“Some of the royals dug deep before the entire city went to slat. These underlings might be nasty and clever, but they can be softened the same way men can.” He tugged at the sleeves of his robes. His hands seemed small for a man, and his fingers, toying with the hem, were quick. He produced a little scroll. The parchment was rolled up as tight as a twig. It crumbled in his hand. “That’s that.”
“That’s what?” Melegal said.
“The spell that allowed me to transform. It was one of my best. I spent hours casting it, and it will take hours to resume the form of Kazzar again.” He rubbed his head. “In the meantime, we’re in a bind. Underling patrols will roll in here come nighttime. They’ll be looking for Kazzar. When they don’t find him, they’ll kill us all.”
“Maybe they won’t show up for a long time yet,” Jasper said.
“I’d say they’ll be here sooner than normal,” Altan Rey replied.
“Why do you think that?” she asked.
Facing that bar, Melegal scowled. “Because that snake Jeb is gone.”
CHAPTER 30
“I always figured him for a spy,” Altan said. “A fellow like that should have been taken down, but the underlings let him be. I should have known, but things have been easy until the likes of you came in. Now he knows I’m not what I seem. That’s trouble.”
Melegal took Jasper by the hand. “You stay with them.”
“What? Why?”
“I’ll return.” Melegal jetted out of the tavern into the narrow street. No one knew the city better than him. On a hunch he went left, heading through the alleys and toward the districts. Shadows covered his every move as the setting suns slipped behind the great wall. Melegal scaled a narrow ledge of steps onto the roof of a two-story house. With a bird’s eye view, he studied the narrow passages for passersby. His keen ears were perked up at any sounds of commotion.
If I were an arsehole, where would I go?
He leaped from one building top to another. His soft landing startled a woman smoking a pipe. She shuddered inside her patchwork blanket before giving him a toothy smile. Ten minutes into his roof-jumping search, he was considering turning back when a chittering caught his ear. He stepped to the building edge and leaned over.
Ah.
Jeb’s burly frame lurked below with a pair of underlings. They were exchanging words. A small leather purse was exchanged.
Slat! He’s told them all they need to know. Huh, this is going to be tough.
Narrowing his eyes on the backs of the underlings, Melegal unsheathed two daggers. The fiends were shoulder to shoulder. He could see their coarse nape hairs as they chittered to each other. Seeing them shift their feet, Melegal hopped down. He seemed to float through time on his descent. The air rushed up and tickled his ears. He landed right behind the underlings, turning loose a two-handed stab at the same time. He pierced the underlings’ spines with an expert precision. The underlings gurgled, crumpled, and died.
Jeb’s jaw hung open as he stared at Melegal. The big-eared brawler’s hand fell to his short sword. When it was halfway out of the sheath, Melegal ripped out his daggers and sprang. He buried his steel between the man’s ribs.
“Gaak!” Blood spilled from Jeb’s mouth. His eyes rolled up in his head.
Melegal wiped his blades. “Men should never side with underlings.” Hearing the sound of others approaching, he ducked into the alley.
***
Venir’s shoulders turned toward the door as soon as Melegal entered the Drunken Octopus. The thief appeared as cool as ever, but Venir knew better. “Well?”
“Jeb has nothing stupid left to say. Ever.”
Satisfied, Venir resumed his conversation with Altan Rey and his lady friend. The other tavern dwellers had stripped down the dead underlings and dragged them into the kitchen. A threesome of women worked at a feverish pace, scrubbing the wet blood from the floors.
“Continue, Royal,” Venir said.
Altan let out a sigh of relief. “As I was saying, some royals stir against the underlings, and though it seems to be in vain, we hope time is on our side. The underlings grow overconfident. We’re just learning and waiting for them to slip up. Whatever we can do to delay their genocidal efforts, we do with negotiations and wines.”
Venir huffed a laugh.
Altan Rey cocked a brow. “You disagree?”
“The underlings are more clever than you royals will ever be. They are only fattening you up for the kill. Soon enough, you’ll be slaughtered. Underlings by the tens of thousands gather far beyond the wall. They won’t leave a single man, woman, or child living.”
