The Darkslayer: Series 2, Box Set #1, Books 1 - 3 (Bish and Bone)

by Craig Halloran

  In reality, Quickster was even faster than Chongo. He ate like a horse and kicked like a mule. The kick had gotten Melegal out of a jam or two. He chuckled and kept scratching Quickster’s ears.

  Stupid Billip.

  Years ago, when he and Venir first arrived in Two-Ten City, Melegal had needed a mount. Billip was the one who sold it to him, not realizing Quickster’s full value. Melegal hadn’t known a thing about ponies, either, but Billip hadn’t seemed interested in parting with any more horses, and Melegal hadn’t wanted to part with any more silver. The two of them haggled for over an hour, finally settling on twenty coins of silver. Billip departed the stables cracking his knuckles. He had chuckled until a few days later.

  Bish is full of surprises. You were certainly one of them.

  Melegal, Venir, Billip and Mikkel had taken on a small mission delivering rare spices to a smaller city leagues away. This was long before Venir had the armament. Underlings ambushed them. Quickster kicked one in the chest and trampled another. Outnumbered five to one, they fled, back toward Two Ten City. Melegal had never been on anything so fast before. Quickster and Melegal were the first ones back. The others caught up almost an hour later. The underlings never came beyond the edge of the city. Venir was furious they fled. But Billip was the angriest of all. His horse, a great brown, died from a wound tainted with underling poison. Quickster had the same wound as well, but nothing happened. Ever since then, Billip had been trying to take Quickster back, but no matter how much he offered, Melegal never parted with him.

  “Alright, move along, will you?” the storekeeper said, sweeping his porch and eyeing him good.

  Melegal tossed the pear core on the porch and said, “It was good, but there are better ones down the street.” He took Quickster by the reins and moved on, following a group of rough necked men in light arms and weapons. They had a woman hemmed in with their helpful comments. They reminded him of the thug named Jeb, back in the Drunken Octopus. He clenched his fists, and his slender face ached a little. He and Quickster rubbed past them.

  “Watch where you’re going,” the tallest one said. He had a longsword strapped over his back and tattoos all over his bare arms and hands. The rest were about the same. Buckskin boots and tanned leather armor. Chains and jewelry about their greasy necks.

  “Could any of you tell me where the nearest winery is?” Melegal said, eyeing them all, “I’ve a package to pick up and deliver, and I fear that I’m quite late.”

  “I can show you,” the woman said in a nervous voice. Her eyes were pretty, her skin soft and light as her cotton knit clothing. She had a lithe frame like Haze. “It’s near.”

  “That would be splendid.”

  The men crowded around her, shoving themselves between him and her.

  “It’s down there,” the tallest said. “Now get moving.”

  “Down where?” Melegal said, looking around. “You didn’t show me anything. You just said, ‘Down there’. Down where?”

  The thug came closer and leered down at Melegal. His voice was low and threatening.

  “Down there,” he said, pointing down the street. “Now get moving.”

  Melegal’s eyes scanned all directions.

  “I don’t think ‘down there’ is a direction. Could you be more specific?”

  The mercenary slipped a knife out of his belt and said through his yellow teeth, “Get going.”

  “Oh,” Melegal said, aghast, “are you threatening me? Over simple directions. Well, we’ll see what the City Watch have to say about that.”

  The man grabbed Melegal by the collar, lifted him up to his toes and said, “I am the City Watch.”

  The man’s statement wasn’t outside of the realm of possibility. Many of the City Watch had been deployed, leaving the streets in the City of Three a bit more risky. Men such as this mercenary-type were preying on women whose husbands were out fighting or had been lost in the battles beyond.

  “I see,” Melegal said, “I think I can find it on my own. Thank you.”

  The man let go of his collar and said, “Get going then. You’re running late, aren’t you?”

  Melegal nodded and caught the woman’s pleading look. He winked at her and followed it with a clicking sound. Quickster’s back hooves exploded into the mercenary’s chest. The big man sailed off his feet and into the others. Cries of alarm went up, and steel ripped out of leather. The woman ran one way. Melegal and Quickster darted another.

  What in Bish am I doing?

  Chapter 3

  A ghost in the darkness, Venir felt free with the hot Outland air on his face. Liberated. He covered the gritty ground in long strides, distancing himself from the camp. Helm throbbed on his head. His enhanced senses pulsated, fingertips tingling with warmth as if he sat at a fire.

  There are many. Always many.

  There didn’t used to be so many.

  Lathered in sweat, he slowed on a hillcrest that overlooked a deep valley and took a knee. Dozens of figures scurried in the darkness below. Through Helm, he could see them. Warm bodies and dark outlines. He could feel them. Smell them. It lingered in the air. Everywhere. He laid Brool down in the dirt beside him.

  Soon, my friend. Soon.

  Venir didn’t understand why, but Helm no longer felt like a boiling pot on his head when underlings neared. It beckoned. It drove him. But the madness that had consumed him before did not have the same hold on him. He could still feel Helm’s strength and power flowing through him. Its edge was far from gone, but now Venir was in control. Perhaps all he’d been through, all he’d survived without it, had made him stronger.

