“Melegal? Really?”
“Hah. No, of course not. But I figured you’d want to know that he was still breathing.”
Lefty fired off more questions, and Billip caught him up with all that he knew. So much had happened since Scorch sent him away. But everyone had survived. Including Kam and Erin.
“Listen, little man,” Billip said down to him. “What is done is done. Forget the past. We move forward now. Together to the end. You got that?”
Lefty nodded. “I do. I do.”
“Good.” Billip stepped up on the edge of a jutting rock that overlooked a rocky ravine. A large group of men were huddled inside. There were strange humanoids too, that had four arms and insect heads. “Those are striders. Fast and fierce warriors. The other men, the ones that wear their cloaks like drapes, are called the Jung. They know these Outlands better than anyone. Mind your tongue around them. They’ll cut it out. Their disposition is as forgiving as the suns.”
“Oh.” Forgiveness. Could any of his friends forgive him for all that he’d done? He had been horrible to Georgio in their last days together. Gillem Longfingers had turned his thoughts inside out. “Are we going down there?”
“If you want to eat, we better.”
The walk was long. Down the hillside they went, wading through the camp of strange men and striders. Billip greeted some of them and pressed on, stopping just outside a canvas tent that was stretched out over the rocks. A handful of men stood in the shade it created, with their backs to him. Georgio’s curly locks covered his upper back. He was much bigger than Lefty remembered.
Billip said, “Ahem.”
Georgio turned. He was sucking on a chicken bone and tossed it aside. His face was without expression. “Lefty,” he said in a solemn tone.
He wanted to hide behind Billip but managed to reply. “Yes.”
Georgio took a knee, opened his arms, unleashed a smile, and said, “Boy, am I glad to see you!”
Lefty rushed into his friend’s arms and hugged him tight, ignoring the blinding pain in his shoulder. Tears streaming from his eyes, Lefty sobbed a reply, “Thanks.”
CHAPTER 35
Some Bloodhounds cried for order. Others just fought. Lunk froze his swing.
Malley screamed, “Finish him! Finish him!”
A throng of men surged between the pair of challengers. Corrin was one of them.
Creed averted his attention elsewhere.
What scheme is this? Eyeing the turrets, he noted the ballista that Foxmire had manned was empty. The heavyset man stood inside the turret, overlooking the scene.
The Bloodhounds yelled up at him, screaming his betrayal. The sound of another ballista being loosed silenced the suddenly crouching crowd in the courtyard.
Clatch-Zip!
A long bolt was launched from another nearby turret and lanced Foxmire through the chest. He tipped over the turret’s ledge and fell three stories to the ground. Thud!
Now, Lord Grom was dead, and his assassin was dead.
And I’m still alive? Corrin thought. He searched the balcony for Lorda Almen. She stood with her hands on the balcony rail, surveying the scene. There was a satisfied look in her eyes but shock and alarm in her expression. She’s a clever lass. I’ll give her that. He shook his head, pushing back against the ranks of men that pawed at Creed. Poor Foxmire. Did he do it because of a romp that she gave him or for a romp he was promised?
“Turn Creed over!” Malley cried out. The man’s face was red, his tone fierce. “He must finish the challenge!”
“His accuser is dead!” said another man.
“Aye!”
“Creed is the heir!”
“I am the heir!” Malley said.
“Nay!”
“Yea!”
The men bickered among themselves. The dogs began to howl. Corrin and some of his roughneck brethren picked Creed up by the crooks of his arms and dragged him under the archways to safety.
“Bone, there’s not much left of you, is there,” Corrin said to Creed.
Creed nodded. His jaw sagged, and his eyes were half-rolled up in his head. Exhausted, he muttered, “Probably not enough meat left for the dogs. Thank you, Corrin. Brethren, what happened? My senses fled. Why all the commotion?”
“Your grandfather just got skewered,” a Bloodhound said. “He’s dead. You’re next in line to be his successor, as all the rest of his kin are dead.”
“Who killed him?” Creed asked, resting his back against the base of the pillars.
“Foxmire.”
