The Darkslayer: Book 05 - Outrage in the Outlands

by Craig Halloran

  “So am I,” Mikkel said, stepping in front of his smaller friend.

  “But we have to find Venir!” Georgio objected.

  “Venir doesn’t have legs like that,” Mikkel said, smiling from ear to ear.

  “Father!” Nikkel said, giving Mikkel an odd look.

  Billip’s head snapped at the tall black young man with pale blue eyes and broad shoulders and said, “Nikkel! Where’d you come from? Why, you’re practically a man!”

  “I’ve been with my mother for the past few weeks. Made the trek with the merchants.” He slapped the steel on his hip. “I worked as a guard.”

  Trinos took her place back on her bench as the men got reacquainted. They were unlike the rest of the men in the City of Bone: fearless, dangerous and even jovial, they spoke with course words and high spirits. They were men who had seen it all. They were just what she needed.

  “Come, men. Sit and drink from the fountain,” she said. “Corrin, please find them food and goblets.”

  “But … Eh, as you wish,” Corrin said, frowning.

  “And fetch some bandages for this man’s wounds.” She nodded at Mikkel. “Are you well, man of many thews?”

  Mikkel almost blushed as he said, “Ah, the bleeding stopped, but I could still use a stitch or two.”

  With a snap of her fingers, two women appeared almost in an instant, sitting Mikkel down and getting to work.

  The other men seated themselves on the fountain's edge, the youngest sampling the waters.

  “Billip. Georgio. Mikkel and son, Nikkel. It’s a pleasure to meet you all. My name is Trinos, and I’m the caregiver of this District. I could use a few men such as you.”

  They all stared at her as if they’d never heard language spoken before, except one. The younger man called Georgio. He had other things on his mind, though he still found her fascinating, just not to the point where it bridled his tongue.

  “We are trying to find my friend, Venir.” He glared at the others. “And we were, well, about to leave, when Billip was wounded. But now that you’ve healed him, I think we can continue on.”

  “Will you hush your mouth, Boy?” Billip said. “This lady saved me, and I’ll not be leaving her side to find Venir. Nor would he expect me to. Whatever he’s into, I’m sure he’ll be just fine.”

  “Yeah, be quiet, Georgio, and show some respect to this fine woman,” Mikkel said, gesturing toward her with his hand, “whom I’m certain I’d eat my hand for. Pardon me, Trinos, but not in all of Bish has a woman such as you touched her toes on this dirt. I’d fight an army of underlings for you.”

  It was Billip’s turn to step in front of Mikkel. “I’d fight ten armies!”

  Trinos smiled. The men’s passion rose like waters from a dam, almost blocking out all reason. They’d kill for her, and she knew it. It seemed foolish to think a man would go to such great lengths over a woman, even though it was her. Maybe it was time she put a damper on things. She shifted her face and figure into something less bewitching.

  Corrin arrived with two women who set food and goblets at their feet.

  “Men, eat and drink,” she said, flipping her brown hair over her shoulder.

  “Ah,” Corrin said, gaping at her, “see what you two did? I hate it when she does that.”

  Billip and Mikkel blinked and stared, eyeing her less pronounced features. She could feel their thoughts returning back to normal.

  Billip clutched at his shoulder. “Mercy. I hope your healing is not an illusion as well.”

  “Oh, I assure you your arm is healed, yet your vile thoughts, well, they need some work.” She eyed Mikkel. “Yours, too. After all, you’ve a son to set a good example for.”

  “Uh …,” Mikkel said, staring blankly back at her, “yes.”

  “So, you men have fought many underlings, have you not?”

  “Er … well, of course. We’ve slain a great many,” Billip said, pushing his chest out.

  “I’ve slain more than him, Trinos. At least two to his one,” Mikkel interjected, flexing his muscles. “He’s never fought any face to face.”

  “What! I’ve saved you from more underlings than you killed.”

  Mikkel stood up and pointed in Billip’s face.

  “One time! One time you saved me. I’ve peeled those black leeches from your back a dozen times. In the mud. In the water. You’re a dead goose as soon as they get within ten feet of you, Billip. You know that!”

