The Darkslayer: Bish and Bone Series Collector's Edition (Books 1-10): Sword and Sorcery Masterpieces

by Craig Halloran

  Heart beating like a tiny hammer, he hopped over the nest and swung himself down to the next ledge.

  “Whew,” he said, back pressed against the rock-face. He checked the eggs. All three were tucked safely away. He tugged the rope three times. It tugged back once. “A job well done. No Gruell tonight. Some good stew perhaps.” He patted his belly.

  A rattle sounded. A rattlesnake head peeked out of the cave. It was a nasty looking thing with a large flat diamond-shaped head.

  Its red tongue flickered out of its mouth.

  “You missed your chance,” Lefty said, sticking his tongue out. Heart still pounding, he crawled down to the next ledge. Suddenly, his feet started sweating. The snake’s rattle got louder. He looked up.

  The rattlesnake slithered down the rock face like a spider. In seconds it was right on top of him.

  “Ew!” He slipped a small knife from his belt. He swung. “Back!”

  Lefty hopped down to the next level, slippery toes gripping on the ledge. The snake came right after him. It was large. Six feet long and thicker than his leg. Its eyes said it wanted to make a meal of him. It slithered up the same ledge, coiled its head back, and struck.

  Sssah!

  Quick as a mongoose, Lefty dodged. He lost his grip on the rock and grabbed it again. The small knife fell from his fingers.

  The snake struck again.

  Sssah!

  It missed his toes by an inch.

  Move, Lefty, move! He was quick. Quicker than snakes. He’d trapped them as a boy. But not hanging from a wall or standing on a ledge inches wide. Facing the rock, he slid along the ledge as far and fast as he could. The snake was right on top of him when he ran out of ledge.

  Oh no!

  He could see the venom dripping from its fangs. It curled back to strike.

  A bird cry filled his ears. A Buula appeared. It was as big as Lefty. Face like a hawk with blue feathers in its brown wings. It snatched the snake off the ledge with its claws, flapped its great wings, and clipped him with its beak.

  “Whoa!” he cried out, losing his balance. His toes slipped. His fingers clutched at the rocks. He fell, bouncing down the rocks. Fingers and toes dug. Reached. Clutched. He slowed but didn’t stop. He landed hard.

  “Oof!”

  When he looked up again, windless, Gully was standing over him, scratching the black wart on his nose.

  “Let me see what you got.”

  Groaning, Lefty opened up his pouch. All the eggs were broken, the young birds inside dead.

  Gully growled and drew back his fist.

  “It’s the Gruell for you.”

  Wop!

  CHAPTER 15

  The suns set behind the city walls of Bone and Creed tucked himself away in the shadows. The past few days inside Castle Bloodhound had been agonizing. He couldn’t sleep. He paced the floor. Lorda had ignored him, adding confusion to his tension.

  A cat scurried by. Stopped and looked at him. It padded underneath his feet. He nudged it with his boot.

  “Shoo.”

  Leaning against the wall, he listened. Wait. All around the town, doors were shut. Locked. Windows boarded up again only to be opened up by morning. The dusk was the quietest time he’d ever known. These were the times he had enjoyed the most. Strolling the streets at night. Moving from one tavern to another with his comrades and tasting different wines. The life he’d known was gone.

  He rubbed the pommels of his swords. Took a soft breath. Checked the cowl around his neck. Not yet. The shroud was a problem. Once he put it on, a bloodlust was soon to follow. He’d had some time to think about that. He’d fought too many enemies at once and had gotten killed for it. He couldn’t let that happen again.

  He made his way through the streets and followed a flight of steps to the top of a four-story building. At the top, a stone deck housed gardens. Small trees and large stone planters. Bushes and flowers were lined up in benches and rows. His mother had liked to take him here when he was young, but she was gone now. The circumstances of her demise he’d never understood.

  He took a spot underneath a tree and propped his back up against the wall. From there he could see the Castle Road that ran the length of the Western Wall. He could just barely make out the banner of Castle Bloodhound in the distance. He chuckled. Despite Lord Grom’s efforts, he always found a way out. Every castle had secrets. Many forgotten. But curious boys have ways of discovering things that others easily miss.

