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

by Craig Halloran

  Hands filled with dwarven steel, he chopped down the assaulting orc, removing its right arm at the shoulder.

  Two other orcs flanked Pall with their spears, jabbing at his chest.

  “Yer stabbing, but yer feet ain’t moving.” Pall marched forward.

  The orcs backpedaled and jabbed.

  Pall slashed the tip off the next poking spear.

  Chucking its broken spear at Pall, that orc turned and ran.

  The blood ranger eyed the other two orcs and said in their coarse language, “There’s nothing I’d rather do than kill the both of you. What’s it going to be?”

  The orcs let out a harrowing battle cry and attacked.

  Pall batted their spears away with the flats of his blades and centered himself between the two of them. He taunted them both. “Come on, stupids!”

  They charged him from both sides.

  Moving with agility that belied his girth and size, Pall glided out of harm’s way.

  The orcs skewered one another.

  Glitch! Glitch!

  Still standing with their jaws agape, they died.

  “They fall for it every time. Stupid orcs.”

  Pall cleaned his blades off on the dead and turned toward the cargo he was dragging. Two cocoon-like shapes were tethered up to his rope. One was the size of a large man, the other much smaller. He took a knee alongside the strange bodies and tested the bonds. “Good.”

  He poked at the strange skin covering his cargo. The skin was gray-green and splotchy. Pall was ancient and knew many things. Every creature, no matter how deadly, had other uses. The balfrog was rare and contained many qualities. Its skin and life-rich juices could preserve bodies for a long, long time. He grabbed the ropes and started dragging the bodies over the rugged landscape again.

  “Come on, lads. It won’t be long before those orcs start stinking more than they already do.”

  Pall traveled another half day and stopped after the first sunset. From his leather pouch he pulled a small round rock. It had a tiny red glow. He rubbed his nose and looked around. At last, one of his brows arched high.

  “There you are.”

  He approached a pile of rocks. Stone by stone, he tossed them off until he found the soft dirt of a grave. He scooped it out handful by handful until his hand found another. He pulled the corpse of Boon out of the dirt. The wizard’s body had not rotted. Pall knocked the dust off of Boon like he was beating an old rug and then laid him down. He opened the old wizard’s jaw, stuck the glowing rock inside his mouth, and closed it back again.

  “I’m not used to you being so quiet.”

  He removed the large rucksack from his shoulders, opened it, and took out another layer of balfrog hide. He dragged Boon into it, sprinkled some balfrog juice over the body from a vial he had, wrapped the dead wizard up from head to toe, and bound him up with strands of hemp rope. He fixed Boon into his travois with the others, loaded up his gear, and hefted the rope over his shoulders.

  With the second sun dying in the distance, he resumed his march, bodies dragging behind him, clear through the night and into the next day without stopping. He moved west, somewhere between Dwarven Hole and Hohm City.

  “What’s that you said?”

  From time to time, Pall looked back at his comrades. They were still nothing more than cocoons in frog flesh. He hummed dwarven tunes. Sometimes he laughed. Other moments he bellowed. Day passed to night and the night passed to day before he finally came to a stop again.

  “We’re here.”

  A giant wall of white-gray mist rose up higher than the eye could see. It stretched for leagues left and right of his position. Goose bumps rose on his arms. Pall took a deep breath and headed into the mist.

  “I hope I still remember where I’m going.”

  CHAPTER 1

  The female underling was the most magnificent creature Melegal had ever seen. Her hair was white as cotton and smooth as silk. She lay on a leather cot, and he sat on a stool beside her. She didn’t move, yet she breathed easy. Her limbs were like noodles. He touched her forehead with the back of his hand. She was cool to the touch.

  Her eyes fluttered open and locked on Melegal’s. They were like lavender pearls, beautiful and penetrating.

  It was the first time Melegal had seen them open since they’d arrived in Dwarven Hole. He hadn’t thought she would survive or that the dwarves would even allow her within, yet they had, and they’d given her excellent care too. It was strange.

