear, they were dragging something, something shaped like a—

  Woman! Cass!

  Grabbing the vines at the base of the cliff, he climbed. Ten feet up he went. Ten feet down he came.

  Splash!

  Wiping the water from his face, he yelled, “Come back and get me, Barton!”

  But the giant was already halfway up a hundred foot scale.

  “Save Cass!” he said. “Bone! I have to get up there qui—ulp!”

  Two strong arms hoisted him for the pool and took him upward.

  “You need a lift, I see,” Boon said. “Prepare a chain of energy, Fogle.”

  “No! That will kill Cass! This is a rescue, not a battle!”

  “How many, Fogle?”

  “Dozens at least.” They floated alongside Barton. “And giant spiders too.”

  Barton laughed. “Many fun. Wizards make many fun.”

  “Hurry up, Boon,” Fogle said.

  The thought of Cass being dead rattled him. He could still see her limp form being dragged away.

  “We need a plan,” Boon said. “Barton, when you crest that edge, get after them. Fogle, you and I will grab the woman, but you need to focus. They’ll have darts, poison, paralyzation at their disposal. We’ll need thicker skin to drag her out of there. Much thicker.”

  Fogle knew immediately what Boon was talking about and summoned his power. He’d readied the spell in his mind earlier. His skin toughened like hide leather. Boon dipped under his added weight.

  “Well done. Now, when you get her, grab her and get out of there. I’ll handle the rest,” Boon said. He stopped just below the crest. Barton hung on the rock at their side. “Can you make that jump if you have to, Barton?”

  His big face leered down. He said, “Barton will make big splash!”

  “And don’t forget about the dog,” Boon said. “Now listen to me, Fogle, don’t come back for me. Get to safety. I’ll catch up if I have to. Ah, and one more thing.”

  Boon led them over the edge and set Fogle down. Barton cleared the lip and rolled to his feet. Fogle could see the underlings and spiders heading back up the path less than thirty yards away.

  Boon held out his hands.

  “Barton, give me your finger.”

  Barton extended his hand.

  “You going to make me fly?”

  Boon wrapped his hands around the giant’s finger and smiled. “No. I’m going to make you fast. Very fast! But it won’t last long, so make the most of it.”

  Barton’s face brightened like the suns.

  “Go! Go! GOOOOOO!” Barton said. He smashed his fist in his palm. “This is gonna be fun!”

  Fogle could see every underling stop and turn. Like black coyotes, they dashed down the ravine. Angry. Chittering. Two spiders the size of horses scurried over the waters at full charge.

  Barton met them all head on. His fists drummed like giant flails. “Barton hate bugs!”

  The first spider and rider were turned into piles of goo. More underlings and spiders piled on the giant. Barton was a hurricane of flesh in their midst. Snatching, stomping, tearing and rending them like bugs.

  “I see the dog.” Boon pointed. “Move now, Fogle. I’ll try to cover you.”

  Without thinking, Fogle ran up the wall of the ravine. Through the ebony hawk’s eyes, he could see Cass’s form still being dragged along. He pushed his way through the branches and caught one in the face. Blasted trees! His chest was heaving when he emerged in the clearing. He cut into the underling’s path.

  The underling stopped. Pale blue eyes leering at him. It pulled a short jagged sword from its belt and charged.

  Fogle summoned a word of power, shattering its blade.

  The underling kept coming. Slammed into him full force, driving him into the ground. In an instant it wrapped its claws around Fogle’s throat.

  He couldn’t breathe. It was strong as a man, but Fogle was stronger. The iron skin he’d summoned saw to that. He grabbed the underling by the wrists and started pulling them away.

  “Must! Save! Cass!” he said. He gave it a heave, tearing its arms away.

  It hissed, sinking its teeth into his shoulder.

  Fogle didn’t feel a thing.

  It bit again. Its claws ripped at his robes.

  “These are my only robes, you fiend! The Bish with you!”

  Grabbing a round rock from the stream bed, he clocked it in the head.

  The underling held on, determined, like a hungry badger.

  Fogle muttered a word of power, ignited his rock-filled hand, and smote the underling again in the skull.

  Crack!

  Its head busted open like an egg. Its jaw slackened.

  Fogle shoved its dead body off him, gasping for breath.

  “Cass!”

