He awoke hours later in the pitch-black comfort of the jungle and crawled out of the water. Retrieving Fang from the bank where the great sword rested, he followed the water upstream. Refreshed but sore, he tugged at the collar and called out for Oran. He made it another half mile along the green banks before the underling cleric replied.
“You live?” Oran said in his mind.
“If you can call it that,” Nath replied. “If this is how life is, I’m not so sure it’s worth living, Oran.”
“Tell me everything.”
Nath spent more than an hour describing even the minutest details. The more he recalled, the more confirmed he was in his thoughts. The people in the world were bad. Ornery. Loathsome. Despicable.
Without hesitation, Oran confirmed everything he was thinking. “Yes. Yes, Nath. Now you know. Now you see. Perhaps your memories are coming back to you after all. These men, orcs, gnolls—all of that foul ilk—are nothing but merciless and cruel. There is no dignity among them. They hunger for power and vile entertainment. They have no value for life at all. And Two-Ten City? Why, though it is small, it is one of the better places in Bish.”
“Really?”
“Oh, you have no idea,” Oran continued. “There are bigger cities. They appear to be fair but are filled with even more wickedness and despair. I often wonder how their kind even survive at all.”
Nath’s blood stirred with conflict. “Oran, what do I do now?”
“Your purpose is still simple, Nath. Kill the Darkslayer.”
“I don’t even know where to start,” he said.
“He haunts the woods you are in. We are certain of that. You will pick up his trail soon enough. Listen to me, Nath. My lords Catten and Verbard are quite serious about this endeavor. They want his blood. You must bring it!” Oran hissed. “And they have told me that if you fulfill this honorable duty, then they can restore your memories.”
Nath stopped in his tracks and stared at his faint reflection in the dark water. His own face wasn’t familiar to him at all. At best, it was someone he might have passed in the crowd. A shade but not a memory. “Do you really think they can restore my thoughts?”
“I am great in magic, and I would do it myself if I could, but they, Nath, are far, far greater than I. Else I would not be carrying out this quest. Why, I’d be in the Underland, soaking in milk, with my hands and toes being massaged by the ladies. Those days are gone, but Nath, you can help me restore my honor. Save the underlings. Save all of their good kind. Can you do it?”
Nath nodded to himself and said, “Yes.”
“Will you do it?”
“You have my word.”
Oran chittered with confirmation. “Many underling soldiers hide in the jungles, Nath. One group, Badoon fighters, are gathering. There are many outposts run by men like you have seen. We have striven to take them back, but this slayer in the night has thwarted our plans. Spilled blood. Split heads. Defiled our eyes. Seek out these places. Find him. Kill him.”
Nath felt a wave of thoughts rushing through his mind. Underlings running in terror. A great shadow hunted them down. Slaughtered them. His thoughts became darker and darker. Nostrils flaring and jaw clenched, like a hungry panther he vanished into the woods.
***
“Yes!” Oran jumped up high, came down, and tripped over his robes. He knocked over an empty wine bottle and laughed. “Yes, this is most excellent!”
He’d been sulking. Loathing. Tormenting and pickling heads. Now he had hope. Options. Perhaps Nath could pull off this irritating feat. He pecked on a glass jar that was big enough for two heads. A distorted orc’s head hung suspended, somewhat lifelike, in a pale green goo. “Ah, perhaps I can have the slayer’s head in one of these when I return to the Underland.” He chittered with delight. “Then I will no longer be considered a parasite.”
On one of the many tables inside his cave sat the skull of an underling. Two gemstone eyes hovered in its sockets, deep, dark blue. Oran took off the headband that was linked to Nath’s collar and placed it on the skull. Violet eyes aglow with dark energy, he chittered some mystic words. The skull’s eyes filled with radiant, eerier light.
“Yes,” Oran said with a wave of his hand. “Irritate. Inspire. Ignite the man. Let him show no mercy to any who cross him.”
CHAPTER 30
With a groan, Venir slung his legs off of his horse and hopped down to the ground, where immediately Chongo licked his hand. Having ridden for the better part of a day, his back was stiff, and the wounds from the lash still burned hot as fire. Behind him were Billip and Mikkel on horseback. Their eyes were bleary, and the cotton shirts on their backs had been stained red.
