“I’m here to help,” he said.
Her fragile features blinked repeatedly. She was young. They all were.
“You see those stairs?” Venir said, pointing to the catwalks and stairs where he had entered.
She nodded.
“Then follow me if you don’t want to wind up in the Underland. Tell them to stay still while we cross the water. I’ll do the rest.”
He unhitched the barge and slowly led it backward through the waters. The clamor of battle was a full fervor, but the crates and barrels blocked his vision. He eased the barge on the sandy shore at the end of the docks and helped the women and children out.
“No sudden moves,” he growled. “Do you hear me? Slow, low and easy. Don’t even look their way.”
Most nodded. Others couldn’t hide their horrified looks, but like most on Bish, they were survivors. They’d fight for one breath more.
Forward he went, with the flock of fugitives right on his heels. The stairs going upward were near. He glanced at the battle on the docks. The men were sliced open like fruit. An underling was buried under the weight of a flurry of knives. Venir wanted nothing more than to jump right in, even if it meant aiding the despicable men. But the battle was almost over, and once it ended, the underlings would notice the barge had moved.
“Get up there,” he told the fugitives, shoving them up the stairs. “Move quickly now for the door, and don’t look back.”
The throng of women jammed the stairs. One busted her knee and cried out.
Several underlings turned with blood dripping from their blades.
“Get them!” an underling chittered.
Venir twisted his neck over his shoulder and said, “Run!” He turned back, gritted his teeth, and advanced on the underlings.
There were six underlings left. The closer they came, the slower they moved, until the dark figures hemmed him in. They gawked at him. Heads cocking. A murmuring chitter started among them.
Venir rose to his full height. A great man of burnishing metal. His bloodlust started to boil over. But one word they said still registered.
“The Darkslayer.”
He cut Brool through the air. A whistle of death followed. The sound the underlings referred to as the ‘last call.’”
“Which one of you vermin wants the honor of dying first?” Venir sneered.
They chortled and pounced.
Venir’s mighty arms swung a black arc of lightning, sheering through the guts and bones of the first underling.
Bang!
Blades ricocheted off his shield.
He spun, left and right, hammering away.
Chop!
Clavicles and black chain mail merged with a bloody howl.
Churk!
Brool’s tip lanced an underling’s throat.
Venir could sense their movements, even without Helm. One ran for the caves. Another sprinted around him, chasing after the screaming women.
“Bone!”
He bashed the closest underling with his shield, knocking it off the stairs. Then he whipped around and hurled Brool like a spear. Straight and true it went, into the chasing underling’s hip. It toppled back down the stairs.
Slit!
“Argh!”
An underling cut through his boot and into the back of his heel. He toppled off the stairs with a crash.
The ruby-eyed underling screeched and hurled its body on top of his. It clawed at his neck. Jabbed a blade at his ribs.
Venir swatted it in the jaw with the back of his fist and rolled on top of it. He wrenched its blade from its hand and pinned it down by the neck. His iron grip clamped down on the creature’s throat and squeezed.
Its eyes bulged out like red lanterns. Its black tongue juttered.
Venir put all his weight on it.
Crack!
It was done. Heaving for breath, he forced himself up to his feet. Looking down at his blood-soaked boot, he grimaced. He scanned the shoreline and docks. Nothing moved. The rogues were dead, lying in heaps of butchered flesh. He could still feel the underlings’ presence though, but he couldn’t see a one of them. Limping, he shuffled toward the stairs, reaching down to pick up Brool. The gory weapon had a bloody glimmer.
“Well done,” he said to it. Above, there was no sign of the women or children. Nothing moved faster than fear and desperation. Even in the feeblest kind. He slung his shield over his hulking shoulders and hopped up the stairs one by one, his bloody boot heel staining every step he took. The door to freedom looked a mile away at the rate he was going.
“Move or die.”
He made it up to the catwalks and lumbered forward.
A blood-curdling clamor rose. A thunderous bellow from the mouth of a monster.
