Keeper of the Realms: The Dark Army (Book 2)

by Marcus Alexander

  Jook’s eye bulged then he roared out laughing. ‘Rich? I’m rich already! I’m the boss of the Soul Mines of Zhartoum. Ha! Well I hope your chubby friend has an appetite to match his fat stomach cos he’s about to be fed your wriggling tongue.’

  One guard grabbed Jensen’s shoulders while the other reached for his mouth. Jensen bobbed his head aside to avoid the guard’s fingers and with that sure little smile still plastered firmly on his face he looked Jook dead in the eye. ‘But how much do ya get paid?’

  Again Jook’s eye bulged at Jensen’s forwardness, but once again he chuckled, clearly delighted by the idiocy of his latest slave. ‘A yearly stipend of two baskets of gold, one of sapphires and two slaves delivered to my house every half year to break as I please.’

  Jook grinned in self appreciation and watched with interest as the second guard finally managed to grab Jensen’s jaw. The first guard pulled a knife from his belt and waited for the other to grasp Jensen’s tongue.

  ‘Grmp-grng,’ gurgled Jensen. He maintained eye contact with Jook, and even though his tongue was in the process of being wrestled from his mouth managed to appear calm.

  Jook was impressed. ‘Wait,’ he said.

  The two guards paused. The knife hovered over Jensen’s tongue.

  ‘What was that, little fish?’

  ‘Grmp-grng.’

  ‘Let him speak.’

  Jensen shook his head free. With an insolent look at Jook he said, ‘Chump change.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I said “chump change”. Two baskets of gold and one of sapphires a year is nothing.’

  ‘He gets four slaves a year too,’ muttered one of the guards who, fascinated by the bizarre turn of events, felt the need to add his two cents.

  ‘Well, if slaves are your thing, four a year ain’t much to go by, is it? I’ve heard that even the Northern Shamen get paid double that and all they do is guard Bane’s borders from a few ice tigers and the occasional snowstorm.’

  ‘What is this?’ sneered Jook. ‘A tit-for-tat comparison of incomes? You’re a slave. A fish. And a fish who’s about to lose his tongue. Why on Bellania should I listen to your crazy opinion on money?’

  ‘Because I’m Jensen the Willow.’

  Jook and the two guards shared an empty look.

  Jensen sighed. ‘Ya guys don’t get out much, do ya? I control the Moreish Powder trade, which makes me the richest man anywhere east of where Bane happens ta be standing.’

  ‘You?’

  ‘Well, I know I don’t look like much, particularly as yer’ve got me all trussed up like dis.’ He smiled disarmingly. ‘But yeah, I’m the only one who knows how ta distil Lindis flowers. And ya, my friend, might be the Daddy of the Soul Mines of Zhartoum, but I’m the First Merchant Prince of Sylvaris and money don’t flow faster than when it dances around me.’

  Jook frowned. ‘What are you offering?’

  ‘Freedom for me and me mates. Food and enough supplies ta get us back to Sylvaris, and in return I’ll set you up with some Lindis seeds and the secret ta distillation. Just think, ya could control the trade across all of Bane’s empire!’

  ‘He’s lying, boss,’ said one of the guards. ‘All of his wood was stripped from him in Alavis.’

  Jensen chuckled. ‘Yeah, well let’s just say that the soldiers know how ta give a good beating, but don’t exactly have an eye for detail.’

  ‘Huh,’ mused Jook. Stepping closer, he loomed over Jensen. ‘What’s to stop me torturing the secret out of you or cutting your fat friend here into little pieces until you tell me what I want to hear?’

  ‘Well, I’m offering wealth beyond counting and ya are offering us a chance to dine with death. Sounds like ya and I are at the negotiating table, in which case I think there’s room for a little haggling.’

  Jensen smiled confidently up at Jook. Kelko, kneeling behind him in the dust, smiled subtly too. No one could beat Jensen when it came to a deal.

  19

  A Sword of Swords

  The inside of the temple was as dead and as decrepit as its exterior. The long corridors were lined with cracked and shattered statues. Piles of dead leaves filled dusty corners and the occasional painted mural was faded and blistered, making it impossible to see their original images.

  The place stank of lost secrets, but Charlie didn’t want to hang around and find out what they might be.