“You jest.”
“No, I’ve seen it myself. We all have.” He pointed to Hoff and Billip, who were still sprawled on the floor. “How long will my other witnesses be out?”
“Hours, but at least they’ll wake here instead of in the dungeons.” Altan took a sip of wine. “So what brings you here, then? How did you get inside the walls?”
“That’s our business. Tell me more about these fights that you drag the men into. What’s the purpose in helping the underlings out?”
“We’re trying to pinpoint the leader,” Altan Rey said. “Every castle has a brood of underlings running it from within. The goal is simple: find the leader and assassinate him. I use these fights to draw out the leaders. They love seeing the men slaughtered, but it is slow going. All of the underlings look the same, bright-eyed or not.”
“It’s a good plan, but for all you know, the leader is in the Underland and guiding his forces from there. No, if you want to fight the underlings, you’d best gather all of your forces and strike quickly. Otherwise, they’ll keep pouring in and slaughtering.”
“You seem to know much about the underlings.”
“I know them all too well. We all do.” Venir knew much more than he let on. He even knew which underling to look for—Master Sinway, the underling with iron eyes. He wasn’t even sure how he knew it, but he did. He’d seen the face in his dreams and battles. Trinos spoke of the underling, and Kam had a special knowledge too. He needed to vet Altan Rey some more. “Tell me something useful, and if I like it, I might reveal what we are here for.”
“The royal House of Kord might be a lower house, but we are a far cry from the dogs that run this city. Our nobility stands for itself, and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that the royals stationed above us opened up a grand opportunity.” Altan stroked his moustache and smiled at his woman. “We wouldn’t mind one bit to see the others fall. Frankly, I’m more disgusted than ever. I’ve been watching the royals volunteer their men as living sacrifices. They send them screaming and burning from the catapults on the wall. The House of Kord has made no such sacrifices.”
“Do underlings fill your castle?” Venir asked.
“As much as any other. We communicate in the day. At the markets.” He patted his woman’s knee. “She handles things. For weeks, it’s been nothing but the status quo and hopes that my family remains intact as long as they can stand it.”
Venir rubbed his chin. “What happens if the pit fighter wins?”
“Oh, well, that’s rarely happened. Even the finest might make it through a round or two, but they get carved down. That’s the interesting thing, though. It draws the more powerful underlings out. If a fighter made it far enough, I imagine we’d see all of the underlings, including the leader.”
“How much time between the fights?”
“An hour or two. Long enough for more underlings to gather. Why?”
“Because I have a horrible idea.”
CHAPTER 31
Brak counted fourteen underlings in all. The fierce little men encircled them in the wink of an eye. Dressed in their customary dark-leather armor, with scowls that matched their ferocious appearance, half of the fiends took aim with blowguns and hand crossbows. Others gripped razor-sharp, blackened steel. The metal edges were curved and jagged. Some of the points were serrated.
The underlings were not the usual
ilk. They were what Brak had come to know as the hunters, or the “badoon” in Underling. Their heads were partially shaved, and some displayed long ponytails, carvings in their ears and bodies, bones of men rattling from necklaces, and belts made from human skin. Brak swallowed the lump in his throat. He eased his big body in front of Jubilee.
“Everyone remain really still,” Fogle said out of the side of his mouth with his fingers twitching at his sides.
A ruby-eyed underling with a steel hoop in one of his nostrils glared at the muttering mage. The underling took aim with his crossbow and fired. Clatch zip!
Fogle lurched. He dropped on one knee. A small bolt was lodged in his shoulder. His brow knitted. The glow that had started in his fingers vanished. “Curse you, fiends!”
Brak stood like a wall in front of Jubilee. He held his sword in front of his chest as he scanned the knot of dangerous fighters. He’d faced death many times before. Peril was part of breathing. His eyes slid from face to face. The intent of the flock of fighters was perfectly clear. They were going to carve up Brak and the others. Toy with them. He couldn’t let such peril come to Jubilee.
The youngster was much like himself and at that point more woman than girl. Her fingers dug into his waist. She whispered, “Do what you have to do, Brak. Don’t worry about me.”