Mikkel slid out of his saddle and led his horse to the stream and lumbered into the water. He took his shirt off, revealing several layers of bulging muscle and a back coated in sore and bloody wounds. He sank neck deep into the water. Grimacing, the sound he made was pain, not pleasure “Ack!”
“Yes, yes, please bathe all that you want, the three of you,” Melegal said. He rode on a grey pony with a shaggy black belly. It better resembled a donkey than a horse. “Your scent can only draw in more trouble. After all, I would much rather be stuck in the belly of a forest filled with brigands and underlings than in my cozy cot inside the city.”
Venir pulled off his shirt and waded knee deep into the water. “Quit complaining. You said you wanted out of the city, and now you are out of the city. No one made you come along anyway. It was your choice.”
Swatting a buzzing insect from his frowning face, Melegal replied, “I didn’t have a choice, and you know it. They’d have flogged me if they caught me.”
“I didn’t think you could be caught if you didn’t want to be,” Venir said, sinking into the water, clenching his teeth. “And I doubt they would flog you. There’s nothing to flog off. They’d probably stick you in a cell and let the rats nibble that thick layer of skin off.”
“Ha ha,” Melegal said. His grey eyes scanned for the source of the hooting and odd chirping sounds beyond the tree line. “You know I hate this bug-infested greenery. Why couldn’t we just stay on the trails? Why don’t we just go back to Bone?”
“You can go. There are plenty of caravans that you can latch onto. And I’m sure they’d enjoy your company,” said Venir, stretching out his arms, formed like mighty tree trunks. “I know we certainly do.”
The slender man slapped flying bugs from his black-and-grey clothes. He plucked a huge mosquito from his neck and crushed the blood out of it. “Uck!” He cleaned his hands off with a rag.
Billip, not as primordial and towering as Venir or Mikkel, jumped off of his saddle and grabbed his bow. “While you men soothe yourselves with such colorful and seedless banter, I think I’ll fetch myself some dinner.” He grabbed a handful of arrows from his saddle quiver and eyed Melegal. “Care to join?”
“I’ll pay you a fair wage.”
“You’ll pay what I say you pay,” Billip said. “And you still owe me for that pony you’re riding on.”
“Quickster is mine,” Melegal retorted. His hand slid inside his vest. “You lost the bet. Really lost the bet bad.”
In one fluid motion, Billip nocked an arrow and fired.
Twang!
The arrow zinged past Melegal’s face and embedded itself in a nearby tree. A grey squirrel was pinned to the tree. “There’s your dinner,” Billip said. “Three silver plus two to skin it, one more to cook it for you. That’s five.”
Mikkel busted out in laughter. His face seized up. “Five? Don’t, don’t make me laugh right now, Billip. It hurts too much.”
“Agreed,” Venir said, trying to contain his chuckles. The burning in his back was just beginning to subside when his eruptions set it on fire again. The jungle stream water was refreshing and soothing. It would help clean and heal the wounds. “Relax, Melegal. You’re as safe here as anywhere else.”
“I don’t want any part of this blood hunt, Venir. I’m not a tracker. Not a
bounty hunter.” He pointed at Venir. “You need to take me back to Bone.”
“I’m not stopping you from going.” Venir submerged his stalwart frame in the water, popped up, and wrung out his blond head of neck-length hair. “Just give it a few days. It will do you some good. My business is here. You know that.”
“Let the Royals fight their own battles, Venir.” Melegal smashed a bigger mosquito between his hands and cleaned them with a handkerchief. “Back in Bone, you’ll make more money brawling than you make here skinning underling scalps.”
“I’ve got business. I like what I do, and the Royals pay well for our services. Besides, the setback in Two-Ten will pass.”
“My arse it will. Farc will break your neck if you go back in there. He’ll break all of our necks.”
Venir stiffened. “You don’t think I can take Farc?”
Mikkel stopped rinsing himself off. “You’re thinking about going back, aren’t you? I see that look in your eye. That blue-wild fire. Don’t do it.”
