Panting for breath, Venir bent over with his hands on his knees and puked. Spitting, he said, “That’s better.” As soon as he rose up, Mood appeared.
The King of the Blood Rangers was coated chin to toe in the black underling blood. A fat cigar was burning in his mouth, and cinnamon smoke cut through the baking stench of death in the air.
“What happened to you?” Venir said.
Angrily, Mood said, “I was bewitched, that’s what. Curse me! I cannot believe the evil vixen enchanted me.” He pounded his chest. “By the time I came out of it, I’d led my kin right into the gates of slaughter. I hardly remember anything until we were up to our armpits in underlings.”
Venir stepped out of the underling pile, walked up to Mood, and slapped him on the shoulder. “Bish happens.”
Gazing up at the pillar of rock Venir had been fighting on top of, Mood replied, “You can say that again. Good for us you happened along.”
Venir followed Mood’s stare. The top of the pinnacle dripped with black blood that glistened in the last setting sun. Underlings lay dead on the pinnacle’s rim. At the bottom of the rock more bodies lay on the ground, crushed and contorted.
“You must have taken two hundred black hearts yourself.” Mood blew a ring of smoke into the sky. “I’ve never seen anything like it. They came after you like moths to a flame. They lost their minds, climbing up there like that. I saw you. A mighty gale of blackened steel.”
Spying the canyon’s main rim, Venir noticed there weren’t any more underlings. “Did we kill them all?”
“Perhaps the ones within, but I think the rest of them fled. They’re regrouping between here and Bone, I imagine.”
“How many dwarves did you lose?” Venir asked.
“Enough,” Mood said, wiping the blood from his eyes. “It’ll be a long time burying them. Let’s burn these fiends first. All of them in a pile so high they’ll smell the smoke all over Bish.” He turned and faced his brethren and lifted his twin axes high. “Death to the underlings! Every last one of them!”
They replied with excited arms and weapons pumping in the air, “Huzzah!”
Epilogue
Lip curled, Melegal said to Jasper, “I can’t stand it when they do that.”
Their party was in the canyon among the blood rangers, dwarves, and jung, watching Chongo give Venir a bath with his tongues.
“I think it’s endearing,” Jasper replied. Her dark eyes were playful for a moment when she plugged her nose and fanned the smoke from her eyes. “But that smell is awful.”
“It’s not Quickster this time.”
The pyre of underlings was far away from where they stood. Yellow smoke rolled up into the sky, and ashes showered the ground. The pungent smell was toxic but not nauseating.
“The dwarves are breaking their backs on this. I’ve never seen so many shovels.”
“Me either.” Jasper’s eyes fixed on Venir.
Melegal looked over there as well.
Shirtless and sitting, the lout’s Olympian frame was covered in lacerations and dark bruises. Kam was stitching him up while he bounced Erin on his knee. They were both laughing.
“I never imagined a battlefield could be so jovial,” said Jasper.
“The deader the underlings, the happier Venir,” Melegal replied. He reached down and helped Jasper up to her feet. “Let’s go and see what’s going on.”
“All right.”
Standing in front of Venir, Melegal said, “That’s an awful lot of wood you chopped down for your little bonfire over there. What kind of wood did you use? It stinks.”
“It might stink, but it keeps the bugs away. I’m surprised it doesn’t work any better on rats,” Venir replied.
“Only a lout would try to use underlings for wood,” Melegal said.
Chongo licked him.
He smacked the dog’s nose with his cap. “Don’t do that. It’s disgusting.”
Grinning ear to ear, Venir said, “It’s healing to my flesh and refreshing to my bones. You should try it sometime.”
“I’ll be fine. Always.”
“Nobody’s always fine,” Kam said. She was sewing up a deep gash in Venir’s leg. “Just ask the underlings.”
“Ha ha! Now that’s my woman!” Venir leaned in to kiss Kam.
She pushed him back. “Not now. You smell like an ogre. Not to mention you’re covered in dog slobber. Of all the places to fight, you had to pick a canyon without a river.”
Melegal squatted down. “So what’s the plan, Vee? Is Mood back in his right mind?”
