The Darkslayer: Book 01 - Wrath of the Royals

by Craig Halloran

  He shared a brief and tasteless meal of baked cornmeal and soured wine with Tonio, while the underling Oran stared unmoving at the sky. McKnight watched as Oran began moving away from them.

  “And where are you trying to head off to, underling?” asked McKnight as his daggers glinted in the moonlight.

  Oran hissed and said, “At ease human, I am not venturing out of sight. I have to call for some help to find the whereabouts of our … I mean, your prey … the Darkslayer. It would be wise to let me be, so that we can get this over with.”

  McKnight brushed the crumbs from his chest, sucked in a swish of wine and ventured over by Oran’s side. His tone was threatening as he said, “I don’t trust you. What you have to do, you can do right here.”

  “Pah! Surely even you must know that I have nothing to gain at this point. You clearly have the advantage.” Oran looked toward Tonio who was facing him as well, brandishing his longsword.

  McKnight shook his head. Ah yes, a mute swordsman that moves like a slug. How dangerous! McKnight looked away from the Royal, pointing his dagger at the underling’s neck.

  “What kind of help are you calling on, Oran,” he asked. “At least I need to know what to expect.”

  “Since you insist, it is my familiar, an imp. You do know what an imp is?”

  McKnight had not heard the word imp in decades. But he knew that imps were creatures mentioned in stories to scare children. It had never occurred to him that they might be real, but he was not going to let Oran know that.

  “If an imp shows up here—underling—it had better not make any suspect moves, got it?” He flashed his dagger and shortsword before Oran’s eyes before stuffing them back into his sheathes.

  Oran sighed.

  “I only want this over. The imp won’t bother you; just don’t bother it.”

  “Do your summoning then, and tell us how long until the imp arrives,” McKnight said stepping away.

  He was nervous and curious now. The stories he remembered described imps as wretched creatures, dangerous and wild. He drew his daggers and leaned against a tree. Maybe it will kill Tonio.

  Oran sauntered off, but remained within his sight. McKnight could hear the chaotic chirping that made his stomach sour. After a minute Oran came back, head down, black eyes slack.

  “Eep should be here any minute, flying or just appearing, I cannot tell, but certainly any minute.”

  Tonio’s hard face scoured sky, clutching his sword, while McKnight’s eye stayed on the dark and frustrated underling.

  *****

  Eep, bored with killing forest vermin, was relieved to receive a tingling summons from Oran. His master wasn’t too far away for flying. Eep’s wings buzzed to a shriek as he spit out a squirrel head and flew like lightning towards his master. Finally, the imp thought, I can get this done and receive my due.

  Eep flew low over the plains, grazing the cactus tops, in a straight bead of flight toward the underling. His leathery wings buzzed like a thousand bees, cutting the air with a zipping sound that could be heard from a hundred yards.

  Eep saw a man as in his path, a large one holding out a sword. Why would a human—no, two humans—be with his master? Imps, for all their magic and power, were not known for complex thinking; they were impulsive creatures, creatures of action, which followed simple orders to attack and kill. Split-second thinking was not their forte; they relied on instinct, reflexes, and the urge to destroy life whenever and however they could. Master’s in danger! Destroy!

  CHAPTER 61

  Lord Almen had been busy pursuing an additional investigation of his son’s recent demise. He had already set things in motion to try and catch the person responsible for filling Tonio with inducers. He toyed with a garrote in his fists as he sat on the bed where Tonio had lay in recovery. How many men had died in his clutches on his rise to power? He remembered every face, castle and name. He was subtle and swift, an assassin of high pedigree. Killing had got him everything he wanted … almost.

  Now others did his dirty work, but the urge to mangle and torture another man still struggled inside him. He needed someone to take out his frustrations on. He needed it soon. He tossed the garrote on the bed, folded his hands behind his back and headed back up the stairs. His emboldened enemies would have to pay.

  He felt insulted by the attempt to eliminate his son. Indeed, nothing intimidated one who had raised his house from the lowliest of Royal rankings to almost the very top. More than anything, he was angered that the attempt appeared to have been made by an inferior house. The use of inducers was amateurish. Though rare and costly, they were child’s play for any upper ranking Royal family or assassin. Whoever used it was desperate.

