The Darkslayer: Book 05 - Outrage in the Outlands Page 9

  ***

  Please don’t be hungry. Slim struggled in his bonds, but he wasn’t going anywhere. I’ve got to escape! He could hear his heart pounding in his chest. He took a deep breath. The cloth on his face kept his lips from being sealed, and the spell he'd cast allowed him and Adanna to breathe much longer. Just need enough time to get my energy back, and I’ll remove these insects from Bish forever.

  “Mrmph!” he exclaimed beneath the cocoon.

  A spider bit deep into his ankle, setting his leg on fire as the sucking began. Slim felt the blood being drained away from his body.

  NOOOOOOO!

  Excruciating. Slim's eyes fluttered in his skull, each second pure agony. He shuddered inside his cocoon, convulsed, then his body stopped. The pain was gone now. The spider was sucking on his limbs. As ghastly as that sounded, it was a merciful predator after all. Their poison subdued whatever man or beast they got hold of, but Slim’s body slackened as a mild euphoria settled inside him.

  Don’t fall asleep. Don’t fall asleep. Don’t fall asleep.

  Slim had never taken into consideration that he’d be eaten by a spider. He always figured he’d die of old age one day. After all, he was never really one to get in trouble. He just liked to help out now and again. He jerked in his web-made cocoon. A shot of fire raced from his toe to his brain as the spider's fang bit farther down.

  That will keep you awake!

  Now, the battle of wills began. The mind of a man versus the instinctive needs of an insect. Slim felt all sensation leave below his knees. He meditated on his elements. As a healer, a man born attached to the mystic powers of the world, Slim could draw upon the power of the living. The grass, the trees, the birds, even men. At the moment, the pit he lived in was barren of any living forces other than him, Adanna and the spiders, which made it all the tougher to renew his inner power.

  Don’t fall asleep, or you're dead, Slim the Cleric!

  The spell he had cast to keep air in the cowls over his and Adanna’s heads wouldn’t last much longer. He’d already felt the air beginning to thin. It was dark and warm where he was, his only company now was the sharp sucking sounds from the sand spider gnawing on his calf.

  Sssckt! Sssckt! Sssckt!

  The numbness rolled over his waist and into his belly.

  Maybe this isn’t such a bad way to go. Mmmm …

  Sssckt! Sssckt! Sssckt!

  He thought of Venir. Adanna. All the lives the underlings had taken. The tiny fire inside his mind began to twinkle.

  Got to fight it. Fight or die! Fight or die! Or, become a beetle. Mmmm … Flying was enjoyable.

  Slim felt himself sinking deeper into a bath of warm goo. Maybe the spider won’t suck all the blood from me. See you tomorrow, Bish. Or never again. What does it matter?

  The fire in his mind began to dim as his lips twitched with the last word of power he remembered. I better use this before it’s too late. Ah … but just another minute. It feels so nice.

  Sssckt! Sssckt! Sssckt!

  ***

  Zip! Zip! Zip!

  The dagger fell from Venir's hand as a small crossbow bolt punctured through it. He cursed. He’d just cut the ninth cord. Another bolt ricocheted from his helmet, and one stuck in his calf.

  “Bone!” he roared.

  A spider abdomen loomed over his head, and dozens of underlings had him surrounded. He thrashed like a fish in the net that held him. Brool, still hot in his grip, was useless. His eyelets still smoldered like black fire. He’d never been at the mercy of this many underlings before. They had him.

  The spider's face lowered before him.

  “I’ll make your belly sour, you eight-legged underling!” he said, kicking in the net.

  The underlings approached, spears lowered, wicked faces chittering back and forth, a look of astonishment in their eyes. Two of them, heavy laden in black armor, approached with spears. Venir fought harder against his bonds. They cocked their elbows back.

  “I see you got big plans for those toothpicks! Turn around and I’ll show you how to use them, ” he said, tugging at the bolt protruding from his hand. “Slat! I suppose this is it.”

  Venir’s mortality began to soak in. He was trapped like an animal. A hundred hunters had boxed him in. He was certain he wasn’t going to live a moment longer. He just wanted to take a few more with him, however.

