The Darkslayer: Book 05 - Outrage in the Outlands Page 8

  “Why, you!” Thorn said, drawing his swords.

  “Stop!” Palos ordered. “Thorn, my woman speaks. You do not. Continue, my dearest. Please.”

  Diller covered his mouth, eyes glimmering from beyond.

  “This ugly fool tried to seduce me. Pawed at me like a hungry lion.”

  Palos’s eyes narrowed.

  “I defended myself. Launched him into the fire. It was Gillem who stopped me from turning this lout … that you call Master … into a charred log. I should have killed him.” She clenched her fists and shook them at him. “But Gillem had him spared. I melted his lips and ears, a minor incantation, and had him dragged off by the City Watch.”

  He shifted back toward Palos, who sat slunk forward, eyes glaring at Thorn with suspicion.

  “Prince, I never laid a finger on her,” Thorn said, his eyes shifting back and forth between her and him. Behind him, Diller lowered a crossbow on his back. “I swear, my lord. She—”

  Palos sprang on top of the table. “She was to be defiled by no one, Thorn!” Thorn stood at rigid attention as Palos poked the tip of his dagger at his nose. “Which hand did he touch you with, dearest Kam?”

  “Both, my Prince.”

  “Hold them out, Thorn.”

  “B-But …”

  “Hold them out! Diller!”

  She could hear Diller’s finger squeezing the trigger.

  Thorn lifted his hands, palms up, parallel to the ground.

  “Yes, Milord.”

  Stab! Stab!

  Stab! Stab!

  Like a striking snake, Palos dotted two holes in each palm.

  Thorn’s bloody hands quavered in the air, fear and agony growing on his face.

  “Easy, Thorn,” Palos looked down on him and patted his shoulder. “If the daggers had been tip triggered, you’d be dead from the venom already,” Palos said, needling the bronze snake-scaled hilt beneath the fang-like blade as he tucked it away from sight.

  “Uh … thank you, Prince.”

  Palos whirled towards Kam and said, “Is there anything you wish to add, Dearest?”

  Kam shook her head. There had been enough blood shed for the day. Another death, even the likes of Thorn’s, was not something she cared to partake in.

  “Go …, Master Thorn, and patch your wounds. I want both Diller and you to return back to your posts.”

  “And the halfling, Pal—“”

  Palos shot Diller an angry stare.

  “Er … Prince Palos?” Diller corrected, shifting his toothpick from one side to the other.

  “Oh …” Palos said looking down at the tiny sad-eyed boy as he resumed his seat at the table. “Bind him up. Leave him here, and let him mourn the loss of his kindred friend.” He drummed his pudgy fingers on the table. “Thorn, I’ve had a change of heart, given the evidence presented. See to it Master Gillem is given a proper burial. After all, he was my own mentor, and it’s possible I’ll regret my actions tomorrow, or next week maybe. But remember this, you over-sized rogue. My doubt can be quite deadly.”

  He’s mad! Kam struggled with the fear that coiled within her belly. She ached from head to toe. Somewhere, her baby girl hungered. She could feel it. Within her, she had the power to stop it, but couldn’t use it without killing herself. She knew full well what the collar around her neck did: it used her power against her.

  “Have a drink, Dearest. You look quite thirsty,” Palos said, taking another guzzle of wine, the gentility returning to his voice. “You see, running a kingdom, albeit a dark and secret one, has many consequences, and a ruler like me can never be too careful.” He reached over and patted her hand and licked his lips. “But being in charge gives you all the power you want and so many, many rewards.

  Kam swallowed hard and gave a slight nod while Diller shackled Lefty with a network of rope like chains made from absidium, a thin metal that was stronger than hammered iron. Lefty stood in silence, narrow shoulders sagging, his mop of yellow hair cast down … defeated. The boy had come to the City of Three like a shining beacon of life, but nervous. Adept in magic, quick-witted and sure-footed, a promising little sparrow—now with both wings broken.

  “Where do you want him?” Diller said, pulling Lefty up on his tip toes by his hair.