The underlings puffed on their blowguns.
Toowah! Toowah! Toowah!
Jubilee let out a squeal. Darts were lodged in her legs. She hung tight to Brak. He held her fast, nestling her in his big arms.
The underlings let out cruel and gleeful chittering. A small knot of them with long swords pierced the flesh of the horse and watched the fine beast fall to the ground. Small projectiles lanced Slim, Fogle, Jubilee, and Brak. The darts burnt like the sting of hornets.
Thunder came from the distance, catching the underlings’ attention. The sound came not from the sky but the ground. Jarla appeared, riding hard on the back of Nightmare, leaving a cloud of dust in her wake. She leaned from her saddle with her sword hanging low. Underlings rushed into her path. Jarla’s sharp steel greeted an underling’s skull. Nightmare plowed over two of the fiends, crunching bone and flesh.
“Do I have to slaughter all of these greasy devils myself?” she cried.
“Fight or die!” Brak roared. His sword knocked a charging underling’s weapon aside. The little fiend snaked under his swing and stabbed him in the side. “Aargh!” Brak gave a backswing, pommel first. He caught the underling in the temple, crushing the bone behind the eye socket. The underling staggered over the sand. Nightmare galloped over it.
“There are too many!” Jarla yelled. She slung blood from her sword and pointed. “Flee for the rocks! There! Move, you fools! Move!”
A handful of underlings were dead, but the rest of them descended, brandishing steel at Jarla and Nightmare. She and the warhorse were one. They fended off attack after attack.
Brak backed out of the slaughter, protecting Jubilee and Fogle. Slim still sagged over the ogres. “Jarla, come on! You can’t fight them all!”
“The Bish I can’t!”
A black shadow fell over the fracas. The bloodthirsty underlings gave pause.
Head to the sky, Fogle whispered, “Son of a Bish.”
Wump. Wump. Wump. A black dragon with great wings lifting a hulking frame of scales landed in their midst. With a gleam in its yellow eyes and tongue flicking from its mouth, it opened its massive jaws wide and let out a roar.
Jubilee fell to her knees, covering her ears and screaming, “Make it stop! Make it stop!”
Brak’s limbs froze. The dragon’s bellow finished. For a moment that seemed suspended in time, no one—man or underling—moved.
Then Jarla’s sword arm came to life. The black weapon clipped a gaping underling’s head from its shoulders. As blood spit from its neck, the hardened fiends, at a chittering command, rushed the dragon. Orange flames hotter than a blacksmith’s forge gushed from the dragon’s mouth, engulfing the oncoming underlings.
The hair on Brak’s arms curled. He backed away. Jarla and Nightmare trotted from the deadly fire’s path.
The underlings burned from head to toe, screaming as flesh melted from bone. The ground remained on fire as the greasy black blood burned like spilled oil.
Brak plowed into a pair of underlings that were hacking at the dragon’s scales. He mowed them both down with haymaker chops, shearing one underling’s arm at the shoulder and splitting the other underling’s skull.
The dragon swung its massive head around, knocking Brak from his feet. Its paw pinned Brak to the ground. The heat from the beast’s breath seemed to burn Brak’s skin. It glowered at Brak. He fought against the monster’s power, pushing up with all of his might. He swore the dragon chuckled just before it opened up its mouth, preparing to swallow him whole.
Brak turned his cheek. The dragon licked it.
CHAPTER 32
Two figures slid off the dragon’s back. One was a bald old man who hit the sand and fell to his hands and knees as he kissed the dirt. The other was a woman with hair like gossamer that hung over her shoulders. Her pale-white skin seemed translucent. Her fine features were as radiant as the clouds. She stood firm with small fists on her ample hips and a smile on her soft pink lips. Dressed in scanty, casual cotton garb, she said with a purr in her voice, “Fogle Virgin, have you missed me?”
The pain in Fogle’s shoulder ceased. His fingertips were numb. Hot blood coursed through his body. In awe, he said, “Cass.”