  Billip jumped to his feet and started poking Mikkel in the chest.

  “You’re as stupid as a troll with the memory of a slug and the accuracy of a toad. I’ve seen kobolds that shoot, slat and fight better than you!”

  “That’s it!” Mikkel pulled off his shirt and snatched his crossbow from Nikkel’s hands. “We’re gonna see who’s the better shot, right here and right now!”

  Trinos liked the bravado. The men were fearless and full of fire. It wasn’t something she’d experienced much of in the City of Bone. The young men, Georgio and Nikkel, were all smiles as well. But Corrin, his hands fell to the pommels of his blades, eyes and feet shifting around as if the fountain was about to explode.

  Billip snatched up his bow and snagged three arrows from the quiver.

  “Georgio, take the pitcher and hold it up over your head, yonder.”

  “I’m not doing that! Go hold it up yourself, you knuckle cracking fool!”

  By this time, a crowd of Trinos's people had gathered. She sensed their emotion rising at the thought of the competition. It was the most energy she’d felt from them ever. It shouldn’t have been a surprise to her. After all, it was a big part of their makeup. She stepped between them.

  “Men, I have no doubt about your prowess—”

  “My prowess is bigger than his prowess,” Mikkel said, snarling.

  “Is not!”

  “Stop it, please!”

  Everyone fell to their knees, except the newcomers. Even Corrin kneeled.

  “Listen everyone! These men, Billip and Mikkel, have slain multitudes of underlings, and they are here to protect us.”

  Mikkel and Billip’s bodies slackened as they looked around and lowered their weapons.

  Trinos raised her arms and continued.

  “So, treat them as one of us. Fear the underlings no more. Fear the Royals no more. You have food, water, and now, protection.” She lowered her arms back down. “Now, rest. We’ve much work to begin tomorrow.”

  “What about the competition?” a thickset woman with a head full of curls asked.

  “Aye! I want to see them in action!” a man added.

  “I’ve got ten coppers on the bald headed one.”

  “I’ll match that!”

  “I’m taking the bowman!”

  The wave of emotion began to sway even her as she raised her arms and said, “So be it then! Let the competition begin!”

  With that, a red ball of energy appeared in one of her hands and a blue ball in the other, each scintillating in its own brilliant color.

  “I call red,” Billip said, nocking his bow.

  Trinos flicked her fingers up, sending the balls soaring into the night, getting small as lit fireflies as they went.

  Twang!

  The red ball burst into a thousand sparkles of light, much to the delight of the crowd.

  Clatch-Zip!

  Mikkel's bolt ripped through the air and disappeared into the night.

  “Blast!” he roared

  Twang!

  The blue ball burst in the dark sky; its shards of magic raining down on the people in tiny light blue speckles.

  Billip bowed as the crowd applauded.

  Mikkel looked at her with a frown.

  “Alright, Mikkel, one more time,” she said as two more orbs flared up in her palms.

  Mikkel loaded his crossbow as Billip nocked another arrow.

  “From the hip,” Mikkel said. “You aren’t getting a jump on me this time.”

  “Hah.”

  Up the balls of ene
rgy went.

  Clatch-Zip!

  The red one burst into sparkles of light not even twenty feet above.

  “You shot the wrong one, Mikkel!”

  “I didn’t shoot it,” Mikkel said. Clatch-Zip! His bolt sailed into the night, disappearing with the blue sphere as well.

  “Well then who shot it?” Billip said.

  “I did.”

  It was Nikkel, standing on the fountain's rim, holding a crossbow.

  “That’s my boy!” Mikkel exclaimed, thumbing his chest.

  “Well at least he can shoot. You couldn’t hit a frog's arse on a Lilly pad from ten steps.”

  “I’ve seen cats swing steel better than you,” Mikkel retorted.

  Trinos resumed her seat on the bench. All the people were in good spirits, except the young curly haired one. He was glum. Strange. Still, she had the kind of men she wanted, including Corrin. She would need them to keep things in order. I can’t always be here. But that wasn’t all she needed them for. Royals and Underlings were a problem. There were other things as well. They’ve much to offer, but will it be enough?

