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

by Craig Halloran

  The mud-coated Brak shook in his bonds. The giant of a man’s head was down. He grumbled.

  Swallowing, a weak-eyed Jubilee said, “If he goes berserk, he’s going to eat us.”

  “I was hoping he’d eat our captors,” Fogle said. “Slim, can’t you come up with anything? Summon some bugs to eat these bonds?”

  In his typical cheery voice, Slim said, “I tried.” He wriggled his spidery fingers. “Whatever I’ve done has not taken. It’s either because of the forest or them, but I’m muted. I can feel it. What about you? Don’t you have anything left in the belly?”

  “Nothing I can direct. I need my hands with what little I have.” Fogle bumped his head against the cave wall. “My lips and hands are one when it comes to my craft. Most of the time.”

  “Your lips and hands were never that useful to begin with,” Jarla remarked.

  “You’re a well of positive energy. No surprise, coming from the queen of cold. Oh, and thanks for getting us into this mess.”

  “You never would have made it this far without me,” Fogle said.

  Brak let out a moan. Everyone froze, even the ogres. With widening eyes, the partially bound-up ogres managed to inch away from Brak.

  Four of the forest magi appeared. Two of them hooked their arms underneath Fogle’ s armpits and lifted him up off the ground. He tried turning his nose away from the smell, but to no effect. “You smell of rotting vegetables. You might want to feed us. If the blond one gets too hungry, things are going to get ugly.”

  The vines loosened from the wall but still entangled Fogle’s wrists. Another vine coiled around his mouth. “Ulp!” The magi hauled him out of the cave.

  Jarla and Jubilee shouted after him. Their echoing words had no effect. Their voices faded as he was brought into the light.

  The other two magi picked him up by his feet. Together, working as a single unit, the four magi hovered over the forest floor. Robes dusting the red clay, they whisked Fogle into a grove where a clear waterfall fell between the flowers. They set him on his knees in front of the falls. There was a large, flat rock covered in blue-green moss between him and the waters. His spell book lay closed on it.

  A mage floated over and lowered himself in front of Fogle, planting his feet firmly on the ground. The mage leaned over, tapping a grubby finger on the book.

  Looking around at the surrounding flock of magi, one as dirty at the next, Fogle shrugged. One of the ones behind him swatted him in the back of his head. He leered back at the person—who could have been male or female—thinking, What do you expected me to do? I’m gagged.

  He focused on the one in front of him. That mage had a sturdier frame than the others. His hands had some meat on them.

  Toughened fingers began tapping the book again. Fogle did his best to speak. It came out in a bunch of angry muffles. Behind him, a mage drew back his arm. Fogle flinched.

  “No.” The mage in front of him spoke in a very neutral tone.

  Fogle still wasn’t sure if it was the voice of a man or a woman.

  Another mage came closer with a staff of gnarled wood the full length of a man’s arm. With a nod from the leader, the mage poked Fogle in the chest. The air crackled.

  Zap!

  Fogle let out a painful moan. His body contorted. All of the hairs on his body turned into tiny lances. He flopped over on the ground.

  The surrounding forest magi let out eerie chuckles.

  The leader spoke again. “Behave yourself. No tricks. With tricks comes peril.”

  Eyeing the mage holding the staff of wood, the wizard gave a feeble nod.

  They set Fogle up on his knees. One of them removed the rag from his mouth. The knot of wood at the top of the staff loomed dangerously close to his temple. Quivering, Fogle whispered, “No tricks. I promise.”

  “One can never trust the word of a wizard,” the leader said.

  “I have no other guarantee that I can offer. I, like yourself, am a user of magic. I don’t know that my word as a man is that much better.”

  The leader sat on the rock and picked up the spell book, which was collapsed down to travel size. “What is your name? Where do you come from?”

  “I’m Fogle Boon. I hail from the City of Three.” He cleared his throat. “And may I have the pleasure of knowing who you are?”

  “I am Rane.” He lowered his hood. The man had long hair twisted up with small vines. His face was painted with arcane white and black symbols centered on his eyes. His features were strong. Familiar.

