Chaos At The Castle (Book Six) Page 9

  One of the underling guards made his way down a ladder, hopped to the ground, and disappeared into one of the buildings below the massive catwalks. It seemed Venir’s awakening required the attention of somebody.

  Dying of thirst, Venir eyed the other two underlings. He fought the urge to ask them for water. He’d never ask an underling for anything. He’d die first. Despite the ache and stiffness in his wrists, he plucked out a dart and flicked it away.

  Toowhip.

  Toowhip.

  For every dart he picked, a half dozen more replaced it. His arms, legs and torso were covered with a hundred little stings. He kept plucking. Watching. Fighting the pain and ignoring the mocking chitters of the underlings.

  Two underlings were whipping an orcen man in the stockades. Other humans pulled carts with weapons and armor, while underlings clad in black armor trained. The underlings moved about the confines of the fort like parts in a well-oiled machine, running drill after drill. Their sharp blades moved fast, glinting in the light of the two suns.

  Venir’s thoughts drifted to Slim and Commander Jans. Did the underlings know they were near? “Ugh!”

  A dart caught him in the lid of his eye.

  He reached to pluck it away.

  The underling grabbed his wrist.

  “Get your claws off me, Fiend.” Venir said.

  One underling clocked him in the head with a long stick while the other kicked him in the thigh.

  Venir yelped. “Bone!” He reversed his grip, snatched the underling’s wrist, and jerked it to the ground. Wrapping the underling’s neck in the nook of his arm, he squeezed, ignoring all the needles being driven farther into his arm.

  The other underling guard beat on his head with fury.

  Whack! Whack! Whack!

  Venir held on. He’d kill one more underling before the day was done. He heaved. The underling’s tongue writhed out of its mouth. Claws stretched out for its last grasp of life. It shuddered and convulsed. Venir crushed its throat. The sound of steel being ripped from a sheath caught his ears. He whipped around. The underling guard’s arm coiled back to strike his throat.

  A commanding voice shouted out in underling.

  The underling sentry stayed his hand, chest heaving. Nostrils flaring.

  The platform groaned as a figure made its way up the ladder.

  A burly underling warrior, the size of two in one, appeared.

  Venir had never seen such an underling before. Dark plate covered its chest, and its arms and chest were as thick as an ape’s. Dark ruby eyes glowered at him as it walked over and struck him in the face with its mailed gauntlet.

  Venir saw spots. Tuuth’s big pale frame appeared behind the underling commander, holding the canister he had carried to signal for the Royal Riders.

  A moment of awful clarity. Venir realized his plan was not such a good plan after all. He’d never considered the consequences of the canister falling into underling hands.

  Bish, I’m a fool!

  All he could do was hope the underlings wouldn’t figure out what it was there for.

  The burly underling commander grabbed Venir by the hair and pounded the tiny needles deeper into his chest, one blow after the other.

  The excruciating pain was blinding. He cried out.

  Tuuth was wincing.

  “Big human. You should have known better than to kill underlings. Now tell us, why are you here?”

  Clutching his chest, he replied, “Hunting red-eyed arseholes.”

  The underling commander looked up at Tuuth and asked, “What is arsehole?”

  Grimacing, Tuuth pointed at his butt.

  Chittering with anger, the underling grabbed Venir’s hair by both hands, dragged him over the planks and slung him off the platform.

  He landed flat on his back. “Ooooph!” All the fight he’d had left in him was gone.

  Above, the underlings and Tuuth peered down at him.

  The underling commander snatched the canister from Tuuth and waved it in the air. “I know about your Royal army. I know what this is. We are ready. Very ready to slaughter them all.” The underling ripped the top off the canister, pointed it skyward and whacked it on the bottom.

  A ball of energy shot high in the air, darting over the giant logs of the fort and out of sight.

  The sound of the Southern gate being opened caught his ears. The underling tossed down the canister, and it clocked him in the head.

  “Get a rope, Orc!” He pointed down at Venir. “And drag this arsehole back up here by the neck. I want him to see the devastation we shall inflict on his people.”