  “Fight and die.” He looked into the horizon. “So it is.”

  Venir felt the ground rumble. The underlings' heads snapped up. A chorus of surprised chitters was smothered by the sound of galloping horses. Two columns stormed through the camp. The first Royal Rider plunged a lance into the face of the giant spider. The spider reared up and caught two spears in its belly just as the horses trampled over it.

  The underlings dove, rolled and died under the thundering hooves of the horses. The riders raced by, spears ripping through the air. One underling caught a spear clean in the throat. Another caught two spears in the chest.

  Venir yelled out, “Get me out of this net you Royal Bas—urk!”

  As the last two riders rode past, they reached down and grabbed the net, dragging Venir and the surviving underlings behind them. Being dragged by horses was a painful way to go. It seemed the Riders had a harsh death in mind for the underlings as their small bodies scraped and bumped over the rough stones, faces screeching in terror. Venir balled up, trying to keep his legs up as he was dragged roughshod over the dirt.

  “Blast you, Royals!” he said through gritted teeth.

  Behind him, the underling camp was falling farther away. After a mind numbing mile, the Riders came to a stop. Beasts were nickering and stamping their hooves. Horses, all noble, all good, were never comfortable around underlings. As Venir wiped the dust and dirt that caked his eyes, he saw half a dozen well-armed men standing around him.

  “Kill them. Kill them all,” a rider ordered, his voice full of authority. A gold crescent stained with blood gleamed from atop his helmet.

  “Even the warrior?” another rider said, hoisting his spear.

  “No, you idiot! Kill the underlings. Why in Bish would we kill a man?” the commander said.

  The remaining underlings fell quickly as the spears jabbed into them more times than were needed. Weighted down under the net, Venir struggled to rise.

  “Someone cut this big bastard free! Do I have to do everything around here?” the Commander said, unsheathing a broad hunting knife on his belt. In three quick slices, the net fell away.

  Venir rose to his full height and said, “Nice knife.”

  The Commander snorted under his red-brown mustache that hung past his chin and said, “Nice axe,” eyeing Brool and stepping back.

  Venir groaned. Everything hurt. He could barely stand. His arms and legs were raw. He looked back over his shoulder.

  “Why aren’t the underlings pursuing us?” he said, looking around at the remaining Royal Riders. There looked to be about thirty or so of them left, all blood splattered and wounded, some broken.

  “They won’t be coming. They’ve got more to worry about than us. Look over yonder horizon,” the Commander said, pointing towards the northwest. The sound of Royal Battle horns now carried through the air as the banners of more Royal Riders appeared on the crest of the dusty hills.

  “My gratitude, Commander,” Venir said, nodding “I didn’t figure on any Royals coming back for me.”

  “Ha!” the Commander said, reaching up and slapping him back. “I don’t know where you came from, Man, but we’d all be dead if not for your timely arrival. Those underlings took to you like stink on a pig, but it didn’t do them much good. I swear I saw you chop down ten of them. I’ve never seen a man as big as you move so fast. And the axe.” He couldn't hide the incredulity in his voice. “It cuts though bone like butter.”

  “Underling bone that is,” Venir said, grimacing as he plucked the bolt from his calf.

  “Let us suture that wound, er … what is your name, warrior?”

&nbs
p; “Venir,” he said, pushing the other bolt through one side of his hand an out the other. “And I don’t need stitches. I need a horse!”

  “But you need to stop the bleeding,” the Commander said, waving a pair of soldiers over. “Those Riders over there will have the underlings routed. This isn’t our first assault.”

  “I don’t care about that. I’ve got friends taken prisoner in there. Now, give me a horse, Commander!”

  “Underlings take no prisoners. No chance they're alive.”

  Venir glared down on the man.

  “So be it!” The Commander handed him over the reins of a big brown mare. Venir grabbed the saddle with his bloody hand and swung up with a moan. The Royal Riders bore down on the underlings from the northwest and ran clean through the underlings' first defensive formation.

  “Yah!” Venir said, digging his heels into the horse's sides and galloping away.

