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

by Craig Halloran

  “Giant, we are lost. Can you take us to Bish?”

  The giant shook his head. “No, no, no, you are going to stay with me forever.”

  “We would like that, but we miss our friends, and they miss us. Are you sure that we can’t change your mind?”

  The giant glared at him. “No! You have to say my name if you want the sunshine and the rain!”

  “So, I’m allowed to guess it then?” Lefty mused. “I like playing games.”

  “You’ll never guess it. It’s impossible,” the giant said with a crafty intelligence lurking behind his eyes. “There are countless names. But I don’t want to play guessing games. I want to play something else. Curly-headed man, make more toots.”

  Scratching his behind, Georgio said, “Why don’t you make a toot? I’d like to hear that.”

  The giant flexed his arms and shoulders and let one rip. POOOOOMPH!

  The gust of hot, smelly wind blew Georgio’s locks behind his face. He hit a knee, coughing and gagging. Punching his fist on the ground, he said, “That was nasty.”

  The giant let out more gusty chortles. “Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha!”

  Pinching his nose, Lefty held up a finger. “Please, please let me guess your name.”

  Frowning, the giant said, “Fine. One guess per day. That’s all.”

  “But I can’t tell the day from the night here.”

  “I can. My home. My rules.” The giant leaned right into Lefty’s face. His breath was warm as steam and rank. “Guess, little squirrel man.”

  “Barton.”

  “Impossible!” Barton’s swat sent Lefty tumbling through the misty sky. Face reddening, he set his good eye on Georgio. “You will die! Impossible!”

  CHAPTER 15

  Boon set his face against the hot winds of the sky. Blackie’s winged bulk cut across the skyline moons. The wizened mage snickered. He liked Cass as well as any fine woman, but he had more than one trick up his sleeve. He too had a bond with Blackie. They’d become adversaries and friends in an unusual arrangement forged when he was a prisoner of the giants.

  The black hulk lifted up through the streaking clouds and down again. Boon delighted in the flight. He patted the dragon on the neck. “Blackie.”

  The dragon’s neck coiled back. He turned his earhole slightly in Boon’s direction.

  “Down, my friend. It’s time to catch some bait.”

  The dragon dove at a gentle angle, circling lower. The underling army had gathered around the Black Columns in tens of thousands. Swarms of underlings and spiders spilled into the black channels. Boon fixed his sight beyond the warring fields. Underlings massed in all directions. Less than a league away, a knot of the black-skinned fiends gathered.

  “Those black hearts look ripe for the picking.” Boons fingers fidgeted in intricate patterns. His lips mumbled clear and quick syllables. A mystic net of webbing spooled out of his hand. “Dive, Blackie! Dive! Burn the ones on the left. I’ll snare the ones on the right.”

  The dragon skimmed over the ground. His great wings beat, whump, whump, whump, increasing his speed.

  Gem-speckled eyes glowing in the night turned to face the black doom coming their way.

  Blackie’s fiery breath set the underlings on fire. The flames swallowed up dozens. The flock of evil burned.

  Boon’s net snatched up a dozen more in unbreakable coils of smaragdine magic. The coils constricted. The underlings screamed. Boon laughed. Holding the netful of evil fish, he shouted to Blackie, “Well done, friend! Now take us to the Mist.”

  The burning underlings scampered over the Outland sand, stomping, screeching, and rolling in the dust. Nothing quenched the flames.

  “Heh-heh.” Boon glared at the underlings hung up in the net. Their evil eyes bore into him. Turning around in the dragon’s saddle, he said to them, “Not a speck of good in a one of you. That’s why every one of you must die.”

  Blackie picked up speed the farther they went, a black streak in the endless sky. The night became day and night again. The wall appeared. It swallowed up the clouds in an unending field of cotton. The dragon vanished into the mist at full speed.

  Boon could barely see his hand in front of his face. The hot air vanished. Chills went up his arms. The hisses and chitters of the underlings fell silent during a journey that seemed to have no end. Boon’s lids became heavy. He fought to keep his dipping chin up. Nothing to see. Not even me. Just think of busty women. Anything to keep my thoughts spry.

