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

by Craig Halloran

  “Nothing’s going to scare them,” she said quietly.

  “You haven’t seen me fight.”

  “No, but I will see you die.”

  CHAPTER 31

  The hairs on the scruff of Chongo’s necks rose. His growl echoed down the chamber. The giant spider quickly crept toward them. It stood twelve feet tall.

  Nikkel cranked back the string on his crossbow.

  Nightmare nickered.

  Fogle summoned a spell. Lightning shimmered on his fingers. Just as he was about to turn loose the spell that would turn the spider into goo and probably set the barn on fire, an old man dressed in rags rushed out in front of the spider.

  “No, no, don’t attack. Don’t attack.” The old man waved his arms wide. “Please, Archibald won’t attack. I am your friend.” The old man put his hands on the spider’s eight-eyed face. “Stay back, Archibald. Stay back. I’m fine.”

  Billip eased his bowstring. “Hold on. I know this old stableman. He’s helped us before.”

  “Yes, yes, your friend I am. An ally against the evil.”

  “That spider doesn’t look like something that we can trust, and neither does someone that makes pets of them,” Fogle said. His fingers still flickered with silvery fire.

  “Don’t be so certain about that.” Slim moved away from Chongo. Cass hung by his side. “Insects are neutral creatures, but survivors. They can be trained to be as loyal as dogs.” He walked by the stableman, reached up, and touched the spider. The spider nuzzled his hand. “See, friendly, and these stiff little hairs aren’t as prickly as they seem. Kind of soft, really.”

  Cass climbed up on Slim’s shoulders and onto the spider.

  “I wouldn’t do that,” the stablehand said. “Archibald does not like riding.”

  “Don’t be silly. There’s not a creature on Bish that doesn’t like being ridden by me,” Cass said.

  Blushing, the stablehand said, “I can see that. Um,” he looked over at Billip, “where did she come from?”

  “Never mind that. We need to stable our animals and find our friends. Any word from them?”

  “The one that calls himself Hoff has been among the barns. He speaks to the royals. They await the signal.” The old man winked. “Castle Kling is where it’s at. The banners. They await the banners.”

  “Banner or no banner, that gate has to come down, or the dwarves will be slaughtered. Where is Hoff?” Billip asked. “How long since you’ve seen him?”

  “Yesterday. He’ll be where he should be, he says. But I don’t know where that is.”

  “I do.” Billip looked at Fogle and Kam. “You two, come with me. The rest of you stay.”

  “We aren’t standing around and waiting, Billip. I need to find Father,” Brak said.

  “You can’t walk the streets by day. You stand out like a sore thumb. No, wait until night. We’ll be back.”

  Kam handed Erin to Brak. “Take care of your sister, and don’t let her play with that spider, or Cass.”

  Brak started to object. Fogle patted him on the elbow. “We’ll be back. I’ll send Inky to find Venir.”

  “Make it quick,” Brak said as Erin squirmed in his arms. “Real quick. I’m not the best child sitter.”

  Fogle hustled after Kam and Billip. Billip led them right into the streets. The City of Bone was unlike anything he’d imagined. It was much bigger on the inside than it appeared on the outside. The stretches of roadway were long, running from one end of the city to the other. Stone buildings lined the streets, two, three, and four stories tall. The castles could be seen from any angle. Their spires hung high above the wall but weren’t nearly as high as the wizard towers in the City of Three. Still, Bone dwarfed Three by comparison.

  Kam looped her arm through Fogle’s. “It’s marvelous yet dreary.” She cast her eyes around. People hustled by with their heads down. Underling soldiers were positioned at every corner. They chittered at many that passed by. “I assume it wasn’t always this downtrodden.”

  “It isn’t so much worse than it was,” Billip said. “But it’s not an improvement either. Keep your eyes down, and don’t lose sight of my feet.”

  Fogle understood. The city had to operate, or it would quickly fall into ruin. The underlings didn’t want that to happen. But looking at an underling would cause unwanted attention or bring provocation. He understood why Brak had to stay back. As for them, they looked as much the worse for wear as anyone else. His and Kam’s robes were torn and tattered. Frayed threads dragged over the ground. His condition would be an embarrassment in the towers back in the City of Three.