  “Hmmm …” Palos said, looking up from the coins he was stacking. “Well, hitch him by the foot of my tub over there, and don’t leave any slack in it, either.”

  Kam didn’t turn as she heard Diller dragging Lefty away. A wave of guilt washed over her. The boy had lost his real family once already, to the underlings. He’d lost his friends from the Magi Roost as well. Now, his third family had betrayed him. Maybe he didn’t know better, but he should have. Blast Venir for leaving those boys with me!

  As Diller started to leave, she asked, “Can I please see my baby now, Prince Palos?”

  “Can I please see my baby now, Prince Palos?” he said, imitating her voice.

  “I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me.”

  “I’ve done everything you’ve asked —”

  “Palos!” She rose from her chair. “You gave me your word! Now bring me my baby!”

  “NO!” he slammed his fists into the table. “NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!”

  She saw a feverish look in his eye, and his steady hands began to tremble.

  “Diller!” he shouted. “Bind her as well. I need rest.”

  He got up, calmly walked into his bedroom, and closed the door.

  He’s crazy!

  Diller was coming her way, chains wrapped around his hands, toothpick rolling in and out of his mouth.

  “Alone at last …”

  CHAPTER 14

  The marketplace was humming with activity as the merchants hoisted their voices high in the air, competing to sell their wares. The people of Bone, hundreds, a rugged lot, were well prepared for anything. They stumbled, rumbled, bristled and hissed at one another, fighting over fruits and metal pots. The pickpockets and urchins were out in full force, squeezing their fingers into tiny crevices and snatching purses one at a time. It was all expected in the course of doing daily business in the harshest city in the world. After all, the citizens of Bone were prepared for anything, so they said, until today.

  A woman shrieked. The crowd slowed, heads looking around for the source of the outburst that was suddenly cut short.

  KA-CHOW!

  Something exploded. A cart of fruit was thrown high in the air. A unified gasp followed as all eyes turned to the sky. There, Verbard hovered, feeding on their sudden fear. Each face was a puzzled knot of confusion. He let them have it.

  A frizzy brown-haired woman holding a large melon gawped at his appearance a split second before she exploded. Verbard and his fellow magi floated above chaos, spraying their deadly magic from one street corner to the other. Juegen soldiers, led by Jottenhiem, black armor glistening in the sunlight, spilled from the alley’s shadows like a pack of hungry wolves. The census in Bone would be lower this year. Men, women and urchins fell beneath the precise cuts of underling blades. Necks were opened, hands and arms lopped off.

  Eep snatched a boy from the ground, black wings buzzing as he lifted him high in the air and dropped him into the fray below. Behind Verbard, another mage summoned his power. The sewers, cracks and crevices began to fill with large ants and cockroaches, insects of all kinds. They scurried over all things living and dead, a terrifying army of another kind.

  The badoon underlings, naked from the waist to the shoulders, fired missile upon missile into even the fleetest of feet, sending their bearers reeling to the ground. A heavy man with hunched over shoulders, bolts piercing his back, waded through the desperate crowd, grabbed a heavy rope at the corner, and started ringing a brass metal bell.

  Let them come, Verbard thought, silver eyes charged with energy.

  As he floated over the chaos where the streets began to slicken with blood, he felt nothing but satisfaction. As Jottenhiem led a wedge of blood coated Juegen soldiers, the humans kept p
iling up. But fear outweighed their forces, and within moments of the beginning of the onslaught, the entire marketplace was cleared. Like rats, the humans had disappeared into their dark little holes. Only the dead and the twitching remained.

  Verbard and his men surveyed their surroundings. The small buildings had every door secured and every window shut.

  Jottenhiem put an ailing man out of his misery as he shouted up in underling, “What are your orders, Lord Verbard? We’re ready for more!”

  Eep, come!

  The one-eyed imp hummed to his side with an arm hanging out of his razor sharp mouth.

  Scout. Let me know what comes. If anything.

  The imp nodded and buzzed away.

  Brethren magi! Set fire to everything you see!