“That’s your home, Mikkel, and Billip’s too. You have to go back at some point. And if fighting Farc is what I have to do, then that’s what I’ll do.”
“You’re crazy.” Melegal threw a bedroll down on the ground. Chongo promptly lay down on it. Melegal pushed the huge dog aside and lay with him as a pillow. Chongo licked the skinny man’s face, and he tried his best to stay grumpy. “Now hurry up. Finish your bath and make a fire. If I’m going to be here, then you goons need to see to my comfort.” He lifted a clay jug, pulled the cork out, and drank. “And stay away from my wine.”
“Oh, we can stay away from your wine, but I don’t think there’s any avoiding your whining,” Billip said. On deft feet and soft steps, he vanished into the forest.
Melegal made himself comfortable on his bedroll, and so did Chongo. “Seriously speaking, Venir, you aren’t really considering going back to Two-Ten anytime soon are you? We all know you’re tough, you battle-damaged lout. No need to prove it … again.”
Thinking of Farc and his Brood, Venir wasn’t about to let anyone tell him what he could or couldn’t do. Where he could be and couldn’t be. He’d had his fill of that in the City of Bone already. No, he wanted Farc. He wanted to teach those misbegotten Royal behemoths a lesson. Even if it got him killed. “We’ll see.”
CHAPTER 31
Venir and company snaked through the jungle on faint paths that few knew about or ever trod. They were a full day into the trek, pushing through brush and dangling vines, avoiding civilization.
Melegal rode in the middle of the rugged men, face concealed in a dark-grey cowl. Speaking through the garment, he said, “Venir, we need to get on a road. This is ridiculous.”
“It’s a shortcut.” Venir wiped the heavy sweat from his eyes. “You like shortcuts, don’t you?”
“I like seeing ten feet in front of me. The bush out here is as bad as in the Outlands, and the horses can barely push through it.” He eyed a big spotted cat perched in one of the trees. “We don’t belong here, Venir. This is another one of your quests. I know it.”
“It’s not a quest. I told you, it’s a shortcut.”
Melegal and his pony Quickster drifted back alongside Billip. “This isn’t a shortcut, is it?”
“Can’t say,” Billip replied with a grim face. “I’ve never been this way.”
Melegal’s hands, covered in leather gloves, squeezed the reins. Venir had been wearing over the past few months. He’d changed from a boisterous young man full of life and loaded in muscle and bravado into a restless and wild hunter. He came and went from the city, sometimes with Billip and Mikkel and sometimes without. He was after underlings. The little fiends drove Venir like he’d never been driven before.
If there isn’t trouble where we’re going, there will be trouble when we get there. Wherever that is. Bish, I should have gone with a caravan.
“Venir, let the Royals handle this mess with the underlings,” Melegal said. “They have their armies. You are only one man. The odds will catch up with you.”
“This is more than that, Melegal. They took Outpost Thirty-One. Now the entire South is exposed to their treacherous ways.” Venir shook his head. “No, I’m going to fight whether the Royals pay me or not. You’ve seen what they’ve done to our people.”
“Our people? I don’t think I have any people. And I don’t think you do either. I haven’t seen that many underlings, and I like it that way too. I see what they do.” Hiding inside his cowl, he shook his chin. “No thank you. And where is this shortcut taking us anyway?”
Venir didn’t reply. His eyes were intent on everything around him. Seeking. Probing.
Ugh! I hate it when he gets like this.
Melegal had had his fill of Venir’s adventures. His longtime friend had taken him far out of his home in Bone and had promised to take him back. And though the times in Two-Ten were enjoyable, things had gotten old really fast. Especially after Venir went sideways with the Brigand Army.
Why do Billip and Mikkel put up with this?
“Ah.” Venir brought his horse to a halt. His blue eyes were bright fires under his long tawny locks. He got off his horse, took a few steps into the brush, and knelt down. His eyes ran up and down some nearby trees. He pointed. “See it?”
Layered in with the vines were some well-concealed robes. Some of the smaller trees were bent over. Melegal knew what it was. A snare. Great. “I’m sure it’s set for animals, not people.”
