The Darkslayer: Book 05 - Outrage in the Outlands

by Craig Halloran

  Smack!

  It was a sickening sound. Fogle swore his jaw was broken as pain filled the space behind his eyes. His scream gave him little reassurance as the underling pinned him down and dug its claws deep into his shoulders. It was his turn to make a plea.

  “Boon! Hel—”

  Crack!

  It felt like a rock hit him upside his head. Maybe it was, but he was too dizzy to know. As his blood dripped into his eyes and onto his robes, he fought to cry out once more, but his efforts faded, and only the sound of evil chitters remained. He thought of Cass. I’m certain she’s safer without me. I make a lousy adventurer.

  The underling was ripping up his robes when a powerful force tore the underling from atop him. Through the corner of his eye, Fogle could see a giant naked form of a man with steam rising from his body. Through the smoky haze, he hoped it was Barton because the giant slammed the two screeching underlings into each other like dolls before pitching them away. Fogle found relief from his pain, but his limbs were spent, making him unable to rise.

  “Come on, you fools! They close fast!” Boon said from atop one pony and leading the other.

  “I can’t move!” Fogle screamed.

  Two big arms reached down, picked him up, and leaned him over a shoulder like a baby.

  “Wizard help Barton! Now, Barton help wizard.”

  Odd and humiliating, but I live.

  Boon led the mounts back over the hill where they'd started, and Barton’s steps shook the ground as he followed. Fogle had a better view of the vast ravine now. Underlings, dozens, were in pursuit, and even one of his apparitions remained in chase. Slat! It wasn’t possible to outrun them on horseback. In minutes, they'd catch up and overwhelm the party.

  “Boon,” he shouted, turning his eyes to the front, “where are were going?”

  Boon did not slow. He charged ahead, white hair whipping in the wind. That’s when Fogle saw it. Another swarm of underlings had cut them off from the north and were closing in.

  “Boon, are you mad?”

  Less than fifty yards away, the underlings closed in like a black sea of fury, hundreds if not a thousand. In moments, it would all be over. He was certain of it. Fogle tried to form another spell on the tip of his tongue, but the jarring steps of Barton only clattered his teeth. Two dozen yards separated them all now from life and death.

  “Boon! What are you doing?” he yelled.

  A black shimmering hole opened up, as tall and wide as Barton. Boon and the horse rode through and disappeared. Two giant steps later, Barton charged through. Fogle’s entire world and life flashed before his eyes coated in black. A brilliant glare emerged a split second later, drawing colorful spots in his eyes.

  Barton grunted and lowered him down onto the ground. Fogle rubbed his eyes and blinked. It was the Outland. Same time of day, different place, no underlings. But where, exactly? And where was Cass?“Boon?” he said, holding his head and looking around.

  A raspy voice replied, “Easy now, Grandson. We’re safe at the moment. And you look like death rolled over you. Save your strength while I sort things out, huh?”

  Fogle looked up Boon, who had a curious look on his face, his eyes elsewhere. Barton stood, blocking the suns, scratching his naked buttocks, and looking around.

  “I better see if I can find a spell to remedy that, but that one I just used...” he shook his head and grimaced, “It’s gone from the book forever.”

  Fogle pressed his robes onto his bleeding head and said, “Well, you always told me, ‘You lose it, you lose it, so you better make it count.’ My breath reassures me its magic was not wasted, and I’m grateful for that.” He noticed Boon’s face was unchanged. The old man looked like a master who’d lost his dog.

  “You almost didn’t use it, did you? You contemplated full peril after all!” Fogle grabbed his head. He swore it was about to split open. He’s crazy!

  “Well, don’t misunderstand me, Grandson. I’m not used to fleeing from underlings, is all. I’d rather die taking as many as I can with me. I just can’t stand the thought of them living in my daylight.”

  If Fogle had the strength, he’d have stood up and punched Boon in the jaw. The man was obsessed with the evil brood. His actions were dangerous and irresponsible. It was time to corral his grandfather’s impulsive behavior, else they might not live to see another sundown.

