The Darkslayer: Book 01 - Wrath of the Royals

by Craig Halloran

  The men hung limp, but the underlight revealed their expanding chests. The unfortunate prisoner’s figures were misshapen, bloodied and mangled. Their bodies were somehow sustained beyond death, twisted and torn on the whimsy of the underlings.

  Lord Verbard held out his index finger and with a quick hiss his finger ignited into a red hot glow. The underling ran its nail over the fresh blood on the leg of the middle human. The man’s hairs began to curl away and stink. The underling jabbed his burning finger nail into the man’s flesh, ripping a deep laceration on the thigh.

  The man’s howl was muffled, his lips partly sewn shut. The underling cackled, boring further and hitting the bone. The helpless man’s sewn lips were trickling more blood as he writhed in pain.

  “Wonderful sounds they make don’t they, brother Catten?”

  Catten studied the man’s tormented face.

  “Like music, did that hurt, Mister Human? Was that a sound of pleasure or pain? Are you trying to say something?”

  Catten floated closer to the man, turning his ear. A sound was coming from the corner of the man’s torn mouth.

  “The darks..slaaaa…kilz..filth…unders-s-s…”

  Catten’s gold eyes were molten with anger. All five of his nails glowed red hot as he tore out the flesh of the man’s thigh in a single stroke. Blood poured from the gaping hole in the man’s leg, dripping into a pool on the ground. The man squirmed and shook as the underlings’ hot hand cauterized the wound closed. The scent of burnt flesh and hair brought small grin to the underlings face. The man’s head slumped into his chest.

  “Are you going to sleep on me? Verbard, we cannot allow him to sleep again. It’s the ninth time today. I will not be treated like this by my guests.”

  “And we can’t have them sleeping when Master Sinway arrives,” Verbard said.

  Catten shared his brother’s look of concern and he snapped his fingers.

  “Let’s cut off their eyelids.”

  CHAPTER 26

  Venir awoke to the sound of pounding rain. He was in the little apartment he shared with Melegal during his stays in the City of Bone. On the top floor of a dingy four-storey apartment building, it was adequate for the two full-grown men to live in comfort within the miserable city. The candles mounted on the walls were unlit, but a lantern glowed, and there was a hint of light at the small window where the rain splattered the glass pane. Another empty cot was by his side, a satin pillow was fluffed and the blankets folded in perfect squares. A woodstove was burning as the smell of fresh coffee filled his nostrils. A metal carafe of Melegal’s best was percolating on the stove.

  He yawned as he watched his roommate’s rigorous routine of calisthenics taking place on the floor. The thief was in a hand stand, doing push-ups.

  “Ninety-nine … one hundred.”

  Melegal rolled down, silent as a cat, and hoisted his feet behind his head.

  “Morning,” he yawned again.

  “Morning, crap!” the thief replied. “It’s almost noon.”

  “What!”

  He turned to the single window by his bed and peered through the water coated glass.

  “Slat! It’s just gone dawn.”

  “No fooling you, Vee.”

  Melegal switched positions and began one armed pushups.

  Venir got up and went to the water basin beside the woodstove and rinsed his face. He sucked in some water from a pitcher, washing out his cottonmouth, and spit into a large metal pipe between the woodstove and the basin. The indoor waste shoot was the reason they had chosen the top apartment. That way they would not have to listen to any other occupants spit, wash, and urinate from the spouts above, down into the nasty sewers below.

  Indoor plumbing was one of the marvels of the City of Bone, rumored to be the only city with such advancements. In truth, this ancient city was almost the only one with buildings over three stories high. The humans that claimed they built the City of Bone often bragged of being the most advanced race on the world of Bish. They enjoyed their comforts. But, over the centuries, even they had forgotten most of what they had done, or who had done it and why. For the City of Bone had been tore down more than once in its long life and rebuilt, only to be rebuilt on the bones of its dead. That was how it had acquired its current name. And, chances are, it would fall again.

  He stretched alongside his roommate and began duplicating the routine calisthenics. It was an agonizing thirty minutes, but he wasn’t about to let the thief do things he couldn’t. He just sweated like a pig, while the thief’s forehead was dry as a bone. Melegal hopped up and poured some coffee. He stayed on the floor, struggling to put his legs behind his head. He grunted and pulled. He used to do it all the time years ago. He got it.

  “Hah!”

  The thief could not hide his amazement.

  “How’d you get your legs over those monstrous shoulders?”

  “Don’t know,” he replied, flopping them back to the floor.

  Melegal stirred his coffee while watching him with fascination. Venir’s massive muscles bulged with every movement. Thick cords of sinew twisted like hammered iron. He took a deep breath and stood like a statue for a full minute with every muscle in his body flexed. He looked like a great oak whose roots and branches were about to burst free. The strange move helped him relax.

  “Ahh!” he exhaled. His head was clearing and he was beginning to feel better.

  “How ’bout some coffee, Me?”

  Melegal poured it into a handle-free mug and passed it over to him.

  “So, what’s the agenda for the day? Are you planning to stick around a bit longer, or head out already?”

  Venir sniffed in the intoxicating aroma, feeling the warmth from his ceramic mug. He took a slurp.

