An icy voice replied from behind her.
“Hello, Kam.”
She took a sharp breath. Scorch stood right behind her in white robes that covered his toes. Without touching her, he shoved her downward.
“Won’t you join us?” he said, impolitely. “We have a dilemma.”
Down the steps she went but through no will of her own. Fear and panic seized her. She turned and shot a look at him. Her neck snapped forward.
“I’m not feeling very cordial today.”
Her toes drifted over the wooden floor and she was slammed down into a chair. Paralyzed, her thoughts went to Erin.
“Don’t make me have to bring her into this,” Scorch said. A chair slid over the floor and in front of the fireplace. He took a seat.
Darleen moved behind him with the look of a hungry critter in her eyes.
Another man she hadn’t seen before glided behind Scorch’s other shoulder. His features were dark, his hair black. His robes, dark gray and ornate, hung loosely on his slight build. His eyes met hers. Kam shuddered in her unseen bonds. Dark ruby-red eyes greeted her. Fear raced along her spine.
Scorch gently clapped his hands.
“Kam, dearest, eyes on me. Introductions are coming.”
“Who is he?
Her last word was silenced. She held her tongue.
“That’s better,” Scorch said, leaning forward. He propped his elbow on his knee like a wise grandfather. His smile was quaint and magnificent. “I want you to take a moment and take a look, a very close look at your friends.”
She hesitated.
“Go ahead,” he assured her.
She turned. Georgio, Billip, Brak and Nikkel’s faces were red and screaming in silent terror. They kicked and squirmed. She couldn’t read their lips but she knew that were trying to warn her. Tears formed in her eyes. “Please stop this, Scorch,” she said, gentle and pleading.
“Stop, you say,” he replied. “Well, perhaps.” A log lifted from the rack on the mantel and hung in front of his face. “Watch.” The bark separated from the log. The rings of the log separated one from the other. Fifty rings at least. One by one, from the inside out, the rings ignited with fire and drifted to the ground in ash. “That is what is slowly happening to your friends.”
“No,” she begged, “please don’t!” Her words fell silent again.
“I’m no longer humored by your rebellious nature, Kam. Nor that of your men. You seem determined to stay here, for reasons that are well beneath me, and they are even more determined to stand by your decision.” He thumbed over his shoulder at Darleen. “This one likes this place. She’s loyal. Doesn’t dispute my authority. The place is hers for as long as she wishes.”
Darleen’s beaver face gave a quick nod. She folded her arms over her chest.
“Now, as unpredictable as creatures such as yourself are, I would suspect, as do you, she’ll tire of this and move on. But that might take a while, whether you make her feel welcome or not.” He huffed and looked at the man behind him. “People are more orderly where I’m from. Trinos did a strange thing here.” He shook his head. “I need you to keep Darleen happy. I have more pressing matters on my … oh what is the saying … on my plate.”
Kam glowered at Darleen. Looked away. With great effort, she buried her vehement thoughts.
“We have an understanding then?” he said, perching one brow.
Certainly. Knowing he could somehow hear her thoughts, Kam merely thought this at him.
Scorch flicked his wrist and the ashes from the log quickly reformed. He stood up, looking like a perfect portrait in his robes. The wave in his blond hair, the lashes on his eyes. Everything was in perfect alignment. Too perfect.
“Excellent. In the meantime, I’ll be coming and going. My new acquaintance will be in and out as well but for now will help smooth things over. I’ve some troublesome persons to attend to. I think you two have met already, a bit informally.”
A human with ruby eyes came forward. His chiseled complexion seemed gray. The short beard on his face was a soft white.
What about my friends, Scorch?
All four men fell to the floor, gasping for air. Each and every one looked miserable, their expressions aghast. Billip dashed to a tankard on the bar and guzzled from it like water. Georgio and Nikkel helped themselves to a bucket of mop water. Fear glazed their eyes.
“Scorch, I don’t need any help,” Darleen said, placing her meaty hands on her wide hips. “They step out of line again, I’ll put an end to all of them.”
