The Darkslayer: Book 05 - Outrage in the Outlands

by Craig Halloran

  “I still require company on my journey, Darlene. But I can’t have you doing whatever it is you want. Stay close to me and live, drift away and die.”

  Darlene’s rugged frame twitched with spasms. Despite the evident pain within her dying body, she nodded. Relief overtook the anguish in her face as Scorch pulled her up into her sitting position. Her eyes were wild with fire as she licked her lips and wiped the blood from her mouth. Then she began fingering the places where the puncture wounds had just been. She gaped at him. Blinking a hundred times before she spoke.

  “You don’t have to tell me twice, Scorch!” She lunged over and hugged him.

  It was the strangest feeling. He couldn’t remember ever being hugged before, but the affectionate gesture was touching. He struggled to peel her arms from his waist.

  “That’s enough of that,” he said in a firm tone, “but my, you are strong as a dwarf, I’d say. There may be something to that.” He patted her on the head.

  She smiled back.

  “I’m strong for a girl.” She looked around. “I got five of them, I think,” she said, shuffling down the hill and inspecting the bodies of the fallen underlings. “WOOOOO HOOOOOOO!” She hoisted a bloody arrow in the air. “I killed me some underlings! There ain’t nothing I can’t kill!” She rushed over to all the bodies and retrieved all her arrows, then went for the eyes.

  “Stop that,” Scorch ordered.

  Darlene looked up at him and froze.

  “But there’s magic in their eyes. We have to cut them out and burn the bodies.”

  “No you don’t. It’s time to go.”

  “But …”

  Scorch felt irritated, and his power ebbed the ever slightest, but he didn’t like it. It made him feel vulnerable.

  “It is time to leave, and there will be no more of this savage talk. Come Darlene, or not. I’ll entertain no more chatter.”

  Darlene slammed her knife into her sheath, fetched her bow, and returned to his side as he walked about the hill and onto the path they had abandoned. They traveled over a mile before Darlene broke her silence.

  “I’m with you, Scorch. You saved me. I’m grateful. I saw what you did, too. Turned those underlings into smoke and dust. Incredible,” she said, strutting along his side.

  That’s more like it.

  “But …” Darlene hunkered down a little as she said it.

  He felt that mild irritation return.

  “What are you going to do about them?”

  Scorch looked down on her. She was eyeing him and the path behind her. She pointed.

  A small huddled group fell to their knees as he turned. It was the people that Darlene attempted to save earlier.

  “Want me to shoot them?”

  “What? You almost got yourself killed trying to save them!” he said.

  “Well,” she licked her lips, “I was mostly looking for a fight, is all. And I really wanted to kill an underling. Plus, I owe you.” She readied her bow and arrow.

  “Ask them what they want,” he said, combing his fingers through his long locks of hair.

  “What do you idiots want?” she screamed, pulling back her bowstring.

  “Service!” One man shouted back. “We owe you our lives! We seek only to repay the debt.”

  Darlene looked up at Scorch from the corner of her eye and said, “Just say the word, and I’ll put a red dot in his head.”

  Scorch could feel their willingness and sincerity. He liked it.

  “Tell them they may follow, but they must do as they are told.”

  Darlene eased the string on her bow.

  “Does that mean I can tell them what to do?”

  “Certainly, but that doesn’t mean they will listen,” he said, turning forward and continuing his journey to the City of Three.

  Darlene started barking orders.

  “Don’t get closer than thirty paces!”

  “Keep up because we ain’t slowing!”

  “You get your own food and water! And no singing! Unless I say so!”

  CHAPTER 52

  “What do you mean he left?” Mikkel said.

  Nikkel rammed the wheel barrow of stone into the wall and dropped the arms down. He wiped his hands on his knees and shrugged.

  “He’s going to find Venir. He seemed pretty determined. But I just think he didn’t want to help out with any of the work.”

  “Why did you let him go?” Billip said, slipping away from the woman who held his waist. “He’s not supposed to go anywhere without us. You should have stopped him! Bone!”

  “I’ll handle this, Billip,” Mikkel said, holding out his arm. “Nikkel, what did he say?”