  Such evidence eliminated the houses ranked just ahead and behind his. But with almost unlimited resources at his disposal, Almen was confident of finding his answer soon. In the meantime, he played within his wondrous castle, entertaining people from near and far. The garden variety of guests came and went all hours of the day, some using different doors than others. Everyone was a suspect. Even in his own castle he had to be careful.

  CHAPTER 62

  Eep zoomed into an attack ignoring Oran’s loud protests. Eep dove towards the lower legs of the larger human who was brandishing the gleaming longsword. Tonio’s downward thrust cut into the imp’s flight path, nearly cleaving the imp in two. Eep barrel rolled away, wings buzzing in the air, as the imp prepared another run. As Eep turned back towards Tonio, two daggers, hurled like streaks of lightning, caught him in mid-air. One dagger lodged in a wing, while the other found the imp’s large and now oozing eye. Eep fell to the ground screaming in anger.

  Tonio leapt to finish off the imp.

  “Charlonock!” Oran bellowed.

  The grass and foliage burst from the ground, coiling around Tonio’s lower legs. The man let out a raging howl.

  “Oran!” McKnight warned. “You had better not be double crossing me.” The detective’s sword tip was digging into the underlings back.

  Oran waved his hands about his head.

  “I’m not!” he yelled back over Tonio’s clamor. “Just don’t kill the stupid imp. He must have thought you were attacking me!”

  A moment of silence fell as the two men watched the imp dislodge the dagger from its eye. McKnight shivered and gaped as the imp slid the other from its wing. Tonio just groaned with the vines that grew back as quick as they snapped. The imp took a confident step their way, mouth wide, red tongue flickering in the air. McKnight pressed his sword tip deeper into Oran’s back.

  “Eep,” Oran commanded. “Stay still!”

  The imp froze; not a muscle moved. Tonio was on the verge of cutting off his own legs, hacking at the roots and dirt. The man’s sword fell up and down. Oran looked over his shoulder at McKnight who shrugged. Oran chittered another word and the foliage slunk back under the dirt.

  Tonio lunged with his blade at the imp who simply slipped through the air and away. It was perfect. McKnight wanted nothing more than to see the imp tear the man asunder.

  “Call off your friend human,” Oran said with a snap. “The imp will not tolerate this aggression forever. They aren’t the smartest creatures. My control has limits on his rage.”

  Whatever happens, happens, McKnight thought. He watched as Tonio chopped into the air like a blind man as the imp would cackle and fly away. It went on for several agitating minutes, and then Tonio sheathed his sword and walked away. Not the outcome I was hoping for. However, with the immediate drama resolved, the natural tension among underling, imp, and humans resurfaced.

  McKnight got them back to subject of their journey.

  “So, exactly how is this awful imp going to help us underling?”

  Oran paused, twisting the black hairs on his head.

  “I’ll be brief and maybe you will grasp it. Eep can travel from our dimension to his own, the magical dimension. But imps are not ordinary magical creatures. From their dimension they can see into ours, as if looking into a c
rystal ball.”

  McKnight fanned himself with his hat. Preposterous. “So, are you are planning for the imp to find the people we’re tracking?” He grasped the situation, but had monumental doubts.

  “Unless he has already found who we are looking for.”

  McKnight was surprised. “Continue.”

  “Eep, catch us up on what you’ve found out so far.”

  Eep began leading the small, miserable party south, playing question-and-answer with Oran and McKnight, while Tonio strode slack jawed at the rear. McKnight found the conversation with the imp as intimidating as fascinating.

  “Two humans and a donkey, you say, entered Two-Ten City?” repeated McKnight. “Did this donkey seem capable of killing Tonio? Was it a rare, killer donkey, perhaps, distinguishable from a normal donkey?” He couldn’t help himself as his indifference for the spoiled Royal seemed to grow with every step.