  “Get back on your horses, Soldiers!” the commander ordered. “It’s time to finish what we started! Yah!”

  Venir didn’t hear a thing but the wind whistling through his helmet as the horse galloped in full charge. The underlings were already scurrying into their black holes, possibly dragging Adanna and her mother down with them. And where was Slim? He didn’t remember seeing any beetles on the battlefield. He had a feeling something was horribly wrong. Got to find them!

  CHAPTER 16

  “Seize her! She killed Lord Almen!” Melegal shouted, pointing at Jarla the Brigand Queen.

  “What!” she exclaimed, freezing in her tracks as the sentries surrounded her.

  His mind was still glowing beneath his cap.

  “Take her down, Men! Kill her if you have to!” he ordered.

  A half dozen sentries armed with spears and swords formed a line between him and her. Jarla’s face was a mask of rage as her twisted lips fought to find the right words to say. Hah! Melegal was in charge now. After all, he was the head Detective of the Royal Almen house. And what had Lorda Almen ordered him to do? Kill Jarla.

  “A hundred gold to whoever can bring me her head! She’s a murderer. An Assassin from the guilds. A defiler from another Royal house.”

  His words carried. Melegal could feel the power he had over the simple minds of the 'take orders first, ask questions later' sentries. He had her right where he wanted. Jarla the Brigand Queen was fighting for her life. Her blade flashed and parried as the small force of men closed in on her. Left and right she went, cut off from every direction she wanted to go. Melegal folded his arms across his chest and watched as the men began picking the woman apart. But where was Brak? Something blocked the suns' light from the windows above.

  Move!

  Melegal sprung right.

  “Oooof!” He was too late. A mound of man and muscle pounced on top of him, driving him to the ground, knocking the wind from his lungs. Melegal squirmed onto his back only to face the berserk face of Brak. The slumped over figure who had been begging for food minutes earlier was now pure monster.

  Do something before he breaks your head apart!

  Mindless and savage, the boy-turned-man raised both his fists over his head.

  Melegal pointed the dart launchers into Brak’s chest and belly.

  Have to do this!

  Brak brought his fists down with all his might.

  Whoof!

  Two soldiers almost as big as Brak barreled into him, knocking him to the ground. Melegal gasped for air, crawling on his knees. There was a sharp crack in the air. He whipped around. Brak bent another man’s head over his neck. Slat! Melegal wasn’t going to stick around to see what happened next. The berserker was already wrapping his fingers around the hilt of a sword and charging into the nearest warrior. Move far, move fast!

  Melegal scanned the room. Two sentries had fallen under the deadly strokes of Jarla’s sword. No! She moved with the feline grace of a panther and struck with the power of a cobra. A man screamed out as his sword hand was sliced off at the wrist, gaping at the sight of all the blood. Up in the bleachers, another commotion was stirring.

  Sefron!

  The slimy cleric waddled down the stairs, two men in full armor guarding his back shoulders as he made his way down the steps to where Lord Almen had fallen. Melegal slid out of sight along the wall.

  Slat!

  For all he knew, the cleric could save the man, and he couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t let Jarla survive, either, but time was running out. His nose twitched as Sefron hunched down over Lord Almen’s body and began to mutter something. Lord Almen’s fingers clutched in the air. Melegal’s heart lurched in his chest. Blasted cleric!

  He stuck his hand out, pulled his sleeve back from his wrist, and squeezed the trigger on the dart launchers.

  Zing! Zing! Zing! Zing! Zing! Zing!

  Sefron jumped up, squealing like a pig, clutching at the darts embedded in his neck and face. The two soldiers reached out for the ailing cleric, who staggered down the steps, smacked into the arena’s rail, and fell over the wall.

  Yes!

  He turned his attention back over to Brak. The over-sized young man stood in the center of the arena, coated in blood and gore, staring around in wide-eyed wonder. The monster was gone. Only the young man remained. A tiny little figure raced out to meet him. It was the Slerg girl named Jubilee.

  “Come on, Brak! Come on!” she said, grasping his fingers and pulling him towards the doors at the bottom.

