The Darkslayer: Series 2 Special Edition (Bish and Bone Bundle Books 1-5): Sword and Sorcery Adventures

by Craig Halloran

  The second sighed. “Throw it where?”

  “Over there.” The first pointed. “The spot that hovers and moves like a mirage in the air.”

  The second cocked its arm back and hurled away.

  Venir slowly slid from its path, and the rock skipped off the ground behind him.

  “Did you see that?” the first one said. “The shadow moves.”

  “No, I didn’t see anything. Just your mouth moving. You need to shut it and start digging so we can eat tonight.” The second underling grabbed its shovel and jumped back into the hole.

  There were many that had been dug, and they’d be filled with dead men later, legs up. A warning. Even worse, they had also started leaving heads on sticks.

  The first underling squinted his emerald eyes in the dark, chittered, and sauntered a little closer.

  Perfect.

  Brool flashed through the night.

  Slice.

  An arc of black blood followed. The underling’s head popped from its shoulders and rolled into the hole.

  “Ack!” the second underling said, jumping out of the hole.

  From behind, Venir locked his fingers around its neck and squeezed. Its arms flailed. Feet kicked at the dirt. He lifted it up off the ground and held it tight until it kicked no more.

  After rearranging both underling corpses in the hole, shoulders first, Venir grunted and grabbed the shovel. One shovelful at a time, he filled the hole. He stuck the severed underling head on a stake beside it.

  Two more down.

  Thousands more to go.

  So be it.

  Like a panther, he headed deeper into the valley, where the other underling hunters and scouts kept camp. They were a lighter force, trained to hunt royal scouts and lead them off the trail. It had become embarrassing, how they manipulated the royal armies. The royals weren’t slouches, either.

  They should be foreseeing more of the underlings’ tricks by now.

  All they seem to be doing is diving into graves.

  A mass of warm bodies huddled together in the brush, chittering among one another. Their voices were low and boastful.

  “The royals send us free meals.”

  “All their soldiers march to fight a war that we have already won.”

  “Royals love baubles and treasure more than they love people. They trade wine for their dead.”

  “Bone has fallen. All the others will fall as well. The City of Three will be next.”

  Venir’s knuckles whitened on Brool’s handle. Their words stung with the truth. He crept deeper into their midst and started counting their gray-skinned bodies.

  Thirty.

  His head ached. Sweat burned his eyes. His temper rose.

  Helm beckoned action.

  Attack. Attack. Attack.

  Under different circumstances, Venir had fought more underlings than this. And survived. Could he handle this many now? He’d yet to test himself. Push the limits. Give himself over to the wanton desires of himself amplified by Helm.

  Not now. Not now.

  He’d given them enough to think about for one day. His friends needed him. Any more action on his behalf would endanger them. He crept out of the thicket and made his way up the hill.

  Helm hummed in anger on his head.

  At the top of the hill, he unbuckled the chin strap and took Helm off. The night breeze soothed his mind and cooled his ears.

  We’ll be back.

  He stuffed Helm into the mystic sack, which he slung over his over-sized shoulder. He jogged back toward camp with the wind at his back. He gasped when he got there.

  The campfire was out, and all his friends were gone.

  He strapped Helm back on.

  “Bish!”

  CHAPTER 4

  Melegal hopped on Quickster’s back and trotted through the alleys, leaving his pursuers far behind. He’d gotten plenty familiar with the layout of the City of Three and its odd dimensions. The City of Bone’s streets ran straight, while the City of Three’s curved like a bow, bending like waves in many directions.

  Quickster’s steel-shod hooves clopped over the stones, echoing through the alleys. Hearing his pursuers shouting out, Melegal nudged Quickster into a narrow pass that traversed through the main streets, doubling back to where he had come from. A city block down, he saw a crowd gathered in the street around the man whose chest Quickster had kicked in. He wasn’t moving.

  Good.

  He led Quickster into the alley across the street, listening to people crying for the City Watch.

  I’m sure they won’t be too concerned what happened to that thug.

