The other three men were in similar uniform to the leader, one holding the leash to two large hunting dogs. All bigger than the average man, typical of Royal soldiers, each holding a small buckler and longsword. Venir bit into his lip as he tried to make sense of what was going on. Did these men occupy the outpost with underlings? How many more men would be up there? How many more underlings?
One of the men poked an underling with his sword.
“Don’t do that,” the leader kneeling among the dead said, “it’s dead. Look at the hole in it. Bish! What kind of weapon hit the vermin?”
“Spear.”
“Lance.”
“Who’d be carrying a lance in these woods, Fool?” the leader said to the smallest of the soldiers.
They all looked at the half-orcen man who stood like a statue with oversized biceps crossed over his chest, chin up, nostrils flared, not paying them any mind.
“Have the hounds got a scent yet?”
The big dogs, both with medium coats of black, brown and white, snorted at the ground. He’d worked with such dogs before. They were excellent trackers and hunters, fast as gazelles. It wouldn’t take them but a few seconds to track him down. Unless the armament protected him from dogs, which it wasn’t known to do.
“Everyone spread out, and look for some signs. We need to get an idea of how many men we're dealing with before this hunt begins.”
Venir remained frozen on the rocks and watched. Less than a minute later, the part-orc spoke. He voice was dry and deep.
“One man. Big.” The soldier had his hand in the impression where he’d fallen in a mud hole. “Must be pretty strong to survive the shriekers.”
“A mage, maybe?” the leader asked, eyeing the area.
“No mage has ever been that big. Not a fat man, either. Big boned. Wearing armor.”
“Seeing how there’s only one of him … er … it is a him isn’t it?”
The big part-orcen man shrugged.
“Could be a part ogre woman. Har. If that were the case we’d've all smelled her rotten crack by now. The flies would be thicker, too.”
The soldiers showed a disturbed look.
“What?” the part orc said, chuckling “you men haven’t lived til you've made woo-wu with an ogre.”
Venir hunched back behind the rocks. All he'd wanted to do was make it to the Outpost wall by nightfall and try to slip in. Now, he was trapped. If he ran, there would certainly be more patrols out there. There’s got to be another way.
“Let loose the dogs then,” said the leader, tipping a flask to his lips, eyeing the hill.
“No, I’m not sending them into the unknown,” a feisty voice retorted. “Whoever it is has killed two underlings. It can certainly kill my dogs.”
“Fine, keep the dogs leashed, but you’ll still be taking the point.”
Great! Time's running out!
Turning to flee, Venir sent a small boulder tumbling down the hillside.
All the eyes in the ravine locked on him, and the dogs howled. Swords scraped from their scabbards as the leader yelled, “Cut him down!”
CHAPTER 41
“Don’t despair, huh.”
Lefty kept his head down, ears open, hammering away.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
“Huh. You listenin’? Huh.”
Lefty peeked over the crate. The quarter master was farther down the dock, lash cracking with rhythm and fear. Still hammering, he glanced to his right. An old dwarf with a short white beard tied off in black and white tails hiding his chin was staring at him with beady black eyes. He looked like he was a thousand years old as he chewed the bottom of his mustache that hung inside his mouth.
“Huh. You seein’. Huh. You hearin’ now, too? Huh.”
Lefty remembered every face he’d come across, but this one he didn't know. The dwarves he’d been acquainted with, they were always gruff or short, unless of course they were telling a nasty joke. He held his tongue and hammered away. I don’t need any more trouble.
“Listen to me, Boy. Huh. I knows many secrets. I’ve been here very long. Huh. You listen, Halfling. Huh,” the dwarf said, his voice drawing a few curious stares from the other workers.
“Keep it down, Codger. I have no reason to converse with you. I’m in enough trouble already,” Lefty replied, shifting his aching body away. The last thing he wanted was a lash on his back to add pain to his misery.
“You do listen. Huh. Good. Jubbler talk. You listen. Listen good. Huh. Jubbler. Me Jubbler. Else I’ll talk louder. Huh.”