“Is that why you called me, Darleen?” Scorch said, “to show me how you were going to put an end to them?”
“Well …” Darleen’s eyes drifted away. She tried to speak but her lips were seamed together.
“So Kam, greet your former master, from whom I’ve managed to bargain your freedom. Yes, you owe me again.” He winked. “Please, go ahead and introduce yourself.”
The man walked over and gently touched her face with icy fingers. She cringed.
“Hello Kam,” the man said with a harsh accent, “call me Master Sidebor.” His eyes locked on hers. Serve and live.
CHAPTER 9
“Just say the word. Say the word,” Boon said. The older man stood by Fogle’s side, adorned in a see-through suit of mystic blue plate armor. A pair of glimmering blades of magic pulsated in his hands. His hard eyes were wild like fire. “This’ll put hair on your chest.”
Fogle was geared all the same, his armor a pale green. It wasn’t heavy, but it had heft to it and it didn’t clank when he walked. His heart pounded in his chest.
“I can see them,” he said, eyes closed. “Almost at the spot right now. Can you see them?”
“Aye, I can,” Boon said. “I can already taste their blood in my mouth. Time to kill them.”
Fogle readied his swords. Peered through the black Dimension Door. This is crazy!
Boon nodded and dashed through.
Fogle took a breath and jumped in right after.
In a flash, they went from one part of the Outland to another. Bright sunlight greeted them, casting shadows over the backs of a dozen underlings.
One in the back turned just in time to catch Boon’s blade through its chest. The next that turned lost its throat.
Sling!
“Keep swinging until they die or flee,” Boon roared, ramming his mystic blade through one chest and another.
Fogle froze.
“Attack, Fogle! Attack! I cannot do this alone!
Fogle rose his blades and charged, yelling at the top of his lungs.
In an instant, the underlings spread out, their jagged teeth filled with angry chitters. A pair in dark leather armor, small bucklers and wavy swords flanked him. Fogle chopped, shearing through one’s sword and arm.
It howled, watching black-red blood erupt from its arm.
Zip! Zip! Zip!
Tiny crossbow bolts zinged off his armor. Fogle threw up his arms and stumbled back.
“They can’t hurt you, Fool! Fight!” Boon yelled. Fogle didn’t hear anything.
The underlings pressed. Necklaces of tiny bones and metals jangled. Blades flashed and crashed into his armor. They hit his belly, head and legs. How many times he didn’t know. One squeezed his legs together. The other knocked him over, stabbing at his face.
“No!” Fogle screamed, flailing his arms. The mystic swords he’d formed were gone. He flailed with weaponless fists. Blow after blow the underlings hammered at him. Gemstone eyes glittered with hate. Claws ripped at his mystic helmet. It felt like the weight of the entire underling army was on him. Exhausted, he gasped for breath.
The underling chittered in his face. Jabbed a dagger at his eyes. The blow skidded off his face but he felt it.
Think, Fogle. Think. They cannot hurt you!
He willed a dagger into his hand. A sharp blade of green fire erupted in his palm. He slammed it between the underling’s ribs.
It lurched upward. Its knife fell loose from
its grip. Fogle struck again.
Zing!
An ear came off, exposing the skull. It howled and caught a sharp jab in the belly.
A pair of underlings jumped on his arms. Another appeared over Fogle’s head with a big rock. Its wiry arms brought it down full force.
Crunch!
Fogle’s Mystic Armor splintered and cracked.
The underlings chittered in triumph and brought the rock down again and again.
Flecks of green metal splintered off and dissipated in the air.
“Boon!” Fogle screamed.
The rock came down again.
Crack!
The green shield over his eyes was gone. Underling claws dug into his arms like knives.
Up the rock went and down it started.
Zing!
A bright blue blade cut the underling’s arms off at the elbows. Blood sprayed the air. Underlings screamed.
Boon shoved his blade into the one hanging on Fogle’s arm through the back. Fogle summoned his energy and screamed. A full-length blade erupted from his hand. Through the underling’s spine it went.
Zing!
***
“How are you holding up, Grandson?” Boon said.