  The black robed underlings fanned out over the market square, toes hovering over the ground as high as the buildings. All hands, twelve in all, ignited with fire. Verbard could feel the radiant heat of pouring flame erupting from the magi surrounding him. Below him, the Juegen and Badoon decapitated the dead and tossed the heads through the windows.

  Excellent!

  Verbard rose higher in the air overlooking the vast city and the castle tops that surrounded the walls. He felt small in the presence of it all. Below him, the smoke and fires were growing, but it was little more than a campfire compared to the rest of it all. His strike seemed futile compared to what was needed to take this city. Suicide mission. Master Sinway couldn’t be serious. There were so many people.

  Eep hummed along his side, crunching an arm between his teeth before swallowing.

  “A large host of armored riders on horseback come riding under Royal banners.”

  “How many?”

  “Two score or more,” Eep hissed, wringing his clawed hands.

  An arc of light struck Eep full force in the chest and sent him spiraling downward, his small body disappearing into the smoke. Verbard felt the power of many minds converging on him at once. Suicide Mission.

  ***

  Inside Castle Almen, another battle raged. The human soldiers fought hard but were incredibly slow. Kierway’s sword flashed twice for every one of their heavy strokes. He sank his blade deep into the heart of one man and sliced out the neck of another. It seemed he and the Vicious, as well as the Juegen and Magi, had come upon the barracks confined within Castle Almen. Their surprise was short-lived. The humans were well fortified and prepared, barricading the tunnels and sealing the doors. Still, in such an enormous place it would take quite some time to find what they were looking for. That’s the other reason the magi came.

  “Find me that cleric,” Kierway ordered, withdrawing his blade from the armored belly of his last victim.

  At his side, the Vicious, the black hulking brute with skin as hard as armor, was crushing the neck of another soldier whose feet twitched above the ground.

  It felt good, killing all these men. His natural enemies. His most hated foes. But he was in unfamiliar territory. The walls were closing in as time elapsed. He had to find that cleric and get those keys before the Royals, and their total garrison, cut them off completely. Based off all that he had seen, there must be more than seventy fighting men, if not a hundred, who guarded the castle, and they wouldn’t all be push overs.

  A mage with bright blue eyes drifted in from the door of another room and beckoned towards him.

  Kierway smiled, looked over to his soldiers, and said, “Follow me.”

  Clatch-Zip!

  Kierway ducked as a bolt ripped past his head.

  Clatch-Zip!

  Clatch-Zip!

  The blue-eyed mage was shot down, spilling to the floor in a heap, two bolts embedded in his head. Three soldiers armored in plate mail emerged on the other side of the room, tossing down their heavy crossbows as they drew their bastard swords.

  “Bish blast my eyes!” one of them yelled, “Underlings in Bone. I’d never have believed it if I weren't seeing it for myself.”

  “They bleed the same as men!” said another.

  “Attack,” Kierway ordered in underling.

  The Juegen soldiers rushed in, swords flashing out as they cut into their foes. The men, tall and heavy, leaned into the smaller people. Broad arcing swings came from heavy handed blows as the Juegen shifted and ducked away.

  The armored Royal soldiers chopped down, their blades clanging from the stone floor. The underlings shifted their stances, swords licking out like snakes, glancing off the heavy mail of the bigger fighters.

  “Put your weight on them. They're small and fast, but we can wear them down,” a Royal said, taking a swing into the chest and knocking down a Juegen fighter. The underling rolled back to his feet.

  “They don’t bleed,” one soldier yelled.

  “If you can’t cut them, stab them!”

  Kierway rolled his eyes. The underling armor was as hard as it was light, but it didn’t make them invulnerable. He was running out of time. If more heavy soldiers rushed in, they’d be cornered. He needed to keep his small group together. He chittered an order. The Juegen pressed the man left of center, blades licking out like a pit of striking snakes.

  Kierway attacked. In one fluid motion, he sidestepped one soldier's swing and jammed his blade backwards into the lower abdomen of the other. One soldier remained, backing towards the door as the Juegen peeled away the armor and skin of the other with their swords. One second three men stood valiantly, in the next only one remained. The soldier glanced at Kierway, a determined look under his helmet.