  He and Quickster clopped by some children who played with sticks in the alley. They pressed themselves along the wall and out of his way, heads down, eyes cast aside. That was one thing about the City of Three. The streets were cleaner. The children as well. Families stuck closer together. Bone was a place where the desperate lost themselves. Three was a place where you could build something.

  Enjoy it while it lasts.

  The City of Three was a marvel now riddled with despair. The people had a haughty nature about them, but of late they seemed humbled. He’d enjoyed seeing the wizards and mages that walked around in grand robes, some of which floated about like underlings, but they had been recluse for quite some time. Now, they’d begun to wander into the Magi Roost here and there. He’d been told it used to be full of them.

  Perhaps I should go back there. It’s been a while.

  Over the past several weeks, he’d kept to himself. Trying to find his place. He’d lived out on the streets, sleeping with Quickster in the stables, mostly, but spending short nights with women he met from time to time. Their perfume and exotic natures were sublime, and with so many men gone into the service, there were plenty of them available. Lonely. Eager. Needy.

  War has intangible advantages to a man like me. Heh. Heh.

  He thought about those roughnecks that assailed the woman in the streets earlier.

  I’m not like them … Am I?

  He shook his head.

  Certainly not. I bathe. And have a much more charming manner.

  Through the streets they went. He dabbled in his craft. Dickered and shopped a little, buying nothing. Chatted with some of the folks. The residents of Three were a different ilk. Mannerly. He spent time adapting to their ways and customs.

  In the shade of a grocer’s storefront, a bear of a man jostled a pair of women.

  “Pardon me,” the man said. His voice was gruff and soft. He tipped his cap. A smaller man lifted a purse from one woman as quick as a flick of the finger. “It won’t happen again,” the big rogue smiled and moved on.

  Well done.

  The thieves in the City of Three were more subtle and polite with their robberies. The thugs in Bone would stab and run. Corner you in an alley and beat the snot out of you. Kill, in most cases. Three took some getting used to, but Melegal liked it. It was more akin to his sly ways. He’d been watching the local thieves for months. Learning their ways. They burgled when homes were empty during the day, leaving no blood or screams behind. If things didn’t go their way, and a chase followed, they darted through the streets and disappeared somewhere way down below.

  The Nest.

  All the rogues reported to The Nest. He’d inquired of Kam about it, only to get a hot stare. Joline stayed mum about it, too. No one would speak of it. It was a dark segment that was accepted but not talked about. He eyed the towers in the sky. Much like the wizard towers.

  I swear those things are watching me.

  “You’re very perceptive,” a voice said. A woman he hadn’t noticed earlier was standing by his side.

  “Excuse me,” Melegal said. “Are you speaking to me?”

  “Yes,” she said. Her hand reached under Quickster’s belly and started rubbing it. “He’s a different kind of mule.”

  “Pony,” Melegal said.

  “If you say so.” She smiled. “They’re all of a kind, you know. S
ome breeds are just different than others, but the same, nonetheless.”

  Where did she come from?

  “The Towers,” she said. “Well, one of them. Pretty, aren’t they?” she said, looking up. “Do you have a favorite?”

  Melegal took Quickster by the reins and pulled him away. The muscles tightened in his neck.

  “Why are you talking to me?”

  She shrugged her narrow shoulders. She was pleasant looking. Shorter than Melegal, but taller than most women, wearing pale green robes. Nothing garish like the magi he’d seen, but the stitching was refined. Her eyes were cool and grey. Her lips were a painted a light shade of purple.

  Her pretty eyes locked on his.

  “I find you curious. You aren’t like the others.”

  “What others?” Melegal said, looking about. There were people all around, but they took no notice of them speaking. He felt like he wasn’t there at all.

  “The other newcomers. Like the men you chased that woman away from earlier. That was a nice thing you did.” She eyed him up and down. “You’ve done well, blending in with the others. But that made you stand out to us.” She glanced at his cap. “That and other things.”