“Yes, and we will continue the journey back to Bone.” Venir rubbed Kam’s arm. “You’ve never been to Bone before, have you? It’ll be exciting.”
“Yes, another great city run by the underlings.” Melegal straightened his cap. “It wouldn’t surprise me one bit if they intermarried with the Royals.” He looked at Kam. “Present company excepted.”
“We’ll fight them all if we have to.” Venir kissed Erin on the forehead. “And when it’s done, we’ll open the finest tavern in the land.”
Kam eyed him.
“Second finest,” Venir remarked.
“So this isn’t actually a war?” Melegal added with some sarcasm. “My, I had it all wrong. It’s a business trip.”
Venir gulped down some water from a canteen, wiped his forearm across his mouth, and said, “We can’t do this forever, so we might as well profit.”
“Now that, I can get behind,” said Melegal.
“Good. Now sharpen that steel on your hips. We have work to do.”
BOOK 7: WAR IN THE WASTELAND
CHAPTER 1
“Don’t move!” Jubilee yelled at Brak.
“Stop squirming!” Fogle added.
Inside the Red Clay Forest, a place of sweltering heat and suffocating beauty, Brak was sunk to the waist in quicksand. His horse, knee-deep in it, whinnied and nickered. Olg and Ugg, the half-ogre brothers, were in the muck too. Both of them flailed and moaned. It had been nothing but misery since they fled into the forest to get away from the underlings.
Riding tall on Nightmare, Jarla barked a command. “Listen to them, you fools! Heed my words and be still! Fools! How many times have we warned you not to wander away in this forest?” A mosquito as big as her hand landed on her head. She swatted at it. “Ugh!”
“Urmph!” Ugg said, looking at her.
On his hands and knees at the foul, muddy pool’s rim, the tall and lanky healer, Slim, called out, “Not you, Ugg. As she says, you need to remain calm. We’ll get you out of here. Nice and easy. The more you squirm, the more you will sink.”
The brothers babbled in ogre at one another. Their ugly, brutish faces had brows that protruded like the edge of a cliff covered in black moss for eyebrows, which lifted and buckled. Their murmurings held a note of fear.
Brak sat on the back of his horse, sinking. The honorable beast shifted beneath him. “Easy, girl. Easy.” He stroked the horse’s neck. “Be still, and we’ll get out of this mess.” The muddy waters bubbled up in spots, swallowing the horse’s neck to the top. Trying not to sound alarmed, Brak said, “Someone needs to do something fast.”
“We are.” Fogle had a stretch of rope and was tying it to a tree. The knot the wizard made kept failing. “Son of a Bish!”
“Faster,” Brak repeated.
Working the rope, Fogle said, “This isn’t exactly my forte!”
“Why don’t you just cast a spell and lift them out?” Jubilee asked.
“Why don’t you shut your yap?”
Feeling the murk suck him even deeper into the hole, Brak said, “Bickering isn’t going to slow the sinking. Someone look for a branch or something.”
Everything had happened fast. For three days, the travelers had wandered the forest, searching for a way out. For some reason, the forest seemed to want to keep them hemmed in. Either that, or it was trying to gradually kill them. Everyone was at a loss as to how to get out—even Jarla. As seasoned as the briga
nd queen was, the uncanny place perplexed her. Her commanding tongue was more silent than it normally had been. Then the bickering began. The party became split on what to do. It didn’t take long for Jarla to leave them all behind. Less than an hour later, the forest started to swallow him and the ogres whole. Jubilee had ridden with Brak, but he’d managed to fling her away from the danger. Slim had also remained free.
“Brak, I can’t lose you.” Jubilee reached out with a long branch she’d fetched. “Grab this!”
Brak stretched out his arm. His fingers snagged the very tip. He gave it a gentle tug. The effort pulled Jubilee into the quicksand with a splash. “Just stay back, Jubilee. Fogle, do you have that rope ready or not?”
“I got it!” The wizard slung the coil over to Brak. “Catch!”
Brak caught the slack end of the rope. “Finally.” He wound the rope around his wrist. With his free arm, he reached over for the nearest ogre. “Take my hand, Olg or Ugg.”
The desperate ogre Ugg locked his hands around Brak’s wrist. Olg clung to his brother.
