The Darkslayer: Book 04 - Danger and the Druid

by Craig Halloran

  “I’m in good order, Gillem. No worries.”

  Gillem lit his pipe and puffed away.

  “Now, no sense in lying to me. Just come out with it, Lefty. You and I, well, our kind need to stick together. The thief’s life may not be honorable, but you’ll still have to trust one of us in order to survive. That might as well be me. Who else do you have down here?”

  Lefty felt himself begin to shrink. No one. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve and continued to row, the oars splashing into the dim waters. The trip to the Nest was never as pleasant and soothing as when leaving it, but he had gotten accustomed to the quiet and the calming effects of the surrounding waters. Today however, he wished the trip was already going the other way, for there was no telling what deed Palos would have lined up for them next.

  “Gillem, have you ever thought about doing something … elsewhere?”

  He could see a frown form on Gillem's abnormally cheerful face before he replied with the usual zeal in his voice gone.

  The elder halfling sighed. “I gave up such thoughts long ago, Lefty. You would be wise to do so as well, and let me warn you, Boy: Palos will decide when it’s time for you to go, and he’ll have a new home waiting for you.”

  As they made their way through the final passages, Lefty took a look over his shoulder at the smoldering lit windows of the underground city. His little heart began to beat faster as the smell of decay became stronger.

  “Take us over that way, on the other side of the docks. I want to show you something.”

  The little muscles in Lefty’s back bemoaned the effort as he realized he had to paddle farther than he normally would. After a few dozen more strokes, Gillem held his hand up.

  “This is good, Lefty,” Gillem said, puffing his pipe.

  He rubbed his aching shoulders and back. Thank goodness.

  Gillem motioned at the small lantern hanging behind him.

  Lefty grabbed it and held it in front of Gillem.

  “These lanterns, did you know they work in water? A little something we acquired from our favorite customers, the magi. Of course, the light is not so bright, and they don’t last so long.” Gillem peered over the bow and motioned Lefty closer. “Now, go ahead, drop it in the water.”

  Lefty gave Gillem a funny look and said, “It seems like a—”

  “Drop it!” Gillem ordered.

  Splash.

  “Now watch.” Gillem's voice was dead and hollow, smoky eyes obscuring in the darkness.

  Lefty got a funny feeling in his feet.

  As the green glow of the lantern drifted downward, strange shapes began to take from: bloated men, tethered by chains, hands crossed behind their backs, mouths gaping open as their flesh was separating from the bone.

  Lefty gasped and turned away. How horrible!

  Two strong hands gripped his tiny face and forced him to look downward again.

  “It is the Nest or this watery grave that Prince Palos has to offer, Boy! Nothing more, nothing less! Look!”

  Terror filled his heart as his eyes remained affixed and frozen open. It wasn’t just men, but women, boys and girls, halfling, mintaur and dwarf. He began to shake, but he did not cry as the lantern continued its slow decent into the murk and the illumination of horror expired.

  “Take us to the dock,” Gillem said as puffed on his pipe.

  Like a zombie Lefty moved, his heart pounding, his thoughts frozen. He didn’t even realize he was rowing until they pulled alongside the dock. I’m going to die here. He looked upward for a sun ray of hope, but of course there was none way down here.

  The usual greetings from the inhabitants of the Nest were null. Gillem seemed to be shoving him over the planks as he walked along on numb legs, head hanging down. He felt the others staring at him as if this were his funeral procession. No more games, no more illusions. They all knew his secret and he knew theirs. Palos was the prince and executioner of every man and woman of the Nest. Where were Melegal and Venir when you needed them?

  CHAPTER 22

  He was on his hands and knees, eyes squeezed shut, head reeling, trying to figure out how his body had been turned inside out. It was an awful moment, wrought with despair as he vomited all over the ground. Venir could smell the bile, and as malodorous as it was, it was relieving.

  “Ha! Ha!” A booming voice laughed. “You are barfing, Venir. Do it again; it’s funny.”

  Venir groaned out loud, wiping the milky saliva from his chin. Slowly he rose to his feet, searching for Barton’s voice. There was nothing but white cottony mist.