Venir rose up, cracking his back. “No, that’s not some vermin trap. It’s a people snatcher. I’ve seen them before. Underling work.”
No! No! No!
Melegal locked his fingers on his head and squeezed a little. With a bite in his voice, he said, “This is what you’ve been looking for all this time.”
“No, just good fortune.” Venir reached into a pack hitched on his saddle and opened it up. He pulled out a large, stitched-up leather sack.
An uneasy feeling settled in Melegal’s stomach, and he scowled. “Why would underlings set traps out in the middle of nowhere? No one is around for miles, except us.”
“Heh,” Venir replied with a gleam in his eye. “It’s just one of their little tricks that keeps any strangers from wandering into their camps. A precaution.”
“Then I suggest that we go another way.” Melegal eyed his other comrades. Billip and Mikkel dismounted. The archer slung his quiver over his shoulder with a grimace. Mikkel put his steel cap on and cranked back the string on his heavy crossbow. “I don’t suppose you brought an extra one of those along for me?” he said to Mikkel.
“Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.” With his mighty arm, the huge black warrior held out a massive studded club. “You can use this if you like.”
Melegal eyed the battered wood coated in dark stains. “I think you can make better use of it than I, but feel free to crack a few skulls in my name.”
“No problem,” Mikkel hoisted it over his shoulder.
Melegal fixed his gaze on Venir. The man, like Mikkel, was one of tremendous girth and packed with thick muscle. He held a battle axe in his hands. Bigger than two normal axes, it had two long blades, razor-sharp cleavers. A steel, icicle-shaped spike jutted from the middle.
Venir twirled the awesome weapon around his body. He chopped and stabbed at imaginary enemies. A hungry grin started on his face.
“You shouldn’t have any trouble scaring underlings with that.”
“Scare them?” Venir removed a round metal shield from the sack. It was ornate, hammered like black iron, with odd markings engraved in the metal. Venir slung it over his shoulder. “They won’t live long enough to be scared once I find them.”
“Lucky them.”
Venir removed the final item, a helmet of dark metal with hammered iron outlining the trim. It was crafted the same as the shield and war axe, finely honed and unique. The eyelets seemed to burn with a life of their own. Venir slid the great helmet over his head. His scarred hands buckled the leather chins
trap.
And just like that, the robust man Melegal knew was gone, enhanced into something greater. An uneasy feeling came over him when Mikkel said, “Here we go.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he said to the other two men.
Mikkel pointed.
Melegal turned back just in time to see Venir, moving like an armored ghost, merge into the forest. “Is he just leaving us here?”
Mikkel, lathered in new sweat, eased along Melegal’s side. “You might want to stay with Chongo and the horses. Are you sure you don’t want Skull Basher?”
“You aren’t leaving me too.”
“Come then,” Billip said. The archer’s eyes were charged with new energy. He popped the last cracks of his knuckles. “You don’t want to miss the show, do you?”
“You mean Venir dancing with underlings in that terrifying getup? I think I’ll pass.”
Billip handed Melegal a knife. “If any underlings squeeze through, you know what to do.”
“I have my own blades, Billip. I don’t need something that skins goats and cuts fishing lines.” Melegal watched the men slip deeper into the forest with big smiles on their faces. “How long do you think you’ll be, eh?”
“We’ll be back as soon as the underlings stop screaming,” Mikkel said.
“I thought they didn’t scream.” Melegal said.
The stiff wind rustling the leaves in the branches was his answer. Stiff in the saddle, he slid out a pair of long daggers and scratched his pony Quickster behind the ears. “If it comes right down to it, I hope you can get us out of here. If not, I guess I’m screwed.”
CHAPTER 32
As soon as Venir buckled on Helm, life exploded around him. His blood rushed like a great river. His senses tingled. Everything he could see, hear, and smell was so much more distinct. The scented flowers. A distant flow of water. His friends’ heavy breathing. A new hunger was in his mind. His thoughts intermingled with Helm’s, and they fed each other.
Clash of Heroes: Nath Dragon meets The Darkslayer Page 10