  CHAPTER 31

  Chongo led the way over the Outlands, tongue wagging, his big faces panting. Cass, as radiant as a beam of light, sat atop his back, her lithe body swaying along with the beast’s rhythm. She was still the most fantastic thing he’d ever seen, but now Fogle was bitter. On one surviving Clydesdale pony, he, and on the other, his grandfather, followed her and the dog. Behind them, the giant Barton ambled along, silent, yet disturbing like an avalanche ready to fall. His grandfather Boon had said little, other than restating that they must go. Fogle complied, and that was what disturbed him the most. Let it be. Just let it be.

  “You look troubled, Grandson. You haven’t spoken all day. Care to tell me what’s going on?”

  Fogle gave his grandfather a disgruntled look and said, “No.”

  “I tell you, if I were you, I’d be talking with the pretty woman, instead of sulking back here alongside me.”

  Fogle glared at his grandfather. Every time he rode along Cass’s side and started speaking, his grandfather joined the conversation. And her ears were all Boon’s, not his.

  “Oh … well, you have to realize, I’ve not been around people very much. As a matter of fact, I’d hardly even said a word in years until your friend, Vuh …,” Boon glanced over his shoulder at Barton, who was busy staring at the clouds, “you know who, showed up. He’s a funny one. Grim, but funny.”

  Fogle had heard enough about Venir as well. His grandfather had been rambling on about him and Cass ever since he’d arrived. And when he wasn’t doing that, he wanted to stick his nose in the spellbook, which had been his at one time, but he’d given it to Fogle. He could have shown more thanks, more respect, but he didn’t want to. Just be silent, Old Man. Your ramblings give me a headache.

  “The sack. Have you seen that sack, Fogle? The things that it can do. The power that it contains!”

  “What?” This is different. He saw a lustful look in his grandfather’s eyes, like a vagrant thirsty for more grog.

  “That staff,” Boon motioned with his finger. The broken staff slid from Fogle’s pack and sailed into Boon’s fingers.

  “Quit taking without asking. First my spellbook, now this.”

  Boon wasn’t paying him any mind. His eyes were locked on the staff, living in the past, searching for a future. “It’s from the sack.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Yes, from the sack, something I know quite well. Your friend told me about it, but I wasn’t so sure that I believed it. But Barton confirmed what I was told. Your friend wields a power so great,” he ran his fingers over the weathered wooden shaft, “I think it could destroy anything in this world.”

  Except your chatty mouth, I’m certain. He huffed. Fogle recalled his dreams of his grandfather, battling before an abyss and blasting through a coven of underlings. It was that staff he had wielded, with braces and an amulet as well, glowing with gemstones like fire. Boon had wiped them out with a single stroke and hurled their corpses into the abyss like a blood mad warrior. Fogle could see the muscles rippling in Boon’s forearm as he clutched the staff like a hoard of gold. There was still much fire in there. Uncontrolled fury lurked deep within.

  “I had the power, for years. I hunted underlings, and they hunted me. Back and forth we went until my last battle. The day this staff shattered and the sack disappeared. Gone, like a wisp of smoke.” Boon’s eyes were smoky and lost for a moment, his wispy white beard blowing in his face. “So many underlings were dead and fled that day. I’d won, so it seemed. Those fiends hunkered back down in their caves and me, hee hee, well, I wandered the world, lost, purposeless, unable to reconnect myself.”

  Boon’s worlds weighed heavy on Fogle. He could feel his grandfather’s anguish, so it saddened him a little. Only a little.

  “So, what is it you want?” Fogle’s voice began to rise. “To re-acquire the sack and resume your fight with the underlings? Is that what this journey is all about? Just to be clear, I’m here to find Venir and reacquaint him with his dog. And then, I’m heading home.” He looked back at Barton. The giant, now the oddest thing he’d ever seen, trudged along, scratching the nose on his disfigured face. “You and the giant can fend for yourselves.”

  “There’s strength in numbers, Grandson.”

  “They are looking for you, not us!”