  He took the pack off his shoulders and opened it up. The Mystic Sack was in there. Some food as well. Hard fruits and bread chips. A flask of water hung on his hip. He ate. Eyed the streets. Royal Soldiers on horseback clopped up and down Castle Road making checks at all the Castle Gates. There were squads of them. All in plate mail armor that gleamed in the moonlight. He could hear their soft voices speaking, but was too far away to comprehend. The horses nickered and then moved on.

  Creed packed his food away and took one last swallow of water. He was sweating like he’d woken up from a nightmare. His fingers tingled. That dreadful feeling overtook him. He rubbed the strange metal on his bracers. I should be dead now. Something had brought him back from the threshold of life and death. The armament and its great power. Still, he could feel the blades and spears sliding into his guts between his ribs. He didn’t want to go through that again. Ever. Are you mad, Creed!

  He rubbed the cowl on his neck. The cloth was heavy and well knit. He could feel the ornate stitching with his fingertips. Great power is hard to control. That’s why the Royals are so corrupt. That’s how Bloodhounds like us take advantage of them. That was what his father had said. He rubbed his clammy hands. He had to control the power he had. If he didn’t, he’d get killed again. Get it together, Creed. One underling at a time. One at a time. Not a dozen.

  The city was as quiet as it had ever been over the next hour. The higher the moons rose, the more a prickly sensation took over. A murmuring rose from outside the City Walls of Bone, where the people sang and chanted at night. Thousands of voices crying out for sanctuary. Mercy. The royal gates were closed. No one came in. No one went out. All the food supplies were under heavy guard. Commerce had all but stopped.

  We can’t keep living like this! Cowardly Royals!

  He checked the moons. Hmmm. No Royal patrol had passed in hours. That’s strange.

  Clop. Clop. Clop.

  A squad of soldiers on horseback traveled south in his direction. They were in a box formation with a small group of people guarded in the middle. The people were covered in robes from head to toe and they were slight in stature. They didn’t move like men either. Creed gripped the edge of the terrace and peered over.

  Those aren’t men.

  He darted over the garden roof and back down the stairs. From the alley he took a closer look. They looked like grey ghosts. Their gait fluid. Hands and feet hidden. Underlings. Has to be. But why?

  Two dozen paces away, Creed crept along the storefronts and apartments. A soldier in the rear stopped and looked back. Creed pressed himself against the wall, moved again when the soldier turned away.

  A fire brewed inside him. What are they doing? Where are they going? Were they underlings or not? He slipped the shroud over his head. The crooning started. His hands fell to his hilts. He moved closer. He could smell them. Hear their heartbeats in his head. Evil oozed from them like sap. No! It can’t be!

  He stepped off the porch and onto the street. Control it, Creed. Control it! Sword pommels throbbed in his hands. He got closer. The host of Royal Soldiers stopped in front of Castle Kling.

  Creed released his pommels. Slipped back onto the porch and into the shadows. The large gate doors to Castle Kling opened and the soldiers marched the underlings inside. Quickly, the gate sealed shut behind them.

  The crooning stopped. Creed dropped his hood, but his heart pounded in his head.

  If the Klings are in cahoots with the underlings, who else might be?

  He slunk back into the alley and took a
new path back to Castle Bloodhound. He needed to tell Lord Grom what he’d seen. But would that be enough to convince him? How do I know he’ll believe me? I’ll just convince him. Oh, but he’ll be furious that I was out here spying on them. But if not me, then who?

  He rounded the next corner and found himself face to face with an underling. Its wide eyes were yellow gemstones. Its guard was down. Creed cracked it in the face with his fist. It jumped back. Pulled a curved dagger out. Struck. Creed caught its wrist and wrenched the blade free. Twisted its arm behind its back and shoved it headfirst into the wall.

  Smack!

  Creed put his superior height and weight to his full advantage. The underling went face-first into the wall again.

  Smack!

  He didn’t hold back his fury.

  Crack!

  Blood smeared the wall. Creed flung the corpse aside like a doll. There was another body in the alley. A young woman’s eyes were frozen toward the sky, her throat opened. He kneeled down and closed her eyes.

  “I hate underlings.”