  “He just said he was going to ‘get out of Bone’.”

  “And then what?”

  “He left.”

  “Which way?”

  Nikkel shrugged. Mikkel swatted him in the back of the head.

  “Ow!” Nikkel pushed his father in the chest. “Don’t do that again!”

  Billip stepped between them as the fires ignited behind the eyes of both father and son.

  “Let’s not come to blows—”

  Mikkel shoved him aside, hooked his arm under Nikkel and slammed him into the ground. Nikkel fought back, but it was over before it started, and Mikkel shoved his face into a pile of dirt.

  “Son, you already had my attention, but it seems I didn’t have yours. Do I have it now?”

  Nikkel nodded, spitting out a mouthful of dirt. Mikkel lifted his son back to his feet.

  “Georgio is my friend, Nikkel. Venir is, too, and he wants us to look after him. I’ll need your help, too. Do you understand?”

  “Sure, Father. And I’m—”

  Mikkel cut him off as he helped his son up.

  “You don’t have to say it, Nikkel. I want you to stick up for yourself, but don’t pick a fight with your father. Your mother, maybe?” He slapped his son on the back. “But me? No, no, that’s a bad idea.” He squeezed Nikkel’s arm. “Don’t worry, in due time, you’ll be more than I can handle.”

  Nikkel nodded, pointed down the road, and said, “He was trying to find the both of you, but,” he looked over his father’s shoulder at the giggling women, “you were indisposed. I’m not so sure that man, Corrin, is too pleased with that, either.”

  “Ah, it’s none of that rogue's business.” Billip pushed his woman back. “Give me a moment, Jess.” She backed away with a giggle. “As I was saying, we need to retrieve Georgio. The streets are dangerous out there. Blast!”

  “What?” Mikkel said.

  “He’s taken Quickster with him,” Billip said. “How long’s he been gone, Nikkel?”

  “An hour, I’d say.”

  “I bet he’s back to the stables by now,” Mikkel said. “We can catch up if we hurry.”

  “No, don’t leave me,” a brown-haired woman said, tugging on Billip’s arm.

  Two other women draped their arms on Mikkel. “We can’t let you go! You must protect us.”

  Billip popped his knuckles. The thought of the stables unsettled him. What if that man, Tonio, had returned? He was inches from his death the last time they clashed. It was possible the deranged man could still be waiting at the stables. At the same time, he felt very compelled to stay back and help Trinos.

  “I’m sure he’ll come back,” he offered.

  “What? You can’t be serious, Billip. You know that boy’s as hard-headed as a bull. We have to go and get him, and my pony Quickster.”

  “I’ll go,” Nikkel said. “I can run. I might even beat them back to the stables. Assuming that’s where they went.”

  “Has anyone seen Trinos?” Corrin yelled, storming their way. The man looked beside himself.

  “No,” Billip said, “we were about to ask you the same.”

  “Why would you be asking me?” Corrin said, looking at the hungry-eyed women, “…fornicators. Perhaps if you weren’t diddling the help, you’d know. But know this,” he pointed at the three of them, “with Tr
inos gone, I’m in charge.”

  Billip and Mikkel laughed.

  “I am!” Corrin stomped his foot. “This isn’t a brothel, mind you. Chip in, or get out!”

  “You better watch yourself,” Mikkel said, pointing his finger down in Corrin’s face. “I could break you in half, Little Man.”

  “Hah! Then you better be able to sleep with one eye open,” Corrin said. A pair of blades blinked out of his clothes and back in. “The both of you.” He twisted around and walked away.

  “Huh,” Mikkel said, swallowing.

  Billip perked up his eyebrows. It seemed there was more to Corrin than originally appeared.

  “If we're going after Georgio, we might as well all go, and make it fast. Daylight is burning.”

  “Yeah, we’ll all go,” Mikkel said, putting his hand on Nikkel's shoulder. “I could use the run myself.”

  Billip saluted the women as they went, saying, “I was sure looking forward to keeping one eye open on them. Eh …”

  The women in all directions started screaming. A sea of rats was scurrying over the cobblestones by the hundreds, if not thousands. Mikkel and Nikkel stopped in their tracks, eyes wide, watching the vermin run over their booted toes. He and Mikkel looked at one another as the ground began to shake.