  Eep eked out a few more details. It left McKnight with little to go on, except that the people they sought might be in Two-Ten City. Hundreds of other humanoids traveled in and out of that city each day. He was not confident that they could find the right people, and time was pressing—he wanted this over with.

  “All of that imp blather and that is all you have. Eep thinks he saw them enter Two-Ten City. Certainly the powerful underlings rely on better resources that this.”

  Of course, a visit to the city wouldn’t be too bad about now. Afterall, they made the best mead in all of Bish.

  Oran’s glassy black eyes twinkled in the moonlight.

  “I shall send Eep ahead to find who he is talking about. I have a spell that allows us all to see what he sees. This will have to do. It would have helped if Tonio could have given a better description than just, Vee-man. Go, Eep!”

  In a violent buzz, the imp blinked out of sight. McKnight’s spine tingled. I should have been a magi.

  “Now, McKnight, I need your word that you will not interfere with my spell casting.”

  “My word, underling. Anything to get this over with.”

  Oran stepped away and he closed his eyes. McKnight felt the air thicken as the underling muttered an incantation under his breath. Several minutes passed, and then his spell began to take form. Colors began to explode before his eyes, sparkling, fading, swirling, and popping in and out like the crackling of hot embers in a fireplace. McKnight was enthralled; he would be much more mindful of Oran’s abilities from now on.

  Then the collage of colors began to take on a shape in the air before him, forming an oval boundary enclosing a black space. A blurry picture formed from what seemed to be inside of the imp’s single eye. Then the barrier of the eye vanished, and in its place, everything the imp could see, they could see. He heard Tonio mumble, “Wuh.”

  McKnight was high above trees and hills, then streaking towards the ground below. He was hovering above a city where he could see the people coming and going. Then, through the city he zipped, viewing sight after sight in an instant.

  Flashing before his eyes were humanoids of all kinds doing all sorts of things—much of which seemed indecent or inhumane. In just a few moments he had toured most of the city. A lump formed in his throat. Now his gaze passed straight through beasts and buildings, and after many moments the images began to slow and settle. McKnight felt a wave of nausea. The image settled inside an old tavern that appeared deserted, except for a band of misfits playing music.

  McKnight was looking down a stairwell and into a corridor that opened into a wide arena. He knew this place. The Pit. All types of humanoids were gathered and whooping it up. It was odd to watch such a thriving sight and not hear a sound. Is this how the deaf feel?. Pity. McKnight tried to read the lips of those he saw. Farc? The people were chanting, but not one face rang a bell. Then his blood turned cold. He recognized Melegal. What’s that little rat doing here? It looks like he’s having a bad time. Must be losing money. Good.

  “Nice try, Oran,” McKnight said in a disgruntled voice as the spell began fade and the image paled.

  The fading picture went toward the inside of an iron cage. A large, hairy ogre had an overgrown man locked up, forcing his neck down. A big V-shaped tattoo was visible on the man’s back.

  “Vee-man!” screamed Tonio, diving straight through the image and into a tree with a tremendous thud.

  The spell fizzled out with a flash. Oran let out a heavy sigh.

  “Like I was saying, Oran, nice job!” McKnight said as he began to chuckle. “Bone of a good job! I think we’ve found who we’re looking for. And it would appear that this Vee-man is practically dead already.”

  With relief, McKnight could see his mission nearing its end. But there was another thing. Melegal! Why isn’t that worm dead?

  CHAPTER 63

  It was not the choking hold of Son of Farc that was to be Venir’s final memory. It was the blackness, the sinking into unconscious in his last gasping moments of desperation. Venir’s colleagues, Mikkel, Nikkel, and Melegal, all cried out in horror. He felt his rigid body start to turn slack. An odd silence began to settle on the battle arena as the excitement in the air changed from a blasphemous hostility to a collective shiver. All awaited for the sound of the Son of Farc snapping Venir’s neck. Everyone’s faces began fading to black and the roaring sounds were muted.

  Son of Farc yelled in his ear. The ogre was straining, bending the iron muscles in thick neck. If Venir was still fighting, he didn’t know what with. He was oblivious to the crowd that was holding their breath. Something was stirring deep inside him. A black suffocating hole opened up in his mind. Sounds of chittering underlings filled his ears. Evil. Mocking. Laughing.