Venir peered into the caves beyond the rippling waters. A hulk of humanoid flesh came swiftly through the water like an angry child. Its blubbery arms were long and rangy. Its head that of an ugly mannish beast. A row of hard knots went down its back and shoulders. It was a full twenty feet of troll. Its oversized fists busted the docks to splinters. Under a skull as thick as stone, its beady eyes locked on Venir’s. It let out another blaring below and renewed its charge.
“Son of a Bish!”
Venir gritted his teeth, blood racing with new life, and scurried for the door. It was too far.
Crash!
The troll ripped into the stairs and tore the posts asunder. Massive beams snapped like kindling. Stairs and railing were tossed like hay. Its monstrous hands—each big enough to crush a man—shredded through planks like wheat.
Venir, thirty feet high, felt the entire structure buckle and give. The troll, staring at him, roared again. Feeling the catwalks teeter beneath his feet, Venir roared back. He took a glance toward the door.
Too far.
Glaring at the troll that shook the post beneath him, he gripped Brool like a spear and leaped.
Fight or die.
EPILOGUE
Sitting at her vanity and staring into the mirror, Lorda Almen ran a brush through her hair. Tears ran down her once-delicate cheeks. A bruise shaded her eye. A blemish showed here and there, and one of her teeth was broken. She sobbed.
A snort startled her, took her breath. On her bed, Creed’s bed, Lord Grom snored like a grizzly. She’d just spent the better part of the evening fulfilling his wants. His depraved needs.
Lord Almen had never defiled her. Never humiliated her. He had cared for her. Respected her. A high-born knight compared to this animal.
She missed Creed. She needed Creed. Something about the young man could make things right in her world. Lord Grom feared him for some reason she had yet to discover. But her freedom and the freedom of all the Bloodhounds hinged on that one man. And she was surprised Lord Grom had not killed him. But she felt that time was short.
She eyed Creed’s weapons that leaned in the corner nearby. On cat’s feet, she made her way over, stopped and spied over her shoulder. Lord Grom snorted and rolled away from her.
I’ve got to end this. To Bish with what happens.
She eased a dagger, a fine poniard, from the scabbard of one belt.
A dog growled behind her shoulders, its throat a rumbling thunder. She eased the poniard back inside its sheath and slowly turned. The dog was bigger than her. Long-haired and shaggy. Grey, much like Lord Grom. She sighed, made her way back to the vanity, and started to sit down.
Lord Grom stirred.
“What’s going on over there?” he said, rolling over and blinking his bloodshot eyes.
“Nothing. I just think your hound is hungry,” she said, brushing her hair.
Lord Grom stretched his heavy arms, yawning and saying, “That makes two of us, but I’m feeling more spry than hungry at the moment.” He patted the bed. “Come, Catherine. Do what you did for me earlier, once more.”
Standing and letting her pink robes slide down her plump figure, she forced a smile.
“My pleasure, Lord Grom,” she said, easing her way over.
She slowly crawled up on the bed. “Certainly,” you bearded pig!
***
Suddenly, life was better. The streets felt like gold beneath Fogle’s feet. He was happy. Happy as a swine in a mud hole. Side by side, he walked with Boon, practically swinging his arms. Behind him, Tarcot followed. The four-armed bug-faced warrior drew many stares, but little gawking. There had been striders in the City of Three before, just not many.
“I didn’t know you could do that,” Boon said to him.
“Do what?”
“That,” Boon said, pointing to his lips. “You can smile. And it’s not half bad. You could draw women like bees to honey, smiling like that.”
Fogle clamped his lips and shook his head. He hated it when his grandfather said things like that. It made him uneasy. It made him think of Cass. He couldn’t help but wonder if that woman was still keeping house with a dragon, of all things.
“Ah,” Boon said, looking at him, then looking away, “I see you’re saving it. Good idea.” He chuckled. “You don’t want to overuse it.”
Does his tongue ever cease?