  A group of commoners barreled down the street in a wave. They pushed through Billip, jostling Fogle and Kam.

  Kam shoved a man to the ground. “Keep your hands to yourself.” The man flattened himself on the street wailing.

  Fogle felt a tug in his robes. Strong, dirty fingers grabbed hold of his spellbook that he’d tucked underneath his robes. He wrestled with the toothless man. “Let go, you fool!”

  The man clung to the book as if his life depended on it. With desperation fueling the man’s strength, he ripped the book free and ran.

  “Stop!” Fogle yelled. He felt the gemstone eyes of the underlings lock on him. He ran after the man, tripped on his robes, and landed hard on his knee. The man was getting away. Fogle’s eyes lit up. His fingers turned to lightning. Bolts shot from his hands. The thieves lit up like curtains parting in the daylight. Their bodies smoldered as they fell. Fogle raced for his spellbook. An underling soldier snatched it up.

  Billip yelled, “Run! Run! Run!”

  CHAPTER 32

  Melegal labored behind a wheelbarrow. Two mutilated bodies, a man and woman, were dead, with their necks hanging over the rim and eyes open to the sky. He coughed through the scarf that wound around his face. The scarf didn’t do much for the stench, but it kept the buzzing flies off his lips and out of his mouth.

  “Stay with me,” Frigdah said in her lazy, stupid-like way.

  There were three bodies in the wheelbarrow she pushed over the cobblestone road. The wooden wheel clocked over the potholes. One of the bodies fell out.

  “Ah, drabbit!” She bent over, picked up the corpse—a man as big as she—and dropped the cadaver into the barrow. “Don’t you climb out of there again. Do you hear me?” She spoke to the dead like they were her children. She cast a glance up the streets. Underlings patrolled on foot and the backs of spiders. The city watch was helping them. “Bad behavior brings trouble.”

  “Get moving, lard butt,” Melegal said. Frigdah shoved the rickety wheelbarrow along.

  Very little made Melegal nervous, but stopping in the presence of underlings did. On the one hand, they were looking for him, and on the other, they were underlings. The underlings harassed anyone that didn’t move quickly in the city. They didn’t hesitate to cut people down or make an example of them in one cruel fashion or another.

  Frigdah led them to the sweltering entrance to the furnaces that burned below the city. An orange glow quavered along the walls. The temperature inside the sweltering bay seemed to double the further they went down. Melegal wanted to cover his nose but couldn’t because of the wheelbarrow. He rubbed his itching nose on his shoulder.

  This stench is awful.

  The underlings that were stationed inside the furnace bay didn’t give them a glance. Frigdah stopped at the rim that overlooked the inferno that burned below. It was a huge vat of flame thirty feet wide. Below, flames seemed to climb the stone walls with hungry energy. Frigdah hefted up the first body and flung it down into the flames. The body splashed on the molten surface, caught on fire, and sank. She leaned over the rim, face drenched in sweat. “Do you think it hurts even if you’re dead?”

  “There’s only one way to find out,” Melegal replied.

  Frigdah’s head tilted. “You said something mean, didn’t you?”

  “Did I?” Melegal dragged a body out of the wheelbarrow. It hit the ground hard. He struggled to pick
it up. “Do you mind, farm girl?”

  Frigdah picked the body up like a sack of cornmeal and flung it into the pit. She labored through all of the bodies one by one. Her coal-black hair matted to her face. “Let’s go, Meanlegal.”

  Melegal kept his inner chuckle to himself. She does have a mind of her own. Delightful. I could possibly hold a conversation with her for five entire seconds. He did give the remaining motley girls credit for one thing—they knew how to survive. Hauling the reeking dead to the furnaces turned into a crematorium was a very smart move. The underlings wouldn’t pay them any mind so long as they worked in the worst of places as well as plain sight. Not as stupid as they look. A fine gift for the foolish.