  “Nice to make your acquaintance.”

  Rane opened the book. He began leafing through the pages. “The lettering is small, as is the book, but there are so many pages within. You will teach me.”

  Shifting on his knees, Fogle said, “Given the nature of our surroundings, I fear that won’t be possible, else I’d be happy to oblige.”

  With a quick nod from Rane, the staff-wielding magi zapped Fogle in the chest. Shards of pain coursed through the wizard’s body. He teetered. His teeth chattered, but he did not fall.

  Still flipping through the pages, Rane said, “You will teach me, or you will die.”

  CHAPTER 6

  With his war axe, Brool, hanging across the great expanse of muscle between his shoulders, Venir marched along with the army of dwarves. They headed northeast, distancing themselves from the growing underling army that merged in the southwest. Kam and Erin rode on Chongo’s back. Melegal and Jasper rode on Quickster nearby.

  Swaying in the saddle to the rhythm of Chongo’s gait, Kam said to Venir, “I know that solemn look. You’re trying to figure out how to wipe out that army all by yourself.”

  “Maybe.”

  “You know, Venir, the underlings aren’t your fault. They aren’t even your responsibility.”

  He gave Kam a look. She was refreshed. No so long ago, her beautiful face had been haggard and filled with exhaustion, but the strength had returned to her eyes. He thumbed toward his axe. “I was given the metal. What other purpose is there?”

  Kam eyed the crude weapon. “Venir, I’ve come to terms with what you are and what you do. I’m not complaining anymore. I support you as much as I fear I might lose you. But you carry too much of a burden. If anyone is to blame for the mess in the world, it’s the royals. They could have prevented this.”

  “I don’t think anything could have prevented this. It all had to come to a head at some point. Besides, you haven’t forgotten the likes of Scorch, have you?”

  “No.” Kam paled. “Some things are beyond our understanding, I guess.”

  Venir put his hand on her thigh. She laid her hand on his. Chongo snorted.

  “Did you ever think about giving Chongo two names instead of one?” Kam lowered Erin into the front of the saddle. The toddler hung on tight to the saddle horn. “Each of his heads is different than the other.”

  “He’s always been Chongo. He didn’t always have two heads, and he wasn’t always so big. He was just a dog. A dwarven setter.”

  “What happened to him?”

  Using his free hand as a measuring stick, Venir said, “One day he was this big, and the next day he was what you see now.” He shrugged. “And he had two heads. They both answer to Chongo.”

  Kam brushed the hair from her eyes. “There has to be more to it than that.” She turned in the saddle. “Melegal, what’s the story?”

  “You’re asking me? I’d be glad to tell you, but I don’t keep track of all of his overblown adventures in the wild. I’m city bred. One day the dog is small, and the next day, he’s big.” He petted Quickster’s mane. “Now, this is a truly magnificent beast. A marvel. No trouble or mystery at all. I’d be more than happy to share with you how I came about him. Where’s Billip, anyway? He loves hearing this tale.”

  “No thanks, I’ve heard it already.” Kam turned her attention back to Venir. “You know how Chongo’s changed—you just aren’t saying. I know you. Why?”

  He grinned. “As you said, some things are beyon
d our understanding.”

  “You really aren’t making a very strong case for us having some alone time later.”

  “I don’t have a good answer. All I have is the silver fish. It’s something me and Chongo ate when we were boys.” He crinkled his nose. “It had a smell to it. I’ll never forget it. When Chongo grew so fast, he belched, and I smelled it again. Back in my village, my father and grandfather told tales about the silver fish. Its scales were pure silver. No man could catch it. Men perished from the effort.” His blue eyes sparkled. “I was a boy. The magnificent fish lured me into the waters. I thought I was catching it, but it was catching me. It lured me into an abyss as black as an underling’s heart.” He patted the long hunting knife on his hip. “But I got it before it got me. Chongo dragged me out of the water. Starving, we devoured it. I never tasted anything like that before.”

  “Is that when Chongo changed?”

  “No, that came later.”