  ‘In and out,’ she whispered to herself. ‘In and out and be quick about it.’

  She trotted down the empty corridor and into a massive but desolate room with a wide staircase leading up into the pagoda. Keeping Darkmount’s directions in mind, she hurried towards the stairs, but as she took her first step she felt the Hell Sword lurch in her hand.

  She stared at it in amazement. It was growing.

  Its steel began to gleam as it stretched thicker and longer. The hilt became more comfortable to hold, almost like it belonged there, and as Charlie examined it she noted that the pommel had morphed into the face of a snarling eagle.

  ‘Ooooooooohh,’ she breathed, unsure whether to be delighted or shocked.

  Her free hand wandered towards the edge of the blade, but stopped at the last second as common sense took over. Instead she tested the blade on the banister.

  ‘Guuuuurgh!’ she gulped, staring at the severed lump of wood that now lay by her foot. She had only touched the sword edge to the banister, and gently at that, but it had passed through the wood like a knife through butter. Charlie grinned wildly, a new self-belief washing through her. Checking she was still alone and did not have an audience, she began to chop and lunge with the sword.

  ‘Whoooooosh! Whoosha-whoosha-whoooooooosh!’

  She couldn’t help it. Really she couldn’t. There was just something about holding the sword that brought out the wannabe ninja in her.

  She began to mix the sword play with her K’Changa stances. Growing more confident, she started to flip and tumble, weaving the blade in intricate patterns. She even practised raising an eyebrow after she finished each combo. And it was all going so well until she tripped over a hole in the floor and fell flat on her back. The sword flashed out of her hand, lurched into the air and began a perilous arc straight towards her …

  Before Charlie could react, the sword drove straight into her chest, from which it rebounded and dropped to the floor.

  ‘Huh?’

  She patted her chest to make sure there weren’t any gaping holes in it.

  She looked at her hand.

  ‘No blood?’

  Picking up the sword, she tested it against the nearest wall. A section of wood and bricks tumbled to the floor in a shower of dust.

  ‘Wha …’ she mumbled, her mouth opening and closing in shock.

  Gathering her courage she touched a finger to the sword point. The blade flowed backwards, bending like rubber. She tested her finger against the long edge. It was like playing with soft candle wax, but when she hacked at a banister it went straight through.

  ‘Awesome!’ she breathed. ‘Awesome. Now that’s what I call a sword!’

  Grinning wildly and perhaps with more confidence than was wise she made her way up the stairs.

  The noise in the tunnel was appalling. The clang of weapon striking weapon mixed with the enraged shouts of Stoman soldiers created a giant cacophony. The flash of light from Nibbler’s flames and Darkmount’s glowing fists did little to aid illumination and if anything only added to the chaos. Soldiers tried to force their way deeper into the tunnel with swords and axes as Shades scampered over the walls or clung to the ceiling. Stonesingers puppeteered behemoths that, too large to enter, had to crouch down on hands and knees and force tree-trunk size arms with outspread fingers into the tunnel in an attempt to grasp the trespassers.

  Darkmount tore a Shade off the wall and hurled it spitting and screaming into the face of a soldier. Whipping his mace overhead he brought it cracking down to shatter the stony fingers of a behemoth’s fist. The behemoth withdrew its ma
ngled arm only to be replaced as another of the huge mannequin-like figures was ordered to take its position. Darkmount hurled his ruined mace aside in disgust. Reaching into the wall to fashion yet another he paused to look towards the distant Gate.

  ‘What is it?’ panted Nibbler as he noticed the bishop had halted his barrage of missiles.

  ‘She’s taking too long,’ said Darkmount.

  Nibbler puffed out a huge jet of flame that cleared the Shades off the ceiling and walls and momentarily forced the soldiers back.

  ‘What do you mean too long?’ asked Nibbler with a startled look of concern. ‘She’s going to be OK, right?’

  ‘That’s hard to tell.’

  ‘Well what are we waiting for? Let’s go!’

  ‘Bah! And do what?’ snarled Darkmount. ‘If we leave this position, who will hold back the garrison? Who will prevent them from rampaging into the cavern to stab your precious Keeper as soon as she returns?’