  Maybe we both need each other.

  Maybe.

  Down there, the underlings were a regiment of scouts. Dozens of them. Well-armed and well armored. Hundreds of royal soldiers from the City of Three had fallen the past several months, trying to track the underlings down only to meet with fatal results. Venir had tried to warn them, tried to explain the underlings’ tactics to them, but the royals weren’t interested in listening.

  Fools.

  Venir eased his way down the hill toward a pair of underlings digging holes in the dirt. The digging sounds of their shovels stirred his blood. He hated that sound. Metal spades crunching into the dirt. He slipped and came to a stop. Rock debris tumbled down the hill.

  The underlings stopped digging. Their heads snapped. They dropped their shovels, drew their blades, and ran his way. Their dark jewel eyes looked right through him, up down and beyond. They wore dark leather armor, and their wavy swords glinted red in the light of the moons. They stopped ten yards short of Venir, chittering softly back and forth. One pointed right at him with its sword.

  Keep talking, fiends. My friend Brool has something to say to you, too.

  Helm moaned. Urged him forward. His veins filled with fire. Brool throbbed in his palms, imploring him to strike. Venir choked his hatred down.

  Go!

  When I’m ready.

  The nearest underling picked up a rock and tossed it up and down it its clawed hand. It chittered back to the other one that pointed right at Venir.

  This pair is on to something.

  Noted.

  Venir never understood why the underlings couldn’t see him or how he appeared to them. He just knew that as long as he only slowly crept up on them, they never saw him coming until it was too late.

  The underling chucked the rock.

  Tink.

  It bounced off Helm and landed on the ground with a plop.

  The underlings’ eyes widened. They shuffled back. The one in front chittered an order to the other.

  “Warn the others,” it said with a hiss.

  What? Did I just understand what it said?

  “Warn them about what?” the second one chittered. “T
hat you can’t throw a rock?”

  I swear they’re speaking Underling. And I understand it!

  “Get moving,” the other one said. “It could be a ghost. They say the Outlands are spooked.”

  “There is nothing there, Fool.”

  “They say he’s returned.”

  “Hah! That was never true. They say much to you, because you always believe them. That’s why we’re always digging.”

  The first underling picked up another rock and tossed it to the second. “You throw it.”

  The second sighed. “Throw it where?”

  “Over there.” The first pointed. “The spot that hovers and moves like a mirage in the air.”

  The second cocked its arm back and hurled away.

  Venir slowly slid from its path, and the rock skipped off the ground behind him.

  “Did you see that?” the first one said. “The shadow moves.”

  “No, I didn’t see anything. Just your mouth moving. You need to shut it and start digging so we can eat tonight.” The second underling grabbed its shovel and jumped back into the hole.

  There were many that had been dug, and they’d be filled with dead men later, legs up. A warning. Even worse, they had also started leaving heads on sticks.

  The first underling squinted his emerald eyes in the dark, chittered, and sauntered a little closer.

  Perfect.

  Brool flashed through the night.

  Slice.

  An arc of black blood followed. The underling’s head popped from its shoulders and rolled into the hole.

  “Ack!” the second underling said, jumping out of the hole.

  From behind, Venir locked his fingers around its neck and squeezed. Its arms flailed. Feet kicked at the dirt. He lifted it up off the ground and held it tight until it kicked no more.

  After rearranging both underling corpses in the hole, shoulders first, Venir grunted and grabbed the shovel. One shovelful at a time, he filled the hole. He stuck the severed underling head on a stake beside it.

  Two more down.

  Thousands more to go.

  So be it.

  Like a panther, he headed deeper into the valley, where the other underling hunters and scouts kept camp. They were a lighter force, trained to hunt royal scouts and lead them off the trail. It had become embarrassing, how they manipulated the royal armies. The royals weren’t slouches, either.

  They should be foreseeing more of the underlings’ tricks by now.

  All they seem to be doing is diving into graves.

  A mass of warm bodies huddled together in the brush, chittering among one another. Their voices were low and boastful.

  “The royals send us free meals.”

  “All their soldiers march to fight a war that we have already won.”

  “Royals love baubles and treasure more than they love people. They trade wine for their dead.”

  “Bone has fallen. All the others will fall as well. The City of Three will be next.”

  Venir’s knuckles whitened on Brool’s handle. Their words stung with the truth. He crept deeper into their midst and started counting their gray-skinned bodies.

  Thirty.

  His head ached. Sweat burned his eyes. His temper rose.

  Helm beckoned action.

  Attack. Attack. Attack.

  Under different circumstances, Venir had fought more underlings than this. And survived. Could he handle this many now? He’d yet to test himself. Push the limits. Give himself over to the wanton desires of himself amplified by Helm.

  Not now. Not now.

  He’d given them enough to think about for one day. His friends needed him. Any more action on his behalf would endanger them. He crept out of the thicket and made his way up the hill.

  Helm hummed in anger on his head.