“Hang on!” Brak pulled on the rope. The rope unfastened from the tree. He pitched over into the waters.
“Brak!” Jubilee screamed. “You idiot, Fogle! Somebody, do something!”
Chin deep in the quicksand, Brak said, “Yes, please.” His stomach sank along with his body into the sands. Helplessness crept in just as it had when he’d been paralyzed. His father’s words sounded in his head. “Bish takes everyone. Any day can be your day.”
Jarla appeared from the forest with a smirk on her face. “Perhaps this is meant to be.” She dismounted. Casually, she pushed past Fogle and took the rope from his hands. “This is why we shouldn’t divide. Division is deadly.” She fastened the rope to Nightmare’s saddle horn and mounted. She made a tick-tick sound. Nightmare slowly plodded forward, dragging the ogres out of the murk.
Brak continued to sink. The waters were up to his lips.
In a shrill voice, Jubilee said, “What are you doing, Brak?”
Fighting to speak, spitting mud from his lips, he said, “I need to save the horse. Throw me the rope, Jarla.”
Jarla held the rope, staring at Brak like a cat toying with a mouse.
“Throw him the rope!” Jubilee screamed.
“Jarla! What are you doing?” Fogle added. “Throw him the rope!”
“I’m thinking,” she said.
Slim said, “Stop thinking, and start acting. Do this, and you’ll regret it.”
The quicksand covered Brak’s mouth. He and the horse were up to their nostrils. He could barely make out Jarla out of the corner of his eye. Please! Please! Please! He couldn’t imagine a worse way to go.
Jarla slung the rope over to him. Brak’s hands snagged it. He pulled his chin from the waters. Fishing through the slime, he tied a knot on the saddle horn. “Pull!”
Nightmare surged forward again. Man and beast eased through the soppy grime. The sinking horse’s feet found footing on the pit’s edge. She surged out of the quicksand and up onto dry land. Brak crawled out, mud coated and sucking for air. He kissed the ground.
Storming over to Jarla, Fogle said, “What in Bish was that all about?”
With a coy smile on her lips, she said, “I was curious to see if he was as resourceful as his father. Clearly, he is not.”
“He’s still a boy!” Jubilee said, fists clenched at her sides. “If you ever hurt him, I’ll kill you.”
Jarla laughed. “Says the little lioness. I don’t think so.” She turned her horse away. “Gather yourselves. The danger is past. Now it’s time to break free of the wretched limbs of this forest.”
The chittering sounds of nature and the humming of bugs quieted. The gentle breeze became stale. Another odor caught Brak’s nose.
Sniffing, Jubilee said, “What’s that smell? Brak?”
“It wasn’t me,” he said.
A whoosh rustled the colorful leaves. Hooded men in ruddy robes swooped in from all directions. Brak’s group was surrounded.
CHAPTER 2
“There’s a sea of them,” Mood said. The king of the Blood Rangers puffed on a cigar. He knitted his bushy brows that almost hid his emerald eyes. Blowing an oval ring of smoke, he slapped Venir on the back. “Well, what are you waiting for? Put that metal basket on and get to it.”
The small group of formidable men was nestled in the busted rocks of the hillside two days west of the City of Bone. The spot overlooked a nasty stretch of wasteland with more dirt than sand as far as the eye could see. Billip and Nikkel were with them. Their eyes were bigger than the rocks that surrounded them.
“And I thought that last horde would be the biggest I ever saw.” Billip popped his knuckles one at a time. “I’ve never seen so many people gathered in one place.”
“You haven’t?” Nikkel said. His smile vanished. “Certainly there are more men than them. Aren’t there?”
With one knee perched on the rocks, Venir leaned forward. He shared his friends’ concerns. He’d fought underlings by the bunches over the years. He’d hewn the black fiends down one, two, sometimes three at a time. In the last battle, he’d fought the most underlings ever—at least five thousand of them. But at the moment, there were ten times that number down below.
Venir lifted up his helmet. “The sooner we start, the better.”
Billip pushed down his arm. “No, no, no, no. We’re going to need a little more help than that.”
“Mood has plenty of kin to throw into the fray. We can handle it.” Venir grinned. “Are you in or not?”