Fogle marched ahead, nodding greetings at the people he passed, oblivious to his tattered condition. He’d had an aversion to people before, but now he was glad to see them, despite their dour expressions. It felt like it had been forever since he’d been home. Never before had he experienced the feeling he felt now, being in the midst of people. The Outlands offered little human company other than his grandfather. He almost wanted to hug them all.
“Look!” Tarcot said, laying two hands on their shoulders and pointing skyward with the other two. “What is that?”
Two figures were falling from one of the great towers.
“Great Bish,” Fogle said, “it’s people.”
Those who fell were halfway down, headed for certain death. A burst of energy surged inside his head. He stretched his thoughts out and caught them with his mind. Less than a foot from the street, they stopped. Fogle, Boon and Tarcot ran for them.
“I’ll be,” Boon exclaimed.
It was Venir’s friend, the rogue, Melegal. His normally pale face was ghost white. Sweat beaded his brow. A woman Fogle didn’t recognize was with him. He lowered them.
The thief kissed the cobblestones, locked his eyes on him and said, “Did you just stop my untimely death?”
Fogle nodded.
“I don’t often say this, but thank you.”
Fogle nodded and stretched out his hand.
Melegal reached for it, but jerked his hand back, staring at Tarcot.
“Ugh … what is that?”
“A strider named Tarcot,” Fogle said.
“And he’s with you?”
He nodded and said, “He’s the one that spied you plunging to your death. You might want to thank him too.”
“No,” Melegal said, “one thank-you is enough for a lifetime. Does he drink?”
“Heavily.”
“I’ll work something out then.”
Boon stirred the woman on the ground. She started to wake up. Eyeing the tower,
he said to Melegal, “What in Bish were you doing up there?”
“Delivering flowers,” the thief sneered.
“Well,” Boon said, “I take it they didn’t like the arrangement. I’m surprised you’re still of sound mind and body. Those are dreadful people up there, you fool.”
Melegal smoothed his cap over the side of his head and said, “Everyone’s dreadful in one way or another. And I didn’t have any choice in the matter.”
“Seems about right,” Fogle said. “Is the Magi Roost in good order? How is Kam?” He swallowed.
“Huh,” Melegal said. “Let’s go see. It’s been awhile.”
Boon helped the woman to her feet. Her eyes were wide and blinking.
“Hello,” he said, “I’m Boon. And who might you be?”
“J-Jasper,” she said, looking up at the tower and shaking her head.
“Well Jasper,” Boon continued, smiling and leading her down the street, “You are a pretty little thing. Has anyone ever told you that?”
“No.”
***
Aiming for the troll’s skull, Venir plunged headlong toward it.
It swatted.
Venir drove Brool’s spike clean through its hand, drawing forth a shrieking howl.
It slung Venir to the ground, flattening him on his back.
He lost his grip on his axe and lost his breath.
The monster stomped forward.
Venir rolled away from the foot and flattened on his belly as a fist came down.
The troll busted its knuckles on his shield, clattering Venir’s teeth. It reared back and wailed, shaking its hand.
Venir scanned for Brool. The great weapon lay behind the troll.
Bone!
He rolled onto a knee and unslung his shield.
The troll pounced and hammered away at him.
Venir felt the jarring impact in every bone. His body trembled under the monster’s power. His iron muscles had never taken a tougher beating. The towering troll rose its fists over its head and prepared to bring them down again with monstrous fierceness, bellowing a sub-human roar.
Venir slung his shield inside its mouth, busting its teeth and wedging itself inside its jaws.
Urk!
It flayed like a maddened animal.
After hopping through the danger to snatch up Brool, Venir swung the great blade with ram-like force into the troll’s tree-trunk leg.
SLICE!
The razor-sharp edge passed clean through.
The monster toppled, screeched, and fell.
Thoom!
With lion-like ferocity, Venir pounced into attack.
Hack! Hack!
Chop! Chop!
Hack! Hack! Chop!