  “Mmmm … it’s that time again it seems. Besides, after that last run-in, I’d better be going. Are you gonna come this time, or chicken out again?”

  He managed a smile, but the truth was he felt cooped up. He couldn’t tear his mind from the underlings. The things they did to people. The shredded faces haunting his thoughts and dreams. The longer he stayed inside, the more people died.

  Melegal frowned.

  “After all that money we just made, would I rush off and risk dying again? You get me into one life-threatening mess after another. It’s insane! You’re insane. I like the easy life inside the walls.”

  “Ah, bullslat. You get bored outta your mind when I’m gone. You just sit in here and widdle away. You like it on the edge with me. And I always keep you safe, you know that.”

  The thief sipped his coffee, nodding his head.

  “No … I don’t miss you. I like the quiet. I like the money, but the quiet is better. You cause such a racket.”

  There was an odd silence as he was giving the thief a look.

  “Vee, every time you leave, you comeback with less. Sometimes you act uncivilized, out of control. Maybe if you stayed longer you could unwind. You are tighter than a bowstring these days.”

  The words stung, but he knew his friend was right. He had to drink himself into a slumber when he was home. His nerves fired at every odd noise and his mind was in a constant race for battle. The women, sex, and alcohol, as enjoyable as they may be, were just distractions. Fleeting and foolish. He had a problem that he couldn’t control, unless he was out there.

  He got up and pulled the large, worn leather sack from underneath his cot. He tossed it to the bed with a clank. He had a flickering memory of Jarla, her beautiful scowling face from years ago. He hunted her, but never found her, as the underlings got in the way.

  “Pulling out the artillery,” the thief said in a dour tone. “So you are getting ready to go.”

  Melegal was all eyes as he reached inside it and pulled out the shield. It was a simple design, a grid of worn iron bands welded over a body of dark gray metal unknown anywhere in Bish. He had no idea what metal it was. The shield appeared grim and heavy, but he flipped it around with ease. It fit his powerful frame like a gl
ove. He had stopped countless life threatening blades and arrows with it, but it didn’t have a single notch.

  Then he pulled out a colossal battle axe and whispered in a loving tone.

  “Brool.”

  Melegal grimaced.

  “You would have a name for the nasty thing.”

  “All good friends have names!” he said, swinging the axe like a toy. The feel of the weathered shaft felt like an extension to his hands. Its warmth filled him with vitality. He couldn’t help but grin.

  Brool was a four-foot long, double-bladed battle axe, with an iron-shod dark oak handle. A serrated spike at the top made the weapon almost five feet in length. It was long enough to impale a man. The blades shimmered like the shield as he began whirling it around his body like black lightning. The tip and edges were just a hair from destroying the interior of the room.

  Melegal followed the fluid movements with a silent shudder.

  Brool was an odd design for a weapon; bigger than a battle axe, yet smaller than a great war axe. It looked unwieldy, awkward and heavy. He liked to call it a hand-and-a-half axe. There was no other like it on all the world of Bish. He fought one-handed with it, a feat in itself, but he could deal out even more damage two-handed. It was a terrible thing to face Brool in his hands.

  “So, why have you decided to head out this time? Is there another brood of orcen princesses you’re trying to rescue?”

  “Hah,” he said, chopping in the air, “… there’s word of some trouble in the southern provinces that’s moving north. They’re getting aggressive out there. The Royal soldiers have their hands full watching Outpost Thirty-One. I can make good coin on underling heads, assuming they pay before they perish this time. The caravan officials say the carnage along the trails is increasing.” Venir was sweating now as he put down his weapon, and fetched the final object out of the bag.

  “Helm.”

  He placed the burnished gray helmet over his great skull, buckling the leather chinstrap. The helmet was banded with iron like the shield, with another sinister spike on top like Brool’s, only smaller. It covered everything above the nose, including the eyelets.

  He was a menacing sight and eeriness settled over the small apartment. Here was the figure that the outlanders—the farmers and villagers—all hailed as the Darkslayer.

  Melegal shifted in his chair, sucking hot coffee though his teeth. The man was nodding his head.

  “That is one disturbing get up. But it goes great with your shorts.”

  He was in a semi-trance, only half noticing the words. The helm had an odd way of amplifying his surroundings.

  “Huh? Oh,” he replied, “guess I do look kinda silly, don’t I?”

  “Yep … you do.”

  “The underlings won’t think so when Brool and I get a fix on them. I’m itching for it.”

  It had been weeks since he slaughtered any of the heinous creatures.

  His broad smile had Melegal shaking his head.

  “Think they’re the ones causing trouble on the caravan trails?”

  “They’re always causing trouble, little monsters,” he retorted. “I hate ’em. The smaller farms seem to be suffering, and the villagers don’t stand a chance. There’s lots of people showing up dead or disappearing. It’s a shame. The Royals could care less about the people that feed them.”

  “Well, they say the Darkslayer has their number. At least that’s what I’ve heard,” Melegal added with a straight face.

  “That’s right!”

  He gave the air a two-handed chop with the axe as Melegal jumped over the table.

  “Watch it with that thing, will you! You could put a dragon’s eye out.”

