The Darkslayer: Book 05 - Outrage in the Outlands

by Craig Halloran

  He made his way to the edge of the pit and prepared to lower himself inside.

  “Give me a torch,” Venir asked, strapping on his helm.

  A soldier nearby handed one over, and Venir tossed it down inside. It stuck on a bed of webs and then slowly dissipated as it fell all the way through. The pit wasn’t as deep as it looked. He uncoiled a rope, tossed it over the side, and started climbing down. That’s when he noted the steps cut into the walls, underling size. Reaching the bottom, he noticed the pit was quiet and rank. When he bent to pick the torch up, the marrow in his bones chilled and the hairs on his neck stood on end.

  Sssckt. Sssckt. Sssckt … A sand spider was sucking on the cocooned figure of a man.

  Venir’s instincts fired. He limped over and rammed Brool's spike dead center into the spider's bulbous body. It detached with a screech and died. Venir shuffled around the bottom of the pit, waving the torch back and forth, but no other spiders were in sight. Three figures were wrapped up in spidery cocoons, one of them stretched out at least seven feet. Slim!

  Venir lowered the torch along the webs and watched the spider silk shrivel and dissipate.

  “I’m going to need a hand down here,” he shouted upward. “I’ve got three bodies!”

  He found the cloth around Slim’s face and pulled it away. His face was gaunt, and no breath came. “Come on, Slim.” He slapped the skinny man’s face. Nothing happened. Then there was a twitch behind his eyelids.

  He lowered the torch to the next cocoon and pulled the sticky webbing away from another face wrapped in cloth. It was Adanna. Her once lustrous hair was dry as bone, and the skin around her once full figure was tight as sun dried leather and sunken in all places. Venir’s chin dipped down. She was dead. Beside Adanna, her mother was gone as well.

  “Blast my pride-filled hide,” he grumbled.

  If he’d only stayed with them, they’d probably all be still alive. Instead, he'd doubled back to deal with Farc. Now Hogan, his wife and his daughter were dead. That guilty feeling renewed the fires within him.

  “Nay,” he said to himself.

  It wasn’t him that was responsible. It was the underlings. And he was going to make them pay. Every last one.

  ***

  Venir sat by the campfire, guarding Slim. His friend looked dead as a tombstone. Above him, the moons had risen, both full and glowing in pale shades of blood. He’d just spent the last several hours shoveling shallow graves for Adanna, her mother and many of the hundreds of Royal Riders. It had been a long time since he’d been part of such a big battle, and the feeling inside his gut told him there were many more battles to come.

  He took a deep breath and let out the ragged sigh of a tired lion. The throbbing in his hand made it feel like it was about to explode.

  “You're going to need to take care of that wound before long.”

  Venir looked over his shoulder. It was the commander. The man took a spot along his side and stoked the crackling embers of the fire while he stroked the long ends of his mustache

  “Quite a battle,” he added, reaching out his hand. “By the way, my name is Jans. Commander Jans.”

  Venir took the man’s grip in his and said, “Venir. Underling Killer.”

  “Ha! You can say that again. You’ve got most of my men talking about you already. I’ve even found myself making a comment or two, and I’m not a man of many words.”

  Jans ran a cloth over the bald crown of his head and took a deep draw from a sack of wine. Venir could see the hardened face of a battle tested soldier who wasn’t like many Royals. Some were good, most bad by his account, but Jans seemed alright. An old soldier who put his trust in steel, more so than men.

  Slim moaned. It was faint, but at least he was moving. Venir checked the wound on the man’s leg. The spider bite, four holes each as big as the tip of his finger, had swollen the man’s ankle to the size of Venir's arm. Slim’s head was dripping with sweat. Venir let out a grunt.

  “He’s made it this long, I’d say in a few days he’ll be moving, maybe just not walking,” Jans said, “but we’ll have to clear out first light tomorrow. You sure you don’t want someone to look at your wound?”

  “No. I’ve had worse.” Venir shrugged.

  “So, what were you doing with these people?”

  “Heading north. There are some people I’m looking for.”