  They stayed busy running the course. Melegal’s lower back burned. His arms were shaky when they stopped at the end of the day. The city watch dismissed them. He walked away stooped over, holding his back and limping. Once they were out of sight, they slipped into the sublevels beneath the streets, found the alcove where they slept, and waited. Frigdah handed a waterskin they stored from the Everwell to Melegal. He wiped the neck off and drank.

  Frigdah watched the shadows above cross over the grates. “Do you think we’ll ever be rid of them?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I miss Haze,” she said.

  “I know.” Melegal handed the waterskin back. They were waiting on Sis to return. She was trying to find out information about Venir. The one advantage that the citizens had over the underlings was the fact that underlings, in most cases, didn’t speak the common language. It was easy for the citizens to talk with one another, so long as they didn’t over do it and draw too much attention. They kept the talking short.

  “I don’t like Sis being gone.” She gulped down some water and mopped her face with her sleeve. “Every time she leaves, I fear she won’t come back. I’ll be alone.”

  “You won’t ever be alone. You’ll always have that big arse with you.”

  Frigdah swung the waterskin at him. He slipped his head aside. “None of that now. You’ve a thicker hide than that.”

  “I’m just having some fun.” She leaned closer. Her eyes became hungry. “Say, would you like to fool around while we wait? It might be a while.”

  “Frigdah, I believe you’ve severely overestimated your desirability. Yes, we are in a sewer, but this is as low a point as I’m willing to go.”

  “I was just asking. You didn’t have to be rude.”

  “True, but it’s important that I deliver my point with absolute clarity. I’d hate for my thoughts to be misinterpreted.”

  Frigdah pulled her knees up to her bosomy chest, and her head sank between her knees. “Yeah, yeah.”

  The awkward silence went on for another hour before Sis finally appeared in the alcove. Melegal was waiting with a dagger he’d pinched from a city watchman, and Frigdah had fallen asleep. He tucked the dagger away. “What did you discover?”

  Sitting on her knees, she said, “I started with the servants at Castle Kling, like you said. They said that fighting men from all over have been brought in there. Some from the streets and some from other castles.” Sis cleared her throat. “They say a man like Venir and a redhead were spotted inside. Hard to miss ’cause they mentioned that V-shaped tattoo on his back.”

  “What about an amber-eyed underling wearing mage’s robes? Was he there?”

  Sis nodded. “He runs the event it seems. He’s notorious for snatching able-bodied men from the streets. Now what?”

  Melegal smoothed his hair over like he would when the floppy cap was there. “I’m going to get my stuff.”

  “What about Venir?”

  “Perhaps him too.”

  CHAPTER 33

  Once Venir was all painted up, they were taken to a large dugout holding area with built-in stone benches just outside of the arena. There was a long rectangular portal window that allowed him to see out to the arena. Venir’s fingers clenched. The royal arenas were all the same, places for competition and entertainment. There was a high wall that shielded the audience from the action in the pit. Underlings with spears guarded that eight-foot-high perimeter. Venir envisioned his youthful days—the brawling and the beatings he went through at the hands of the royals. This would be worse. These were underlings.

  Craning his neck toward the dugout holding area on the other side, Creed said, “What do you make of this? I’m no stranger to this venue, but my bones are tingling.”

  “It’s probably the war paint. The sweat will wash it off.” Venir’s eyes flicked around. Underlings filtered into the stands from the entrances above. They came in packs, solemn and silent. All of their faces were etched in a permanent visage of evil. They wore dark clothing with more gold and silver laces than Venir was used to seeing, and the seams around their hemlines sparkled.

  Human women waited on the underlings. Their flimsy garb barely covered their nakedness. They trembled when they walked. Their serving trays were filled with wine bottles and port jugs. The underlings passed the wine around, chittered, and drank heartily. They pinched the women, drawing blood and sniggering.

  “They are worse than royals, aren’t they?” Creed said.

  Venir fixed his attention on the dugout across the way. His holding area was lit by torches; the other dugout was almost pitch black. Penetrating eyes intent with murder stared back from the darkness. Venir’s blood stirred. In a few moments, he would be face to face with his mortal enemies. They outnumbered him one hundred to one. He didn’t have the armament either. It was just him versus them. All he had was skill, thick skin, and macabre red, black, and white paint to protect him.