“Really?” Creed rubbed his chin. “Anyone got a drink of anything?”
“No,” Corrin said.
“Get him something,” one man said to another, “with some bite to it.” A Bloodhound jogged away, daggers jangling on his hips.
Corrin took a closer look at Creed. He was about half the man he had been. His nails were dirty and cracked. Dirt covered his face, and he smelled worse than the kennels. “Yer alive, but you don’t look much like it.”
Back in the courtyard, the scuffling turned from pushing and shoving to shouting and cussing. Corrin had learned enough about the Bloodhounds to know that they wouldn’t hurt each other, not now anyway. But Foxmire’s attack had been an extraordinary event. Why the man had done it wouldn’t make much sense at all to them, but they’d figure it out. Eventually. Assuming he was right, it would point back to Lorda.
Creed forced a smile. His strong teeth were intact but grubby. “It’s good to be among you again. All of you.” A man returned with a flask of ale. Creed took it and gulped it down. The golden ale spilled all over the hairs on his chin. “Ah! Now that is divine! And to think I never had a tongue for it before. Pardon my manners.” He chugged down the rest of the flask. Buuuuurp!
***
Three days of clamor among the Bloodhounds went by before they had Lord Grom buried. It was a long day, but tensions began to ease. The tyrant was dead, and no more blood was shed. Back at the courtyard, every Bloodhound had gathered. A large brass set of scales sat on a wooden plank table. An older man in brown leather stood behind the table, stacking up stones of equal size. He cleared his throat and spoke very loudly.
“Bloodhounds! You will cast your lot on the Judgement Scale.” He took two stones and placed them on either side of the scales. They tipped evenly. “Cast left, and brother Creed must finish the challenge. Lord Grom’s accusation of treason stands. Cast right, and brother Creed is found innocent—and being the last in Lord Grom’s line, he is the heir to the castle and lord over all of its men.”
The men stirred. They were unpredictable, and Creed’s hands turned clammy. He found Lunk towering behind the crowd. At least I’ve more strength in me now.
Corrin stood beside him, scanning the turrets. They weren’t manned. The balconies were empty, and Lorda Almen was nowhere to be seen.
The older man continued. “All that are present, stand before me. Cast your vote and step behind.” He pointed at the man standing in front. It was Malley. “You go first.”
Malley marched right up to the table with his chin high and dropped the stone on the left side. It dipped down an inch from the table. He leered at Creed and said, “You’d be wise, brothers, not to save this treasonous dog.”
“Hold your tongue!” the old man snapped. “The time for politicking is over. Next!”
One by one, the Bloodhounds cast their votes. The scales teetered back and forth. They all grumbled and cursed at one another.
I thought I was a little more popular than this. Seems I was wrong. Creed could still admit he wasn’t much of a leader. But he was a fighter. They knew that, and who better to lead them against the underlings than he? He’d killed more of them than any.
Another stone plunked down out of his favor. The left side sunk again, and the voting ranks were beginning to thin.
“At least I had a few good days,” he mumbled to Corrin.
With only three men remaining, the scales were tilted left. Every eye in the co
urtyard was on the scales. One by one, the last three cast their votes. Right. Right. Right. The scales teetered even.
“Hmmm,” the old man said, rubbing his chin. “It seems we have a tie, and in that event, we honor Lord Grom’s decision.”
Corrin stepped forward and said, “I have not voted yet.”
“No!” Malley yelled storming into the courtyard. “You are not a Bloodhound!”
“The bone I’m not! You shook my bloody hand! The whole lot of you.”
“Lord Grom died.”
“Lord Grom died after the fact. I’m a Bloodhound, witnessed by all, and if you don’t honor that, then you honor nothing at all.” He shoved Malley away and stopped in front of the table. He scanned the crowd. “Does anyone else want to tangle?”
There were plenty of murmurs, but all of the men held their peace.
Corrin picked up a stone and held it over the left scale, showing a wicked smile at Creed.
Creed’s chest tightened. This would happen.