  Chitters echoed down the alley. Bright eyes appeared. He started to pull the shroud up and stopped. Control, Creed. Control! They’ve already seen you anyway. He slid out the blades, which were now edged extensions of his hands. Dark. Deadly. He counted five underlings coming down the alley. He widened his stance. Lowered his chin.

  Chitters and steel came.

  He stabbed a black heart.

  Glitch!

  Slit a throat.

  Slice!

  His blades became a bloody whirlwind.

  Chop! Chop! Chop! Chop!

  A face split.

  Skulls cracked open.

  An underling’s arm dangled by the tendons. It took a wild swing with its other blade.

  Slice!

  A hand flew. A stump spurted blood.

  Creed watched it sag into the alley and die, glowing blue eyes wide. Chest heaving, he took a breath. “That’s more like it.” He checked his cloak. Leather armor. There was a gash through the clothes and leather. He rubbed it. Checked the blood on his fingers. “I’ll live.” He kicked an underling aside and headed back down the alley toward Castle Bloodhound.

  He winded through the alleys, left, right, left. He came to a stop midway down the next one. A rumble of chitters started. A pair of underling eyes popped open, followed by another then another. Creed set his stance. A dozen more pairs of eyes appeared. An angry wave of evil came right at him.

  Blast! Too many!

  He ran back in the direction he’d come from.

  Another wave of underlings cut him off.

  Blast!

  He donned the shroud.

  CHAPTER 16

  Fogle held his nose with one hand. Swatted at flies with the other. Death was all over. He gagged.

  Boon patted him on the back.

  “You shouldn’t expect to get used to it. But I’ve got a cantrip for it,” he said, lifting his bushy brows. “It works well.”

  Fogle retched. Spitting bile from his mouth, he said, “I’ll take it.” Boon walked him through it and a moment later the choking stench of death was gone. He nodded.

  The Outlands had many valleys. High places and low. The terrain could be as rocky as it was sandy. In this valley it was bloody.

  Men were dead. Impaled. Stabbed. Blasted into bits and pieces. Charred remains covered the ground. Vultures picked at their flesh.

  “Who are they?” Fogle said. He stepped over the corpse of a man in heavy desert robes. A warrior with a curved saber gripped in his pale and bloody hand. His face was split open. “There must be hundreds of them.”

  “They are soldiers from the nomad cities,” Boon said. “Jungs. A proud and fierce kind. Good men. Stalwart. Strong.” He shook his head. “This is sad. Sad indeed.” He kneeled down and picked up an underling’s dagger with the hand still attached to it. He took the knife, tucked it in his belt, and tossed the hand away. “Underling steel is good steel. Never rusts. Always cuts. Humph … I imagine all the Jung families are dead by now. Unless then found sanctuary. But I don’t think there is any … anymore.”

  Fogle picked his way through the valley, scattering the vultures, which he noticed were only picking at the men, not the underlings. Dead underlings were fallen as well. Plenty of them. Fallen to arrows. Spears. Axes. A ghastly sight, bright eyes gleaming in the sunlight. It was the first time Fogle had taken a long hard look at them. Even dead, they were still permeated with evil. Each was different though. Skin carvings. Brands. Short hair. No hair. Long braided hair. Pony tails. Odd jewelry in their ears and necks. Their faces were like those of men, but with a twist of evil. Merciless.

  “Not so much different than us, are they? Just a little fuzzy,” Boon said. He squatted down and checked an underling’s citrine eyes. He cut one eyeball out and then the other.

  Fogle cringed.

  “What are you doing?”

  Boon looked at him, bewildered. “Taking their magic. Have we not reviewed this already?”

  “That’s savage.”

  “No, it’s survival. Catch!” Boon tossed the eyeball to Fogle.

  He plucked it from the air. It was hard as a marble and not a drop of blood or gore was on it.

  “Shouldn’t we burn them instead? Are you going to pluck the eyes out of all of them?”

  Boon tossed the dagger at his feet and said, “No, you are.”

  Fogle kicked it away. “I’ll do no such thing. I don’t care how much magic is in them.” He turned away.

  Boon was weird and annoying. Many times hard to understand. Fogle began to believe his grandfather would go to any lengths to kill underlings. I won’t become like him. The old buzzard is crazy!