Scratching his head, Billip replied, “Jesting aside, how are we going to deal with this? I have as much faith in a few thousand dwarves as anyone does, but there must be fifty thousand underlings down there. Where in Bish are we going to gather an army to match that size, and who’s to say there aren’t more of them?”
“I think somebody should have stayed back with the ladies.” Nikkel’s broad smile returned. “You worry like an old hag.”
“Says the young trooper full of guff. Mikkel would be proud,” Billip said. “I’ll worry all I want about my own arse, and you can worry about yours. If you’re so eager to join your father, then go right ahead.”
“Once you’re dead, you won’t have anything to worry about anymore, will ya?” Mood said.
“I’m all for fighting,” Billip said. “I’d just like to see the odds stacked a little better in our favor. Is that so bad?”
Mood shrugged his brawny shoulders. “Some like a challenge, and some don’t.”
Nikkel chuckled. Venir did too. He set his helmet aside and took a seat on the rocks.
The underling establishment was more of a city than a camp. There were tents, a rich maroon in color, side by side in straight, endless rows. The underling soldiers were like a wave of black ants that scoured the dusty ground. Their sharpened black steel shone in the two suns’ hot light. Banners waved on the corners of the bigger tents, which were black intermingled with brilliant colors. It was a terrifying army that had awakened from the grave. It was death, a plague. The skilled and skittering underlings were surrounded by the fallen. The bodies of dead men and women surrounded the underling camp in a wall of rotting flesh skewered on long poles.
Venir’s nostrils flared. Sweat dripped off of his nose. He thought he’d seen every perversion the underlings could muster since he was a boy, but they always came up with something new. The fiends mutilated people. They found glee in it. They were pure evil. With a shrug, he said, “Perhaps Bish will swallow them.”
With a grumble, Mood replied, “I’ve seen that before, only to see the dirt spit them out again. If we ever get another chance, I say we seal them inside their holes.”
“I like that idea,” Billip said.
“It’s been talked about, just never done. No certainty that it would work, either.” Mood sucked heavily on his cigar. “The leaf is good. Always good.”
“I’m surprised they haven’t come this way. You’d think th
ey’d be curious as to what had befallen the horde we slaughtered.” Venir toyed with the handle on his knife. “They value their own. That’s all they value.”
“Perhaps there are so many they don’t feel the need for worry,” Nikkel said. “Unlike Billip.”
“I’m not a worrier. I’m just concerned. Can we move on?”
“I’d like to think you’re right, Nikkel, but that’s not their way. If we take one of them, they’ll want ten of ours.” Venir slid his long hunting knife from his belt. “I happened across a camp where thirty people had been buried alive. Some of them were skinned head to toe first. Others burned. They hung the charred meat on sticks. A feast for the crows.”
Nikkel’s face soured.
“No,” Venir said. “Something brews in their wicked minds. That’s why we need to keep an eye on them. Mood, perhaps we should move our forces out of harm’s way. A little farther northeast.”
“I like going forward, not backward,” Mood replied.
“It would be a lateral move,” Venir added.
“Perhaps.”
“So what are we going to do?” Nikkel asked.
“There’s always more than one way to attack,” Venir said. “We have to plan and be patient.”
Billip huffed. “You?”
“Me.”
“And I’ll believe that when there’s only one sun setting in the sky.” Billip shifted his quiver on his shoulder, rattling the arrows. He wiped his arm over his sweaty brow. “I’m in the mood for some dwarven mead. Let’s hope not all of the keg barrels have been emptied. Coming?”
“I’ll be along.” Venir’s gaze remained fixed on the underlings.
“I’ll stay a bit myself,” Mood added.
“Good. You never know when he might run away. Come on, Nikkel.” Walking backward, the archer said, “And don’t think if there’s ale left that I’ll spare you any.”
“Venir, you brood like a wolf that starves and cannot eat.” Mood passed him the cigar. “What are you thinking?”
Venir took the cigar between his fingers and gave it a puff. “This fight will never end, will it?”
The Darkslayer: Series 2 Special Edition (Bish and Bone Bundle Books 6-10): Sword and Sorcery Adventures Page 14