Fogle eyed his grandfather.
The old man didn’t seem so old at all now. He’d shaved most of the white hair from his head and his beard was gone, leaving only a frosty mustache over a square jaw.
Fogle grimaced, stitching up the gash in his arm with a hook needle and biting off the thread.
“I still have my arm, no thanks to you.”
“Hah,” Boon replied. He buried his face in a stream of water. Jerked it out and shook his head like a dog. “It was exciting, now, wasn’t it?”
“I don’t know about that,” he replied. His voice echoed.
They were in a cave illuminated by the orange glow of some very strange bugs Fogle had never seen before. Boon called them Lantern Bugs. Fogle didn’t care so long as the bugs the size of his hands didn’t crawl all over him. He wasn’t fond of bugs or caves. The caves especially. They just made him think of underlings.
“Loosen up,” Boon said, rinsing the black blood of his robe in the stream. The well knitted old man was packed with the lean muscle of one half his age. “Plenty more fighting to come. Don’t overthink it. You did well.”
He’d done well not to die at least. Hours ago, he’d used Inky his ebony hawk to track down a pack of underlings. Boon had set up an ambush. Two wizards attacking twelve. Boon’d had them both cast the Infinity Armor spell.
Fogle found the entire event exhilarating and terrifying. Seconds into it, he’d been pinned down. Dying. What happened in seconds had felt like hours. His arms still trembled. Invincible or not, fighting hand to hand took great effort. His body, though hardened of late, was far from prepared for it.
“What now?” Fogle said, sticking his hand in the creek and washing the blood away. He grimaced. “Are we going to take down all the underlings a dozen at a time? It’ll take years. Decades, assuming we live.”
“But it would be fun, now, wouldn’t it?”
“No.” Fogle said. He rubbed his neck. “Can’t we just go back to the City of Three? I’ve had enough adventures to last a lifetime.”
“You don’t really feel compelled to go back there, do you? Hmm?”
Fogle didn’t reply. It wasn’t the City of Three he’d been thinking about. It was Cass. The crazy woman had abandoned him for a Dragon. Now Mood was gone and so was the beast Chongo. He felt bad. He didn’t like the thought of never seeing them again. Even Cass.
“Well, you won’t take us into the Mist?”
“Oh no,” Fogle said, eyes narrowing. “I’ve had all the Under-Bish I can handle for a lifetime.” His voice became serious. “You don’t understand, Fogle. Life is much easier up here. The world is twisted down there. Giants, the ones you saw. There are bigger. They toy with the races like rodents.”
“You survived.”
“Aye, but there’s always survivors. Just not many of our kind down there.”
Fogle wasn’t so certain he believed his grandfather. He was almost convinced Boon didn’t want to tell. And it was more likely he just wanted to kill underlings. He was so enthusiastic about that, he almost had Fogle looking forward to it.
He swatted a Lantern Bug from his sleeve.
“We can’t keep this up, Boon. The underlings will figure us out. They have plenty of magic at their disposal too. What happens when we show up and they’re waiting?”
“They’ve already ambushed us once,” Boon moaned. “Don’t be such a whimper face.”
Fogle laid his head back in the soft cool dirt with a sigh. They’d been doing more than ambushing underlings. They’d been spying on them. Taking notes. Measuring their forces. Boon said this was what he did back when. During the days when he had wielded the mantle from the mystic sack. Decades ago. Boon’s comments haunted him when he whispered, “I’ve never seen so many before. Do they now breed like rabbits?”
Fogle closed his eyes. Rested his burning wounds and aching muscles. He could hear Boon munching on nuts or something in the background. The two of them had become quite connected over the past two weeks, feeding off one another’s magic. When Fogle summoned Inky now, Boon could see through the bird’s eyes too. From the clouds above they kept watch on the underlings. Armies of them headed from the Mountains of the Underland caves and marched east toward the City of Bone. Fogle shuddered at the thought of it.
