No metal bucket will tell me what to do.
He sloshed through the water and popped out of the tunnel. Boots back on a sandy shore, he jogged through the darkness. He’d given the underlings something to think about. Their pursuit was muted by his impossible efforts. The farther he ran from them, the more the simmering helmet on his head cooled. His formerly battle-heated body became heavy, his breathing ragged. He forged ahead, stopping on the planks of a dock he had found two days earlier. There was a staircase leading to the city above. He swallowed and looked back. The tunnels were silent, the air cool.
Time for some new scenery.
With a groan, he slid his shield off his back and snatched his backpack. He pulled out the stitched-up leather sack and opened up the neck. The shield went in first, followed by Brool. He unstrapped Helm’s chinstrap and scanned the dark water and tunnels through him one last time before he pulled him off and dropped him in, spike first.
Venir’s energy sapped.
With effort, he stuffed the limp sack back into his pack, shouldered it, and limped up the stairs. His boots squished on the planks. He reached the top, pushed open the door, and was hit by a blast of fresh air. He staggered into the alley and collapsed into some crates and garbage, laughing.
It was night, but it might as well have been day after being surrounded in blackness for ten days. He forced himself up and wandered down the alley, uncertain where he was. The streets were lifeless, quiet. All the shutters were closed. Doors were sealed.
But the City of Three always has night festivities.
Horse hooves caught his ears, and the rustling of armor. Venir slipped into the shadows between two storefronts. The City Watch, some on horseback and others on foot, patrolled the streets with lanterns. Venir saw a weary look in their eyes.
A pair of men were cuffed and walking with a woozy gait. One stumbled and fell to his knees and started giggling.
“Get up!” a watchman said. “Get up now!”
“I’m trying.”
A club came down.
Whack!
“Get up, or we’ll leave you out here with the underlings.”
“No!” the man said. “No!” He forced himself up to his feet with the help of his friend. “Sorry.”
Whack!
The watchman smote him on the back.
“Ow!”
“Quit howling and come along.”
They moved on.
Venir could feel the heaviness in the air. The nervousness of their voices.
Kam dabbed a wet rag on Fogle’s brow. The pair sat underneath the balcony, out of sight.
“Are you well?” she said, smiling.
“I’m fine,” he said, leaning closer. “Just fine.”
The Magi Roost was a mess. Jaen’s powers had set portions of the bar on fire. Fogle’s magic and buckets of water from the trough outside had extinguished it. Now, the fine tavern was once again marred in smoke, grime, and blood.
He stared at the corpses. Jaen and a dozen soldiers were laid out alongside one another. Jaen’s figure stirred him. He’d never seen such evil from a woman before.
“Thank you, Fogle,” Kam said. Standing over him while he sat in a chair, she hugged his face. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, his voice muffled against her breasts. He felt her soft lips on his forehead. His battle-dulled senses found new arousal. Blood rushed through his hips.
Kam sat down on his lap and continued to wipe the grime from his face.
He averted his eyes from her heavy stare. Tried not to ogle her. He wanted to pick her up and take her to her room.
She’s incredible.
“I’m glad you stayed, Fogle,” she said, lifting his chin and looking deep into his eyes. “Very glad.”
“Brak,” Jubilee said, shaking him. “Brak, snap out of it!”
Part of her didn’t want to stir him. Hours ago, he’d almost hewn her into bits and pieces, but she was the one who had provoked him, after all.
“I think you should leave him be,” Jasper said. She sat at the fireplace with her feet up. “He almost killed us.”
“No,” Jubilee said, looking over her shoulder at the dead. “She did.”
“Well, you showed her different, didn’t you?”
“She had it coming.”
Shivering, Jasper drew her legs up to her chest and held them tight. “I’ve never seen anything like that before, and I thought I’d seen plenty. I’m guilded with a nasty crowd. And Fogle,” Jasper said, eyes sliding over, “he took out Jaen, well, mostly. She’s one from the highest order.”
“You’ve never been to Bone, have you?” Jubilee said, snapping her fingers in front of Brak’s face.
“No. I’ve always heard it was a little slathole filled with the nasty races.”
“Hah! You’re joking.”
Jasper shook her black-haired head. “It’s well established that the most powerful live and thrive here in Three.”
“You’re serious.”
Jasper nodded. “And there will be consequences, now that Jaen has fallen. Her allies, I’m certain, won’t take this well. Not well at all.” Her eyes locked on Jubilee’s. “They’ll avenge her.”
“Whose side are you on, anyway?”
“My own.”
“Well, you’d better pick one.”
Jasper leaned back and closed her eyes.
“Mrrmuh,” Brak said, shifting on the floor.
Jubilee put his head on her knees and stared down at him.
“What happened?” he said, smacking his lips.
“You killed everyone again.”
“What?”
“Only kidding,” she said, “you only killed almost everyone.”
“I did? Who?”
“Just a bunch of soldiers—and you almost killed us.”
Brak jerked up into a sitting position. “What?”
