The Darkslayer: Series 2 Special Edition (Bish and Bone Bundle Books 6-10): Sword and Sorcery Adventures
Page 32
Another familiar figure lying on the floor stirred. It was Corrin. The assassin lay with his face to the floor. Drool came out of his mouth. Spying Venir, he said, “What happened?”
Venir plucked the five-inch long poisoned needles from the bloody spots on his forearms and chest. “We were bushwhacked.”
Peeling his face from the ground, Corrin said, “I thought that was the plan.”
“I don’t recall getting poisoned being a part of the plan.” He flicked the needle away. “Something stinks.”
“Yes, this dungeon.” Corrin yawned as he reached over and gave Creed a shove. “Wake up, you lazy bastard.”
The dungeon was made from cut stone with a wall of iron bars guarding the exit. All three men were stripped down to their trousers. Their wrists were shackled by chains linked to the walls. As Venir’s fuzzy mind cleared, he realized Melegal wasn’t among them. There wasn’t any sign of another man being in there either. “Slat.”
“What?” Corrin said.
“Melegal isn’t here. Do you remember anything?”
“No, just feeling my body turn into pillows followed by skull-piercing pain.” Corrin gave Creed another shake. The rangy redhead stirred. “He’s coming around.”
Venir’s pounding head dipped. His tawny locks hung over his face. With Melegal there, he’d been confident the rogue would find a way to slip them out if Altan Rey didn’t come through. The gnawing in his gut told him something went wrong. He stood up and walked toward the cell door. The chains drew taut before he reached the bars. “Bone.”
“Heh-heh, quite a predicament. Perhaps things are moving along the way it was planned, Venir. After all, we are still breathing,” Corrin said.
“That doesn’t explain why Melegal isn’t here. No one mentioned any separation.” He walked back toward the wall, creating slack in the steel chain. He looped the chain over his right wrist and locked his fingers on it. He tugged. His well-defined muscles bulged. Veins popped up in his arms. “Urk!”
The chain held.
“Save your energy, Venir. That chain will break you before you break it.” Corrin kicked Creed. “We need to let this play out. That door will open eventually.”
Creed made it to sitting position. “Please, talk softer. My head is splitting.”
“We’re practically whispering,” Corrin said.
“That’s loud enough. Bish, my mouth feels like it’s full of rags.” Creed slung his hair back out of his eyes. “What are we doing, Venir?”
“Waiting.”
“I hope they bring something to eat while we’re waiting. My stomach is devouring itself. Any sign of Altan Rey?”
“We’ve only been up a few moments,” Corrin said. “There’s no telling how long we were out. Venir, what do you think? Hours? Days?”
Venir shrugged and called out for Melegal.
“Shaddup!” a man shouted out from another cell in the dungeon. “It’s sleeping time.”
“Where are we?” Venir demanded.
“In a dungeon, you idiot. Now, shut your mouth hole. The underlings don’t care for our chatter.”
“Just answer my question, blowhard!”
“Shaddap!” another man said.
“Quiet, fool!” said another with a gravelly voice.
“Stitch your lips, arsehole!”
“You might want to take their advice, Venir,” Corrin said. Creed was covering his ears. “Give it a moment.”
“I’ll give them a moment.” Venir shouted out, “Where are we?”
The angry occupants fell silent as the sound of a large door creaked and made a loud bang against the wall.
Venir heard soft scuffling sounds of the imprisoned men taking their places on beds of straw.
The metal click of footsteps on cobblestones approached. Click. Click. Click. Two underlings in black leather armor strolled in front of the cell. Their ruby eyes narrowed on Venir. Both of them hissed. A third underling appeared. He wore a suit of black chain mail, his eyes dark-blue stones. He held a well-crafted cane made out of solid silver. The underling tapped the cane on the bars. Blood stains covered its length.
Venir’s blood ran hot. He’d seen canes like the one the underling had, carried by notable royals. It was one of the lavish gifts the royals heaped upon one another. Not that Venir cared for royals, but this underling carried the cane as a trophy.