  “What in the world of Bish?”

  Ahead, cutting off the road that lead south towards the stables, the streets erupted. The stone and dirt bulged from underneath with a popping and grinding sound. The men joined the women with shouts, screams and yells as a monstrous hairy bulk unlike anything Billip had ever seen before emerged.

  “Sonuvabish!” he cried.

  CHAPTER 53

  Fear. It was an adventurer’s enemy and friend. Fear could drive a man to crawl within himself in despair, which was precisely what Fogle Boon wanted to do right now. Or, Fear could spur action and powers deep within you that you’d never known. That furnace was depleted, replaced with a reservoir of icy stone. Help me. Help us all!

  “Oh my!” Boon said, his hands charging up like fire. “If you have a helmet tucked somewhere in those robes of yours, you better strap it on. You’re going to need it!”

  The underlings, they weren’t all in one spot, but they were many, black forms scurrying all over, spread out from one side of the ravine to the other. A dozen here, a small squad there, all peeking out from behind the rocks and trees, their gemstone eyes twinkling. Shiny steel weapons glinting in the suns' light. There were at least a hundred, if not more, and almost twenty had surrounded Barton. Think, Fogle! Think! He crouched down and huddled in his robes.

  Boon let the first blast go.

  Ka-BOOM!

  Fogle cringed and held his hands over his ears as shards of rock and wood scattered all over.

  A shower of debris cut his hand, and a chunk of rock clipped his shoulder, sending him to the ground. He hurt all over.

  “I cannot do this without you!” Boon was screaming as a litany of small bolts filled the sky. “HOSLOMAN-DEEK!”

  A transparent barricade shimmered with flecks of blue and green, deflecting and vaporizing the underling volley. On the other side of that barrier, Barton swatted at a small horde of underlings with his club and had moderate success. Quick and fast they were, driving javelins into his legs and lassoing ropes around his arms and neck.

  “YOU CANNOT STOP ME WITH THREAD,” Barton roared, grabbing hold of the rope and slinging two underlings across the ground. “YOU CANNOT HURT BARTON! I’M A GIANT, AND YOU ARE COCKROACHES! HA!” Barton stomped on another.

  The underlings retreated, reformed, and slung javelins and shot bolts into his face. Barton shielded his face with his arm and stomped the ground, shaking the trees, and screamed at them all.

  “Have you finished gawking yet, Grandson? More come! Come to your senses, Man!”

  Death. The thought of if dulled his senses. Thrusting oneself into peril with no future knowledge of the outcome could sap the will of a man. Slowly, he rose to his feet, trying to grasp the chaos around him. How could he protect himself with so many things going on at once?

  “Courage, Fogle! Have courage!” An array of bright green missiles burst from Boon’s finger tips.

  A knot of underling soldiers stormed up the ravine, small bucklers raised. They caught the full force of Boon's missiles and chittered with rage. Some were dead, others twitched, but they were still on the move. Fogle managed to make his way alongside his grandfather, where the air was thin. He couldn’t breathe, think or do anything.

  Boon grabbed hold of his arm.

  “Now is not the time to be idle, Wizard. Now is the time to fight! What is wrong with you? You’ve fought underlings! You’ve fought giants! What are you waiting for?”

  Fogle flinched. Another barrage of bolts slammed into the magic barricade a foot from his face. The underlings were less than a few dozen yards away. They were the most evil things he ever saw. What if he had to fight them with his fists? They’d cut him into little pieces.

  He gave his grandfather Boon a blank look. The strong features on the elder's face were beginning to weaken. The wrinkles deepened, the pressure built. Boon couldn’t hold up the barricade much longer. Just cast something. Anything!

  He closed his eyes, muttering the words to the first spell that came to mind. Magic swelled inside his chest and throat, and something eerie oozed in one side of him and out the other. He opened his eyes and found the oddest expression on his grandfather’s face.

  “It’s a start,” Boon said, panting “Now do something with what you have done.”

