“Nooo!”
Billip fell to his knees, teeth clenched.
“How did he do that? He does it every time. He’s gotta miss one of these days!”
Billip tugged at his black hair, storming and screaming into the kitchen, sending his staff out with ashen faces.
The tavern erupted with praise and laughter as Melegal the victor joined Venir alongside the bar.
“Good show Melegal,” he said, pouring him a glass of wine.
“Indeed,” the man said, saluting back, before slinging the blindfold away.
Several minutes passed before Billip resurfaced and dropped his coins on the bar. The man’s cheeks had cooled and he didn’t look as the coins disappeared faster than they appeared. The two men gave a quick nod to one another
“Come on,” the barkeeper said, motioning with his head. Venir and Melegal followed him to a more discrete booth near the back end of the bar.
“All right, so what’s the big news?” Venir asked in an eager voice, while Melegal fingered his winnings, drawing a hard look from the barkeeper.
Billip turned to Venir, scratching his head.
“You know, I love the Outlands and the forests and all, but I don’t see how you live out there as long as you do and survive. Don’t you miss the comforts of the city? The food and companionship? The girls keep asking me where my blonde friend is. I ain’t got time to answer to your whereabouts all the time. I’m not your keeper, you know.”
“Yeah, me neither,” Melegal added.
Venir shrugged. They never understood before, so why bring it up now. He beckoned for the man to continue.
Billip started popping his knuckles.
“Anyway, things are stirring up around here. I’m not used to it. A detestable bunch of mercenaries, not at all like us, are doing a lot of recruiting here in Two-Ten. Some of our fellow’s say they’re paying well—extremely well—and some have even joined up.”
A warm meal of steak, potatoes, and a strong smelling pot of coffee arrived. The powerful aroma roused his senses; Venir hadn’t had any in weeks. He took a few welcome gulps of his fresh brew, “Ah” he moaned. Too long.
Venir filled his cup.
“That’s it? More mercenaries for hire? Just Royals up to their dirty tricks, somewhere. I don’t see the big deal—
—I’m not finished,” Billip stammered, almost spilling his glass, “… mind your elder Venir. I’ve been chatting them up as they ask for people and Melegal’s been listening in, too. They keep pretty hush-hush about their purposes, but we’re pretty sure we’ve figured it out.”
Venir leaned back in his chair and took a long hot sip.
“Well, what?” he asked.
“You sure you wanna know?’
“Yes, big brother. What is it?”
Billip’s voice was excited as he continued.
“They’re raising a brigand army of the likes never before seen on Bish. I’m talking at least three hundred brigands. And they ain’t all human, either. They send humans to recruit, but it’s the orcs that are leaving in masses, more so than men.
“Great! The fewer orcs in Two-Ten, the better. What’s the problem?”
“They’re being led by a woman—a human woman.”
There was a moment of pause.
“A woman?” Venir tugged on the locks of his braided hair that hung over his shoulder. “That can’t be. And it’s hardly an army. Maybe a small one. I’ll believe it when I see it.”
Melegal interjected.
“It’s true, Vee. They call her Jarla, the Brigand Queen. They revere her. They say she started with a small band near the White Blaze Pass beyond the Underland, and she’s been slowly carving her way through Bish for years. According to her men, they’ve been devastating merchant trains, human settlements, even Royal outposts.”
Melegal kept his voice at a harsh whisper as a group of merchant’s glanced their way.
“Now, that’s not normal protocol for brigands. They might rob men, but now they’ve been slaughtering them too, and their families as well.”
Venir’s flaxen brows creased over his blue eyes as his fingers rubbed his square cut chin. He and his own mercenary troupe had seen and done much that very few would understand. They always drew the line at what had to be done. As for common brigands, they tended to scare rather than harm their own kind, and there were usually no more than a dozen or so to the gang. The thought of a brigand army that plundered, killed, and battled organized soldiers didn’t make sense. He hadn’t been far south lately, but maybe it was time he went and checked on some old friends.