“Yes. Huh!” Lefty said as his hammer slipped free of his sweaty hands and clattered on the planks. “See what you did?” he whispered, glaring at the old dwarf man as he snatched up his hammer.
The orcen quartermaster was coming back, a whip in one hand a leather lash in the other.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
“What was that racket, Halfling? You trying to skim off some work?”
Crack!
Lefty felt the whip's tip licking a foot from his back.
“No. No, Quartermaster. A little slip is all. It won’t happen again.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
The Quartermaster was eyeing him when he noticed the dwarf.
“Ho. I see you’ve found some help, Halfling.” The orcen man showed him a toothy grin. “Jubbler will have you wanting to drive those nails in your head within a few hours.” The Quartermaster leaned down. “Tell you what, though. Once you feel you can’t take it any longer, let me know. I’ll be glad to drive the nails in your skull for you.”
Jubbler jumped up on the crate, faced the quartermaster and started beating his chest like an ape.
“Huh! Huh! Huh! Huh! Huh! …”
The Quartermaster cocked his arm back and laid into Jubbler with the lash.
Jubbler curled up into a ball as he continued his insane mutterings.
After about ten lashes, the orc kicked the old dwarf off the crate, sending him crashing onto the planks with a thud.
“Remember, Halfling. I’ll drive those nails for you,” the Quartermaster said, holding his big paw of hand in front of his face, “but I’ll be needing a bigger hammer.” He turned and farted as he walked away.
Melegal'd told him, "People often say, 'Misery loves company, unless you’re me.'" Lefty looked at Mumbling Jubbler the Dwarf and couldn’t agree more. More people and more problems to follow.
Jubbler rocked back and forth with his arms wrapped around his knees and head tucked in between, muttering, “Huh. Huh. Huh. Huh…”
***
I am Zorth the Everblade. Mind … Magic … Metal … now one.
Kam’s arms trembled as she held the great sword before her.
Once I was a dying man, ages ago, a Royal on a throne of blood and gold.
Kam felt her will intertwined with another. A mind grumble of sorts. She fought against the foreign entity with everything she had. Nothing would control her. No man. No woman. No sword.
I asked for longer life, and a mage did this to me. It was not what I had in mind.
A great sadness filled her as tears streaked down her face. She could feel a cold metal tomb surrounding her, forcing the icy breath from her lungs. Long, cold and lonely Zorth’s life in the sword had been.
I am thankful for you, Kam. I’ve not spoken for so long. I know your dilemma. I can help you if you can help me.
Help. It was the word she’d almost given up on. It wasn't someone who could help her it seemed, but rather something.
“How?” she asked.
Lend me your magic. I need strength.
She could feel the sword’s hunger nibbling for her power. An invasion, but unobtrusive. The will of the sword was weak, like a fire lacking fuel.
Free me! Kam, please! the sword moaned inside her head.
She was stubborn. She fought back. She wasn’t going to freely give what Palos had temporarily taken. She wouldn’t be anyone's slave ever again. If on
ly the sword had a woman’s voice and not a man’s, it would have been much easier; she was certain. It would be hard to trust men anymore.
“You release me first,” she ordered.
I cannot. I will not. I cannot risk this torment any longer. I implore of you, Kam, a woman who is good, intelligent and mystic. I know you can feel my suffering.” The sword whined inside her head, miserable. “You must HELP ME!
Kam winced as the word bit deep into the recesses of her mind.
“I will not, Zorth Everblade!”
Alas, Kam. I mean you no harm. I can help. Give me power, and I shall release you. Such is the word of Zorth. Think about it, quickly, if you will.