  CHAPTER 15

  It was hot and humid. Just another day on Bish. The Royal Riders had just about finished breaking down their camp when a myriad of bright spots sparkled and sizzled above them. Every Royal Rider in the area stopped and stared.

  Slim was among them.

  Commander Jans held his hand over his visor and exclaimed. “Ready your horses, men!”

  New energy spread over the spirits of the hard-driven men.

  “Seems your friend hasn’t perished after all, Healer. Look!”

  “I’ll be. He did it,” Slim said. A surge of energy coursed through him. “Jans! What do you say now?”

  All eyes in the camp were on the commander as he pulled himself up into the saddle. The Royal Rider stroked his long mustache, watching above as the twinkling lights from the signal fizzled out. When he raised his sword above his head, the rustling armor of all the hardened men fell silent as Jans opened his mouth to speak. Jan’s voice was like a canyon filled with thunder when he spoke.

  “Today, men … We ride!”

  A chorus of cheers rang out, steel gleaming in the air.

  “Ride! Ride! Ride! …”

  Jans’s war horse reared up on its hind legs as he cried out.

  “RELEASE THE HOOVES OF CHAOS!”

  It was a moment. One of those moments when the will of men convinced them they could do anything.

  Slim, still weary from the sand spiders that almost took his life, teetered over to Jans.

  “Shields ready! Spears! Leave the lances on the bottom!” Jans ordered the nearby Lieutenant. “I want two columns going up, a tight formation. I want them ready.”

  The man saluted. “Yes, Commander!”

  “What is it, Healer?” Jan’s said. There was nothing but fire in the exhausted commander’s eyes. He and his troops were as weary as men could be, but the thought of battle gave them new energy. “Are you riding? If you are, you’ll need heavier armor.” He smiled. “Can you poke a spear or swing steel?”

  “Neither, Commander, but I’ve been known to play the lute on occasion. Do you think that might help?”

  “Not without a lute it won’t, and I don’t see one.” He looked around. “So what worries you, Healer?”

  Slim’s long frame standing was almost eye to eye with Jans on horseback. “Trap, Jans.”

  “Aye, Healer.” Jans shoved his sword back into his sheath. “We’ve been trapped for days, if not weeks.”

  “No―and call me Slim at least once before you die.”

  “Certainly, Slim, but elaborate your meaning.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t Venir who released the signal. Maybe he’s fallen. Maybe the underlings fired it off.”

  “So?” Jans stroked his mustache, eyeing the hill.

  Slim felt silly. Clearly, Commander Jans had considered everything.

  “Healer… er… Slim, keep these worries between us. I don’t need my men’s heads filled with doubt.” He spat out some brown juice and wiped his jaw. “We’ve got the black fiends all around us now. Our best chance of survival is within the walls of that fort. So we are going to ride up that hill and trample every fiend we can find into a spot of greasy slat.” He spit again. “And I wouldn’t worry yourself about healing my men. You need to be worried about killing underlings, if you can.” He reached over and put his hand on Slim’s shoulder. “See you at the top of the hill, Slim. And if
that gate’s closed, we’ll try to ride through it. Hope you make it.”

  They’re crazy!

  Slim had to admit: the sense of foreboding that had overcome him was alleviated by the energy of the men. The Royal Riders had survived this long, and any fear they had before going into battle had now fled. Still, how was Venir going to open the gate without the underlings finding out? It was a bad plan, a silly plan to begin with. But, anything was possible on Bish.

  If I only had more strength.

  Slim wanted to shape shift, fly into the sky and scout from above, but he didn’t have the strength. He’d patched up several men and sealed some bleeding wounds. He was spent.

  Over the next several minutes, all the men in camp got on horseback, their energy flowing and nervousness settling in their eyes as they headed up the dark hill of the forest.

  Slim felt useless as he stood in his sandals and watched them trot by.

  “You, Healer!” A soldier in a full suit of chainmail was riding his way. “Get on.”