“What are you thinking, Vee? You wanna go check if the rumors are true? I’m ready when you are,” Billip offered. “And Mikkel’s keen, too.”
“Count me in,” said Melegal. “I need to get out of this stinking hole as well.”
“All right, but let’s have some fun first,” he said. “We’ll figure something out tomorrow. I need to unwind. Say, where are they keeping the pretty women these days? Clearly they still aren’t coming in here.”
“Melegal runs them off every time he offers them a ride on his donkey.”
Venir laughed, it was time to revel into the hot night. As he got up, he felt an uncomfortable presence looming nearby. Scanning the room he noticed nothing odd. He gulped down the remaining pot of coffee and tried to let the feeling go, but it hung in the air. A few stiff drinks and wayward songs washed the feeling away.
CHAPTER 3
Two days later, a small band of men began the journey south towards the camp of Jarla, the Brigand Queen. The terrain they traveled was far more hospitable than the barren north as the thick forests offered refuge from the two blazing suns. The southern lands of Bish contained less marsh, dust and much blue-green foliage. Cooling oasis’s with large streams cropped up in their midst. But the terrain was anything but flat like the north. Unforgiving hills and valleys slowed travel as it forced them to wind through narrow passes, rather than straight over the hilltops. It kept the small party’s nerves on edge, as it was a perfect place for an ambush.
The high ground was good ground, as small royal outposts could be seen in the distance with the flags of their people. The royal soldiers kept watch over this lush land. Farms and villages thrived in the rich soil, where food, water, and timber were valuable commodities among the world’s rulers. The Royals protected their investments well, yet the southlands of Bish were just as treacherous as those of the north.
Brigands, orcs, dog-faced gnolls, and kobolds thrived and raised their kind in this land as well. Most of the time they fought one another, but they also raided and pillaged the more peaceful inhabitants. It was a natural order of things for as long as anyone remembered. Not a day passed in the world without violence of the most treacherous nature. It made for hardened people everywhere.
As the men passed through the villages they happened upon, the tales of Jarla’s brigand army became more intriguing. Venir could not tell if what they heard was truth or rumor, but the people seemed convincing enough. The repeated claims of a large army of orcs, kobolds, humans and gnolls, all functioning as a single unit under a woman’s command, toyed with his imagination.
Still, it was a hard story for Venir to swallow. In his experience, two races almost never fought in a cohesive unit, let alone four of a kind. It must be the biggest, ugliest woman a woman could be, he thought. He was compelled to see for himself and the thoughts of hunting underlings seemed to drift away.
Female leaders were uncommon in the world of Bish. Most races were not led by fighting women, and for the rough races to follow a female leader, let alone one of another race, was astonishing. As for female soldiers, he had known plenty among human ranks, but they never ventured together too long. The men tended to want the women as more than just fellow soldiers, and those men often suffered dire injuries as a result. So how had this one woman created an army that threatened the southern lands of Bish? He had to find out.
The long hours of sile
nce was broken when a powerful black man spoke with the voice of a rushing river.
“Man, I can’t believe there are kobolds in that army. That’s stupid!” Mikkel said, spitting.
“Yeah, I’m not so sure we need to get too curious about all this,” Billip added, wiping the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief.
“We’ve come this far. Let’s just get a quick look. It’s hard to imagine the stories are true, but who knows,” Venir answered, sipping from his canteen.
The small band pushed through the slippery terrain, on foot, pressing deeper into the forests. He and the company had traveled like this dozens of times over the years, and they all knew how to handle things if they ever got into a pinch. They were all dressed in tunics of leather or woodsman garb, except for Melegal, who wore drab clothes of his own design. Backpacks, canteens, belt pouches, and weapons of choice made up the rest of their personal gear.