Zorth. The name seemed as if it should have been familiar. Perhaps that was only what the sword wanted her to think. The thought of a mind infusion by magic with metal was another thing. As far as she was concerned, that wasn’t possible. It wasn’t even heard of before. As she struggled, her numb fingers remained frozen to the blade. She didn’t like being controlled. She was sick of it entirely. She remembered what Joline had said time and time again. “Sometimes, you have to give in a little before you get what you want.” She never liked that saying. She’d been giving way too much of herself lately, and it hadn’t helped at all. The thought of Palos pawing at her made her mind recoil.
He is less than the crust between an orc's toes. I’d never let a man such as that within a league of a noble woman such as you. I’ll make him pay … if you let me.
“No, I will make him pay!”
Her anger was boiling over. Strengthening her. Filling her with new power. She wasn’t going to have a man to do things for or against her ever again. Her fingertips lost their icy touch as new warmth flowed through her hand.
No Kam! Please! Help me! Free me! I need—
The giant sword clattered to the ground.
“Blast!” she said, flapping her hands as a headache came on. “I can get out of here all by myself!”
In her heart, she knew that wasn’t true. She needed something or someone. The sword, however, was nothing but another problem. A big one. How was she going to explain why it wasn’t on the mantle? She certainly didn’t want to pick it up again.
“What am I going to do now?”
The long blade gleamed back at her, tantalizing like a diamond. The fire’s light on the metal reflected and wavered on it like a living thing. She brushed her hair back over her ears, wondering how she could even consider carrying the massive thing out of there. It was the biggest sword she’d ever seen. Shaking her head, all she could think was how badly she needed to get out of here, somehow, someway.
Erin! She wanted to see her baby girl. When Palos found the sword on the floor, he’d be furious. He might not let her see her baby again. Think of something, Kam. She’d have to have an answer and have it soon. Her heart jumped as the door knob turned, the door opened, and Palos and Thorn appeared.
CHAPTER 42
Staggering through the streets, Tonio paid no mind to the gawping stares, nor the bolt jutting from his forehead. Something had rattled his mind, making it fuzzy again. A big black man with a knotted club had beaten him like a drum, jarring his skull and his bones. He needed something, but what was it that would help him focus?
“Whoa, Man. Watch where you’re going!” a drunken bystander he jostled said.
Tonio leered at him, tall, ugly and scary.
The man rammed his knife into Tonio's shoulder, not once but twice, eyes in full alarm.
“What are you?”
Tonio backhanded the man in the face, spinning him to the ground, and then picked up a jug of wine from the ground and staggered on.
He muttered to himself but couldn’t talk. A woman with one good eye and a head full of yellow hair passed out as he yanked the bolt from his head. He groaned an awful sound as tiny webs of flesh filled in the hole.
“What am I?”
Ducking into an alley, he found a narrow set of stairs and went down.
“Who am I?”
He sat down in his suit of battered armor, watching the big rats scurry beneath his feet. He tipped the jug of wine to his lips and drank. It was not long before clarity came. Memories of his mother flashed in his mind. The haughty face of the Vee-Man angered him most. He bashed his fist into the wall over and over, screaming, “What has happened to me?”
There was no answer, and not a single rat scurried. He used to be somebody important, but then the Vee-Man ruined it all. He had to kill him to make things right. He remembered the men back at the stables. The place where it all began. Where the beast had mauled him. And then the underling had healed him, bringing him back less than a man. And what had those spiders done to him? The arachnamen, McKnight had called them. What part did they play in all this? Mother. Should he not seek her out? And there was another woman in his life. Significant. Meaningful. Rayal. Raven-haired and beautiful.
He hungered, grabbed a rat, and bit into it as it squealed. Plecht! He spit it out, wiping his mouth and staggering farther down the stairwell where a sewer grate awaited him. He ripped it from the ground and crawled back in. The sewers, as foul as they were, he could not smell. He washed the taste of rat from his mouth with a swish of wine. Traversing through the corridors, he managed to find his spot. A small cell with many jugs, some empty, some full. He took a seat by his stash, closed his eyes, and drank.