  He grinned.

  “Sorry.”

  He kissed Brool on the blade and began shoving the armaments back into the sack. The thought of leaving the city put a spring in his step. He needed something he could sink his blade into. He felt like a caged animal inside of Bone’s mighty walls. He used to enjoy it here, but he had changed. His purpose was out there now, so he thought.

  He began pulling on his clothes, giving his friend a hard look as he buckled his belt.

  “Why not tag along on this one? It’s been a while, and you’re getting rusty. These city walls make you soft, Melegal. Even though you’ve got it all under control here, there’s bound to be a day when the walls come down. You might not be ready.”

  Melegal stood in front of the mirror arranging his beloved floppy hat.

  “I’ve got it better now than ever. Why give it up to risk my neck with you?”

  The thief showed himself a satisfied and handsome smile of perfect teeth.

  “There’s no comfort outside these walls. It’s as nutty as Bone out there! Ant’s bigger than my hands. Ground as hard as stone. What’s to gain? I have money, privacy, and a nice place to live. I’m going to enjoy it while it lasts. And the women are a lot easier here too. Out there they usually have three eyes, hairy backs, and a row of rotten canines. I’ll pass!”

  “No need to be nasty. Besides, I recall you liking those little hairy lycan gals from time to time,” he said with a laugh.

  “No more of those, Vee.”

  The thief eyes closed, and then he opened them with a sigh.

  “That last lycan about did me in. Who’d have thought she’d kill half the women I even looked at for no reason. I don’t want to take the chance of running into her again. My guess is she’s still around.”

  Venir pulled on his boots.

  “Fair point … she was fetching in the light though, except the tail. Look, I’d like to stay, but … I gotta go before I wind up killing somebody,” Venir said, attaching a large belt pouch around his waist.

  Melegal gave him a rueful look and said, “I’ll walk you to the stables, then I can check on Quickster. If Georgio isn’t doing his job I’m gonna kick his fat butt. Hey, maybe he can go with you. Then you won’t need me anymore.”

  “If you say so. How about first heading down to the market with me? I gotta load up with supplies before I get outta this stinking city.”

  Venir tossed the remainder of his belongings into a backpack while Melegal started setting some homemade intruder traps. As the two adventurers went out, the door quietly shut behind them. Melegal produced a razor-thin key, self-made, and stuck it in a well concealed key hole. The lock tumbled into place with a quiet click.

  “Is that necessary? Nobody’s gonna break in before you get back,” he said, scratching his head.

  “I’m trying to not go soft, being prepared, like you were lecturing. Now, let’s get you outta here, before you hurt someone.”

  The two companions headed down four flights of creaking steps onto the empty floor of the Drunken Octopus. They hit the malodorous city streets as the stinging rain hit their face. The showers from above disguised the sound of footsteps following from behind.

  CHAPTER 27

  It was mid morning when he and Venir reached the stables. Melegal was executing his haggling with the local grocers to perfection. Their arguments over prices with him didn’t hold salt. Nothing was worth what he didn’t want to pay. He was doing them a favor by not stealing it. Stupid merchants. Just thieves in fancy clothes.

  His lumbering friend’s backpack was now stocked up with plenty of dried meat, fruit, and water to last the journey south. It was a stupid place to go, but at least his grinning friend could have a belly full. Anything was better than nights of eating bark and fried toad. Melegal had enough of those retched days in the wilderness. This city might smell worse, but it tasted so much better. He pinched a pair of plums from a wart-faced woman’s cart and padded alongside Venir.

  The walk was much longer than he was used to and his narrow legs began to ache the ever slightest.

  “I hate long walks in daylight like this. It feels like ten miles to the stables. You need to find a new stable closer to the Drunken Octopus.”

  He bit into the plum and spit a tiny seed at a cat’s nose. It hissed and bounde
d away.

  “Quit crying, we’re almost there,” Venir said with a mouthful of plum. “Mmmm … besides, you’ll be happy to see me go.”

  “Sure will!”

  The back alleys of the massive city remained gloomy even in the daylight. Most of the city wasn’t safe, even on the brightest days on Bish. Only the main streets offered some safety. The two companions always took shortcuts, however, leaving a confusing trail in case of unwanted pursuit. Melegal always led Venir on a different route. He never got used to the big warrior moving like a ghost behind his shadows.

  He looked back at Venir who paid his glance no mind. Melegal knew is friend’s mind was elsewhere, tracking and killing something. The pair had managed to survive some of the worst punishment as adolescents that the Royal’s had to offer. It was Venir who was the beacon that pulled them through. The big teenager at the time knew that Bish had better things to offer.

  Venir told him about his family, pets, fish fries and more in his home village. He could almost taste and smell the words as they rolled off of Venir’s enthusiastic lips. Venir gave him something he never had before ... hope.

  The Royals tried to beat it from Venir, but never could. How could anyone find the humor in that, but somehow Venir did. Now the man’s face was dark and distant these days. His friend was strapping and full of mirth many years ago, yet hard as iron inside and out. That festive smile was now replaced with something grimmer. Ever since the man came back from the clutches of the Brigand Queen the crafty ranger was not the same.