  ‘I-I … well,’ stammered Nibbler as he struggled to think it through. ‘Well you should stay here. You’re powerful enough to hold this lot at bay. I’ll go and check on Charlie.’

  ‘Pah! I knew you were as stupid as you looked! What will you do if Charlie has been taken by daemons? What will you do if they come screaming out of the deeps like a horde of locusts? Do you have the necessary expertise? I think not. No, you will stay here and hold back these faithless Stomen and I will ensure that your friend is safe.’

  Without waiting for a by your leave Darkmount stamped his way into the darkness, leaving Nibbler alone.

  Screaming and shrieking, hooting and bellowing, the throng of Stomen charged down the tunnel. Shades streaked between the feet of the lumbering Stomen; Stonesingers joined ranks to raise glowing hands high and behemoths once more plunged their monstrous hands deep into the tunnel like grown men trying to sink their hands into a mouse hole.

  Nibbler took a deep breath to settle his nerves.

  ‘She’s got to be OK. She’s got to be,’ he whispered to himself.

  Breathing out, he reared up on to his back legs and unleashed a jet of crackling flame.

  20

  The Daemon Kindred

  Charlie breathed a sigh of relief once she reached the top floor of the temple. Staggering over, she leaned the Hell Sword against the wall and knuckled both hands into her stiff back. Once her back felt as though it had relaxed slightly she shook each of her legs in an attempt to loosen up the cramp in her thighs.

  Lady Narcissa’s tower in Sylvaris had been high, but it was nothing compared to this. Nothing.

  Wiping the sweat from her brow, Charlie stared down the long corridor. It was as empty as the rest of the temple: no furniture, no nothing. The only things to be seen were little clumps of dried leaves and small clouds of dust that swirled in the weak light.

  Just as Darkmount had predicted, there were doors on either side: scores of them. Those on the left had been marked with a cross, those on the right with a circle. The corridor was long, making it hard for Charlie to distinguish the last three doors on either side, which blurred together with distance. But she remembered from Darkmount’s instructions that it was one of the final three circled doors that she was headed for to find the vessel.

  ‘No doors with a cross,’ she recalled to herself. ‘Simple, right?’ Sighing, she picked up the sword, slung it across her shoulder and trudged forward.

  Hell was turning out to be a lot more boring than she had expected. Not a soul in sight and after her fright on the bridge she had not seen a flicker of movement other than the stirring of debris. No noise, no movement, no people and definitely no Daemon Kindred.

  Charlie wasn’t certain whether it was a good thing that she was bored or not. At least boredom indicated a certain level of safety, but still everything was just so, ‘Booooooooring,’ she huffed, completing the sentence aloud.

  As if in response to the sound of her voice, the door closest on her left suddenly rattled and shook on its hinges, making Charlie yelp and jump. She scampered a couple of steps down the corridor before her bravado caught up. Spinning around, she unsheathed her sword and hesitantly made her way back to the door. It clattered in its frame, then fell silent.

  Charlie stared at it accusingly. Slowly she reached for it, thought better of it and slowly backed away.

  It rattled again, but the further she moved away the quieter it became until finally it stopped.

  Charlie stood there, sword still raised, and waited.

  And waited. But nothing happened.

  She gave the door a dirty, speculative look then continued on her way. When barking, howling and scratching noises came from behind a door marked with a circle she jumped again. With the sword at the ready she edged past.

  A few doors further down she heard a whistling voice: ‘… sit, stir the blue one. Yes, sit, stir the blue one. Yes, sit, stir the …’

  Again she backed away from the repeated nonsense until it faded to nothing.

  For a while after that she heard nothing, although she did see odd neon colours glistening beneath a door and felt an intense cold emanating from another. She hastened past both until finally she saw the end of the corridor and the last three doors on the right.

  ‘Oh, Leaf and Sap, is someone there?’

  Charlie froze in her tracks, she slowly turned to face the door with the voice. It was marked with a cross.

  ‘P-please … is someone out there? Someone?’

  Charlie hesitated, unsure what to do. She stared first at the door with the cross then turned to look at the three marked with a circle. She took a step towards the circled doors.

  ‘Wait, please don’t go. Don’t leave me, yer’ve got ta help me.’