  Through the hole in his robes, he checked the gash in his thigh. It burned and needed stitches. That will leave a scar. I wonder if Cass will like that? His narrow shoulders were sore and bleeding as well. He grunted.

  “Yes, Fogle, you fought hand to hand with an underling and lived. That feeling will stay in your blood now. The burn will always be there.”

  Fogle nodded towards Barton.

  “I had some help, and no, I’m not on some mission to wipe out the entire race of underlings.” He managed to make it back to his feet. “I’m going to find Cass, that man, and that dog—and after that, I’m going back to the City of Three, with or without any of you.” He dusted the dirt from his robes and grimaced. “Except Cass … maybe.”

  The truth was, she was all he cared about now. It seemed the dog was all she cared about. And he wasn’t so sure anyone cared about him other than himself. And what his grandfather cared about, other than killing underlings, he was the least sure about.

  “Barton help you.”

  The giant spoke with his broad back to him, his voice somber.

  “Wizard saved Barton from the tiny people who tried to poke out my eye. I help you little man with big head. Find dog, pretty woman,” Barton scooped dirt into his hands and rubbed it into his wounds “and find the tricky man that hid Barton’s toys.”

  Fogle couldn’t help but feel touched.

  “Well, thank you, Barton. It’s good to know that someone is looking out for me, but I believe you saved me as well. I was as good as dead before you came.”

  “Ha. Saving people is easy. Saving a giant is hard,” Barton said, resting his chin on his knees, and gazing into the dipping horizon. “I help.”

  “We need to find safe ground to rest,” Boon said, “and, as for the dog and woman, I’m not sure as of yet how to track them down. A little more study in the spell book might be needed.”

  “I thought you had it memorized,” Fogle said, shuffling towards one of the horses and reaching into his pack.

  “Mostly,” Boon said, smirking. “I’m still foggy on a few pages.”

  “The dog goes where the man is. And if we can find the man, we can find the dog and the druid,” Fogle said, loosening the cords tied around an object in burlap. “And just because it didn’t work last time, doesn’t mean it won’t work better this go around.” He tossed Venir’s long hunting knife onto the ground, reached under his robes, and dumped the totem of his bird familiar Inky beside it.

  “Good thinking,” Boon said, fingering the knife in the pile. “Interesting blade this is. Very interesting, indeed.” He ran his finger over its keen edge. “A shame we don’t have a lock of the dog's hair, or the woman’s, for that matter. A shame, indeed.”

  Fogle snatched it away and tossed it down.

  “Whether it works or not, at least we can have a scout. And who knows? Maybe they’ll find us.” He set some component bottles along the ground. “Otherwise, we travel south.”

  Fogle took a seat. He was battered and exhausted, but he was getting used to it. Underlings were everywhere, and it seemed unlikely Cass and Chongo could avoid them. They’re better prepared than me. It wouldn’t have been so bad if Mood was here, or Eethum. A few dwarf trackers would be good. Instead, it was he and his grandfather, relying on magic to do things for them their natural instincts could not. Weary and worried, he began to cast his spell, after he made a silent promise to himself. I will see this through.

  CHAPTER 61

  Empty. Empty as a dry gulch. Barren as the Outlands plains. Broken like a glass window pane. Tuuth grabbed him by the hair, pulled him to his feet, and bound hi
s broken wrists behind him. Venir didn’t respond. He was listless, eyes averted from his captors. Underlings. Two had become four, and four had become eight. Everything inside him recoiled, yet he had no fight left inside him. It was disgraceful.

  “Two dead,” one said, gesturing to the black bodies Venir had broken earlier.

  He could feel the underling’s eyes looking up at him, glowering. His typical urge to slaughter and destroy was gone. Now, only a growing concern for his safety remained. He closed his eyes and tried to remain confident. Let it play out.

  The underlings chittered back and forth, checking the wounds on the dead bodies.

  “Where are his weapons?” the underling said, its common accent clear as a man's. “What did he kill with, orcen one?”

  Venir felt Tuuth shift in discomfort. He knew what that was about. Tuuth wanted his weapon for himself, but that wouldn’t make for much of an explanation.