  “Blast.”

  And no sign of the giant. Another trick perhaps.

  “Where are you, Barton? We have a deal,” he said, not holding back the anger in his tone.

  He felt a pair of hands wrap around his chest and lift him from the ground.

  “I’ve got you, Venir.”

  The mist was wispy around Barton’s big nose, his face fading in and out of his field of vision. Venir could still make out the eyes, one eye as big as his head, brown and dull, the other sealed shut. He tried to wriggle free, but Barton’s fingers were like hammered iron.

  “You promised to take me from the Mist, Giant! What treachery is this? I’m no farther than where I started.

  “You are almost out. I can see your world, Venir. But first you promised me a friend. You tell me where that friend is right now, or Barton will crush you.”

  Venir’s eyes bulged as Barton squeezed. He let out a dry gagging sound, and something snapped, somewhere inside him, piercing his lung with pain. Another rib, he supposed. How many of those could break, anyway?

  “Ease up,” he managed to croak out, “ so I can speak.”

  Barton’s fingers eased around him, but his prison of flesh and bone was still secure. Barton said, “Now tell me, Venir. Barton needs a friend.”

  Now was the moment of truth. He suspected Boon was dead, but that was the lie he had told Barton: that he knew of a friend who still lived within the giants' stronghold. But what if Barton already knew about Boon and his demise? He was certain Barton would crush his body like a yellow tomato and stomp his bones like glass. There was another option he had not considered.“Barton, do you know what a Lycan is?”

  Barton responded with a fierce shake, cracking his teeth.

  “DON’T PLAY GAMES. NO LIKE THOSE PEOPLE.”

  Bad idea.

  “Do you know about a wizard, like me, who lives with the giants and does tricks?”

  Barton tilted his head.

  “No … but I like tricks. Tell me more about this wizard.”

  “His name is Boon.”

  Venir waited for a throttling but nothing happened.

  “Can he do tricks for me?” Barton asked, curious.

  “Well, he made me as big as you.”

  “He did?”

  Barton set Venir on the ground.

  “Do you think he can make Barton small like you? Hmmm?”

  “Well, yes, or even bigger if you wanted. Twice as big. Think what you could do to Blackie the next time he came for you. You could break his neck.”

  Barton began clapping and stomping all around.

  “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

  The ground was shaking beneath his feet, and his eyes began to pop with every loud clap. “Where is he? Where is he?” Barton demanded, picking up Venir and swinging him through the mist.

  Venir felt himself turning green.

  “Stop! Stop!” he yelled. “Let me down, I’m going to—blecht!”

  Barton fell down laughing.

  Venir had to fight the urge to pull out Brool and begin whittling the giant down to bits. Instead, he fumbled through the mist, found Barton and jammed his heel into his groin.

  “Ow! What did you do that for?”

  “Do you want the find the wizard or not?”

  “Yes. Yes, Venir. Tell Barton now!”

  Venir clutched at his aching ribs and said, “His name is Boon. He is in the castle with the maze. He guards th
e prisoners that fight in the labyrinth.”

  Barton sounded elated.

  “I know where that is. I go get him now.”

  Venir tackled Barton’s legs and hung on saying, “No! Wait!”

  Barton began peeling him off.

  Venir said, “Your end of the deal, Barton! Send me back to Bish.”

  Barton laughed as he picked Venir up by the ankles and dangled him before his eyes.

  “You are right, Venir. Barton send you back to your Bish now.”

  The giant flipped Venir over his back like a pack and began running, jostling Venir all over the place.

  “Good-Bye, Venir! And in case you lied, I want you to know I’ll come for you and you will never leave the mist again.”

  “URK!”

  Venir’s neck snapped forward as he flipped head over heels through the mist. He swore he kept going higher and higher as the sound of giant laughter began to fade away. As the icy wind whistled and nipped his ears the snow white mist turned to black. His time careening in the air came to a brief stop. Oh slat! The wind whistled through his ears as he plunged into the darkness. He braced his body for what he knew would be a mighty long fall.

