“Bish be with you!”
Now the men stood in the forest, listening. Venir could hear the rising crescendo of bloodshed ringing in his ears. He could picture the underlings and the brigand army spilling inside the outpost and blackening its interior. The gates were compromised. The shouts of Royal orders were silenced by magic, missiles and manslaughter. Plumes of fire and smoke began to fill the sky.
It was clear that the onslaught was overwhelming and no Royal man or beast would survive. A great chunk of evil would follow the valiant soldiers into the bloodied ground however, that seemed clear judging by the roar of the fighting above, but it would not be enough.
Mikkel was nodding his head.”
What is the plan!?”
“The last plan was to get word to the northern cities for assistance,” Slim said. “So let’s head that way, or else I’ll go alone.”
Venir said, “No, we go south. They won’t be looking as hard there. The northward route will be the most heavily guarded. The underlings will be thick for miles.”
“They underlings will be everywhere—period!” Mikkel added.
Slim had something to offer.
“I have magic that should conceal us all. But I don’t want to use it until the last possible moment; it won’t last long. We’re going to have to move like a banshee to get clear. I’ve got other ideas, too. Are you guys with me?”
Having ventured with Slim before, Venir had some idea of what he had in mind. He wasn’t keen, but they had little choice other than to trust his magic. It could do more than heal.
“I’ll take the point. For some odd reason they can’t see me. You guys should be fine. I just hope there’s nothing worse than underlings out there looking for us.”
Slim tightened the cords on his sandals.
“Awesome Venir, you just gave me another idea. By the way, nice helmet or whatever that is. It makes you look mean … like Melegal.”
Venir barreled down the ravine with Chongo at his side. The others followed not far behind, all thoughts heavy on the downfall of Outpost Thirty-One. Mikkel managed to recover his heavy crossbow as they passed by the ambush site. Venir maneuvered through the thick foliage like a metal apparition, striding through the dark like a bobcat. He could sense underlings were all around, but not close enough to pinpoint. He fought the urge to find them, as the awareness made the battle very compelling. He began to realize that he could lead them all out of harm’s way if he could stay focused on fleeing, rather than killing.
Nevertheless, the spiked helmet on his brow beckoned him to make contact and destroy the underlings. He had to stop more than once to regain his composure, rather than succumb to the battle lust. His will was strong and only his loyalty to his friends prevented him from giving into his reckless desires.
He led them through the forest, minute after minute, stirring little more than a muskrat. His nerves were on edge as every unfamiliar sound seemed amplified. He looked back time and again as Billip signaled they weren’t followed. They were already a full mile down the hill. Almost free. He kept them moving.
At this pace the great hill that held Outpost Thirty-One would soon bottom out; they were almost halfway down. He felt something strong ahead and froze.
Slim fidgeted beside Mikkel.
Venir signaled back, Nothing.
Venir began moving again as he heard the lanky cleric sigh in relief. Their careful footfalls through the humid, bug-filled forest became agonizing; they had been creeping along for almost an hour.
Again he stopped.
They all went still.
Small underling patrol! he signaled. Straight for us. Hide.
Slim began muttering soft chanting words.
Venir turned to watch as he saw the air around the three men thicken. Next, all he saw was a small grove of trees where his comrades had stood. The illusion worked.
Venir sunk beneath a thick willow tree with Chongo hidden deep in the brush behind him. Three underling hunters, armed with light crossbows, stood in a small clearing not far from him, chittering in the quiet.
Venir’s bloodlust plagued him like a growing migraine. They were right in his path and he could sheer them like sheep. He quelled the urge with iron will, controlling his burgeoning lust as he watched them begin to move on up the ravine his way.
Don’t move. Don’t breath.
They passed him and were standing beside the grove of trees that were once men. Venir heard one sniffing the air into its hawkish nose. Venir tightened his grip on Brool.
Here we go.
Another underling shoved it’s comrade along the way, more intent on the sound of the fracas further uphill, and they passed onward.
The throbbing in Venir’s head subsided after another minute and he began moving again with more haste. The odd grove of trees followed him. Within the hour they were at the bottom of the hill, safe and facing the open plains to the east.
“Wow!” Slim exclaimed, checking the looks of his tree-like arms and hands. “I can’t believe we just waltzed through that nest of evil. Insane!”
They all shook their heads, stretching their limbs, basking in the red moonlight. Such moments as this didn’t often come without consequence.
“Now what?” Mikkel said, rubbing his tender thigh.
They all looked at Venir. The outpost had fallen and good and bad men would die. He wanted to take an army in himself and drive the underlings back into their caves. He wanted to find Jarla and make her pay the most. He swore he would hunt her down and kill her, but now was not the time.
He took off his helmet, dropping it into the sack, feeling the warm night air sooth his aching head. He ran his fingers through his thick locks of hair.
“Two-Ten City … we’ll spread the word as we go.”
Many years went by ….