  “You are foolish, Fogle. Much like your father. How many more giants do you think you can handle without the dwarves to aid you? You’d be dead without them.”

  “Well, as you said yourself, it wasn’t likely more giants were near. That they were an initial assault. You said there are not so many.”

  “The giants will want to avenge the deaths of their kind. Most likely, they will take it out on the dwarves.”

  “What? Well then we should warn them!” Fogle said.

  “Hah! You fool, the dwarves are fully aware of the giants. They’ve fought them all their lives. Besides, they like it.”

  Fogle couldn’t imagine anyone liking to fight giants. Of course, he couldn’t imagine many things that he’d already experienced. How can one prepare for the unexpected? He sighed, wishing Mood or Eethum were still there. “Will you do something for me, Boon?” he asked, looking up at Cass.

  “Ah … I see. Go on. I’ll stay back. Of course, I’d never have left her side in the first place if I were you.”

  Fogle trotted up alongside Cass and Chongo, smiled, and said, “How are you doing, uh, Cass?”

  “Never better,” she said, chin up, eyes forward.

  He looked up into the sky that was streaked with white clouds. In the distance was nothing but more dry land, covered in rock, sand and caves. He’d never been this far south before, either, and by the looks of things it was dreadful, judging by the mountains that were east of them.

  “So, is Chongo leading, or are you?”

  He scratched the big dog’s necks and smiled, saying, “He is. His friend is out there; he knows it. I don’t see how he could smell it, unless the man is close. But he senses it. Such an amazing beast. Strong and faithful. You can learn much from a dog, you know.”

  “He looks tired,” Fogle said.

  “He’s not tired; he could walk for days,” she said, looking at him like he was foolish.

  “True, but perhaps his back could use a rest. I think my pony could handle the two of us,” he said, swallowing as he looked at her, “for a little while, anyway.”

  Cass kept riding and said nothing. For the past few days, they’d had very little contact with one another, which was bad. With all the dwarves around he talked even less. Now, Boon kept talking and talking until Cass was fast asleep, barely taking a breath so Fogle could get a word in with her. As difficult as it was to communicate with a woman, it was even worse doing so with his least favorite elder appearing from out of nowhere. Him not getting close to Cass was like a thirsty man unable to reach the waters of a waterfall. He could
n’t take it anymore.

  He rode close, his leg brushing against hers.

  “What are you—”

  He wrapped his arm around her waist and with great effort pulled her into his saddle and held her tight.

  “Are you a brigand who snatches women now?” she exclaimed.

  “No, I’m a wizard who only snatches the most beautiful one in the world,” he said, looking down into her pink eyes.

  “I should kill you,” she said, sliding in behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist and squeezing him hard.

  “Ulp!”

  “But I think I’ll let you live,” she said, brushing his ear with her lips.

  Fogle felt the tightness in his back and neck fading away. It was the best he’d felt in days. He found it astonishing how a single woman could turn this upside down adventure upright so easily. No wonder houses rise and fall so quickly.

  Chongo led, his stiff tails snapping back and forth, large tongues dangling from his mouths. It was strange, following a dog into the unknown and what for. He was pretty sure the dog didn’t need them anymore. Maybe I should let the dog do all the thinking for a change.

  “What are you thinking, Fogle?”

  “About you.”

  “No, I’m pretty sure I know what you think about with me!” She giggled. “What else is going on in that over-sized skull of yours?”

  “Life is so different in the wild. I don’t know how you do it.”

  “I was born in the wild. It is my way,” she said.

  “Do you want to return to your icy home in the mountains?”

  “You just got me, and now you wish to be separated from me?”

  “Never,” he smiled. “I just wondered what your plans are when this journey’s over. Assuming we all survive.” He tried to turn back and look at her, but she evaded his attempt. “I don’t want to be the cause of any harm coming to you, Cass.”

  She squeezed her fists into his gut, draped her chin over his shoulder, and said in his ear.

  “It’s my choice, Fogle Fool. My home is where I choose it to be: the mountains, the forest or the Outlands. It’s all fine by me. Now my home is here, with you and the dog. Besides, did you ever think that maybe it is me protecting you and not the other way around?”