She seemed to float as she approached. Draping her arms around his neck, she kissed him full on the lips. Her body melted into his. She reeled him in tight. He grunted, and she broke off the lusty kiss. “Am I hurting you?”
Finding his breath, he said, “No, but this thing in my shoulder’s ruining the moment.”
“This thing?” She grabbed the bolt and yanked it out.
“Ow!” He wavered.
“Oh, don’t be such a child. It’s just a little thing.” Placing her hand on his chest, she said, “You make it sound like I ripped your sweet little heart out.”
“I survived your sudden departure,” he said, resting his hand on hers, “but it wasn’t easy.”
“Oh, your clever little tongue is melting me. You spin the words of a more seasoned man. I wonder.” Cass swung her head around. Everyone had gathered around, from the newcomer—Boon—to Slim, whose eyes clung to Cass’s figure like sap to a tree. Her eyes landed on Jarla, who stuffed her bloody sword into her sheath. She gave a disapproving snort. “You’ve been fornicating with this dark witch, haven’t you, Fogle?”
In a husky tone, Jarla said, “I don’t know if you could call it that.”
Cass chuckled. “Hmmm, I like her.”
“Great, so are you leaving Blackie for her now? That would be entertaining,” Fogle said. “I wonder if the dragon can feel that same heart-wrenching pain that I did.”
Blackie’s tail flipped sand Fogle’s way.
“Jealously. I like that,” Cass said. “No, Fogle dear, she’s not my type. I have to admit I missed your thoughtful demeanor. As for Blackie, well, we aren’t getting along so well right now.”
“Really? Why is that?”
“He’s not listening to me.”
“Heh-heh.” Boon chuckled as he approached his grandson. “There’s no better way to drive a woman crazy.” He reached over, clasping Fogle by the forearm. “Please tell me you have the book.”
“It’s good to see you too.”
“Don’t be so sappy. I was dead less than a day or two ago. Let me say, there is nothing like living and breathing.” He gave Jarla a heavy look. His voice was raspy. “Accept living and breathing with a fine specimen of a woman. Say, grandson”—he nudged Fogle in the ribs—“tell me it’s so.”
Fogle cracked a smile. “A wizard never tells.”
“Hah, now I know you lie. So the spell book. Do you have it?”
“I do have my spell book. Why?”
“
Aside from the fact that I have no magic at all within me, there are some other needs that have come up.” He searched Fogle with his eyes. “Where is it?”
“Take a breath. I think many of us would like to get stitched up first.” Fogle noticed Brak down on one knee, tending to the darts lodged in Jubilee’s legs. Jarla dressed some cuts on Nightmare’s flank.
Great, just great. She’s into everyone. Wincing, Fogle pulled his robes off and checked his own wound. His left arm throbbed all the way down to the fingertips. They were stiff. His eyes widened. “Bloody things are poisoned.” He said it, but his thickening tongue didn’t produce the words. Garble came out.
“What was that?” Boon asked.
Fogle’s entire body became rigid. He couldn’t even blink. All he could feel was the sun beating down on his body.
Boon fanned his hand in front of Fogle’s face. “You’re paralyzed. Perfect—you look like you need the rest. You do that while I charge up with the spell book.”
***
The suns fell and rose before Fogle moved again. His muscles felt as if they weighed a ton. He moved with a stiff gait toward Cass. She stood away from the others, gazing at the rising suns. Boon was nowhere to be found. The others were still sleeping, aside from Jarla, who sharpened her sword and dagger.
Fogle startled Cass when he strained to say, with a stiff jaw, “How have you been?”
She turned to him, checking his shoulder for the wound that she’d patched. Looking away, she replied, “You trouble me, Fogle.”
“Oh, why is that?”
“Because I thought of you.”
“And that’s bad?”
“It is for me. I’m not used to having an attachment to anyone.”
“If it helps, I’ve never had an affection so strong for anyone, either. The truth is I’ve never been so close to anyone until my world collided with the likes of them.” He gestured toward the others with his head. “But none of them ever compared to you.”
The Darkslayer: Series 2 Special Edition (Bish and Bone Bundle Books 6-10): Sword and Sorcery Adventures Page 23