  A pair of dwarvesses bustled through the chamber. They were short and amply built. Each wore robes the color of ivory, and they had pleasant looks on their dwarven faces. One of them took fresh towels from a crevice carved in the stone, and the other headed for a tub made from solid pewter. A fireplace was roaring near the tub, and steam rose from the water. The second dwarven woman added salt to the water, drawing forth some bubbles and hisses.

  Melegal eyed the chimney that disappeared into the rock ceiling and wondered where the smoke went. He glanced back at the female underling. The fire wasn’t in her eyes anymore, the confidence of a slayer. She had battled toe to toe with Venir, had been a wonder of grace and whirling steel. Her gifts were gone. Helplessness had replaced her confidence.

  He grabbed a damp cloth from a bucket of water and wiped her face down. “You wake.”

  She said something in Underling. A chitter of sorts. It was harsh.

  “I’d mind your tone. I marvel you live, being an underling and all.”

  “I marvel you live, being a human and all.”

  Melegal’s brows lifted. “So you can speak Common. How marvelous. Maybe if you had spoken up sooner, you would not be in your helpless position.”

  “You’re the one whose mule kicked me.”

  “It saved your life.” Melegal wiped the water from her brow with his thumb. “You were about to be turned into vulture food.”

  Her eyes slid around the room. “Where am I?”

  “Dwarven Hole.”

  Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t look at him. “And who are you?”

  “Melegal. And you are?”

  She paused, but then her lips parted. “Elypsa.”

  “A fair name for a fair maiden.”

  Her nose crinkled up. “You’re going to torture me, aren’t you.”

  “No, not I, but I can’t say the same about the dwarves.” He took her face and turned it toward the tub. “I do believe they are about to boil you to death.”

  She didn’t blink. “It doesn’t smell like death.”

  “No, it’s quite aromatic actually.” He fanned his hand under his nose. “Refreshing. I think the dwarves are going to torture you gently.”

  The two dwarvesses appeared alongside Melegal. One of them took him by the hand and led him out of the room into a hallway. The other dwarvess removed the towel from Elypsa, picked her lithe frame up, took her to the tub, and placed her within the waters. Melegal could still see the top of her head when he rose up on his tiptoes.

  “I’ll see you soon, Elypsa.”

  The door closed behind him. Something stirred within him.

  Is that sympathy, or is it lust? Such a strange sensation.

  “Elypsa.” He adjusted his cap and turned down the corridor―and came to a quick halt in front of Jasper.

  She had a dark and angry look in her eyes. “How did I know I would find you here?”

  “I’m just checking the status of the prisoner.”

  “I see the way you look at that thing! Remember what you told me about underlings back in the City of Three, how they are killers?” She shoved him in the chest. “Remember the unpleasant talk we had?”

  “There have been so many—”

  “Let me give you a reminder!” Jasper slapped at his face.

  Melegal snatched her hand. “Oh, that conversation. Point taken, my little mystic lady, but I don’t think your jealous bones should rattle over a paralyzed woman.”

  Jasper tried to punch him. “Do you hear yours
elf? She? It is an underling! It tried to kill all of us, and we should have killed it! Venir is sewn together on account of it.”

  He released her hand. “Oh, he’ll be fine. He always is. Now, let’s not you and I get off on things.”

  “Don’t ever visit it again, Melegal,” Jasper said. “I mean it.”

  “I’ll do what I want when I want. You know that. Just let me satisfy my curiosity. Perhaps it will benefit us.”

  Jasper’s demeanor softened. “Fine. I’m going to trust you. Just remember who your woman is. Me.”

  “That’s what I like to hear.” He leaned toward her lips. “My dear.”

  Jasper eased forward and punched the back of her fist into his gonads.

  Melegal’s eyes watered as Jasper stormed away.

  She showed him an unpleasant gesture. “Don’t make a fool of me, Melegal!”

  “Well done,” he said through his teeth after her. “You’re getting more like me every day.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Dwarven Hole was a network of underground cities. The outermost part of the facilities was a series of roads and terraces that faced the gaping hole in the ground. Behind those strange roads in the enormous mouth of the volcano was a complicated tunnel system, cut from stone and decorated in marble and steel. It ventured deep into the world of Bish, and if one went far enough, the dwarves were still digging and building.