“You sat up, Brak!”
He scanned himself. Moved his arms and fingers. His jaw dropped.
“Can you stand?” Jubilee said. “Here!” She pushed a chair over. “Try to climb onto this.”
“I can’t,” he said, shaking his head.
“You can! I just watched you kill all those men,” she said, pointing at the corpses. “That wasn’t done by a cripple. Now get your arse in that chair, Brak!”
“Are you going to start saying mean things again?”
Jasper huffed a laugh.
Jubilee glared at him. “If I have to.”
“I don’t like that.”
“Well, I didn’t have much of a choice,” she said, folding her arms over her chest and looking away. “You saved us all for it, so let it go.”
Grunting, Brak took a knee and looked down at her. “How’s this?” he said.
“Can you stand?”
He stretched upward, and a smile started on his grim face.
Jubilee’s eyes turned to saucers. “Brak! You did it! You did—”
He teetered over and crashed through a table, hitting the floor with a thunk.
“Well,” Jasper said, “at least he made some progress.”
Kam’s lips found Fogle’s: soft, warm, hungry. Her fingers ran through his hair. Elation consumed him. Logic gave way to lust.
Wham!
Wham!
Wham!
Heavy blows rained down on the front entrance.
Kam’s lips tore away from Fogle’s, but her hand held him fast by the hair. Sweat ran down her heaving chest.
Wham!
Wham!
The next blows shook the hinges, bowing the door inward.
“I can fix that,” Fogle said, twitching his finge
rs.
“No,” Kam said with her eyes smiling at his, “save your energy. I’m sure they’ll go away.”
“Could be the Watch.”
“They’d have said something. The Royals would have too, for that matter. It’s just travelers looking for an inn. They’ll move on.”
They waited, panting.
Fogle’s hand eased up her thigh. “Seems you were right.”
She kissed him. The world melted away. A rush of lust consumed him. He kissed her neck.
“Upstairs,” she said, kissing his ear. “Take me now.”
“Absolutely—”
Crash!
The front door burst open, shattering the bar. A statue covered in blood and brawn staggered inside, his skin slashed to ribbons in a dozen places. He held a large purse in his bloody hand and tossed it on the remains of the bar.
“Grog is on me,” he said, staring through the room with fierce blue eyes. “Start pouring.”
He crashed face first to the floor.
Kam jumped off Fogle’s lap and rushed over. “Venir!”
Fogle’s passion fled. “Slat.”
Chapter 26
A bucket of water splashed all over Palzor’s body, awakening him from his slumber. “What! What! What!” he said with his head jerking around.
One of his guards stood in front of him with a bucket hanging from his mailed fist. Tight leather cords bound Palzor’s wrists, and he wore nothing but shorts. He was inside his warehouse, just outside the room he’d been in earlier.
“Cut me loose, fool!”
The guard, a sizeable man in plate armor with a heavy bruise on his chin, said nothing.
“Are you mad? Cut me loose!”
The guard’s eyes drifted over his head. He nodded. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
“Who is back there?”
The guard stepped forward and slugged Palzor in the jaw.
He saw spots, and his head rang. He spat out a bloody tooth. Sniffed the air. “Melegal, is it?”
No answer.
“Must be. The mage doesn’t have these methods in him.” He spat more blood. “But you, you show promise … Melegal.”
The guard dropped the wooden bucket over his head.
Palzor fell silent. He hadn’t suffered the slightest sort of unwanted discomfort in decades. His thoughts raced. Last he remembered, he had everything under control and Fogle and Melegal were minutes from an inescapable dilemma. Well, the tables have been turned.
The thief exploded into slippery action.
Palzor’s body froze. He couldn’t even move a finger. How did he do that?
Perhaps the mage had managed something he’d overlooked: a mind grumble or a certain spell. But he’d foreseen that. He could only listen in frozen fascination as Melegal dropped two underlings and two guards in sizzling fashion, his speed and movement superior to even Palzor’s.
Magic. Must be. I certainly underestimated that thief. A shame. He could have been useful to me.
Palzor strained at his bonds. The more he moved, the tighter they became. Well done. But he’d never met a rope that could hold him yet. Just a matter of time. Bound, naked, and weaponless, I’m still a dangerous man. He practiced some breathing exercises. Closed his eyes. Meditated.
Clok. Clok. Clok. Clok …
A wooden object, maybe a spoon, struck the bucket in a steady rhythm, interrupting his thoughts. It went back and forth. On the right. On the left.
Clok. Clok. Clok. Clok …
He wanted to curse, scream. It seemed Melegal was prepared for him. Perhaps it was he who had been duped. Set up. Deceived. He did have plenty of enemies. Had Jaen betrayed him?
Clok. Clok. Clok. Clok …
The noise went on for an hour, a slow and steady pounding in his eardrums. He couldn’t focus. He could barely think.
Beat that bucket all you want, but I won’t break.
He sat still, trying to block out the pounding and the burning of his haunches under his seat. His back became stiff and achy. He felt old.