  They burst out of the mist countless hours later. Long stretches of high grasses appeared below them. The warm sun kissed his face. Boon smiled. “Ah yes, Blackie, well done. Now take me to the home of your former masters. I have a special delivery for them.”

  ***

  “I’m not going to stand around and not swing at anything,” Brak said to Kam. Dwarves were suiting him up in a piecemeal set of armor made from chain-mail, arm, thigh, and leg plates. “I’m a warrior.”

  “I know that,” Kam said with a pleading tone. Brak was humongous in the suit of armor. He looked as big as an ogre. “But Mood says you don’t have to fight. Not now. You should stay and defend us.”

  “I am defending you.” He stuffed his arms into bracers that covered the meat up to his elbows.

  “You are like your father. Bullheaded. You can’t kill them all.”

  “No, but I’m going to try.” Brak showed a grin similar to Venir’s.

  Kam’s heart ached.

  Jubilee clung to Kam’s waist. “If you die, Brak, I’ll hate you for it. Forever.”

  In his long and lazy way, he said, “That’s not exactly the fiery speech I was hoping for. You think you’d promise me a kiss or something.”

  “Why would I do that?” Jubilee said.

  Rattling, Brak walked over to Chongo. The big dog was geared up in a leather harness and saddle with new armor that wasn’t quite as constricting as the other set. Brak scratched the pooch’s ears. “You’re as hungry for battle as I am, aren’t you?”

  The left head licked his face.

  “Heh, I don’t think the underlings want to fight us when we are hungry.” He checked the gear on Chongo’s harness. There were small spears and a couple of dwarven swords tucked into saddle sheaths. His hand covered the entire pommel. “That won’t work.” Hanging on the side of the saddle was the white ash cudgel named Spine Breaker. It was from Jubilee’s royal family, the Slergs. He stuck his foot in the stirrup and swung his leg over the saddle. “Time to go.”

  Chongo gave a snort and moved on at an easy gait.

  “Don’t die, Brak!” Jubilee’s eyes were misty.

  He waved. Chongo fell in with a group of blood rangers and black beards. The hearty dwarven men were covered in dwarven mail, scale, and dyed tunics made from thick leather. They made their way into one of the Black Columns’ channels that spidered through the rock. A rocky ledge led them up to higher ground on the outer rocks that faced the Outlands.

  Brak lost his breath. He’d never seen so many people in one place before. The underlings were a beach of black ants that scurried over the sands. The huge spiders were more numerous than he could count. His skin crawled. Skirmishes and the clamor of battle and cries of death cried out in the wind from the rocks.

  A hard-eyed blood ranger wearing two curved swords on his hips spit on the ground. “I’ve seen worse.” He looked up at Brak. “How about you, young man?”

  “No, it’s worse than I ever imagined.” His knuckles turned white on the reins and cudgel. “But it’s as perfect a night to fight or die as any. Let’s ride.”

  The dwarves jutted their weapons into the air. “Huzzah!”

  CHAPTER 16

  Venir woke up with his head throbbing. He rubbed his eyes and sat up against a cold, slimy, wet wall. Chains rattled on his wrists. “Great.”

  Another familiar figure lying on the floor stirred. It was Corrin. The assassin lay with his face to the floor. Drool came out of his mouth. Spying Venir, he said, “What happened?”
r />   Venir plucked the five-inch long poisoned needles from the bloody spots on his forearms and chest. “We were bushwhacked.”

  Peeling his face from the ground, Corrin said, “I thought that was the plan.”

  “I don’t recall getting poisoned being a part of the plan.” He flicked the needle away. “Something stinks.”

  “Yes, this dungeon.” Corrin yawned as he reached over and gave Creed a shove. “Wake up, you lazy bastard.”

  The dungeon was made from cut stone with a wall of iron bars guarding the exit. All three men were stripped down to their trousers. Their wrists were shackled by chains linked to the walls. As Venir’s fuzzy mind cleared, he realized Melegal wasn’t among them. There wasn’t any sign of another man being in there either. “Slat.”

  “What?” Corrin said.

  “Melegal isn’t here. Do you remember anything?”