  Melegal’s blood stirred. He prided himself on his secrets, yet this woman seemed to know everything about him that he wanted to hide. So it seemed. He was privy to magi and their mind tricks, but the amount this young woman knew was downright frightening.

  “Well,” he said, nodding politely and taking off his cap. “It’s been nice talking to you.”

  “Nice talking to you too,” she said. She had a lost look on her pretty face. “But I wasn’t finished talking to you yet.”

  “Some conversations are best saved for later. Enjoy your day, now.”

  One step later, his world changed. He stood high above the ground, overlooking the entire city. His guts writhed like snakes, and his mind screamed.

  I’m in a wizard tower!

  His head snapped around.

  Slat! Quickster isn’t with me.

  CHAPTER 5

  “Are you sure you know where you’re going, Billip?” Georgio asked.

  It was hours before dawn, and the clouds blotted out the light of the moon, leaving the harsh landscape pitch black.

  “Come on, and keep your voice down,” Billip said. “There are creatures that crawl over the dirt other than us, you know.”

  Georgio moaned, yawned, and rubbed his eyes.

  “Why are we doing this?”

  Billip stopped and turned.

  “Because that metal-headed friend of yours fled into the night leaving no watch and no protection. If I hadn’t woken up, chances are our legs would be sticking dead out of the ground by now.”

  “Ah,” Georgio said, “Vee’s close. You know that. He always is. You just like fussing.”

  “Shaddup,” Billip said, marching ahead. “If you want to wait for him, you go right ahead. But I’m going. Time to teach that lout a lesson.” He turned back toward Georgio. “And this isn’t my first time in the Outlands, you know, you curly headed baby.” He turned and regained his stride, cracking his knuckles.

  Venir had been on good behavior, not running off so much. Billip had warned him about that, and now he was fuming. He was easygoing to a point, but not when the slightest error could lead to his death. Or that of his friends.

  Booted feet crunched over the ground behind. Brak and Nikkel had fallen in step, leaving Georgio standing back in the darkness scratching his head.

  “Well,” Billip said back to them, “at least three of us have good sense.” They made it another thirty yards before Georgio jogged after them huffing for breath. Billip kept going. Keen eyes, long adjusted to the night, scanning ahead. He stopped and pointed.

  “Brak, eyes right. Georgio, left, and Nikkel, you take the rear. Stop me if you see anything coming. Understand?”

  “Yes,” Brak said.

  The other two nodded.

  Leagues away from the City of Three, Billip was confident he knew where he was going. But the landscape could change. Day and night became shorter or longer in no predictable pattern on Bish. And not having Venir or Mikkel around made him uneasy. The young men were formidable, but not seasoned. They wouldn’t pick up on things that his well-trained eye spotted from decades of hunting. The slightest misjudgment could be fatal.

  I’m not coming back to the Outland so soon again. Blast Venir.

  There were other elements in the Outlands to be wary of that weren’t underlings. There were jackals almost as big as ponies that hunted in packs, not to mention the countless brigands who feasted on the pilgrimages that came north from the southern cities. There was said to be ogres among them. Billip had more than his fill of them in Two-Ten City. And Venir had shared stories about the arachnamen.

  Spiders mixed with men. Too much. At least ogres can’t sneak up on you.

  A stiff wind tore at the edges of their cloaks, and gritty sand obscured his sight.

  Great!

  Behind him, the young men covered their faces with arms and cloaks. He could barely make out Georgio.

  “Stay close,” he said, shouting back. Billip stormed ahead, constantly looking back over his shoulder.

  Not now. Not now.

  Wind storms like this often passed quickly, but some lasted hours. It was one of the reasons he preferred the southern forest and jungles. The trees offered shelter, along with all the hills and valleys. The Outlands offered little shelter from the harsh elements of the bitter world. Head down, he pushed through the wind.

  It’ll break. Keep going. It’ll break.

  “Billip,” Georgio yelled. “We need to stop. I can’t see a thing.”

  The archer slowed, allowing the others to catch up with him.