  The voice was definitely Treman and it sounded young. Really young. Like that of a little girl.

  ‘Please, please help.’ The voice was desperate. ‘Blessed Sapling, don’t leave me here for them!’

  ‘Yeah right!’ said Charlie. ‘Do you think I’m stupid or what?’

  ‘Wot?’ said the voice. ‘No wait, ya can’t leave! Look they dragged me here, they took me! And … and, wait, who are ya? Are ya one of them? Ya are aren’t ya? Yer taunting me, aren’t ya?’

  ‘One of who?’

  ‘One of … Green Sap, if yer not one of them, yer’ve gotta get me outta here! Yer’ve gotta get me home! Please …’

  As the voice choked off into tears and sobs, Charlie felt something catch in her throat. She tightened the grip on the sword, swallowed and perhaps against her better judgement reached for the door handle.

  ‘Listen up, whoever’s in there,’ said Charlie. ‘If this is a trick, you’re going to upset me and, trust me, when you see what I’ve got in my hands you’re going to be real, reaaaaal sorry if I lose my temper.’

  ‘Wait! What do you mean by a trick?’ went the voice; it sounded panicked. ‘What are ya going ta do ta me?’

  ‘Well, if I open this door and find out you’re nothing more than a daemon trying to trick me, I’m probably going to cut your head off.’

  ‘Oh … uh, well, I’m not a daemon so hurry up and get dis door open and let me outta here!’

  Charlie quickly transferred the sword to one hand, turned the latch, grabbed the sword again between both sweaty palms and kicked the door open.

  Jumping forward with the sword raised, she stumbled to a halt when saw the young Treman girl tied to the wall. Charlie’s mouth fell open then, remembering where she was, she spun round looking for any hidden daemons, even going so far as to check behind the door. When she was certain they were alone, she gave the girl a good looking over to make sure she wasn’t a daemon in disguise.

  The girl was indeed a young Treman, perhaps about seven or eight. Her dishevelled hair was still in some semblance of a topknot and she was dressed in typical Treman fashion: three-quarter length trousers, waistcoat, jewellery and all. The girl must have spent some time crying, as her eyes were red and puffy, tear tracks showed in the dirt on her face and dried l
ines of snot had crusted her upper lip.

  ‘Um … I’m Charlie. Charlie Keeper.’

  ‘Yer a Keeper? Ya can get me outta here?’

  ‘Well … yeah. I guess.’ Charlie moved forward then stopped. ‘Wait a minute. How’d you get here?’

  ‘Oh, Sweet Sap, I don’t know! One minute I was asleep at home then the next thing I know I’m on some misty bridge with these creepy-crawly looking people. They stuffed me in ta a sack then the next thing I remember is being dragged up some stairs and being chained in dis room! I ain’t heard nothing or seen nothing since! All I wanna do is go home.’ The young girl began to cry.

  The sight tugged at Charlie’s heart. She knew the feeling of being in a strange land only too well. ‘OK, OK, I’m gonna get you down from there. Just remember that if you do turn out to be some kind of daemon I’m going to make sure you’re sorry.’

  ‘I’m not a daemon,’ sniffled the girl.

  Charlie used the sword to cut the girl’s bindings and did her best to catch her as she fell. ‘So what’s your name then?’

  ‘Lallinda,’ said the girl rubbing at her wrists. She stared up at Charlie with wide brown eyes.

  ‘How old are you, Lallinda?’

  ‘Seven.’

  ‘Seven, huh. Well it wasn’t too long ago that I was in the same position as you.’

  ‘Wot, ya were grabbed by the creepy-crawly people too?’

  ‘Oh no. I was chained to a wall too, so I know how your wrists hurt.’

  ‘Why were ya chained to a wall?’

  ‘Disagreement with a bunch of Stoman soldiers.’

  The girl stared at her like she didn’t know what to think. ‘But yer a Keeper right?’

  ‘Uh, yeah.’

  ‘So ya came ta get me out?’

  ‘Er, no.’

  ‘But … wot am I gonna do?’

  ‘Look, uh, Lallinda,’ said Charlie, slightly flustered and none too sure how to handle the role of rescuer. ‘I’ll get you out of here, but there’s something I need to do first. So, um … you can either wait here for me or –’