Chunks of troll went everywhere, coating the blood-mad warrior. Venir climbed over its back, all pain gone, and delivered several pulverizing blows to its skull.
The troll’s body shuddered, convulsed, and went slack.
Chest heaving and body coated in troll blood and guts, Venir half fell from the monster’s back to the sandy ground below. His head was still ringing. He spied the last underling he’d seen fleeing.
Helm’s urgings eased.
Gulping in a mouthful of air, he shuddered and moaned.
They’ll be back. A hundred next time. Better get moving.
The stairs and catwalks leading out were a pile of scrap wood. The cave wall surface was too sheer to climb.
Slat!
Spitting blood, he limped over and jerked his shield from the troll’s mouth.
“Ugly as an underling’s mother,” he said, heading for the dock. He looked down at his blood-soaked boot. It was bad, but he lived … still. He was making his way down the planks when something inside one of the half-open crates caught his eye. He tore the lid clear off and looked inside. It was filled with small leather purses. He pulled the drawstrings back and poured the contents into his hands.
“Bish!” he exclaimed.
Gold coins glittered in his palms, along with a few precious stones. He had stuffed half a dozen purses into his pack when he felt Helm throb again. He grabbed another, limp-scurried onto the barge, and pushed it free with the guiding rod. He put his shoulders into it, pushing harder. Faster. Away from the dock. Away from the slaughter. Down the dark river he went, in search of a way out from the subterranean world with one thought in mind.
I’d better live long enough to spend this gold.
BOOK 3: RED DEATH
CHAPTER 1
Kam polished the waxy black surface of the bar and sniffled.
How many of his miscreants must I tolerate?
She rubbed harder, digging her teeth into her lip. Her stomach was queasy. She grabbed a goblet, filled it with Muckle Sap, eyed the glass, and sighed.
“Are you drinking again?” a peppy voice said from behind her.
Kam’s shoulders tightened. “Are you being a nosy l
ittle pest again, Jubilee?”
The tawny-headed girl hopped her butt up onto the bar with a spry look on her face. “Joline told me to keep an eye on you. She worries you’ll become a lush.”
“A lush!”
Jubilee shrugged. “Well, something like that.”
“Joline didn’t call me a lush,” Kam said, knocking back her drink. “Now get. Bus those tables over there.”
“It’ll keep,” Jubilee said. “Nikkel’s got it.”
Kam’s cheeks flushed. “You little—”
“You miss him, don’t you?” Jubilee cut in.
“What?”
“The big man, Vee. You kicked him out, he hasn’t come back, and now you regret it.” Jubilee’s feet dangled over the bar, swinging back and forth. “I can read you, Kam. Your insides are all over your face. Try smiling once in a while, like me. See?” She grinned, showing that a tooth in the back was missing.
Kam let out a brief giggle.
“That’s good! Feel a bit better, don’t you?”
“I think it’s the Muckle Sap that does that.”
Jubilee picked up the bottle and set it on the other side of her.
“Do you mind?”
“You’re on the job,” Jubilee said. There were plenty of people around, but it was quiet. It was often quiet on dreary days.
“It’s a bar,” Kam said, snapping the rag at Jubilee. “Now get. Get!”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“About Venir?” Kam swallowed a lump in her throat. It even hurt to say his name. He’d crashed back into her life, and she’d run him off. Why had she done that? “So I miss him,” she said, “but I hate him too.” She squeezed the rag. “And I’m not sure which is more.”
“Women really are messed up,” Jubilee said. “We let too many things bother us, while it seems that men don’t let anything bother them at all.” Her eyes found Nikkel’s, and she looked away.
Kam let out a smile. “Oh, so I see you have man problems. What did he do?”
“I caught him talking to Shirl so close that their lips almost touched. He’s a pig.” Jubilee looked Kam in the eye and added, excited, “Can you fire her?”
The Darkslayer: Bish and Bone Series Collector's Edition (Books 1-10): Sword and Sorcery Masterpieces Page 29