  CHAPTER 23

  “Which one do you want, the man or the dwarf?” One Mountain Man asked the other.

  The other, with a long face and yellow beard full of frost, snickered. “I’ll be killing the Blood Ranger; not many men live to tell about such a feat.”

  The other one, hefty and surly, covered in pelts, frowned as he said, “Nay, I saw him first, so I get to kill him. Or … we both say we both killed him.”

  Mood, still warm within his icy cocoon, kept his bushy eyes closed.

  “So, if we kill him, do you think the other Rangers will come after us?” The taller one said as he tested the edge of his bastard sword.

  “They’ll never know what happened to him up in these mountains. We’ll bury him in the lake of ice. Not even the best trackers could find him there.”

  The one with the brown beard had a worried look as he said, “I don’t think it’s a good idea, killing him in cold blood. The Blood Rangers will find out. They say they know anything and every thing, that they can find a needle in a snow storm.”

  “Har!” the other one laughed. “Those are just stories. This one here, Mood, is the King they say, and he couldn’t even find a druid. She found him. Blood Rangers, pah. I’d be surprised if he wasn’t the only of all of them. Look, he’s just a big man is all. There ain’t no such thing as a dwarf that tall.”

  The mountain man nodded his head, a look of satisfaction enlightening his cross face.

  It was true; not many men had even seen the Blood Rangers, and if they did, it was most likely only one, in passing. The Blood Rangers came to the aid of man from time to time, but for the most part they kept to themselves in Dwarven Hole. Only for the most treacherous of events in the world did they venture out.

  Mood began to feel the icy block biting into his fingertips. Need to move. His skin, thick and protective like wool, was turning cold. Not a thing on him was ever cold, not even his nose that usually snorted the air, until today. It was time. Move or die.

  “Have ye ladies decided whose gonna kill me yet,” he rumbled, “because I’m getting tired of ye squabblin’.”

  The two mountain men whirled, their faces aghast. The brown-haired one's sword slipped from his grip. The men looked at one another, then back at Mood. He could smell their fear. It strengthened him. He let his inner power go.

  Both men stepped backward as Mood's fists began to gleam red hot from within the ice. Their jaws dropped as he spoke.

  “Fools. Did ya’ really think I couldn’t find you or your wily leader? I wasn’t slaughtering the ogres for fun, even though I enjoyed every bit of it. No, I was drawing you fools out, and now I have you! Ho! Ho!”

  The bewildered men raised their swords and charged.

  Mood’s muscles thickened and bulged inside the block of melting ice. There was a popping sound as shards of ice broke free. With a fierce growl he pulled his shoulders back.

  Crack!

  Chunks of ice fell to the ground as he shivered and shook his shoulders. In one hand a razor sharp hand axe was free; the other hand was still a block of ice. As the two wary Mountain Men came on, Mood tried to lift his feet and return their charge.

  “Huh?”

  His feet were still frozen in a solid block of ice when he looked down.

  “Ah … who needs em’ anyway. Come on, Fools!”

  He failed to notice the Ogre’s club rising above his back as a black shadow fell over him and the Mountain Men's yellowish eyes gleamed in relief.

  ***

  Elation. Euphoria. Exhaustion. Fogle Boon never imagined anything could have been as exhilarating as this. His skinny chest heaved in and out. Her fingernails ran down his spine, raising goosebumps from his toes to his eyelids.

  “Everything you imagined it would be?” Cass said, her voice a silky purr.

  He was shaking as he nodded, ashamed for doing so, but he resisted the urge to pull away when she hugged him from behind, wrapping her legs behind his waist. It was the warmest and most magnificent feeling he had ever felt: hot flesh, soft and firm in all the right places like a blanket that had so much more to offer.

  She nibbled at his ear and said, “I thought you were wonderful. You were so, oh, how should I put it … creative.”

  He perched his eye brows as he managed to say, “Well, I have given it a moderate amount of thought over the years. Of course, there were never any wolves in my fantasies … or any other creatures, for that matter.”