  “Heh, heh,” Boon said, picking the dagger back up. “It’s not so brutal, Fogle. Not considering what they’d do to us. Bury us head first. Skin us. All while warm blood pumps through our veins. Have you not heard the screams?”

  Fogle kept moving through the valley. So far as he could tell, the Jung Nomads looked formidable. Rangy men with iron muscles and sun-darkened skin. Underling magic and steel had cut through them like a hurricane. Fogle turned away from a man’s face that was melted to the sand.

  “I thought the underlings buried their dead. Why are so many still here?” Fogle asked.

  “Good question.” Boon rubbed his white mustache. “It seems they were in a hurry. They didn’t even stop to torment any passersby. Usually, Diggers leave a mark, but not this time. They’re moving like some sort of stampede.” His mustache twitched. “Fogle, this worries me. None of this is common of the underlings. The people of Bish will cower in their wake if they don’t stand up to them.”

  “Shouldn’t that be what the Royals do? I thought you said they always handled these situations.”

  “Well, they should have done something by now, but they haven’t.”

  “Aren’t we going to tell the Royals about this? What are we waiting for?”

  “The question begs: which Royals to tell?” Boon spat. “Their inaction stinks of treachery. They double cross one another, Fogle. Decades ago when something like this started, the Royals unified despite their differences. They sent the fiends back into their holes! Now, I’m astounded.”

  Underneath the hot glare of the suns, Fogle surveyed the dead baking around him. He felt like the only ones fighting the underlings were him and Boon. The rest of Bish either hid or awaited the doom. He knew Boon was right about one thing. If the Royals were going to act, they would have acted long ago. What in Bish is going on? He looked at Boon. The old man was plucking out more eyes. Sick in the skull.

  “What about the armament?”

  Boon peered at him with a curious blue eye. “The what?”

  “The sack. The one you had. You said it was the most powerful magic in the world.”

  Boon huffed. “Sure, for fighting small forces maybe, but entire armies? It will take more than that I’d say. But that’s someone else’s problem now. We’ve got our own to
deal with.”

  “And what would that be?”

  Boon stood up and dusted his hands on his blue robes. He looked more like a warrior than a wizard without any sleeves, his arms reddened by the sun and muscular. The straps on his sandals were loosened. Boon slid the underling’s dagger under his belt and looked right at him.

  “Raising our own army.”

  Fogle’s mouth fell open. His fury followed. “You’re insane!”

  “It runs in the family,” Boon said with a wink.

  BISH!

  CHAPTER 17

  One step at a time, Melegal traversed the harsh landscape with heavy legs and mind. Haze was gone. He’d never been so attached to a woman before. She’d been far from perfect but he’d liked her, and thanks to him, she was dead.

  Venir drifted by his side in great strides, arms swinging a little.

  “It’s not on you, Melegal,” he said.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You know what,” Venir said, looking down at him. He had a nasty gash on his cheek. His blue eyes were blazing. “Haze. She wanted to come. You brought her. And not for your own reasons but hers. It’s just a shame she didn’t make it.” He patted Melegal’s shoulder.

  “What is wrong with you?” Melegal said, shifting away. “Just keep marching me to this fair city. Please. No need to communicate. I was finally getting used to your silent banter.”

  He pulled his cloak tighter and flipped his hood over his head. Melegal didn’t care what Venir thought. He’d seen plenty of death in his days. He understood that it could come at any time. On any day. In any way. Does this fool think he can explain to me what I already know: that Bish sucks!

  Ahead, Venir picked up his pace. His strides became longer. His arm swing was gone.

  Oh great, I’ve hurt the brute’s feelings. Melegal stepped it up. His feet had already been burning against his boots. Now they also started to ache. They’d better have some foot-rubbing wenches in this hole.

  He walked mile after mile, deep in thought. His life in Bone was gone, where he’d had everything. An apartment. An assignment with the Royals. A hoard of oak-aged brandy that someone else had bought. A loyal woman to top it off. At least with the Royals he knew what to expect. In the Outlands, he was lost. It’s all your fault, Venir. He stubbed his toe on a rock.