  “We’ll live. Just stay bunched together and follow me. And pull your cowl over your head, stupid! Come on!”

  He forged ahead through the storm.

  I hate the Outlands.

  A jangle of metal caught his ears. Hollow. Distant. Lost in the wind. He kept going and heard the jangle again. He swore he heard a horse nicker.

  “Did you hear that?” he said, turning to the young men.

  Each of them shook their heads no.

  Billip pressed onward, stopping when he heard the jangle again. He unslung his bow and nocked a feathered shaft. He heard Nikkel hoist his heavy crossbow to his shoulder and Georgio’s sword scrape out of its sheath.

  “I heard that,” Brak said, stepping alongside Billip, holding the white ash cudgel at his side.

  Billip squinted into the windy darkness. Something blocked their path ahead. A wall of warriors on horses towered over them. The cloaked riders fanned out and hemmed them in. Their faces were shrouded. Hooves clopped over the dirt. Their great horses nickered and neighed. Long spears pointed toward their chests. In seconds, they were surrounded.

  A giant form rode forward on a horse bigger than any Billip had ever seen. His saddle creaked when he leaned forward and rested his forearms on his horse’s neck. The wind came to a stop.

  The scents of urine and manure drifted into Billip’s nose.

  Ogres!

  The great figure on the horse spoke.

  “What have we here? They’re too big to be underlings.” It sniffed the air. “Smells like humans. I hate humans. Kill them and grab their gear.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Creed rested his aching shoulders against the steel bars of his prison cellar. In the next cell over, a man urinated in the corner. Creed didn’t notice the smell anymore. Muck. Filth. Rotting hay. The foreboding silence. The stink of filth and death. He was miserable and far from used to it, but getting there.

  The man in the cell to his other side grumbled and lay down on his bed of hay. Creed didn’t know him. All the man did was whistle occasionally. He couldn’t speak, because his tongue was gone. There were others too. Waiting for execution, but none of them could speak. The guards wouldn’t speak or even look at him.

  Why d
o they keep me alive? Just to torment me?

  He ran his fingers through his long ratty beard. He hadn’t spoken to anyone since Gorgon the blacksmith had been crushed by the falling ceiling. That man had known many things and had been about to reveal them. Screams had come and gone as quickly as the earthquake came and went.

  Creed made a tiny mark on the wall with a small piece of stone he’d found. He counted the passing of the days and nights thanks to a crack of daylight in the wall. He’d marked four hundred and thirteen days since he’d last spoken. He coughed, hacked, and spat. The foul dungeon air had gotten to him.

  A tongueless urchin slid a plate of rotting food into his cell. A pair of rats scurried up and nibbled at it.

  Creed pushed off his shoulders and leaned forward. His mouth watered.

  One cell over, the shabby man rolled off his bed of hay and stretched his arm through the bars toward the rats.

  “You better back off,” Creed said, crawling toward the rats on his knees.

  The man ignored him and pressed his face harder into the bars. His eyes were wild with hunger.

  Creed pounced.

  The rats scurried.

  He grabbed the man’s finger and bit it.

  The tongueless man wailed a loud abnormal sound and tried to pull free. Creed’s teeth crunched down on the man’s finger. The man let out a throaty scream.

  My rats!

  Creed’s jaws clenched. The man slammed himself into the bars, trying to pull free.

  Clank.

  A key turned in the tumbler of the lock that led to the dungeon cellars. A rattle of keys rung in his ears. His jaws unlocked, and the other prisoner jerked his fingers through the bars with a sharp gasp, clutching his hand.

  A pair of Bloodhound soldiers came down. They wore chainmail, and the belts around their waists held swords.

  Creed’s heart jumped into his throat. His stare froze on their hard faces. Their gait was determined, but their slumped shoulders made them look uneasy. Something wasn’t right about them. The Bloodhounds were normally hardy and verbose. The last few trips down here, they’d been quiet and uncomfortable. Their swagger was gone. Stiffness remained. They marched by Creed and stopped at the other cage.