CHAPTER 20
The City of Bone was home to the wildest, wickedest, and most ruthless men and women on the world of Bish. Many factors were at the root of the city’s problems as its human inhabitants were an undeniable mess. It was the largest city of the world, housing over two hundred thousand citizens. They were kept under control by means of intimidation, torture, and death.
The Royals were the ruling class who kept order with unjust trials, public hangings and several forms of public humiliation. Despite their best efforts, things were often tumultuous and out of control. The massive city, filled with unrivaled temptation, was too much for its feebleminded citizen’s to handle. A very good man could lose his sense of well-being as quick as blowing out a candle, while his remaining goodness drifted away forever like a wisp of smoke.
It was a dreaded place that the common man and woman preferred over the simpler life in the unprotected lands, beyond the great city’s walls. The crowded streets were filled with liars, alley trolls, murderers, thieves, slavers, politicians, and evil incarnate.
It boasted all of the world’s greatest dangers according to those who had never been beyond its great walls. According to the citizens, nothing outside of its walls could ever be worse. They just assumed that living in the great city made them tough enough to survive anywhere else. By their own unmerited account, a day in the unfair city was like a month in the dangerous Outlands or beyond. Of course, the majorities of the people were poor, decrepit, desperate, and with nothing better to do than gripe about their pitiful circumstances. And yet, the City of Bone was the star city of the not-so-splendid world.
Compared to the City of Bone, the rest of the world was a different matter. Bish contained many races, as well as other cities with the same problems as the City of Bone. The truth was that the City of Bone meant no more to the rest of the world than the world meant to it. The people of other cities and races didn’t care about much at all. They were selfish, in some shape or form, and had their own survival to be concerned about.
On Bish, there were two main things to worry about: the overbearing humans and the ever evil underlings. The underlings did not live in cities above the gro
und; instead, they lived in small cities and majestic caves below Bish’s blazing surface. Underlings were a pure evil race, whereas humans and other races, for the most part, contained a healthy mix of both good and bad.
The underlings hated humans more than any other race on Bish. Humans always had the greater population, but the underlings had the greater lifespan. The underlings were patient, and always at the cause of apprehension on Bish, accustomed to all-out war. At this time in particular, the underlings had lost patience, not with all humans, but with one. A lone human had been causing irreparable damage to the underling population for the past several years. Now the surface dwelling pest was in the wonderfully wicked City of Bone. He was the one that the underlings, as well as many others on Bish, called the Darkslayer.
CHAPTER 21
Two scarlet moons cast shadows on the city structures, adding a strange hue to the colorful flowers and curtains in the apartment windows above. It was one of those rare nights that had a good feeling to it. The alleys seemed less putrid and the puddles of urine far fewer than usual. The screams of pleasure and laughter outweighed the cries of terror that filled every night in the City of Bone. It was a hot and dry evening, and many strolled along the sidewalks as the brilliant banners of the Royal housing districts billowed.
It was good to be home again, he thought. The brawny warrior was strutting through the streets with a broad grin on his handsome face. He brushed back the locks of his tawny hair revealing his hard blue eyes. He stood out among a crowd, and if people did not see him, they heard him belting out an alarming tune. He had been hunting in the Outlands for several weeks, and his nerves were thinned. He knew when it was time to return among the pleasures of the big city. The foul city had raised him, abet in a callous manner, and its harsh elements were little more than entertainment to him. He needed to reconnect with the human population, enjoy some good grog and playful debauchery. The deaths of underlings could wait … but how long? Every trip to the city became shorter and the ventures in the Outlands longer.
At his side, a slender man was with him stride for side, not making a sound. The two had been together a long time, though not always, in the city they recognized as home. The skinny man jostled past a basking couple, tipped his cap, and then hurried alongside the bigger man, eyeing a small brooch of gold in his palm.
“Heh-heh,” he laughed, pinning the jewelry to his vest.
In the wealthier districts of the crowded city, Venir and Melegal enjoyed skimming from its people. Skimming was a less risky and more successful pastime that Venir enjoyed. Now he ventured with his clandestine friend into an unwelcome part of town. They were drawn like raindrops to a river. The bigger the risk, the bigger the reward, Melegal always said. He agreed.
Venir donned the disguise of a noble warrior, and Melegal as his wealthy comrade, claiming to hale from the City of Three. It was something he had performed many times over the years. The profits grew with experience without making them wanted men.
As the evening fell into the black morning, alcohol and other things began to batter the better judgment of the haughty patrons. His eyes met with Melegal’s, whose chin dipped a tad as he savored a goblet of wine.
The Chimera was more than just another tavern of the middle districts. It was well known for its low-key discretion of the young upper class. Many such young men and women often enjoyed a seedier sort of lifestyle, away from the proper manners of higher society. The sweet, expensive perfume that filled the air came from the gorgeous, sweaty bodies of the most beautiful and expensive women in the town. It was a den where many liked to sow their Royal oats from time to time, and have fun at the expense of the common folk.
The Royal class had two types of men, the good and the bad. The good ones would never be caught in the Chimera. The bad ones never seemed to leave. They carried on without shame whenever, wherever and with whoever they wished. None held them accountable for the indecent acts they committed.