The humidity in the south was as thick as water. Sweat rolled off the men’s heads and soaked their attire. Venir and Mikkel’s bare biceps were thick with oily sweat. Billip’s cloth covered arms were soaked, while Melegal appeared as dry as a bone, drawing a frustrated grunt from Billip.
The men did not brandish arms as they navigated the difficult territory with grubby fingers fighting for miniscule grips, over jutting hillsides and down into plunging gorges. Billip carried a short composite bow across his back, and Mikkel had a heavy crossbow strapped across his. Venir carried a short bow, and each had a quiver, while the wiry scout ahead carried a spare. Swords, daggers, and knives could be seen at their hips. Whatever the thief carried was not apparent.
“So what’s the plan, Vee?” Mikkel asked from behind. “I know you have one. Do we take a look? Spy—attack—join?”
“I thought we’d just rob them. I’m sure we can take them all on since you’re with us, Mikkel.”
“Well, I’m the only true fighter in this gang, besides you. I’ve no idea why you brought these other two sandbags along; they never fight closer than thirty feet.”
“Hey, don’t talk like that,” Billip said, glaring back. “I do my fair share, unlike Me. Just look at him, he even avoids his own sweat.”
“Hah, you can say all you like, but someone’s gonna have to dig your graves one of these days,” Melegal chimed in from the rear, “… so be grateful. And just to be clear, I won’t do the digging, I’ll use Billip’s money to pay his urchins to dig.”
“Man Melegal, you are cold. But I like it! You’re my man!” Mikkel shot him a grin full of big white teeth that gleamed in the sun. Billip scowled and huffed forward over a mossy ledge.
Chongo appeared at Venir’s side after he stood atop the ledge. The shaggy brown mastiff licked his master’s face as he poured water into his meaty palm and watched Chongo lap it up. The big dog began scurrying back and forth, and barking in low puffs.
“All right … Chongo’s found something. Let’s step it up. I got a feeling we’re about to happen upon the brigand army.”
“Great, so when you gonna share your plan, Vee?” said Mikkel. “Or do I have to come up with one myself?”
“Bad idea, we know how your plans turn out,” the scout said.
Mikkel folded his arms over his powerful chest.
“What you talking about, Billip?”
“Oh, well, how ’bout the time you wanted to—”
“—Shut up Billip,” Mikkel said, “Vee, what’s the plan?”
“If we get caught, I say we just act like we’re interested … play dumb is all. Hopefully we won’t arouse any problems. I figure we can get a closer look first.”
“Well, don’t expect me to act too friendly with the kobolds,” Mikkel said, clutching his studded club. “If they get too close, I’ll crack their stupid little skulls.”
“We know!” they all replied, causing the man’s light blue eyes to widen in his face.
As quiet as cats they followed after Chongo, deeper into the belly of the southern forests.
CHAPTER 4
It had taken almost thirty minutes of diligent pursuit before the weathered group caught up with Chongo. The dogs’ growl was low and excited, as its stiff tail whipped back forth. The men crouched down, the sound of clashing steel and raised voices traveled not far in the distance. The trees and broad foliage muted the battle sounds, as the men glanced at one another. He could see their faces drawn taunt, as Billip and Mikkel readied their missile weapons.
Using hand signals, Venir directed Billip and Chongo to scout ahead, followed by himself and Melegal, with Mikkel in the rear. They moved like big grey foxes through the flourishing green, ignoring the briars and bugs. The archer and dog disappeared as they stopped and waited in a small clearing. He could now distinguish the voices of men crying out in battle.
He gestured to Melegal, How many?
The rogue’s eyes were closed; hand cupping his ear and with a slight shrug he flashed ten fingers.
We can take them, Mikkel mouthed back.
He wanted to laugh as he watched Melegal’s scowl deepen. Venir had no intention of engaging anyone, even if his companions liked to attack first and think later. In nervous anticipation they waited in the agonizing heat. He took out his short bow and rubbed a dab of oil along its taunt string. Ten men was a lot to take on, and they would need to be ready to fight at a second’s notice—or flee if necessary.