  Kam eyed him. “Well, please continue.”

  “Yes, continue.” Jasper rode behind Melegal with her chin on his shoulder. “You have a soothing voice. It makes this hard saddle easier to ride.”

  Melegal leaned back into her. “Don’t encourage him.”

  Nikkel trotted up to him. The handsome young black man held his head and squinted. “Oh, this is the longest day.”

  “It’s not even midday,” Venir replied. “So out with it.”

  “Mood needs you. There are riders coming from the north.”

  “Riders? What kind of riders?”

  “Sorry, I meant striders.” Nikkel shook his head. Holding his cut, he added, “I feel like I’m going to puke again.”

  Venir gave him a nod. He said to Kam, “Do you want to come along?”

  “No, Erin and I will be fine. I trust you’ll fill me in on the details. Is there anything I should be worried about?”

  “Eh, hard to say. Striders and dwarves don’t always get along.”

  ***

  Kam watched Venir depart. Among the dwarves, he was a giant. His sun-bronzed skin amplified his chiseled build. He moved with the ease of a lion. Kam took a breath. She’d finally succumbed to what he was: a man of iron. He’d do anything to protect the ones he cared about. But she sensed something else. There was a tingling that never left her bones. The end was near.

  “It’s hard to care for one so much, isn’t it?” Jasper said.

  “What do you mean?” Kam said.

  “Seeing them leave and never knowing if they’ll be back again.”

  “Oh, he’ll be back.” Melegal scoffed. “Take my word for it. I’ve been trying to shake him for a decade. He’s like a bad garden weed. He just keeps popping back up.”

  “I hope so,” Kam said.

  “I wouldn’t,” Melegal said. “Weeds ruin a perfectly good garden.”

  CHAPTER 7

  The bug-faced strider stood tall. Both sets of his four arms were crossed over his chest. The mantis-like man said to Mood, “We will lead this attack.”

  “No dwarf is following a bunch of bugs into war!” Mood poked his finger at Tarcot. “Don’t come into my army and tell me what I’m going to be doing. The dwarves will fare well without you.”

  “You don’t have the numbers. Your entire race will be wiped out.” Tarcot’s mantis head spoke words that had a bubbling sound. He made clik-clik sounds before and after. “You follow us.”

  “You’re mad. Venir, see if you can talk some sense into him. He comes with numbers but no sense. I don’t even think the striders have ever fought in any kind of war.”

  “At least they are willing to engage,” Venir said. “It’s a start.”

  “It’s your call, Venir. I’ll be here, listening.”

  They stood out in the open plains, leagues from the City of Bone, where patches of grass showed green again. The long-limbed strider, over seven feet tall and with two sets of knees, hunkered down, eye to eye with Venir.

  Tarcot reached out with one of his four arms and squeezed Venir’s shoulder. “Any one of us is a match for any three underlings. Their flesh is weak.”

  “How many striders?” Venir gazed out into the field where the striders stood in rank and file like an army of man-sized praying mantises.

  “Fifteen hundred.”

  “The dwarves barely number ten thousand. There are at least fifty thousand underlings, and that army is building. They have magic. There is no telling what they can summon and keep at their disposal. We need to wait. Find more allies and build.”

  “We’ve been waiting. Boon is supposed to bring an army, but it never comes,” Tarcot said.

  “Boon is dead.”

  Tarcot tilted his head to one side. Clik-clik. “What do you mean, dead?”

  Venir scooped up some dirt. Sifting it through his fingers, he said, “He perished in battle. We buried him.”

  “This is not possible. What enemy killed Boon?”

  “An underling with ruby-red eyes. A very powerful wizard. Boon took it to the grave too. He paid the ultimate price. He saved many lives. All of our lives.”

  Tarcot swatted the sand from Venir’s hand. “Boon will bring an army. He gave his word.”

  Venir gave Mood a blank stare. The Blood Ranger shrugged.

  “Are these all the fighters that you have, Tarcot?”

  “It is all we need.”

  “No, we need more. Mood, we need to gather Kark and the Jung again. The underlings don’t know the outlands better than we do. It’s time to put our heads together and unite.”