Corrin laughed. He tossed the stone on the right scale, and it sank the pile down. He walked over, took his friend by the arm, and held it up. “Long Live Lord Creed!”
All the hounds and Bloodhounds howled.
CHAPTER 36
Cleaned up, Kam made her way down the stairs inside the Magi Roost. Joline and Jubilee waited for her at the bottom of the steps. Joline’s face was filled with worry.
“Will you go back to bed?” the older woman said, putting her hands on her hips. “Now.”
“As much as I’ve been through, this is resting.” Holding onto the rail, dressed in a warm cotton robe, Kam made her way down, hiding the pain inside as best she could. Everything ached from head to toe. The magi had done horrible things to her. She hit bottom. “See? I’m fine.”
“I’ll get you some coffee,” Joline said. “Jubilee, stay by her side.”
“I will.” The young girl wrapped her arm around Kam’s waist and said, “You look terrible.”
“I suppose I do.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“It was me that should have been tortured, not you.”
Kam leaned down and touched her head with Jubilee’s. “It was me they wanted.” A chair scraped over the wooden floor nearby. Glancing over, she saw that Venir and Brak had stood up at the table near the fireplace. It seemed so cold without a fire, but she was sweating a little.
Brak pulled out a chair and smiled. Both father and son looked worn out. Venir held a sleeping Erin in his arms. Kam kissed Erin, sat down, and opened her arms. Venir handed their little girl over.
“She’ll sleep better now that you’re back,” Venir said.
“That will make two of us.” She placed her hand on Venir’s stitched-up forearm. “Maybe you’ll get some sleep as well.” She turned her head and scanned the room. “Where’s Fogle?”
“He’s keeping an eye on things,” Brak said. “Shall I fetch him?”
“No need. Just curious.” She smiled at Venir and rubbed his arm. How she felt about Fogle, after all she’d been through, shouldn’t matter, but it did. The shock and hurt in his eyes couldn’t be hidden. There was a pit of guilt inside her. She’d led the man on, fueled by her anger toward Venir. It wasn’t right. She truly liked him, just not like Venir. While she had been tormented over and over, it had been Venir she hoped would come to her rescue, not Fogle. “He’s a big boy. He’ll be fine.”
Joline returned with a tray loaded with mugs and a large metal carafe filled with steaming coffee. “I can only hope we’ll have enough peace to enjoy this pot. I can’t handle any more of these dilemmas. My heart just can’t take it.”
“I don’t think there will be any rest for any of us in this city,” Venir said, eyeing Kam.
“I’m not going to scold you, Venir. I just don’t think it will be safe anywhere.”
Jubilee spoke up. “Maybe we should go back to Bone. How much worse can it be? You can kill underlings anywhere.”
“The closer the better,” Venir said. He grabbed a mug of steaming hot coffee and slugged it down. “But the food’s still better here. Coffee too.”
“Everything used to be better here,” Jubilee said with a frown, “but that all seems to be changing.”
Kam studied Venir’s face. There was a mask of pain hidden behind Venir’s burning blue eyes. For the first time, she saw him in a new light. For what he really was. A man who fought. Sacrificed. Put his life on the line for others a hundred times. He was brazen. Skinned and scarred. Ornery and hard. But he was honest. Trustworthy. Valiant and brave. If the entire world stood with the underlings, Venir would still fight against them. “Venir, what do you want to do?”
“Get everyone to safety.”
“And?” she said, rubbing his arm.
The chair moved as he shifted in his seat. He pulled his shoulders back and showed a fierce grin above his battle-scarred chin. “And fight those black devils until there’s none of them left.”
“You don’t have to do that alone you know, Father.” Brak clasped his bigger hand over Venir’s fist. “I’m with you to the end.”
“So am I,” Kam said, smiling at her baby girl, “and Erin too.”
“What about me?” Joline said, fanning her face with her hand. “I’ve never been outside of this city.”
“Do you want to feed underlings?” Venir said.
“Lords, no.”
“Then pack a bag. To the Outlands we go.”
“What about Melegal and Jasper?” Jubilee reminded them.