As a trained ranger with seasons of hard soldiering he knew better than too take things head on; sometimes it paid better to just watch and report. The seconds dragged as the sounds of pain and agony droned on. Concern showed in all of their faces now as the dog appeared with the scout running behind.
“It’s safe to talk low,” Billip said, slightly out of breath. “Ten Royal foot soldiers are already dead, and about six are left, heavily armed and battling four gnolls and an armored woman.” Billip pulled out his canteen, shaking his head. “The soldiers have their hands full. They’re below this ridge; looks like they got trapped.”
“Any others?” Venir asked.
“I took a good look. No signs. But that woman fights better than two gnolls together. Never seen anything like it. What do we do? You want to go around?”
Everyone looked at Venir.
Venir didn’t want to risk anyone, but he couldn’t stand the thought of men falling to the gnolls. The tall, wolf-faced humanoids with canine teeth were dreaded warriors. They killed for pleasure and were known for their lengthy torture of prisoners. Despite their hairy, wolf-like appearance, gnolls spoke the common tongue well and could track like a dog. They were not vast in number, but were well trained, armed and formidable warriors. The fact that a woman fought with them suggested to him that he was about to encounter the brigand army. A wave of excitement overcame him, turning his guts.
“Let’s all take a look. I have a feeling this is what we came to see.”
Billip the archer led, drawing from his quiver, as they fell behind in a small column. They crept to the edge of a ridge, flat on their bellies with weapons drawn, bolts locked and arrows knocked. Below, the battle was furious and bloody. The seasoned Royal soldiers battled with gleaming longswords and crested shields. Their breastplates and battle helmets were battered and smeared red.
Corpses of hacked down men littered the scene, gashed and punctured, still as a log on the ground. Venir watched as more soldiers were cut down with swords and hacking axes, overwhelmed by greater speed and power. He fought the urge to charge down into the fray. He kept his bow ready, rising to a knee. At times like this, the inhabitants of Bish had to weigh their own odds of survival before getting involved. What’s this?
A striking female warrior was carving up the soldiers as if they were just boys. The impression the woman made on him was unforgettable. She wore only a sleeveless chainmail dress of bronze, ending high above her knees. Her sinewy arms and legs were blood-splattered, and long jet-black hair flowed from beneath a spiked helmet of an ornate design. The only other protection she wore were iron-banded bra
cers around her forearms. He had never seen the likes of her before. But most impressive were the pair of battle axes she used with intense ferocity. One in each hand, she commanded the matching weapons, as easily as a jester tossing apples. Her strikes were viper-like, powerful and devastating.
He watched from above, in awe, uncertain how to react. Seeing men die under the banner of a good Royal house was not easy to watch. It was even more so as the evil gnolls were taking part. Anticipation and the passion to act built up inside him. Melegal, who watched from his side, gripped his broad shoulder and pulled him back. Venir eyed the man and nodded. Not our fight. He maintained his position and continued to watch the battle unfold.
The woman warrior’s haymaker axe blades felled her opponents one by one. Her axes, spiked on the back, penetrated their shields and ripped them from the soldiers grasp, leaving the men to defending with only their longswords. The gnolls were engaged as well, heavy bastard swords swinging hard and deadly, keeping the valiant men from escaping her wrath. She fought each man, one by one, as if there was a personal score to settle. It was clear that she relished in what she was doing as she screamed after each blood curdling victory.
One soldier snatched another longsword from the ground and began to fight her two-handed. He held his ground in feverish parries and she pounded away at him. The exhausted man was not fast enough to counter her attacks. He stabbed at her only to catch a spike in his skull, finishing his valiant efforts. She slung the gore from her axe and was on to her next victim. Despite the demoralizing situation, the Royal foot soldiers did not cower; they faced her, one by one, with the bravado of the best from the world of Bish.
The Darkslayer: Book 01 - Wrath of the Royals Page 2