  “Not even another woman?” she said, twirling her finger in his hair.

  “Hah … well, no I suppose.”

  Woof!

  The timber wolves' ears perched up as they growled and stammered on their paws, the thick fur rising on their backs. There was a commotion coming from right outside. He felt Cass unwrap her body from his and watched her wriggle back into her robes. She made a funny sound, her pink eyes leering at the four massive dogs, and Fogle found himself surrounded again.

  “What is that?” he asked, rising to his feet, gathering his nearby robes.

  But the druid was gone, the tent flap closed.

  “Great!”

  One of the wolves, black and dark grey, barked and snapped in his face. That’s when he heard Mood’s thunderous bellow smashing through the canvas. “HUZZAH!”

  Something that sounded like a battering ram slamming into ice rocked the air, followed by the sound of silence. Fogle’s gut began to churn. Something was wrong. He had to do something and help out his friend. He’d failed him once, and he couldn’t let that happen again, but how was he going to get past the wolves without being eaten alive?

  “Blast it!”

  The wolf snapped in his face again.

  He closed his eyes, letting his mind peel away the layers of mystic energy that were lying dormant within him. No longer was his mind numb, but rather rejuvenated. Every wizard had power within that didn’t require components, wands or scrolls to activate, but just a disciplined and powerful mind that could tap the mystic energies of the world without losing his sanity.

  He put his fingers to his lips and whistled.

  The wolves barked and snapped, coming closer and closer. He could feel their hot breath as their snouts nipped at his robes.

  Just enhance the sound.

  He opened the gate inside his mind and let out his reserves.

  The whistle went from a feathery twill to high pitched shrill.

  The wolves howled upward.

  It’s working.

  Fogle blew harder.

  The wolves' ears flattened; their howls looked to be cries of pain.

  He could feel the energy within begin to grow into a monster of a force, as the high pitch twisted into the roaring forces of a storm. The sound waves were twirling around him, slinging the pelts through the air, grinding the grasses to the ground.
It felt good, cutting it loose like that. He saw the wolves' feet lift from the ground, their bodies twisting in the air. Then the canvas walls of the tent buckled and rose, the stakes that held it ripped from the ground as the final ear shattering sound came.

  BOOM!

  Fogle's knees sagged, his energy spent, and then he fell to the ground.

  ***

  Mood heaved himself forward a split second before the ogre’s club came down.

  Crack!

  The blow smashed into the frozen block of ice that imprisoned his feet.

  “Thanks, Stupid,” Mood said, swinging his giant axe into the ogre’s exposed skull. Blood spurted up as the heavy blade penetrated bone and punctured brain. The ogre twitched, sprawled out and stopped moving.

  He wrenched his axe free and rolled left.

  Swish! A long blade almost severed his leg. He rolled right as the other Mountain Man stabbed at his belly, clipping the outer edge of his gut. His frozen axe crashed into the towering man’s legs, sweeping his legs from beneath him.

  Chop! The big man howled in alarm, his foot detached, his leg stump gushing blood.

  “Curse you, Ranger!”

  Quickly, Mood rose to his feet and squared off with the lone standing Mountain Man.

  “Yer a fool to trifle with me, Mood, King of the Blood Rangers!” he snorted. “HUZZAH!”

  The Mountain Man let out his own cry and charged. High and low his sword point stabbed.

  Mood parried.

  Clang.

  Another thrust clipped the hairs at his neck.

  Clang.

  He knocked it away.

  “Ha, working up a sweat before you die I see.”

  “The Bone with you, Dwarf!” the man yelled, swiping at Mood’s side.

  The sword and axe crashed with a terrible sound of grinding metal. The bigger man leaned into him, pressing him downward, eyes blazing with battle. Mood rammed his head underneath the man’s chin, rocking his head back.

  “I bet that hurt, but don’t ye worry, yer not be feeling the pain for long!”

  Mood clubbed the man over the head with his half-frozen hand, breaking what was left of the ice block that froze his axe to his wrist. Blood began to spurt from the busted nose on the man’s face as he howled in pain.