Their warriors donned the finest dark metal armor. Their weapons were jagged edges, sharp as razors. Squads, rows, columns of them traversed the harsh landscape like a black plague. There were spiders, huge and enormous. Cave dogs bigger than horses pulling chariots. Alongside the ranks, Underling Magi and Clerics walked. Some floated. What fled was hunted down and destroyed. Wherever they went, blood and death followed. What stood its ground died … horribly.
“Boon,” Fogle said, “I’m not very well versed in the military. All I’ve ever known was when it came to fighting Underlings, there were always a lot more of us than them.”
“So we have always believed.”
“Have you ever seen armies of men that big?”
“All at once?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t think. Maybe.”
“That doesn’t sound very promising
“Some say there’s more room below the ground than above.”
Fogle propped himself up on his elbow. Boon was crunching on a Lantern Bug. The goo on his chin glowed. Ugh! I am not related to you! His stomach turned.
“Try some,” Boon suggested. “Tasty.”
Fogle sighed and resumed his thoughts. The idea of Bish being filled to the belly with underlings horrified him. He could see them pouring out of caves, sewers and every nook and cranny.
“When are we going to tell somebody what we know? Shouldn’t we have done that by now?”
“We will.”
“When? The longer we wait, the more people will die.”
“Most of them are already dead anyway.” Boon grunted and lay down. “Now try to get some sleep. We have much fighting ahead of us.”
Fogle lay back down.
If I wasn’t learning so much from you, I’d go back to Three and let you do all the fighting.
CHAPTER 10
Creed’s grip was white knuckled on his hilts. He could see and feel everything about the underlings. Their hatred. Cruelty. How they punished men. Ripped them to shreds. There was no good in them.
He stepped in front of Corrin. He could hear the blood dripping from his soaked shirt. Moments ago, he had felt the painful bites of sharp metal jabbing through his chest. Up and down, the blades had gone. He’d not been able to stop them, nor even to scream. In agony, he had died. His entire life had flashed in front of his eyes. Every triumph. Every failure. Moments later, white fire had coursed through his body, causing even more agony as felt the burning sensation. But then he had heard his muscles
and bones mending. Burning like fire. Felt the open wounds in his skin sealing. With scorching pain. Now he was back. Pure. Clean. Terrified. Angry.
He sliced his blades in front of him.
Swish! Swish!
“Come on then,” he beckoned with his blades.
The first pair advanced. They struck fast. Swords licking out in flashes.
Creed parried both.
Clang! Clang!
And opened their throats.
Slice! Slice!
Two fell and three came. Their chitters were angry. Hateful. Their efforts were muted by Creed’s speed and skill. Children wielding sticks fighting a swordsman of another kind.
Slice! Slice!
He ducked. Parried. Chopped.
An underling hand came off. The fourth fell, then the fifth. The third picked up his severed hand and ran.
A circle of death surrounded him. Creed sensed every move. Every tactic. Countered and jabbed.
Glitch!
He lanced two hearts and ripped his blades out with gore coated to the hilt. Dark blood filled the cracks in the cobble stones. The sixth fell, and the seventh. But more and more were coming.
I can’t keep this up!
Creed’s chest burned. His arms tired. The shroud crooned inside his skull, pushing him from one new limit to the other. The eighth, ninth and tenth fell.
“Argh!”
Something slit his back. Stabbed his shoulder.
Lightning fast strokes struck at necks beneath glittering eyes.
Swish! Swish!
Underlings dove at his legs. They screeched and hung on despite his stabbing blades. Two underlings in heavy armor appeared, swinging battle axes. Three more pointed small crossbows at him.
Clatch-Zip! Clatch-Zip! Clatch-Zip!
Bolts buried themselves in his arms and shoulders.
“No!” Creed yelled.
He ducked under a battle axe. Parried another.
Clatch-Zip!
Creed lurched. A bolt buried itself in his back and burned like fire.
No!
His swings were wild. His arms like lead. The underlings swarmed him. Claws and blades ripped at his clothes, skin and armor.
The Darkslayer: Bish and Bone Series Collector's Edition (Books 1-10): Sword and Sorcery Masterpieces Page 5