  “No, just feeling my body turn into pillows followed by skull-piercing pain.” Corrin gave Creed another shake. The rangy redhead stirred. “He’s coming around.”

  Venir’s pounding head dipped. His tawny locks hung over his face. With Melegal there, he’d been confident the rogue would find a way to slip them out if Altan Rey didn’t come through. The gnawing in his gut told him something went wrong. He stood up and walked toward the cell door. The chains drew taut before he reached the bars. “Bone.”

  “Heh-heh, quite a predicament. Perhaps things are moving along the way it was planned, Venir. After all, we are still breathing,” Corrin said.

  “That doesn’t explain why Melegal isn’t here. No one mentioned any separation.” He walked back toward the wall, creating slack in the steel chain. He looped the chain over his right wrist and locked his fingers on it. He tugged. His well-defined muscles bulged. Veins popped up in his arms. “Urk!”

  The chain held.

  “Save your energy, Venir. That chain will break you before you break it.” Corrin kicked Creed. “We need to let this play out. That door will open eventually.”

  Creed made it to sitting position. “Please, talk softer. My head is splitting.”

  “We’re practically whispering,” Corrin said.

  “That’s loud enough. Bish, my mouth feels like it’s full of rags.” Creed slung his hair back out of his eyes. “What are we doing, Venir?”

  “Waiting.”

  “I hope they bring something to eat while we’re waiting. My stomach is devouring itself. Any sign of Altan Rey?”

  “We’ve only been up a few moments,” Corrin said. “There’s no telling how long we were out. Venir, what do you think? Hours? Days?”

  Venir shrugged and called out for Melegal.

  “Shaddup!” a man shouted out from another cell in the dungeon. “It’s sleeping time.”

  “Where are we?” Venir demanded.

  “In a dungeon, you idiot. Now, shut your mouth hole. The underlings don’t care for our chatter.”

  “Just answer my question, blowhard!”

  “Shaddap!” another man said.

  “Quiet, fool!” said another with a gravelly voice.

  “Stitch your lips, arsehole!”

  “You might want to take their advice, Venir,” Corrin said. Creed was covering his ears. “Give it a moment.”

  “I’ll give them a moment.” Venir shouted out, “Where are we?”

  The angry occupants fell silent as the sound of a large door creaked and made a loud bang against the wall.

  Venir heard soft scuffling sounds of the imprisoned men taking their places on beds of straw.

  The metal click of footsteps on cobblestones approached. Click. Click. Click. Two underlings in black leather armor strolled in front of the cell. Their ruby eyes narrowed on Venir. Both of them hissed. A third underling appeared. He wore a suit of black chain mail, his eyes dark-blue stones. He held a well-crafted cane made out of solid silver. The underling tapped the cane on the bars. Blood stains covered its length.

  Venir’s blood ran hot. He’d seen canes like the one the underling had, carried by notable royals. It was one of the lavish gifts the royals heaped upon one another. Not that Venir cared for royals, but this underling carried the cane as a trophy.

  The underling jailer chittered to the two guards. The guards nodded. In Common, the jailer said to Venir, “Are you a soldier?”

  Venir didn’t reply.

  “Answer me, brute. What are your skills? What do you fight with?”

  “Come inside and I’ll show you.”

  The underling’s eyes grew wide. He pointed the cane at Venir. “Kazzar said he brought strong men for the pits, but if you don’t mind your tongue, dog, you won’t make it out of this cage. Now, what do you fight with?”

  “Anything you give me,” Venir replied.

  “And you?” the underling said to Corrin.

  “Short swords and daggers.”

  The jailer’s glare fell on Creed. “You?”

  “Any pair of swords will do.”

  The jailer nodded. “Excellent. Take this man to the pits first.”

  “Now?” Creed said. “But I just woke up.”

  The jailer snickered. “Don’t worry, human, your final sleep is coming.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Melegal woke up inside a prisoner cart. His legs were tied up with a hapless man with rolls of fat under his chin. He jerked his feet free. The wagon-sized cart was crammed with about twenty people. There was sobbing and crying. A woman stretched her hands between the bars, pleading “Mercy! Mercy!” to the underlings. An underling whipped the woman’s arms bloody with a lash. She shrank back into the cart with a squeal.