  “They must be important if you plan on traversing these jungles that are thicker with underlings than they are mosquitoes.”

  Venir shrugged. “It looks like you and your men have survived. Certainly there are more Royals to come.”

  Jans laughed. “Our days are numbered, and our supplies run low. Almost half of our outposts in Southern Bish are either under siege or over taken.” Jans tossed him the wine sack and cleared his throat. “The underlings cut through here like a black storm one night. They burned, killed and destroyed everything living and moving for miles. This batch we just ran over,” Jans looked over his shoulder where a pyre of burning underling bodies smoked and smoldered, leaving a foul stench lingering in the air, “is only a small roving force. There are underling armies numbering in the thousands out there. The only things getting us through are that we know our lands better and horses travel much faster than underlings and spiders.”

  Venir knew it to be true. The jungle-like forests of the south were difficult to march an entire army through. Filled with high hill tops that jutted outward in many places and formed steep cliff faces in other places, the southern lands were a place of sanctuary to those who knew them. As well, the deep ravines and vines thick as trees made it tough for travel.

  Venir’s face turned grim as he asked, “So, what are the Royals doing to deal with this mess? Still sitting on their thrones and spinning lies to the masses, or are they gearing up for battle?”

  “They’re fortifying the north.”

  “And leaving the south to die.”

  “Well, it’s mostly gnolls and orcs these days. But, Venir, without Outpost Thirty-One, any attempts to hold the south are in vain.”

  Venir let out an angry snort. He still didn't understand why the Royals never attempted to retake their most strategic stronghold in the south. If it had been up to him, he would have rooted the underlings out before the underlings were dug in too deep. Now, it seemed like it was too late for that. Besides, it was the Royals who had abandoned their own kind. Jarla the Brigand Queen, in unison with the underlings, led the fort to its fall. As far as he was concerned, the Royals deserved what they got. But now, more than five years later, the issue had a new significance. Something needed to be done.

  “Where were you when that Outpost fell?” Venir asked, taking a sip.

  “Twenty-Four. And you?”

  “I was there. I was part of that small group that gave the early warning.”

  Jans’s brows lifted as the fire reflected on his oily face. “Ah … I know you, Man. At least, I knew of you. Are you one of the rogues who took down the Brigand Army? Hah! That horde, now that was something the likes I hope I never see again. Orcs, gnolls, kobolds and men fighting as one.”

  “Under the direction of the underlings.”

  Jans grunted. “Aye, of course. I think that us and the other races are in the same predicament now.”

  “Have you seen any evidence of that?”

  “Yes, but very little. As much as I hate the underlings, I have no sympathy when they carve down the other scum, either. Bish would be better off without all of them.”

  Venir felt a little irritated at the remark. As despicable as the other races could be, he still had difficulty dealing with the Royals and their attitude of superiority. As much as he hated to admit it, it was the underlings and the other pesky races that kept the Royal egos in check, at least if that was possible. Now, as these soldiers struggled for a foothold for their own survival, he could only imagine that the Royals were too busy pointing the blame at one another instead of acting. As the underlings gained ground and dug in dee
per, he imagined the Royals wouldn’t do a thing until the last moment possible.

  He put the wine sack to Slim’s mouth, squeezed out a few drops that soaked right between Slim's lips, and tossed it back over to Jans. Something about what Slim had said to him a day earlier was sticking in his craw. He’d been fighting underlings on his own for the most part. Now, maybe it was time he added some more people to help shoulder the load.

  “So, what are you going to do when you run out of supplies?”

  Now it was Jans's time to sigh.

  “I can feel it, Venir, deep in my belly." He tapped his stomach. “Time. Our time is running out. We’ve kept on the move knowing full well if we take a fort and hold out the underlings will starve us out.”

  Jans took out a wetting stone and began running it across the edge of his sword.