  “Here, I have it,” the leader of the men said, stepping forward, holding a long sword. “It’s a fine blade, and I’d considered keeping it for myself.”

  The underling snatched it from his hand and ran his clawed fingers over the blade. He made a sharp chit, and the other underling soldiers spread out and began a search of the area. The underling lifted Venir's chin up with the tip of the sword. So many underlings he'd fought and killed, but he’d never gotten as close a look at a living one as he had now. Usually, they were dead before he extended any formal pleasantries. For the first time in his life, he gave an underling a study.

  Its features were a smooth granite under its thin rat-like pelt. The nose, eyes, and chin were similar to a man’s, more lithe and refined, but the features tight and calculating. Something primordial and evil lurked in the depths of its eyes. Natural. Deep. Compassionless. Cold. Maniacal. They were like humans, and the other races for that matter, but lacked the empathy of men, even of orcs. No, even as Venir had killed multitudes of underlings without mercy, he'd had a reason. The only way to stop their killings was to kill them. The underlings hunt me, not the other way around. They enjoyed killing and torture, it seemed. Venir, he only killed because he had to, or did he?“Human,” the underlings hissed, “and such a large one at that. You are even bigger than this orc, such a strong one at that. What brings you here? Here on this hill? A spy, perhaps?”

  Think. Venir had to set his emotions aside. Having a conversation with an underling was foreign to him. It began to stir his blood. He leaned forward over the underling and said, “I was hunting wild boar, but I found this orc instead.”

  The underling jabbed the sword tip an inch into his thigh.

  Venir clenched his teeth in silence.

  “I don’t enjoy your chatter, Human, but I do enjoy drawing your blood,” the underling said, “Now, tell me: why are you here?”

  Another underling appeared with Venir’s backpack in his hand, along with the signal cylinder Jans had given him earlier.

  “What’s in that? Dump it out.”

  The contents were spilled on the ground, including the sack, which the underling opened and revealed nothing. Tuuth grunted in his ear. At least that is safe.

  The underling leader picked up the cylinder and waved it in his face.

  “Tell me what this is, Human, or else I’ll make your life more miserable.”

  Venir was certain he was going to do that anyway. Stupid. I should have put that in the sack, too. He clenched his teeth. String them along. Let them think they need you.

  Venir looked away.

  The underling twisted the blade in his thigh. He screamed at the top of his lungs until his throat was dry. He sank down on one knee when the underling pulled the blade from his thigh.

  “Bring him along,” the underling said, flipping the canister up underneath his arm. “We’ll let the underling master decide his fate.” The underling turned and led the way up the hill.

  “Grab him,” Tuuth said to the other humans. Two men came over and helped Venir limp up the hill as Tuuth drifted back.

  ***

  “Borsh!” Tuuth said. He was seething. He couldn’t find the axe or the armor anywhere. All that was left was the leather sack, backpack, a pair of canteens and a few other supplies. There was something about that axe and helm, something powerful he craved. He looked at his trembling fingers. The Stranger had almost broken them, should have broken them with all the pressure he felt. That man was more than a man. It had taken much of his magic to bring the man down.

  “Who is that stranger?”

  It bothered Tuuth.

  He rubbed the leather bracers on his wrists. The rich hide texture was beginning to fade, and the leather cords that laced them were beginning to wither. How many charges were left until the magic was gone completely? It was the only thing he had to protect himself and his family. He grabbed the shirt of armor and tossed it into the backpack along with everything else, slung it over his shoulder, and hoofed it up the hill.

  ***

  The southern gate of Outpost Thirty-One was big, but nothing like the City of Bone. Venir couldn’t remember being so close before. He half limped and was half carried under the metal portcullis, where another set of massive doors waited to be opened.

  “Blind him,” the underling ordered. “The Master always likes to be the first to see their reaction and expressions. Heh, Human, consider this compassion. It will take time for your mind to adjust to what lies within.”

  Venir would like to think that he could handle seeing anything, for he’d seen many horrors before, but the odd smell suggested otherwise. He offered the underling one last scowl as a burlap sack was tied over his head. The big doors creaked open. Limping, blinded, wrists broken, he was led inside Outpost Thirty-One. He must have taken a hundred agonizing steps in stark silence before they stopped.