The underling jailer chittered to the two guards. The guards nodded. In Common, the jailer said to Venir, “Are you a soldier?”
Venir didn’t reply.
“Answer me, brute. What are your skills? What do you fight with?”
“Come inside and I’ll show you.”
The underling’s eyes grew wide. He pointed the cane at Venir. “Kazzar said he brought strong men for the pits, but if you don’t mind your tongue, dog, you won’t make it out of this cage. Now, what do you fight with?”
“Anything you give me,” Venir replied.
“And you?” the underling said to Corrin.
“Short swords and daggers.”
The jailer’s glare fell on Creed. “You?”
“Any pair of swords will do.”
The jailer nodded. “Excellent. Take this man to the pits first.”
“Now?” Creed said. “But I just woke up.”
The jailer snickered. “Don’t worry, human, your final sleep is coming.”
CHAPTER 17
Melegal woke up inside a prisoner cart. His legs were tied up with a hapless man with rolls of fat under his chin. He jerked his feet free. The wagon-sized cart was crammed with about twenty people. There was sobbing and crying. A woman stretched her hands between the bars, pleading “Mercy! Mercy!” to the underlings. An underling whipped the woman’s arms bloody with a lash. She shrank back into the cart with a squeal.
A lunk of a man leaned into Melegal’s back. He shoved the man back. “Give me space!” The man’s ham-sized fist balled up. Melegal looked the man straight in the eyes. “Don’t you dare, or I’ll finish you before they do.” The lunk tucked his lip under his teeth and shifted away.
Melegal fished his hand through his trousers. No. No. No. No! His floppy cap was gone. He held his fingers up in front of his face. “Sonuvabish!” The special ring he’d taken from the foul Almen House cleric Sefron no longer encircled his finger. The only thing he had left was the shirt on his back and his trousers. Even his vest and shoes were gone. “I’m going to kill Venir.”
“Did you say something to me, dear one?” A woman squirmed her way over to him. She was plump, not uncomely, with a warm expression on her dirty face. Her smile revealed some missing teeth. She locked her soft arms around his. “I can keep you company before you hang.”
“I’m not going to hang. If you don’t mind, please, release me.”
“I don’t want to let go. I find you handsome. I adore a man with little meat on his bones.”
The prisoner cart was parked on the other side of the street from the gallows. Dead men, women, and children were being lowered from their nooses by citizens guided by the cracking lashes of the underlings.
“You are awfully chipper for someone that is about to be hanged,” Melegal said.
She snuggled closer. Her pupils were as big as coins, and it was the middle of the day. “I’ve always been able to amuse myself.”
“I can see that. Do you think you could release me? I have work to do.”
“No.”
He let it go. Everyone in the cage was clammy and sweaty aside from him. They all reeked from the pounding suns and the fear-filled sweat seeping from their glands. A different prison cart pulled by men crossed the street and came to a stop in front of one of the gallows. The struggling prisoners were herded out. One by one, their hands were tied behind their backs. A woman with frizzy hair kicked and screamed like a wounded wildcat. An underling clubbed her in the back of the head with a sap. The woman melted into the road. A man tossed her over his shoulder, took her up the gallows’ steps, and strung her up with the noose.
You have to get out of this, Melegal. Find your motivation. Vengeance. That’s ample motivation. That and being free of this motley woman. He recalled Haze and her sisters, Sis and Frigdah. He adored Haze, but she’d died because of all of this. Focus, Rat, focus.
Altan Rey was the problem. Venir trusted the so-called royal mage from the House of Kord. Melegal wasn’t sold, but he trusted Venir and his instincts. He didn’t fully understand why Venir trusted Altan Rey with the armament. It was something deep he could not fathom, but he had somehow managed to live this long even though he should have died long ago.
Altan Rey. Altan Rey. You stole my cap and my ring. I’m going to run you through, Altan Rey.
Escaping the fate of the gallows was motivation. Having his possessions stolen was a matter of pride. If there was one thing a rogue couldn’t stand more than anything, it was being robbed.
“I need to get to the door,” Melegal said to the woman that clung to him.