  A black beard marched up to Mood and handed him a scroll. He unrolled it and read, “The underlings are on the march.”

  “Which way?” Venir asked.

  “Our way.”

  “We aren’t going to turn tail, Venir,” Mood said. “There’s ample ground for us to make defense. We can hold out in the Black Columns for weeks if we need to.”

  “Weeks are nothing to them. They’ll starve you out in months. Once you go into the Black Columns, there won’t be another way out.” Venir shook his head. When they’d left Dwarven Hole, he’d been confident that they could handle any underling army, but that had changed. The fiends spread like black fire that burnt the sand. He needed to gather more forces somehow. In the City of Bone, royals commanded more than enough forces to match the underlings. But so far, all efforts to engage their help had been met with silence.

  “Mood,” Venir said, “perhaps you have the smaller army. Why not let them pursue? I’m curious to see how far they take it. Maybe the fiends don’t want us to take the south. Perhaps there are allies there who fear what we do. They have no aid on the other side. The royals boasted of thousands of riders that ruled the south.”

  “And they could be wiped out,” Mood added. “I have several Blood Rangers scouting. It will be days before I gather any more reports.” He tapped his foot. “The land is quiet. It used to give aid, but its silence worries me. The ground is not what it used to be. The wind and leaves have changed.”

  “Striders are excellent scouts. The best. Much faster than the dwarves. I’ll send my brethren out too.” Tarcot’s bug eyes blinked. “But I feel fighting the underlings head-on be for the best. They won’t expect it.”

  Mood grunted. “Agreed. The sooner we knock a hole in them, the better.”

  The dwarves would have been wiped out once already had Venir not intervened. There was nothing that Venir would rather do than take a fight straight to the underlings’ army, but there was more to a marching army than size and strength. They needed planning, effort, and a fallback plan in case things didn’t go their way. That wasn’t normally Venir’s way, but he needed more reassurance before he went headfirst into a situation that could lead to total annihilation.

  “Mood, Tarcot, keep our enemies at a league’s length. They move, we move. Let’s see where they go. Have some of your forces prepare Black Column. The rest will lead the chase.”

  “And what are you going to do?”

  “It’s t
ime to get a glimpse of Bone. I’m curious to see what kind of shape it’s in since we departed.”

  “We’d be better off if it fell to the ground. It’s a no-good stinking city.”

  “True, but it’s my no-good stinking city.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Master Sinway sat inside the lavish throne room of Ebenezer Kling. The iron-eyed underling sat on the throne with a golden goblet of underling port in his hand.

  Kuurn stood at his side. The citrine-eyed underling mage’s eyes were fixed on the woman Elypsa, whose long white hair covered her shoulders. She was dressed in the black-leather armor of an underling soldier. Her lavender eyes showed boredom. Aside from the occasional wheezing breath of the massive cave dogs gathered at Sinway’s feet, the grand room was quiet.

  “So I am to believe that he perished,” Sinway said to Elypsa. “My father, Sidebor. The one who does not die. And at the hands of a mortal wizard?”

  “There is no reason for deception, master,” she said. “Kuurn has the proof.”

  Sinway turned his stare to Kuurn.

  Kuurn pulled the ruby-red eye of Sidebor from his garish black robes and held it pinched between his thumb and index finger. “A gift, master.”

  Sinway took Sidebor’s eye in hand. He let out a brief, mirthful sound.

  Puckering a brow, Kuurn said, “You are pleased?”

  Sinway tightened his grip on the eye. “No, I’m displeased. What manner of men are we dealing with? The Darkslayer still roams. He killed my father. Even I could not kill my own father, though I tried. By far, he was the most formidable underling that I ever met.” His eyes slid over to Elypsa. “Chopped up like kindling, you said? The man becomes a tornado of steel. He is not mortal as we understand it.” He slapped her hands, which rested on the hilts of her swords. “One axe against two steels? Nothing that big should be able to move that fast. You need to give me another chance to assassinate the slayer. I’ll be ready for him this time.”