  “You’re fast, even for a little one, I’ll grant you that—”

  The Vicious leapt over Kierway’s back and landed on top of the soldier.

  Wham! Wham! Wham!

  The Vicious punched the soldier's head into the wall, denting the metal and crushing the man’s skull.

  “Well done,” Kierway commented, sheathing his sword.

  Another underling, eyes bright like sapphires, glided to Kierway’s side.

  “I think we’ve located the man you’re looking for,” it said, extending its hand.

  Kierway gazed at a vision on the underling mage’s palm. A vision of Sefron the cleric was there. Brow sweating, belly bulging over his tiny belt, glossy eyes filled with fear.

  “That’s him. Lead the way!”

  Five more heavily armored soldiers spilled into the barracks' front doorway.

  “Take them out!” he said to the three Juegen soldiers.

  They burst into action, hurling their bodies and swinging their swords into the big men with heavy arms. Their chitters were filled with rage as they tried to whittle the force of men down one by one while Kierway, the Vicious and the two remaining magi made their escape through the castle passages with the sound of heavy boots coming from all directions.

  CHAPTER 15

  Wriggling in the heavy ropes of the net, Venir managed to get his hands around the neck of one underling soldier and squeeze. The underling's orange eyes bulged out of its sockets while it stabbed into Venir’s arm with a dagger. Venir held tight as he and the other trapped underlings were dragged over the rugged terrain.

  The underlings thrashed, hissed and howled, their sharp claws stretching through the heavy netting trying to carve off a piece of his hide.

  Venir upped the pressure, fingers crushing his victim's windpipe.

  “Tell your fiend brother good-bye, you black jackals!”

  He felt the underling’s throat collapse. The remaining brood surged within their bonds.

  “Have at me, then!” he yelled.

  Venir wrenched the dagger from his arm and sawed at the cords. His muscles tightened in his neck at a sucking and shrieking sound that froze the marrow in his bones. The underlings were dragging him toward another enormous spider ahead that feasted on a horse and rider. He sawed faster.

  All around him, the sounds of battle still surged. The underlings chittered in anger and pain, and the Royal Riders thundered past, shouting battle cries at the top of their lungs.


  KA-CHOW!

  A wave of energy knocked several from their horses.

  “Bone!”

  Venir could feel the tide of battle turning. The shock and surprise had worn off, and the underlings, they were a well-oiled machine: quick, efficient and deadly. From all directions, they swarmed the men three to one.

  “Cut faster, Idiot!”

  Venir cut through one piece of the net, but it would take a least ten more to free him.

  Nearby, an underling squirmed closer, clawed fingers grabbing his shield. It began pulling him back, its rancid breath on his ear. In his other hand, Brool was useless, bound up in the netting. Another cord broke.

  A Royal Rider cried out, “Retreat! Retreat!” waving a banner from atop a white horse.

  “Slat! You cowards!” Venir yelled, sawing faster as the underling tugged harder on his shield, stretching him back.

  He caught the rider in the corner of his eye, spinning around his horse, and chopping down into an underling with his sword.

  “Over here, Rider!” Venir yelled again.

  The man peered through the dust as Venir was dragged right past him. The man pointed at him, saluted and galloped away.

  “Bone!”

  It seemed it was down to Venir; the remains of the decimated army of Royal Riders was now in full retreat.

  “Cowardly Royals!”

  He cut through the third cord, then the fourth. Something blocked out the suns. Above, a hairy belly was straddled over him with a man in its mouth. A wrenching sound tore at his ears as the creature sucked a rider down to a husk. He cut the 5 cord and then the 6. Got to escape!

  The helm began to burn like fire on his head.

  Visions of being buried head first in the dirt leapt forward in his mind. Not that again. Not ever. He cut through the 7 and 8 cords. Being sucked down to the marrow didn’t sit well with him, either. Cut faster! The feisty underling grabbed hold of the eyelets of his helmet, nails cutting the skin around his eyes. A series of angry chitters surrounded him from everywhere. He looked up. Underlings surrounded him. Weapons raised, gemstone eyes glowing as they began pressing closer. Saw or die!