  Venir sat inside a barn full of stalls that rivaled the size of the ones the Royals used in the City of Bone. Dwarves―smaller ones, unlike Mood and the rest of the one hundred Blood Rangers―milled about, muttering in Dwarven and singing robust tunes. They shoed horses, filled buckets from the everlasting troughs, shoveled manure, and fed the livestock. They did it all with purpose. Everything the dwarves did had intent.

  Venir wondered how many dwarves there were. Thousands? Tens of thousands? Perhaps their numbers were even in the hundreds of thousands. It was hard to tell, because he never saw many of them together at once, and they all looked kind of the same. Long haired and bearded.

  The huge beast Venir leaned back against let out a sigh. It was Chongo. His two-headed dog had his own stall, and the gate was never closed. Each of the dog’s massive heads was like four of Venir’s in one. One of Chongo’s heads panted with his big black-and-pink tongue hanging out. It licked Venir’s arm. The other head’s mouth was closed, but his ears were perked up.

  Venir reached back and scratched Chongo’s licking head behind the ears. “I’m so glad you’re back, boy. I missed you. I knew you would take care of Mood, though. He needed you.”

  Chongo licked Venir’s face.

  “I’m fine, just fine,” Venir said with a smile. His cheek tingled.

  There was something about Chongo’s licks that made him feel better. The female underling had carved him to bits. Skin hung from his muscles. The aching in his body throbbed from head to toe. When he and Chongo had united days ago, the dog had licked him up and down. The pain had eased. His torn skin had mended somewhat. The dwarvess healers had done the rest.

  Venir lifted his right arm and eyed the stitches that ran from his elbow to his wrist from a nasty gash that had torn through the muscle.

  “Now that’s a beauty mark. Not even your spit could heal that one.”

  Venir laid his head back farther into Chongo’s side. The big dog’s fur was soft, his breathing easy but powerful. The dog gave Venir a sense of security he never had with anyone else. Chongo took care of him, whereas Venir took care of everyone else.

  “Remind me to never send you away again.”

  Chongo offered a friendly whine and licked his shoulder.

  “I know. I know. We’ll walk in a little bit. Let’s just rest for now. It’s been a while.”

  As far as Venir knew, Chongo was as old as he was. Thirty or more, and ordinary dogs didn’t live that long. Dwarven Setters like Chongo were bred by the dwarves, and being so they tended to live a long time. Chongo didn’t look any older than he ever did, and as far as Venir was concerned he hoped Chongo would live as long as he did, unlikely as that might be.

  Chongo snorted and lowered his heads to the ground.

  In the days Venir had been back, things had been quiet. He’d shared a short embrace with Mood and little else. Mood had a fire in his emerald eyes. A greater purpose. The King of the Blood Rangers was also the king of all dwarven kind, and he made it clear he’d had enough of the underlings. Huzzah!

  The word echoed in Venir’s mind. War was coming. Real war. For the first time in a long time, Venir felt like he wouldn’t have to wage his war against the underlings alone. As for Mood and his journey back from the Mist, that was a mystery Mood would just have to share with them later.

  Venir closed his eyes, drifted off to sleep, and let the dark and dangerous days ahead fade from his mind.

  Later, Chongo stirred.

  Venir opened up his blurry eyes and rubbed them with his fists.

  “Are you ever going to leave here?” said a soft but strong woman’s voice.

  Kam was dressed in a pale-green cotton gown that enhanced her figure. The curl and shine were back in her auburn hair. Her pretty eyes and skin had softened.

  Erin hugged her mother’s knees, pushed away, and teetered straight for Venir.

  He picked his daughter up and lifted her high.

  Erin squealed with delight.

  One of Chongo’s heads barked.

  “Well, at least the three of you are happy,” Kam said with a faint smile.

  “You aren’t happy?” Venir said. He placed Erin on top of Chongo’s back. “You should be. You look magnificent. As a matter of fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so beautiful before.”