Clok. Clok. Clok. Clok …
Angry.
Clok. Clok. Clok. Clok …
He chewed at his lip and strained at his bonds a little at a time, hour after hour after hour.
Please! Somebody come! I’m important!
Clok. Clok. Clok. Clok …
The thumping on the bucket stopped. Someone behind Palzor removed it from his head. He strained his eyes, staring into nothing but the pitch black. He could make out the outlines of the same walls he’d stared at before, but the guard was gone. The air was cool on his sweaty neck.
Time to negotiate.
That’s when he noticed a table: waist high, narrow and rectangular. He could hear breathing in the room, very faint, but distinct, heavy. Although it had stopped, the thumping from the bucket continued to play on inside his head. His stomach growled. His throat was dry. “I could use more of that water about now.” He heard a chuckle. Very deep. Hollow.
Who is that?
He turned his neck.
Smack!
A heavy blow drove his chin into his chest. Bright purple spots danced in his eyes.
“Melegal,” he said, “tell me your demands. I’ll double them.”
Flint struck. A warm glow of light started up, casting his shadow over the table. He swallowed. Looking downward, he could see the bloodstains in the wood and the metal cuffs that locked his hands to the table. A pair of mintaurs, brawny, ram-faced, horned men almost five feet tall, stepped on either side, facing him. Their corded arms rested over their barrel chests. He didn’t know them.
“Triple,” he said.
The heavy voice laughed again. It sounded like a very big man, perhaps orcen.
“And a fine retainer for your men.”
The mintaurs picked up the table and rested it over his knees. A cold blade slid down his wrists, giving him a shiver.
“We don’t need to be barbaric about this,” he said. “Just talk to me, Melegal.”
Interrogation. He had used similar tactics on many, but he’d never been through it himself. And who was this Melegal anyway? Jaen had learned little about him aside from the fact that he had experience dealing with underlings. He had seemed an ideal candidate to be a go-between, someone who didn’t cower to the deviant breed. But Melegal had resisted, and his comrade, Venir, had gone into a fighting frenzy, screwing everything up. They were a different breed.
His cords were cut.
Palzor slipped his hands away from the mintaur’s grasping hands and started to rub them. “A moment of comfort, and my hands are yours to mutilate.”
The mintaurs’ heads turned to the figure behind him.
Palzor struck. Quick as a snake, his fingers plucked a small knife from a mintaur’s belt. He cut its wrist, making it flinch, and he lashed out at the other, who jerked back. Feeling movement behind him, he tilted his chair over, avoiding a skull-rocking blow from a mailed fist. He sawed the cords on his feet against the legs of his chair.
Almost there! Almost out of here, fools!
His sawing stopped.
What! What is happening?
He couldn’t move.
No! Nooooooo!
The strong grip of the mintaurs seized him and set him up in the chair. In a moment, they had cuffed his wrists to the bloodstained table again.
At least I got a look at them.
There was a big goon, a tall and meaty half orc wearing a beat-up hauberk of mail. Beside him stood Melegal, arms folded over his chest, wearing a fine traveler’s cloak, yawning.
That’s my cloak.
One of the mintaurs secured the bonds around his feet. The other set a hammer and nails on the table, along with a
couple of blades. Palzor could still see, but he couldn’t move a single thing. Then the bucket was dropped over his head and the tapping renewed.
Clok. Clok. Clok. Clok …
Melegal dabbed a handkerchief under his nose and checked it. No blood, but the headache had returned. Palzor’s attempted escape was impressive, but anticipated. The King Thief was quick. Nimble. Deft. His movements could be replicated by Melegal, but not as fluidly yet.
It’s a good thing I got the drop on him, or he’d be long gone by now, and I’d probably be dead.
He watched the half-orc thug pound at the bucket. He’d hired these hands off the street. Durable and desperate, they made the best henchmen. Palzor’s guard stood watch nearby. He was affable for a thug. He didn’t much care for Palzor, anyway. He didn’t care for Melegal shocking the crap out of him again, either. Not too smart, he’d been easily convinced to change his loyalty.
It was time to bleed information out of Palzor. Melegal needed a better feel for how things worked here in the City of Three. Palzor’s guard, Zurth was his name, might not have been too bright, but he had a good memory. He had filled Melegal in on several key details. The rest, Melegal’s sharp mind began to fill in on its own.
Perhaps it’s time I became a Royal.
He rested in his thoughts until Palzor’s fingers began to wiggle.
Showtime.
The bucket was jerked off Palzor’s head and slung with a hollow clatter over the floor. Melegal stood behind the table, cleaning his nails. That was when Palzor saw all his rings on the rogue’s slender fingers, sparkling in the lantern light.
“You can keep the rings,” Palzor said. “And there are many more where those came from. Treasures beyond comprehension.”
“It seems you think little of my imagination, Palzor.”
“I wasn’t questioning it. It was more of a statement.”
The Darkslayer: Series 2, Box Set #1, Books 1 - 3 (Bish and Bone) Page 40