He remembered the boy saying that the Vee-Man was gone. If that was true, then what would he do? Where would he find him? If the Vee-Man wasn’t in the city, then where? He was confused. Angry. Without purpose now.
A thought drifted into his mind. Home.
“I am a Royal. Am I not?” he said in his raspy tone.
He swallowed down another jug of wine and smashed it into the wall. From now on, he was going to walk like a Royal, talk like a Royal, and take whatever he wanted like a Royal. Rising to his feet, he strapped on the sharpest sword he could find in the hoard he had gathered. He filled two flasks of wine and slung them over his shoulder. He didn’t need any more confusion. Why the wine helped, he could not explain, but it did, or so he thought. Without it, his mind was rubble.
“I’m going home,” he said. “Whether they want me or not.”
And back onto the streets he went, picking his way through the alleys, ignoring the desperate faces, and ready to fight anything that stood in his way. A mile into his journey, he forgot where he was going. Vee-Man!
CHAPTER 43
Everyone was frozen or screaming, aside from Melegal. Move! His swords, the Sisters, slipped from their sheaths in time enough to deflect a blow that would have split his skull. The underlings were quick and taunting, playing with him, the living shield between the underlings and the others.
“Defend yourselves, fools! They’re killers!” he exclaimed, chopping his swords in the air as fast as he could, keeping the underlings at bay.
The dark creatures jangled his nerves. Lithe and fluid, rippling in muscle, with sharp teeth chomping the air, they fearlessly came at him. If they got him on the ground with their sharp claws, they’d rend him to pieces, if they didn’t chop him to death with their small curved swords. Clang!
He parried one blow.
Clang!
Then another.
He was quicker and taller, but they were smaller and stronger, a better fit for close quarters.
Jubilee was still screaming.
“Shut up, Jubilee!” he yelled.
She didn’t.
Clang! Clang! Clang! Slit!
A sword tip slashed through his shirt, cutting him under the arm. Sheesh! Fast little monsters! Already, Melegal’s arms were tiring. The underlings were cunning and content in their efforts to wear him down. He needed help.
“Brak, have you a sword or not?” he shouted.
Brak remained huddled back in the corner with the women. Sonvuvabish! Even Melegal couldn’t choke down his fear, but it wasn’t his first Fight or Die moment, either. If he was going to do something, h
e was going to have to do it fast. Think!
The underlings chittered back and forth with each other and one of them broke off and dashed for the lantern, grabbed it, and tossed it to the ground. Everything went pitch black.
Melegal lunged, driving the tip of his sword into the last spot he saw the underling's chest a split second earlier. A ghastly hiss filled the air as he felt the sword tip plunge through muscle and bone. Clawed fingers ripped into the skin above his eyes. He cried out in pain when a metal blade whisked across his side, but he felt the wicked creature give and die under his blade.
Haze moaned out his name.
“Melegal … help!”
He heard a chop into flesh, chittering and screaming all bound together in commotion. In the dark, they were helpless while the underlings tore into them like weasels in a chicken house.
Panting for breath, blood dripping into his eyes, fighting the burning gash in his ribs, Melegal rummaged through his clothes.
There was a sick chopping sound coming from the corner, and the screams of the women were no more. Haze! Jittery fingers found the hidden pocket in his vest, the silk pouch within.
Glitch!
No, don’t be dead!
He dropped the magic coin into his hand, letting the light spill out.
Melegal was dismayed. The blood. The wounds. The twitching. He was at a loss for words, his thin lips twitching.
Brak had the underling pinned up to the ceiling with its own sword. The dark blood was dripping on Brak's face. Haze and Jubilee were huddled together, but breathing. Brak was squinting, head turned away from the brilliant light.
“I think you got him, Brak,” Melegal said, hustling over.
“Haze!” He grabbed her, shaking her quivering shoulders. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head. Jubilee opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by Melegal’s hand. He looked over his shoulder at the entrance. No underlings. “No more screaming, please.”
The Darkslayer: Book 05 - Outrage in the Outlands Page 24