  At the top of the hill, he unbuckled the chin strap and took Helm off. The night breeze soothed his mind and cooled his ears.

  We’ll be back.

  He stuffed Helm into the mystic sack, which he slung over his over-sized shoulder. He jogged back toward camp with the wind at his back. He gasped when he got there.

  The campfire was out, and all his friends were gone.

  He strapped Helm back on.

  “Bish!”

  Chapter 4

  Melegal hopped on Quickster’s back and trotted through the alleys, leaving his pursuers far behind. He’d gotten plenty familiar with the layout of the City of Three and its odd dimensions. The City of Bone’s streets ran straight, while the City of Three’s curved like a bow, bending like waves in many directions.

  Quickster’s steel-shod hooves clopped over the stones, echoing through the alleys. Hearing his pursuers shouting out, Melegal nudged Quickster into a narrow pass that traversed through the main streets, doubling back to where he had come from. A city block down, he saw a crowd gathered in the street around the man whose chest Quickster had kicked in. He wasn’t moving.

  Good.

  He led Quickster into the alley across the street, listening to people crying for the City Watch.

  I’m sure they won’t be too concerned what happened to that thug.

  He and Quickster clopped by some children who played with sticks in the alley. They pressed themselves along the wall and out of his way, heads down, eyes cast aside. That was one thing about the City of Three. The streets were cleaner. The children as well. Families stuck closer together. Bone was a place where the desperate lost themselves. Three was a place where you could build something.

  Enjoy it while it lasts.

  The City of Three was a marvel now riddled with despair. The people had a haughty nature about them, but of late they seemed humbled. He’d enjoyed seeing the wizards and mages that walked around in grand robes, some of which floated about like underlings, but they had been recluse for quite some time. Now, they’d begun to wander into the Magi Roost here and there. He’d been told it used to be full of them.

  Perhaps I should go back there. It’s been a while.

  Over the past several weeks, he’d kept to himself. Trying to find his place. He’d lived out on the streets, sleeping with Quickster in the stables, mostly, but spending short nights with women he met from time to time. Their perfume and exotic natures were sublime, and with so many men gone into the service, there were plenty of them available. Lonely. Eager. Needy.

  War has intangible advantages to a man like me. Heh. Heh.

  He thought about those roughnecks that assailed the woman in the streets earlier.

  I’m not like them … Am I?

  He shook his head.

  Certainly not. I bathe. And have a much more charming manner.

  Through the streets they went. He dabbled in his craft. Dickered and shopped a little, buying nothing. Chatted with some of the folks. The residents of Three were a different ilk. Mannerly. He spent time adapting to their ways and customs.

  In the shade of a grocer’s storefront, a bear of a man jostled a pair of women.

  “Pardon me,” the man said. His voice was gruff and soft. He tipped his cap. A smaller man lifted a purse from one woman as quick as a flick of the finger. “It won’t happen again,” the big rogue smiled and moved on.

  Well done.

  The thieves in the City of Three were more subtle and polite with their robberies. The thugs in Bone would stab and run. Corner you in an alley and beat the snot out of you. Kill, in most cases. Three took some getting used to, but Melegal liked it. It was more akin to his sly ways. He’d been watching the local thieves for months. Learning their ways. They burgled when homes were empty during the day, leaving no blood or screams behind. If things didn’t go their way, and a chase followed, they darted through the streets and disappeared somewhere way d
own below.

  The Nest.

  All the rogues reported to The Nest. He’d inquired of Kam about it, only to get a hot stare. Joline stayed mum about it, too. No one would speak of it. It was a dark segment that was accepted but not talked about. He eyed the towers in the sky. Much like the wizard towers.

  I swear those things are watching me.

  “You’re very perceptive,” a voice said. A woman he hadn’t noticed earlier was standing by his side.

  “Excuse me,” Melegal said. “Are you speaking to me?”

  “Yes,” she said. Her hand reached under Quickster’s belly and started rubbing it. “He’s a different kind of mule.”

  “Pony,” Melegal said.

  “If you say so.” She smiled. “They’re all of a kind, you know. Some breeds are just different than others, but the same, nonetheless.”

  Where did she come from?

  “The Towers,” she said. “Well, one of them. Pretty, aren’t they?” she said, looking up. “Do you have a favorite?”

  Melegal took Quickster by the reins and pulled him away. The muscles tightened in his neck.

  “Why are you talking to me?”

  She shrugged her narrow shoulders. She was pleasant looking. Shorter than Melegal, but taller than most women, wearing pale green robes. Nothing garish like the magi he’d seen, but the stitching was refined. Her eyes were cool and grey. Her lips were a painted a light shade of purple.

  Her pretty eyes locked on his.

  “I find you curious. You aren’t like the others.”

  “What others?” Melegal said, looking about. There were people all around, but they took no notice of them speaking. He felt like he wasn’t there at all.

  “The other newcomers. Like the men you chased that woman away from earlier. That was a nice thing you did.” She eyed him up and down. “You’ve done well, blending in with the others. But that made you stand out to us.” She glanced at his cap. “That and other things.”