  Pitching the rock, Fogle scurried alongside her. Removing the rope from around her neck, he lifted her limp form up in his arms and backtracked.

  Ahead, the battle raged on. Barton’s bellows echoed up the ravine like thunder, and bright bursts of energy sizzled and crackled into the underlings from all directions. Even the barks of two angry hound heads could be heard. But the woman in his arms was not moving.

  “Hang on, Cass.” He was shoving his way through the thicket. Inky, in the branches above, shrieked. Fogle stopped. Something else was moving their way, and moving fast. He surged through the forest.

  “Boon! Boon!” he said. Finally, He emerged where he’d started.

  Barton and Chongo were finishing off the underlings. Boon’s hands were smoking.

  “I see you got her!”

  “Boon, you know that spell for the portal?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “We could use it now.” Fogle tried to contain his panic. “Underlings are coming. I can see them. Hundreds are close and beyond them, thousands!”

  “Go then! Continue your quest, Grandson! I’ll slow them down. Use the spellbook!” He looked over the falls. “Make it count!”

  Fogle could see Barton and Chongo’s work was finished. Both were bleeding, but the underlings and spiders were pulverized.

  “We’ll all flee together, Boon! You gave your word.”

  “To save the girl and the dog, not the man!”

  “But, he has all the power, you said.” Still holding Cass’s limp body, Fogle muttered, summoning a cushion of air along the falls. “Barton, Chongo, come!”

  Obeying, they came, stepping off the drop into mid-air where they slowly lowered.

  “Come on, Boon! They’re close! You can’t take them all!”

  Boon stared back at him with a grim smile on his face. “They’re so much more fun to kill in bunches!”

  Drifting down past the lip, he lost sight of Boon. He shook his head until they landed at the pool in the bottom.

  Barton rinsed the blood from his hands. “That was fun. We do that again soon, right Wizard?”

  Fogle draped Cass over the saddle and swung himself up onto the horse.

  “Sure, Barton.” He dug his heels into his ho
rse.

  Barton and Chongo followed.

  Inky soared above the grove, showing Fogle swarm after swarm of underlings piling inside. They coated the landscape like black moss.

  One moment, the grove was calm and quiet. In the next was a series of explosions and bright colorful spots.

  “Enjoy, Grandfather.” Fogle didn’t look back. He couldn’t fight the feeling he’d never see his grandfather again. No one could survive that. Not even The Darkslayer. Come, Inky.

  CHAPTER 14

  Toowhip.

  Toowhip.

  Toowhip.

  Venir opened the heavy lids of his eyes, squinting in the brightness. It was daytime. It was pain time. Everything from head to toe throbbed.

  Toowhip.

  Toowhip.

  Toowhip.

  Something struck his face again and again, like tiny stinging insects. His arms rattled, and his wrists ached. From the corner of his eye, he saw a long metal needle jutting from his face.

  What?

  There were needles in his arms, dozens of them, each leaving a red swelling mark. His head felt like it weighed a ton. He lifted his chin and locked eyes with a ruby eyed underling. One of many. His arm trembled in his bonds. This can’t be!

  It was Outpost Thirty One, but filled with a different ilk, underlings. Hundreds of them were at work within the walls of the huge fort, pushing carts over the courtyard, hammering steel by forges, and ordering motley assortments of men, orcs and kobolds about. Remnants of the Brigand Queen’s army. It was a vision of Venir’s world turned inside out. A nightmare.

  Toowhip.

  Toowhip.

  Three underling soldiers, little more than five feet tall, adorned in black leather armor, had Venir surrounded. Each reloaded a small blowgun and spat a needle at him. One chittered, pointed at his face with the long nail of his finger, and spat.

  Toowhip.

  Struck him on the tip of his nose.

  “Come closer, Underling, and I’ll shove that up your arse,” he said. But it was unintelligible. His tongue was thick as wool.

  Ignoring the throbbing, Venir scanned his conditions. He was on a set of scaffolding two stories tall and shackled to the wooden blood-stained deck. On the corner of the deck, a bucket sat, with moisture on its lip. He thirsted. Below him, underlings were at work, some staring up with gemstone eyes to catch a look at him. They chittered and gestured. Some laughed before looking away. He’d never heard an underling laugh before. It was a disturbing sound. Shrill and creepy.