  His life was rushing past his eyes, the moments of promise destroyed by the masses of underlings. They killed family, friends, innocent men and beasts. He recoiled. Images of Chongo, fish, Georgio, and silver flashed in his mind, and a volcano began to rise inside him.

  Son of Farc now wrapped his mighty arms around his head. The ogre was preparing to apply his final spine-shattering twist to Venir’s neck. The breathless crowd was wild-eyed. The Royals of Two-Ten were on their feet. At any second that resounding crack of thunder would come. Had they just not heard it? They peered deeper into the caged arena, lips pursed, knees bent and arms half raised. And then the crowd saw it, as Venir’s body flexed and stiffened. He growled in rage as his white eyes snapped open. The crowd went into an uncontrollable frenzy.

  Venir’s work on Bish wasn’t finished.

  NO!

  He remembered the most hated and despised moment in his violent life; the day that the innocent boy was supposed to die in a ditch; and the rage that had come upon him. And now that rage, an unforeseen creation of the underlings was triggered along with something else. A spark ignited inside him, his blood coursed through his veins like liquid lightning. From the inside out, he grew.

  Venir lurched up, his bloodshot eyes rolling up in his head, his face turning purple. As the crowd looked on, fear and excitement surged through every one of them. Venir fought himself into a sitting position. Son of Farc had his hairy forearm cranked up around his neck.

  “NO!” Venir spat.

  He began to shake in unfettered fury, his rage and bloodlust blocking all rational action. Only his instinct to survive was thinking and that kind of thought meant destroying whatever he saw. Glancing elbows began hammering into the half-ogre’s ribs. Son of Farc’s grip began to slip. Bellowing in objection the ogre kept trying to squeeze the life out of him. The pressure was unrelenting, but Venir wouldn’t give way. He felt the ogre’s wind beginning to wane. The Darkslayer sensed it.

  “Get him, Venir!” shouted Nikkel, his excited young voice shattering the moment of spellbound silence.

  “Go Vee!” Melegal and Mikkel began yelling in unison.

  “VEE! VEE! VEE!”

  The name rang out as the crowd throughout the arena began to turn on their own champion. The human hater’s faces turned to outrage at the impossible turn of events.

  H
e was on his knees now, struggling back to his feet. Son of Farc was draped over his back, dead weight trying to force him to the ground. Venir continued his rise; leg’s shaking from the effort. Every muscle on Son of Farc was straining as Venir’s corded muscles knotted all over his body. Son of Farc shouted in defiance, but Venir surged on.

  Venir’s legs sprung upward. He charged toward the stone wall of the arena, dragging the clinging half-ogre with him. Ducking in an instant, he slammed the man-beast’s head full into the hard rock. The thrust jarred the ogre, chips of stone cracking to the floor. A nasty gash opened on the ogre’s head and blood gushed over his face and hairy arms.

  Venir drug the stunned ogre toward the other side of the arena, repeating the same tactic with another tremendous effort. He felt Son of Farc’s grip slip away. Venir backed away from his opponent, fists clenched, feeling ten feet tall.

  The crowd was split and fights began to breakout all around the arena. None was more shocked than the elder Farc. In disbelief, he waded unnoticed through the fracas toward the arena. Inside the cage, an enraged man was about to give the Farc family their just due. Farc looked determined to not see that happen.

  Son of Farc rose back to his feet. The two giant warriors charged each other. Son of Farc tried to pound his body back down, but Venir didn’t feel a thing. The Darkslayer would have none of it. He was far too quick for the sluggish ogre to land a solid hit. Venir’s energized punches were like mallets driving spikes through the ogre’s body. Son of Farc was groaning under every blow.

  Venir could not hear the crescendo of the crowd, but he could smell the blood of the ogre as it began spitting it up. The ogre’s rock-hard ribs began to snap and crack like twigs and as his energy was all but dissipated. Then Son of Farc’s leg’s wobbled; his head rolling on his slumped shoulders as he fell. Venir sensed the kill and went for it.