  Slim extended his arm, and the stout soldier pulled him up into the saddle.

  “Commander Jans charged your protection with me. My, I don’t see how I can protect a man so tall, but I’ll do what I can.”

  “I’ll be careful of the low branches,” Slim said. He reached down and grabbed the shield on the saddle hitch. “And, can I use this?”

  “It should cover your neck, but I don’t know about the rest of you.”

  Slim chuckled. Might be the last laugh I ever have.

  Column by column, up the hill they went, leaving nothing but thunder and hoof prints.

  CHAPTER 16

  “Easy, Corrin,” a stout dark-headed man said, “it’s Georgio.”

  The man, shifty and lean, whirled his blades back into his belt. “I can see that, Billip, but I’ve no idea about the rest of them. Where did they all come from?” He peered into the sky. “Out of nowhere. Meaning,” he rubbed his chin, “maybe Trinos is afoot.”

  Brak didn’t know any of these people, aside from the skinny man named Melegal, slumped over the saddle.

  Beside him, Jubilee hugged his leg, blinking, whispering. “How did we get here, Brak?”

  He shook his head and slung the dark blood from his cudgel. They’d been running through the streets, dashing from corner to corner, avoiding the underlings, when fortune ran out and they were cornered. He and Georgio had fought like wolves, stomping and hacking at every moving underling in sight, but it wasn’t going to be enough. They’d been a moment from being hacked up and forgotten. His stomach groaned.

  “Who are you?” the one called Billip asked. “And where do you come from?”

  As Brak opened his mouth to speak, Melegal slid from the saddle and collapsed into the street.

  “Slat, Georgio!” Billip grabbed Melegal and dragged him over to the fountain. “What happened to him?”

  “I don’t know. He was like this when I found him at the stables. He had been fighting an imp or something.”

  “Nikkel,” Billip ordered, “Fetch that pail and fill it with water.”

  The young black man frowned, slumping his shoulders as he did so.

  Brak heard Billip speak to Georgio under his breath. “Mikkel has fallen, Georgio. Tread Nikkel with caution.”

  Georgio fell onto his haunches, holding his head. Brak could see sadness in the young man.

  Eyeing the streets, Brak lumbered over to the fountain and took a long drink. It was cool and refreshing.

  “You’re not a horse,” the one name Corrin said, “get a pitcher or use your hands.”

  Brak kept drinking. He also soaked his blood-stained fingers in the water, only to see the blood quickly wash away.

  “Did you see that, Brak?” Jubilee said. “I’ve never seen water do that.” Pale eyed and haired like her grandfather, Jubilee scooped her hand in and drank. “This must be water from the Everwell, but they remain below. How did it get here? How did we get here? Ew!”

  For the first time, Brak noticed the scores of dead bodies scattered everywhere. Men, women, children and underlings were dead. Many mutilated. But the most disturbing figure was the black hairy bulk of a long legged monster that lay in the street, some of its barbed tendrils still twitching.

  “What is that thing?” Jubilee pinched her nose. “Is that what stinks?”

  A sad looking young black man with pale blue eyes walked over with a pitcher of water and handed it to Jubilee. “That’s the thing that killed my father.” He nodded over to the corpse of a large black man laid out on the cobblestone road. “Who killed that beast to save me. Trying to save us all.”

  “Doesn’t look like there’s many of you left,” Jubilee said.

  Brak nudged her in the back.

  “What? We’re all going to go sooner than later if we don’t get out of Bone. Besides, it’s not like you didn’t just about die less than second ago, Brak.” She took a drink from the pitcher and offered Nikkel her hand.

  Nikkel pulled her up.

  “I’m Jubilee, and I’m sorry about your father. It seems families don’t last very long around here. My grandfather…”

  Brak didn’t pay her any more attention. Instead, he made his way over to the woman named Haze, who lay alone on the blood-smeared cobblestone road. She was light as a pile of rags when he lifted her up in his arms and poured a swallow of water from the pitcher down her throat.

  She sputtered and flailed, eyes blinking.