  Under his breath, Creed said, “Do you see the one called Sinway?”

  “No,” Venir replied. The underlings had taken their seats in an orderly fashion. It all appeared to be very well arranged. Not all the seats were full, but one small section stood out. It was a bare spot on the benches, surrounded by underling security that wore black scale-mail armor. Venir was certain they were the red-eyed juegen known as the saints of the underling sword. The steel on their hips appeared as sharp as a scalpel. “There.”

  Altan Rey, disguised at the amber-eyed underling, Kazzar, made his way into the arena alone. He wore blood-red robes trimmed in black. Once the audience settled, he spoke loudly and in Underling. The fiends chittered and jeered with hisses and strange clapping they did with their fingers. On order of the sharp underling language, two underling soldiers entered Venir’s dugout. They grabbed the man whose head had been shaven and who had eaten the grubs.

  The man’s appearance was formidable compared to the underlings he towered over. He had girth and packed muscle underneath meaty folds of skin. The war paint gave him a more empowered look. He beat his fist on his crimson-colored chest. “Come on, underlings! Give Gorth your best shot!”

  Kazzar spoke in Common to Gorth. “These battles will be flesh on flesh. No wood and no steel. They will last longer and be more entertaining this way. Fight with all your skill. Perhaps the audience will spare you from your enemy. Do you understand?”

  Gorth spit between Kazzar’s legs. “Me against the likes of you? I like those odds. Bring those grayskins on.”

  Kazzar’s nose crinkled. The underling crowd jeered.

  Venir could envision a vicious pack of well-defined muscle slinking out of their dugout. Kazzar gave a chitter. Something entirely different came out instead. A short, primordial underling-like creature teetered out of their holding area. It was about four feet tall, and muscles bulged from its hunched back. The lower jawline protruded, and its brows were heavy.

  Gorth stared at it for a long moment. “What is this, an underling monkey?”

  “Urchling,” Kazzar said. The mage stepped inside the dugout. Two underling soldiers armed to the teeth remained in the arena. They closed the barred doors to the dugout. “The fight has begun, so fight, human.”

  Gorth circled the urchling. The creature didn’t measure up to the man’s formidable build. I
t looked to be half the size of the broadly built man.

  The urchling’s nails had been clipped where they were typically long, but its teeth were another matter. They were sharp stones. It snapped at Gorth.

  “Let’s fight then!” Gorth balled up his fists. The urchling stood still. “Good, stand right there so I can pop you.” He landed a downward punch in the urchling’s face. His fist smacked loudly into bone. He shook his hand. “You’re a hard little thing, aren’t you?”

  The urchling’s shoulders swayed side to side. Its eyes narrowed. It grunted like a gloating beast.

  Rubbing his knuckles, Gorth hauled back and kicked it square in the crotch. The urchling launched itself into Gorth’s body. The little beast’s oversized fists balled up. It hammered Gorth in the face with animal-like savagery. Blood sprayed out of Gorth’s nose. The big fighter hammered recklessly into the urchling’s bulging back.

  “Get off me! Get off me!” Gorth screamed.

  “Sonuvabish,” Creed exclaimed. “That little thing is beating the slat out of him.”

  All of the prisoners’ eyes were wide. Their faces pressed against the portal bars. Gorth was getting slaughtered. The urchling beat the man senseless. Gorth collapsed. He balled his big body up. The urchling wailed on him. Its fists beat on the man’s head like mallets. Gorth’s strong limbs loosened. The urchling pounced on the man’s exposed neck. Its jaws locked on the man’s throat and ripped it out. The urchling didn’t stop biting and beating. A sharp whistle halted its actions. Fresh blood dripped from its face. It ambled over to the back wall and sank down.

  A bloody smear followed Gorth’s body as it was dragged across the arena and dropped through a trap door in the center.

  The underlings chittered and clapped. Kazzar came back, pointed at Venir, and said, “You’re next.”