  A lunk of a man leaned into Melegal’s back. He shoved the man back. “Give me space!” The man’s ham-sized fist balled up. Melegal looked the man straight in the eyes. “Don’t you dare, or I’ll finish you before they do.” The lunk tucked his lip under his teeth and shifted away.

  Melegal fished his hand through his trousers. No. No. No. No! His floppy cap was gone. He held his fingers up in front of his face. “Sonuvabish!” The special ring he’d taken from the foul Almen House cleric Sefron no longer encircled his finger. The only thing he had left was the shirt on his back and his trousers. Even his vest and shoes were gone. “I’m going to kill Venir.”

  “Did you say something to me, dear one?” A woman squirmed her way over to him. She was plump, not uncomely, with a warm expression on her dirty face. Her smile revealed some missing teeth. She locked her soft arms around his. “I can keep you company before you hang.”

  “I’m not going to hang. If you don’t mind, please, release me.”

  “I don’t want to let go. I find you handsome. I adore a man with little meat on his bones.”

  The prisoner cart was parked on the other side of the street from the gallows. Dead men, women, and children were being lowered from their nooses by citizens guided by the cracking lashes of the underlings.

  “You are awfully chipper for someone that is about to be hanged,” Melegal said.

  She snuggled closer. Her pupils were as big as coins, and it was the middle of the day. “I’ve always been able to amuse myself.”

  “I can see that. Do you think you could release me? I have work to do.”

  “No.”

  He let it go. Everyone in the cage was clammy and sweaty aside from him. They all reeked from the pounding suns and the fear-filled sweat seeping from their glands. A different prison cart pulled by men crossed the street and came to a stop in front of one of the gallows. The struggling prisoners were herded out. One by one, their hands were tied behind their backs. A woman with frizzy hair kicked and screamed like a wounded wildcat. An underling clubbed her in the back of the head with a sap. The woman melted into the road. A man tossed her over his shoulder, took her up the gallows’ steps, and strung her up with the noose.

  Melegal took in the details of the death march. Most all of the citizens were either beaten, starved to death, or both. If any of them ever had any fight in their eyes, it was gone
. Some of them were induced with juices and powders, like the woman that hung on his arm. Half the city was already under the spell of inducers. It was no wonder the citizens couldn’t fight back.

  You have to get out of this, Melegal. Find your motivation. Vengeance. That’s ample motivation. That and being free of this motley woman. He recalled Haze and her sisters, Sis and Frigdah. He adored Haze, but she’d died because of all of this. Focus, Rat, focus.

  Altan Rey was the problem. Venir trusted the so-called royal mage from the House of Kord. Melegal wasn’t sold, but he trusted Venir and his instincts. He didn’t fully understand why Venir trusted Altan Rey with the armament. It was something deep he could not fathom, but he had somehow managed to live this long even though he should have died long ago.

  Altan Rey. Altan Rey. You stole my cap and my ring. I’m going to run you through, Altan Rey.

  Escaping the fate of the gallows was motivation. Having his possessions stolen was a matter of pride. If there was one thing a rogue couldn’t stand more than anything, it was being robbed.

  “I need to get to the door,” Melegal said to the woman that clung to him.

  “Call me Sanny, and I’ll do whatever you want, Gloomy. Can I call you Gloomy?”

  “Yes. Just push over there for a better view.”

  She leaned into his face. “I like your eyes. They are cold and pretty.”

  “You can admire them all that you want if you scoot your arse toward that door.”

  “As you wish.” Sanny shoved through the greasy group of bodies to the back end of the cart. “How’s this?”

  “Perfect.” Melegal inspected the locking mechanism on the door. It was a key lock. He’d seen the key with the underlings sitting in the front seat of the wagon. That wouldn’t do him any good now. “Do you mind?”

  “What?” Sanny said.

  “If you must hang on, do it this way.” He sat between her legs, back to her chest. She instantly wrapped her arms around his waist. Nuzzling her cheek into his back, she squeezed so tight his breath came low. “Not so hard.”