  “Get that thing off me!”

  He held her tight.

  “It’s gone,” he said.

  Her scrawny neck whipped around, left, right, high and low.

  “Where in Bone are we?”

  Brak shrugged. By the looks of things, they were still in the city, but where exactly, he had no idea. He was lost again. And it bothered him. All he wanted to do was find his father. The Bone with the rest of these people.

  “Can I have some more of that water, uh… what’s your name again?”

  He set her down. “Brak. And sure.”

  She took another drink.

  A commotion started by the fountain.

  “Where’s my hat, Georgio? And where’s Quickster?”

  “He’s right over there, Me.” Georgio was pointing, and he looked angry.

  Quickster lay on his back, facing the suns, legs up, knees bent downward.

  “I’ll kick your fat arse if he’s dead, Georgio.”

  “I just saved your arse, Me. And you better watch what you say to me.”

  “Get my hat!”

  “Son of a…” Georgio stormed away. “Jubilee! Get over here and bring me that hat.”

  “Ah, the skinny man lives,” Jubilee said. “Drat! I like this hat. Makes me feel smarter.” She tossed it to Georgio. “But if he dies, I’ve got dibs on it, got it?”

  “Gladly!” Georgio threw it at Melegal.

  The Rat of Bone snatched his hat from the air and scowled as he placed it on his head.

  “Where’s that case of mine?”

  “It’s on Quickster’s saddle. Now will you—”

  “Be quiet,” said a voice as smooth as polished silver and as strong as hammered iron.

  Brak felt his limbs go numb.

  A magnificent woman with platinum hair had taken a seat by the fountain. The edgy man named Corrin stepped to her side, eyeing them, guarding her. No one else moved or said a word.

  ***

  Trinos found the group before her both interesting and colorful, bonded together for one reason or another. Like the rest of the men and women on Bish, they were survivors, but with something in common. All had been in contact in one way or another with the equalizer, a powerful force Trinos had put in place to keep the scales of good and evil in balance. Something that she had almost forgotten about. Something that whispered in the burst of hot air called The Darkslayer.

  Gracefully, she walked over to Georgio and tussled the curly hair on his head.

  “You seem disappointed, young man. Don
’t you realize I just saved your life and the lives of your friends?” She gestured towards the rest of them. “I saved you from certain peril.” She folded her hands over her chest, waiting. “Well?”

  No one moved.

  The skinny man who’d complained about his hat was eyeing her with suspicion.

  Billip wiped drool from his mouth.

  Corrin’s fingers twitched over the pommels of the daggers on his belt.

  Even the girl with a penchant for talking was mute.

  “Oh… I see.” Trinos dipped her chin and waved her hand past her face.

  Corrin sighed. “I hate it when she does that.”

  Blinking their eyes and shaking their heads, the rest of the people took a closer study of her rich brown hair, sun browned skin, common though somewhat exquisite garb, and softer Bish-born features.

  The question now was, would they still listen to her.

  “As you can see, Bone, your home and my home, has been invaded by the underlings. There are now hundreds of them taking over the streets, and thousands more below and all around us…”

  Melegal raised his nose at her. “And who might you be, a Royal? A do-gooder mage from the castles coming here to what, help us?”

  “Shut your vile tongue!” Corrin edged between Melegal and Trinos.

  “Or what, you saggy jawed bastard?”

  “I’ll poke a dozen holes in you!”

  Billip stepped between them. “Corrin, stay yourself. Melegal’s not known for his manners.” He dipped his head at Trinos. “Please forgive him and continue, Trinos.”

  “Forgive? Forgive what, you sawed off slackard!” Melegal said.

  Billip grabbed Melegal’s sleeve. “That’s it, Melegal. Everything was fine until you showed up. Show some respect for our friend over there, will you? She saved your life, you know.”

  Melegal pulled his sleeve loose. “Oh, pardon me, pretty lady with impossibly perfect teeth. Thank you for saving my life.” He bowed slightly. “Without my permission, I might add.”