  “Lock him up and leave him,” the underling's voice said.

  A heavy device was locked around his neck and wrists, both feet bound and chained. A stockade? The sound of footsteps became distant and faded. Only the throbbing in his neck, legs, wrists and knees remained to keep him company. Bone.

  CHAPTER 62

  “Take this and go,” Jubbler tucked a dagger inside his belt. “And this,” the old dwarf said, stuffing a vial inside his pocket. “Now go!”

  “What does it do?” Lefty said.

  “Just take it when you need it.”

  “How do I know when that is?”

  “There’s no time,” Jubbler shoved him away, “just go!”

  Lefty ran. Small feet splashing over the docks and away he went, darting from one alley to the next, blending in, and avoiding prying eyes, just as he’d been taught. The odd thing was, not so many people were to be seen. The Nest was vacant.

  Erin. I have to get Erin.

  It took several minutes before he came to his first stop and caught his breath. It was the apartment of Palos’s nanny. He’d sniffed out her and Erin’s whereabouts early, while Gillem was still alive. He crept down the alley and hid beneath the stairs that led up to the nanny’s door. Two guards had been posted there before, one at the top and the other at the bottom. No one appeared to be there now.

  Lefty sprang up the steps in three hops. At the top, the door was cracked open. His heart fluttered in his chest. He was too late to save Erin. He pushed the door inward and paused. Inside, he heard the nanny humming a lullaby and a rocker creaking. Yes! She’s here! He glanced down the stairs, over his shoulders and back and forth. No one was in sight, but his keen ears picked up a commotion in the distance.

  He slipped inside the room that was dimly lit by candles and had no windows. A bassinet and cupboard stood alongside the wall, and a clay bottle rested on the table. The nanny was huddled up with the baby, facing the corner. That’s odd.

  Lefty felt a pinching on his wrists. The absidium chains would make things difficult. Strange that they were so light and quiet. He wondered what their true intention was.

  As the old nanny hummed and rocked, Lefty crept behind the wo
man. He drew the dagger from his belt. A slight blue sheen illuminated his face. It was his dagger. The one he’d been given from Melegal. How did Jubbler get it?

  “Eh? Who is there,” a haggard voice said. “I’m feeding the baby. Do not disturb. Do not disturb the baby.”

  She’s insane. How do I snatch a baby from a crazy woman? He looked at his blade. What would Melegal do? He made up his mind: he’d stab her in the leg if he had to. He stepped around her backside, rose on his dripping tip toes, and sought Erin’s face.

  “No,” he said, unable to hide his voice. It wasn’t Erin. The nanny was nursing a baby mintaur. The vulgarity of the moment dropped his stomach into his toes. It was another moment in the nest he hoped he’d never comprehend.

  Wham!

  Lefty jumped as the door slammed shut.

  Diller stood before it, toothpick rolling from one side of his mouth to the other.

  “I’ve been looking for you,” Diller said. “Heh-heh. I see you’re looking for the baby girl, aren't you?” He stepped forward, leveling his crossbow to his chin. “Well, she’s been gone for a good while now. Not likely me, you, or even Palos will ever see her again. Now, come quietly, Little Rodent. Palos wants to see you, and I won’t hesitate to skewer you and haul you in like a little beast.”

  Lefty fidgeted. Diller had him dead to rights and cornered. His heart sunk, realizing Erin was gone and even worse, that it was all his fault. Maybe it was time to give up, already.

  “Diller, you hush, Old Fool! I’m feeding the baby.”

  Lefty positioned himself between the old nanny and Diller.

  “Cut that out, Boy. I’m not in the mood.”

  “There now, he’s a cute little fella. I’ll nurse him, too.” She started to pull the rest of her blouse down.

  Gads! This can’t get any worse. A thought struck him. It was Jubbler saying, ‘Take it when you need it.’ He uncorked the vial in his pocket and sipped it down. An airy feeling washed over him. He held his fingers up to his face. They were gone.