Excited, Brak interrupted, “Are we going to meet up with Billip and Georgio?”
“You know what they say on Bish, don’t you Son?”
Brak gave him a funny look. “No, what do they say?”
“Friends that stay together, slay together.”
Kam laughed. He’s much more charming when he’s not brooding.
“That’s a horrible saying,” Joline said. She untied her apron and slung it on the floor. “And somebody’s going to have to teach me how to wield something other than a ladle.”
Everyone at the table erupted in laughter.
Kam wiped a tear from her eye. She couldn’t remember the last time her gut had hurt from laughing. “Oh, stop. Please stop. I’m still sore from the inquisition.” She slapped the table.
Venir’s voice was rumbling with laughter, and Brak let out the oddest squeal. It sent Jubilee to the floor.
“What was that sound, Brak?” the young girl said.
Laughing, Brak said, “I don’t know. Hooyeeek!”
Venir slammed his fist into the table so hard it broke in half.
“You’re mad,” Joline said. “Every last one of you is mad! I’m going to pack!” She stormed away.
Kam regained her composure. Her eyes fixed on Venir’s laughing face. She recalled the first time she met him. He’d been younger and had a smile that could melt her world. He caught her looking.
“Sorry about the table, Kam,” he said. “I’ll repair it.”
She grabbed his hand and led him up to his feet. “No, come on. Let’s get you cleaned up and put Erin to bed.”
Venir’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Yes, but I’m a little tired, so you’ll have to carry us.”
Venir scooped her and Erin up into his arms. With a smile bright as the moon, he said, “I’ll carry you to the other side of Bish if you wish.”
“The bedroom will do.”
CHAPTER37
Cappy’s sword tip took a hunk of flesh from Zurth’s arm. “Let’s see how you laugh when you’re dead!” Cappy yelled. His sword arced high and came down for a fatal blow.
Zurth snatched a vase off a nearby table and slung it at Cappy’s battle-glazed eyes.
The old soldier slid his head to the side and halted his swing. “Coward!”
Slom sprung from underneath the table and plowed into Cappy’s back. The rogue and the soldier tussled on the floor, locking hands on wrists. Slom
had a dagger in his hand, trying to drive it into Cappy’s throat.
Cappy kicked at the half-orc’s ribs. “Get off of me, half-beast!”
Slom forced his superior weight down on the pinned man. The dagger’s tip closed in on Cappy’s fat neck.
Melegal caught the glimmer in Scorch’s eyes. Men were about to die, and this was little more than entertainment to him. Perhaps this is what he wants. He probably caused it all. He’s just as sick as the Royals.
“Oh, I’m not sick, Melegal,” Scorch said, still eyeing the battle. “Far from it. And I didn’t cause this. Cappy’s temperament lacks refinement.”
A thousand tiny spiders raced up and down Melegal’s spine. He reads my thoughts. Bone!
Scorch chuckled. It would do you well to get used to it. You’re an interesting man. Rail thin but durable. Still interesting.
Wringing his cap, Melegal shouted back in his mind, Get out of my head!
“As I said, you’ll have to get used to it.”
Melegal put his cap back on his head. His worries eroded.
“What just happened?” Scorch said, eyeing him.
Melegal slid his cap back off. “I don’t know. You tell me.”
“Screw you, half-breed!” Cappy spat in Slom’s face.
The rangy rogue put all of his strength and weight behind his dagger. Cappy’s arms gave out. The blade sunk into his neck.
Slom leaned back and mopped the sweat from his eyes. “I didn’t think he’d ever shut his mouth.” He pulled his dagger out and wiped it clean on Cappy’s sleeve.
“Thanks,” Zurth said, pressing a tablecloth to his wound.
“That hat,” Scorch said to Melegal. “Let me have it.”
“Get your own.”
Scorch beckoned with his hand for the hat.
The dark cap tried to pull free of Melegal’s grip. It stretched out his arms and then dragged him over the floor toward Scorch.
The Darkslayer: Lethal Liaisons (Series 2, Book 4) (Bish and Bone Series 2) Page 12