  The two soldiers were over the wall, one helping Sefron to his feet, the other, long sword ready, was heading towards Brak and the girl.

  On the other side of the arena, a badly limping Jarla had whittled six men down to two. Blood was running down her leg from a nasty gash on her thigh while she grimaced and parried each and every blow. She can’t survive this. She can’t!

  Melegal yelled at the fully armored soldier and pointed at her, saying, “Finish that assassin! I’ll take care of the mute!”

  The soldier stopped for a moment, then took another step towards Brak and Jubilee.

  Melegal stuck his finger out again and said, “Now!”

  Sefron screeched out, “Get me back over that wall!” He whirled back towards Melegal, plucking a dart from his face, and added, “Curse you, Thief! I curse you and the womb you crawled out of.”

  Melegal drew the sleeve back over his other hand and raised it towards Sefron’s throat.

  “Not if I curse you first, Dead Man!”

  The soldier stepped between them as Sefron scrambled over the wall.

  A door at the top of the stairs exploded open, and a dark energy filled the room.

  Melegal crouched back along the wall. A black creature as big as a man, cat-faced and knotted in muscle, stepped through the threshold.

  An underling! It cannot be possible!

  An underling with short black hair and eyes like burning iron glided in behind the Vicious, two razor sharp swords unlike anything he’d ever seen hanging in his hands. Melegal was already moving for the door when two cloaked underlings floated inside, fingertips glowing with power.

  Run, Melegal! Run!

  Jubilee was pushing Brak through the nearest doorway, but it was Melegal who shoved them through. He closed the door and barred it shut.

  “Follow me!” he snapped.

  Down the corridor they went. Brak stumbled along, arrows still embedded in his back, moaning with hunger. Melegal led them down into the dungeons and snatched some shackles from the wall. They all fought for breath. Think, Thief! He had to come up with something fast. He also had to figure out what was going on. What were underlings doing inside the castle?

  “Listen to me; we have to act quick. I need you to put these on Brak.”

  “No,” Jubilee shot back.

  “It’s the safest way for me to lead you through. We’ll be stopped. There'll be questions.”

  Brak’s eyes narrowed, but he couldn’t hide the exhaustion on his face. The man had just killed a dozen men as easy as a devious child could drown a dozen ki
ttens.

  “Brak,” Melegal said, trying to sound calm and not in a hurry. “I lied. I know your father, Venir. I know him well. If he were here, he’d tell you to listen and do as you’re told.”

  “Don’t listen to him, Brak. He’s an Almen. Almens are liars,” Jubilee said, tugging at his hand.

  “So are Slergs, Little Dear. And I’m not a Royal.” He poked her in the chest. “I’m an overgrown urchin that was once a slave that swabbed the blood from the dungeons in your dubious castle.” He slapped the first cuff on Brak. “If we live through this, I’d be happy to describe each and every last detail, but for now, we better go … or die.”

  Brak looked down on Melegal as he slapped on the second wrist cuff and said, “My back hurts.”

  Melegal looked around at the two arrows in his back and said, “Just a couple of scratches. We’ll patch you up later.”

  A chorus of screams was followed by a series of explosions coming from the corridor they’d just cleared.

  “Let’s move!”

  They were all running in step, through one corridor and down another. In one doorway and out the other. A pair of dead Royals lay dead on the floor, gashed and bloody. The sounds of booted feet seemed to be echoing from every corner, and shouts were haranguing out from down the halls.

  “Get in here,” Melegal said, shoving the both of them into a closet.

  Four sentries in chainmail hauberks drew their broad swords and came at him. Not every person knew who he was, as most of his dealings with the Almens had been discreet. Melegal held up his hand and pulled out his brooch.

  The men stopped and eyed him warily.

  “Detective,” one managed, eyes shifting in every direction at once, “what business do you have in the Castle?”

  “That’s no concern of yours. At the present, mine is self-preservation. Yours is to stop the underlings that are running through this place like jackals in a hen house.”

  KA-BOOM!

  Paintings fell from the walls and vases full of flowers tipped from their pedestals and crashed on the floor. All the soldiers were looking around at one another, their faces turning as white as their teeth.