  “My men are becoming weary with worry now, as I’ve run out of answers. All I’ve been able to tell them is that help is on the way, but no aid has come. We send riders north, but none have returned.” He stretched his booted feet towards the fire. “The truth is, I figured this battle would be my last. None of my men had planned to survive, either. It was our choice, our sacrifice to distract the underlings so the rest of the force could clean up.” He became solemn for a moment, rugged face looking up into the sky. “The fewer mouths to feed, the better. We die so others can live a day or two longer and have one last belly full before battle.”

  His words sank in. Jans and his men were unlike most men he’d known.

  Jans slapped his leg and spit out a laugh.

  “And then you show up, and here I sit, ready to live another day and die on another. I just didn’t want to die from starvation, holed up in a fort. And the thought of my own men eating one another didn’t sit right with me, either. I’ve seen that happen before, long ago.” Jans's head sagged down to his chest as his eyes got all misty.

  “What happened?”

  “Oh … I was a boy, my brothers and sisters starving, trapped in bonehole by brigand orcs that had seized a small outpost leagues northwest of here. My father and mother said they were leaving to gather food, but only one returned. The meat got us through the next few days until the Royal Riders showed up, and I’ve been one of them ever since.”

  Venir thought he saw a tear on the man’s cheek.

  Staring into the fire, Jans finished his thought. “I’d rather burn than ever do that again.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Brak’s stomach felt like it was being turned upside down in his belly, and he swore his head was spinning on his shoulders, but it all ended abruptly. Darkness. The rustling of bodies and the scent of something wonderful. Baked food. Brak noticed light creeping from beneath a doorway and shoved it open.

  “Wait!” the skinny man interjected as he pulled on the back of his pants.

  A dozen men couldn’t have stopped him from stepping out into the smokehouse, wrapping his blood-stained fingers around a hot blackberry pie, and shoving it into his mouth. The café owner didn’t contain his dismay or fury, shouting, pointing and crying out for the City Watch. He didn’t care. He ate and ate and ate.

  “What have you done? Where have you taken us?” Melegal asked, holding his aching head.

  Melegal stood behind Brak, watching the big young man stuff his face like a hungry pig. The baker, a man in a flour coated apron and with course black hair down his arms and over his knuckles, drew back a butcher's knife, aiming to ram it into Brak’s back. Drat! In a fluid motion, Melegal wrenched the weapon from the baker's hand and drove his elbow across the man’s chin. He didn’t bother to slow the man’s fall, just let him collapse on the tiles.

  Melegal stepped outside the kitchen into the small store front, took a seat on one of the stools at the bar, and let out a sigh. He was still in Bone, and not only that, but he knew exactly where he was as well. He watched as the citizens of Bone scurried along with unusual activity. It was the time of day they would normally be working, but many of them were packed up. Fleeing from an unseen force. Underlings. He leaned against the bar to hear what they were saying.

  The streets run red with blood.

  The Royals have failed.

  Thousands have taken over.

  They shoot fire from their eyes and insects from their breath.

  Thousands of women and children have been killed.

  They are bigger than men and ride on the backs of Chimera.

  They cut off my uncle’s head and devoured his brains.

  Something tugged at Melegal’s vest. It was Jubilee: pitiful, with big brown eyes and Leezir’s flat nose.

  “What do you want?”

  “Can I have something to eat, too?”

  He looked over his shoulder at Brak, whose face was stained in blackberries and crust as he sucked down a jug of goat's milk. The over-sized young man with the face of a hardened soldier seemed awfully content, almost serene for someone who’d just butchered more than a dozen people. Melegal had seen Venir have his own fits of rage, but he’d never seen anything like what Brak was capable of. Ew! What he did to those people? He couldn’t erase the thought of the man being bent backwards until the back of his head touched his arse. Or that Brak had almost killed him, Melegal, a moment earlier. He’d never been pinned down by such raw power before. He’d heard the term berserker, but before now it had seemed like a silly notion: a man so battle crazed that he’d fight, even without limbs, like a ravenous dog until dead. It seemed the stories were true.

  He patted Jubilee on the brown-haired head and said, “Yes. But you better hurry before it’s gone.”

  “Thank you,” she said, smiling up at him, “for saving us.” She wrapped her ginger little arms around his waist and hugged him.