“Do as they say or die in the dungeons,” the poor storekeepers would say. “Do as they say or disappear,” the commoners would warn. It made their stomach’s turn. But he and Melegal could not have cared less what anyone had to say. They had been this way since their childhood.
Venir blended in the best he could, staying seated, but his size and voice drew many stares. Still, the atmosphere was accommodating as his spirits raised high into the night. He gambled with nubile girls in scant clothing of the finest cloth. He told tales of his exploits while rolling the rocks.
“It’s true! It’s true!” Melegal would confirm every convincing word, causing some women to swoon.
He was becoming the talk of the tavern, with a little help from his friend. As Venir finished throwing back some dark grog, a gift from his new acquaintances, a silence fell. A brash young warrior, strapping and tall, confronted Venir with a sneer. He bore the mark of a higher Royal house, clothes of the finest craft, and the chin of a nobleman. Venir stared up and listened to what the younger man had to say.
“For the honor of the City of Bone, I challenge this proud warrior from the City of Three!”
The room began to quiet, all eyes on Venir who didn’t crack a smile.
“I accept on behalf of the City of Three!”
A cry of cheers rang out, jostling the entire tavern.
Venir saw Melegal give him a nod. The gathering crowd drug tables and chairs from the center floor, and surrounded the two challengers.
The crowd roared as the two men squared off against each other. The clinks of coins shuffled among their hands. The bar maids were pushed and pulled, back and forth, as the crowd demanded their thirsty gullets filled.
Venir’s voice was like thunder.
“So what will it be boy?”
The challenger stared hard in his eyes, replying in a demanding tone.
“I challenge you to the Quick Fence!”
Throaty roars of excitement jeered the two men on.
The quick fence was one of many common tavern displays of skill and bravado. Such challenges were a long-standing tradition in the City of Bone and beyond. Younger men often challenged one another to impress a woman or shame a friend. The greatest dangers a man would face in such bouts were bruised bones, an empty purse or busted pride.
A heavy set man in a bartender’s apron, smoking a cigar, with tattooed forearms, and a pitted face strode between the two men. He carried a chest-high, heavy, wrought-iron candle stand and set it between them on the planks.
A tiny woman with silver hair squeezed through the crowd and stuck a long, thick white candle on the stands spike, then disappeared. The barkeep took the big cigar hanging from his mouth and ignited the wick. He placed the cigar back in his mouth, and wiped his meaty hands on sides of his apron. The warriors then faced off, each a sword’s length from the candle.
The barkeep raised his arms, bringing a hush into the room as he flipped up his hands. He blew a thick ring of yellow smoke into the air.
“Best of three!”
Venir squared off on the man before him.
“What’s your name boy?”
Venir saw the anger flash in the young man’s pretentious eyes. He wanted to knock the scowl off the Royals face. Something about the young man didn’t sit well with him.
“Don’t call me boy, Three-born! You’ll never forget who I am when this is over!”
The Royal stepped back, placing his hand on the bejeweled hilt of his longsword. He could see the white of the challenger’s knuckles gripping the hilt as the man’s feet shuffled into position.
Venir rubbed his calloused hands over the grip of his hefty broadsword. He could hear the women whisper in excited voices, stating their preferences, either the handsome rock of a man or the captivating Royal. He could hear some their colorful fantasies, and fought back a welcoming smile.
“I hope you’ve got a lot of money, old man,” the Royal said, drawing snickers from the crowd.
He didn’t move.
“I’ll have plen
ty after this.”
Things began to simmer in his gut. The face of the spoiled man before him reminded him of so many of his transgressors from before. He focused on the candle’s burning light.
The barkeep shouted.
“Go!”
Venir yanked his sword from the scabbard, swinging hard as the candle fell onto the floor. The Royal pumped his arms and blade up high. The crowd chanted.
“Tonio! Tonio!”
In unison, Tonio the Royal thrust his sword in the air.
Venir handed his sword over to the barkeep, who eyed it, wiped the blade down and returned it back to him. He sheathed his weapon with a disappointing grunt.
Melegal was almost smiling as he pressed the betting odds with the excited crowd. The barkeep wiped the waxy residue off of Tonio’s blade and handed it back.
“One for the Royal—Tonio!”
It drew another raucous cheer from the crowd.
Tonio pounded his chest and sucked in several quick breaths as waited for the next signal. Venir eyed the Royal as the candle was replaced.
Pretty good.
He rubbed his hilt again and closed his stance in a bit further. The crowd quieted as the barkeep raised his hand.
Quick. Quick. Quick.
“Go!”
Blades licked out faster than the alcohol-glazed eyes could see. The top of the burning candlestick fell to the floor. The crowd looked about, muttering about who had won. Many voices spoke up for the local favorite.
“Tonio!”
“He won!”
“I saw it!”
“Me too!”
Even Venir wasn’t for certain.
The Darkslayer: Book 01 - Wrath of the Royals Page 9