“Call me Sanny, and I’ll do whatever you want, Gloomy. Can I call you Gloomy?”
“Yes. Just push over there for a better view.”
She leaned into his face. “I like your eyes. They are cold and pretty.”
“You can admire them all that you want if you scoot your arse toward that door.”
“As you wish.” Sanny shoved through the greasy group of bodies to the back end of the cart. “How’s this?”
“Perfect.” Melegal inspected the locking mechanism on the door. It was a key lock. He’d seen the key with the underlings sitting in the front seat of the wagon. That wouldn’t do him any good now. “Do you mind?”
“What?” Sanny said.
“If you must hang on, do it this way.” He sat between her legs, back to her chest. She instantly wrapped her arms around his waist. Nuzzling her cheek into his back, she squeezed so tight his breath came low. “Not so hard.”
Her grip slacked a little. Purring in his ear, she said, “Better?”
“Indeed.” Melegal went to work tearing the seam that ran up the side of his trousers. He picked the little threads apart. A lock-picking tool—a narrow rod of metal with teeth on the end—rested inside the fold of the unique hem. He hid it inside his fist. “Heh-heh.”
“You feel good, darling. So small and gruesome,” Sanny said.
Melegal waited for everyone’s attention to turn. The underlings had all of the nooses filled. His fellow prisoners’ faces were pressed to the bars, fixed on the doom that awaited them. The underling guards fixed their gemstone eyes on the gallows. Melegal stuck his tool inside the keyhole. The rod of steel shifted the lock’s tumbler to the open position. Excellent.
“What are you doing, Gloomy?” Sanny asked.
“Will you loosen your grip a little? I want to stand and see what is about to befall me.”
“I cannot bear it.” She held fast as Melegal stood up, her face buried in his back. “Tell me when it’s over.”
The underling standing on top of the gallows pulled the lever. The trap door dropped. The bodies fell. Necks stretched and snapped.
Melegal tore out of Sanny’s arms. He pushed through the open door and jumped onto the street. No one even would have seen him go if Sanny didn’t scream out in an ear-splitting shriek, “Gloomy! Come back to me!”
The underling guards zeroed in on Melegal. An alarm went up. He ran full speed down the road and darted into the first alley. The underlings gave chase. Their spiders did too. The avenues of escape closed quickly with hairy bodies and black little soldiers filling in the seams. Melegal rounded corner after corner. Finally, his path was cut off by ruby-eyed underlings and more spiders. He held his hands up over his head. “Slat!”
CHAPTER 18
Creed was brought into a small arena. The bench seats in the stands were empty aside from a handful of underlings. One of them was Altan Rey, citrine eyed and wearing dark red robes with black. The other underlings, four in all, were in similar dress. Their eyes zeroed in on Creed as if he was a piece of chattel. The only other people were the underlings that brought him there.
The jailer pointed at the weapon racks. “You may choose for this contest.”
Several more underlings inside the arena were all fully armed with daggers and swords. All of them looked at him with murder in their eyes.
Creed grabbed a longsword from the rack. He cut it back and forth a few times. “This will do.”
The jailer nodded. With a flick of his hand, he waved one of the underling soldiers into the center of the arena. The fiend stood more than a foot shorter than Creed. “This is a proving ground, prisoner. You fight, you live, you fight more. But,” the jailer wagged his finger, “don’t kill my underlings.”
The underling facing off with Creed made an angry chitter at the jailer. The jailer chittered back.
“What was that?” Creed asked.
“My brother felt slighted by my comment. He promises to disembowel you and feed your entrails to me. He’s a spirited one.”
“I can see that.” Creed’s eyes slid up toward Altan Rey. The mage was talking to the other underlings. Creed set his attention on the ruby-eyed underling before him. “So, I can’t kill him, but he can kill me?”
“That’s the arrangement.” The jailer tapped his cane on Creed’s shoulder. “But Kazzar says you have promise. That would bode well. So far, the pit fights have been slaughterhouses, not that we don’t delight in seeing you meat bags bleed. We just prefer greater length.”
“So, you want a show?”
“Exactly.”