  “Is that why you’re sleeping with your dog and not me?”

  Venir started to rise.

  “No, stay put,” she said, walking over and sitting down in his lap. She gave him a long kiss. “I missed you, and it wasn’t easy finding you. Don’t stay away so long.”

  “I thought you might need some time. You know me.” He grinned. “Sometimes I can be pushy.”

  She leaned into his broad chest. “Venir, one thing I have realized is we don’t get enough time together. I certainly have had my faults with that. But now, it’s best we take as much time together as we can and enjoy it.”

  “I’m enjoying this.”

  She closed her eyes. “So am I, but the smell might take some getting used to.”

  “Are you suggesting I need a bath?”

  “I think it’s been too long since we shared a bath.” Her hand ran down his chest and over his stomach and kept inching downward. “The dwarves have wonderful yurts filled with steam.”

  Venir swallowed. His blood rushed. With Kam in his arms, he rose on his legs and started out of the stable.

  “What about Erin?” Kam said with her finger toying with his ear.

  He glanced at the little girl crawling around on Chongo’s back, slapping at his tails. “She couldn’t be safer. They’ll keep each other entertained for hours.”

  “Hours?” Kam said with a purr.

  Venir scuttled out of the stable smiling from ear to ear. “And they say the hours are longer in Dwarven Hole.”

  CHAPTER 3

  The first dawn broke. The bright sun peeked between the monster branches inside the Great Forest of Bish. Jubilee lay on top of her bedroll, eyeing trees that seemed to stretch into the sky as far as the eye could see.

  A shadow fell over her. A cold voice spoke.

  “What are you waiting for? Get this camp picked up,” Jarla said. The raven-haired woman’s hands were on Jubilee, and her scowl was as unpleasant as ever. The scars on her face only made it worse. “Move it!”

  Jubilee jumped up to her feet and started rolling up her blanket.

  Jarla grabbed her by the back of the hair and pulled her up to her toes. “Pack my brigands’ things, not your own!” She shoved Jubilee away.

  Head down and without looking back, Jubilee trudged in
to the camp, where the men were starting to wake. She avoided their hungry gazes.

  I hate these men. I hate that woman.

  She kneeled down and rolled up a bedroll. It had been more than a week since she, Fogle, and Brak had become part of Jarla’s camp. Jubilee was the only other woman and a very young one.

  To her credit, Jarla had made it clear no hands were to touch Jubilee. Two men had tried. One died by Jarla’s blade. The other lost his grabby hand.

  Someone bumped into Jubilee, knocking her on her butt. It was a half-orc with a face like chewed leather and one nostril bigger than the other. His beady eyes leered at her. His tongue licked the ragged moustache over his lip.

  Jubilee glanced Jarla’s way. She parted her lips. “Jar—”

  The half-orc brigand hissed out a curse, turned his back, and departed.

  “Halt!” Jarla shouted from the other side of the camp.

  The half-orc froze.

  Jubilee’s heart raced.

  Jarla marched straight toward her and the half-orc brigand. His head was downcast. The stirring camp now froze.

  Jarla said to the half-orc, “Look at me.”

  Shoulders slumped, his eyes met her hard gaze.

  “Did you touch the girl?”

  The half-orc nodded.

  “Have you no tongue? Answer me!”

  “Yes, my queen. I bumped her. It was a mistake. Apologies.”

  “Oh,” Jarla said, glancing at Jubilee. “So he apologized to you?”

  Chin up, Jubilee responded, “No, he did no such thing. He just knocked me into the dirt and stared me down like roasted meat.”

  The half-orc’s eyes widened. He shook his head. “My queen, it was an accident. I did not notice the child in my path. She is small like a rodent.”

  “That she is,” Jarla said, withdrawing a dagger. She tapped it in the palm of her hand. “Listen to your queen, brigands! I cannot continue to maim you for all of your indiscretions. We have been in the wild too long. You need female company. You need ale. Today we ride for Two-Ten City!”

  The brigands let out a rousing cheer, and many together said, “Aye!”