  Melegal cocked a brow over his steely eyes. After all the death, all the horror, the little girl still found a reason to smile and be grateful. He peeled her arms away, saying, “Fond of me all of a sudden, are we? Well, little Slerg, you are on your own now, so get a belly full, and don’t ever hug me again.”

  He set Tonio’s sword on the bar, felt the pommels on his swords, the Sisters, on his hips, took a deep breath, and rubbed his temples. Underlings. They were actually inside the City of Bone and attacking people. The improbable had occurred. Outside of the city walls were thousands of people who had fled the south to find sanctuary in the north. Inside the city, the citizens were scrambling to find a way back outside. No doubt, the Royals would permit them to leave, only never to return. He reached inside his vest, produced new darts, and reloaded his launchers. If I’d only used poison, Sefron would be dead by now.

  Though thankful for his escape, he still had immediate problems. Lord Almen. Was he alive or dead? Sefron had come to the man’s aid, and Melegal had witnessed his moving hand. Slat. I should have cut his throat. It wasn’t his style, however, and killing wasn’t something he was accustomed to, but sometimes that was the only choice if you wanted to live. Jarla the Brigand queen had witnessed the entire ordeal, and he’d tried to dispatch of her, but she had still been fighting when he’d fled. Should have just done what the Lorda said and killed her. I’m not sure what possessed me to gut Almen. He looked over at Jubilee, who was chomping on a biscuit. She had Leezir’s eyes as well. Melegal grabbed a loaf of bread and had started picking at it when two surly men walked up, eyeing the food.

  Melegal's eyes narrowed as he slid Tonio’s sword from the sheath, saying, “Keep walking. This store's closed.”

  “We’ll pay,” one man said, licking his lips as the other fidgeted at his side.

  “I only take blood,” he replied, twirling the sword over his wrist.

  The men grumbled and shuffled along.

  He stuck the sword in the ground and resumed his thoughts. The underlings had been his unlikely ally in all this. They must have slaughtered all of the living in the arena, which should include Lord Almen and Jarla. They’d taken Sefron prisoner and pursued him. They wanted the keys.

  “Ha!”

  All this ti
me, Sefron, of all people, had an alliance with the underlings. Sefron wanted the keys for the underlings. Melegal ran his hands over the hidden inner pockets of his clothing. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. All present and accounted for. He pulled a key out, fingering the topaz gem encrusted in the square head. It was the one he’d used on the last door. Then he remembered something. The Brigand Queen. She had arrived through another door with her men. How did she manage to do that? Were there more keys? Or did she get there by some other means?

  “What is that key for?” Jubilee asked, crawling up on the bar, her legs dangling over the edge, mouth full of a biscuit and appearing happy as a lark.

  “Trouble,” he said, sliding it back into his clothes. “Now don’t bother me. I’m thinking.”

  “All right,” she said, beginning to hum a tune.

  Now where was I? Keys. The underlings want the keys. Which means, the underlings will be coming after me. Slat! He couldn’t shake the image of the Vicious, the beastly creature that could rend through stone with its nails. Was that creature coming after him as well? He remembered that the last time he saw one, at the Warfield, the nasty thing had slit Georgio's throat. Oh my. That made for two things even he’d hope the boy’d never see again: the Vicious and Tonio. He counted his enemies again. Kill Sefron. Fail. Lord Almen. Fail. The Brigand Queen. Fail. It’s only safe to assume that all live. After all, evil has an uncanny ability to survive. And now the Underlings. Aren’t they supposed to be the problem for that brutish friend of mine? He turned towards his friend's son, whose eating pace was now a slow chew. Brak's Venir-like eyes drifted into Melegal's, leaving a haunting feeling in his gut. Was he sane or a madman?

  “Er … Jubilee, uh, how well do you know this man?”

  She perched her eyebrows, smiling, wiping the crumbs from her lips.

  “Brak? He’s good. Nothing like my uncles or my grandfather, who weren't too bad, but still did many things I thought were questionable.”