Creed nodded. “I’ll give you one.”
The jailer pushed Creed and the underling fighter several steps away from one another. He raised his cane and looked up to Kazzar. Kazzar gave a nod. The jailer said in Underling and Common, “Ready yourselves.”
The underling drew his sword from his sheath. The blade had a slight curve that ran the length of the blade and some wavy notches on the lower end. He hissed and wiggled his shoulders.
Brandishing the long sword in one hand, Creed opened his stance. He nodded.
The jailer thrust his cane down. “Fight!”
The underling darted in. His razor-edged blade flashed toward Creed’s stomach.
Quick as a wink, Creed brought his sword down like a hammer. The blade sank deep in the underling’s skull, killing it instantly. The underling’s blade fell from his fingers, several inches from Creed’s belly.
Creed looked at the dumbstruck jailer and said casually, “I had the reach…and the skill.”
The jailer screeched at him, “I said not to kill him! Meat bag! You will die for that!”
As the underling soldiers crowded him, Creed was a split second away from chopping the jailer down when Kazzar called out something in Underling. The underlings stopped their advance.
With a huff, the jailer said, “Drop your weapon.”
“So soon? I was just getting used to it.”
“Drop it. You have passed. No harm will come to you until you meet in the pit again.”
Creed tossed the weapon over to the rack. The underlings in the stands gave Kazzar approving nods. He wasn’t certain, but they appeared to be smiling. He’d never seen underlings smile before.
The underlings bound Creed’s arms and led him back to the dungeon. He was shoved inside the jail cell, and Venir was shoved out. “They don’t want you to kill them, but kill them anyway,” Creed said. The butt of an underling sword cracked him in the back of the head, and the lights went out.
***
The moment Venir spied Altan Rey in the stands of the castle arena, his blood stirred. Fingers clenching in and out, he resumed
his focus on the task at hand. Near a score of underlings was inside the arena with him. They skulked along the lower arena wall, chittering back and forth with one another. Narrow eyes bored into Venir.
“You will not be given the privilege of steel that your comrade had.” The jailer handed Venir a wooden practice sword, the smooth oak notched up in many places. “This is your weapon. Show some skill with it, and our audience won’t let you die.”
Swinging, Venir said, “It’s a fine stick.” He looked at his underling opponents. They gripped underling blades in their little hands. “Can I have another?”
“No. Think of this as more of an exhibition.” The jailer waved two underlings over. Their leather armor clung tightly to their wiry bodies. They chomped their teeth together at Venir. “You’ll bleed, big warrior. They’ll want retribution for their fallen comrade.”
“If you expected me to dance around with this stick while they try to cut me to pieces, I tell you no, that won’t happen,” Venir said.
“You don’t have any choice in the matter. You’ll either die, bleed out, or just bleed. Try anything foolish, and the other underlings will carve you to bits.”
“Let’s give them a show then.”
The underling fighters stood across from Venir on the other side of the arena’s inner circle. The jailer stood on a black, blood-stained dot in the middle. He chittered to the two underlings. Their faces were stamped with black spider-like tattoos. One wore a necklace of bones, and the other had a pin through his nose. Each carried a single sword. They banged them together. The jailer dropped his cane and cracked it on the stone floor. “Fight.”
The underlings spread apart, flanking Venir. The underling left of Venir darted at his knees. Venir batted the blade aside. The underling on his right, sporting the necklace of bones, flew in, jabbing at Venir’s hip. Venir sprang backward, but not before the blade clipped the meat on his hip, drawing first blood. “Bone!”
The underlings shook their shoulders and hissed at him. The gloating fiends’ faces drew up in nasty sneers and came at him.
With his free hand, Venir snatched the sword arm of the underling wearing a necklace. He parried the underling with the nose pin’s sword away. In a counterattack, Venir busted his wooden sword into that underling’s wind pipe. The underling fell to his knees, clutching his neck. Holding the last standing underling’s sword, Venir beat the underling’s head until the wooden sword cracked on its skull. He stuck the sharp end of the broken stick through the underling’s neck. It gurgled on its own blood and died.