  Fogle was beside himself, literally. To his left he was, to his right he was, and behind him as well. Three identical Fogles awaited his beck and call. It was an illusion he'd hoped would throw off the giants when he encountered them again.

  Fogle pointed down the ravine with both fingers.

  “Spread out and attack.”

  The three Fogles sprang into action.

  I can’t even move that fast. Concentrate. What shall I have them do?

  Illusions were tricky things. Sometimes they worked, and sometimes they did not, depending on the mind of the other. Much of the time, it had more to do with the minds of others than your own. Fogle concentrated on his vision, gave his idea life, and let it go.

  The underlings surged toward the direction of Fogle’s apparitions, blades slashing, overwhelming the figures. The first one rose into the air, dousing the underlings with rays of arching light. The second fled, evading underling pursuit. The third multiplied from one to three, then fifteen more, all fighting for their lives against the masses.

  “Impressive,” Boon shouted. “You’ve bought us some time at least. But how much?”

  Fogle half-smiled, “It’s the least—”

  Boon’s barricade fizzled out. The old wizard shrugged. “Well, it was going to happen, but I thought we’d have at least a dozen more seconds or two.”

  Fogle took a deep breath. He had regained control for the moment, but Boon was right: the illusion wouldn’t work forever, a minute more at the most. “What’s the plan, Boon?”

  “I was hoping you were thinking of one as I doddered around. My plan however, is simple: kill them all.” Boon’s hands were on his hips as he took a deep draw of air. “But, I’m afraid I’m lacking the firepower at the moment.” Boon gritted his teeth. “Seems I don’t have as much juice as I used to.”

  Fogle started to reply, “I’m not so—”

  “RAAAAARGH!”

  Barton cried out as he crashed into the ground and underlings piled all over him.

  “GET OFF ME, PESTS!”

  The giant’s arms were pinned to his sides by ropes.

  Fogle had to do something. Scanning his surroundings, he noticed his apparitions beginning to disappear. The underlings cried out in triumph and confusion. Some broke off after the apparitions that continued to multiply. There were more than twenty scattered throughout the ravine. He retrieved his pack, withdrew his spellbook, and tossed it to his
grandfather.

  “Find something in there,” he said, making way to help Barton. “And get our arses out of here!”

  “Giants are friends of fire, Grandson!” Boon shouted.

  Fogle shook his head. He didn’t see how that would help. Knowing a better weakness for underlings would have been better.

  “HELP BARTON! HELP BARTON, WIZARD!” The underlings were on him like a hive of angry bees.

  Fogle’s heart went out. The giant was big, deformed, but more child than man. It was torment to watch him suffer such savagery as the underlings struck with all the venom they had. Barton cried out again, sending shivers down Fogle’s spine. Barton began to bleed.

  Move, Fogle! Act! He’s about to die!

  Four underlings hoisted a rope behind Barton’s neck and yanked his chin back. Three others chittered with wicked glee as they hoisted their javelins back and took aim at Barton’s last good eye.

  CHAPTER 54

  Venir could hear the leather squeak as the bald orc twisted his bracers on his wrists. Venir had a similar pair once that he discarded, never feeling the need. Maybe now would have been a good time to make use of such things.

  “I am called Tuuth,” the orc said, cracking his bullish neck in his hands. “It’s best you know the name of your opponent.” The orc bared one magnificent fang.

  A fitting name. Venir stretched his limbs one last time. He couldn’t have beaten an ogre, not a full one anyway. Yet there was truth behind Tuuth’s words. Of course, orcs were notorious liars. Venir couldn’t afford to worry about that now. He’d beaten ogres before, Farc and Son of Farc, in mortal combat and won. And if anything, he felt much stronger now than he did then.

  Tuuth eyed him.

  “No name, huh?”

  “My name has many enemies,” Venir responded, coming eye to eye with the orc.

  Tuuth was rangy and powerfully built, as fine a specimen of his race as Venir had ever seen. Still, the thought of calling out mercy to anyone, even if a ploy, wasn’t an easy one.

  Toy with him. See what he’s got.

  Venir looked back up the ravine.