The Darkslayer: Book 02 - Blades in the Night

by Craig Halloran

  “Get up, you two,” Master Sinway said with clarity. “Your insincere groveling does not impress me.”

  Catten stood at attention, pulling up his smirking brother by the arm.

  Idiot.

  “Welcome to my home, Master Sinway,” Catten said, head bowed. “This is a great honor you have bestowed on my family. Is there anything I can get you?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes, Catten. The Darkslayer. Do you have him here by any chance?”

  Sinway’s iron-red irises locked onto his. Catten held his stare for a moment and then dropped his eyes. He’s furious. His brother took a half step back.

  “No, master,” Catten said, keeping his head down. “My brother and I are working on it.”

  Catten felt Sinway walk around them both, stopping finally to regard his brother. His brother looked up and returned Master Sinway’s stare. Don’t do it!

  Sinway stopped. From the corner of his eye, Catten watched Verbard’s eyes stream with tears. Catten’s twin cried out, grasping his eyes then falling to his knees.

  Sinway’s voice shook the room, jolting objects from the shelves: “You fool, Verbard! I do not understand your behavior of late, but do not do that again. Ever!”

  Catten helped his brother back to his feet, but Verbard pushed him away. Sinway moved to the black table, preoccupied in thought. Catten envied Sinway’s power over them and all others. He knew Verbard felt the same. It was what they desired for themselves one day. Sinway had more secrets than all the days of their lives, but over time Catten would acquire the same through his service.

  Then Catten heard his lord behind him: “I have given you two the benefit of the doubt long enough. You had been fine servants until this last failure. But the loss of my precious Vicious and a whole Badoon brigade was colossal. And embarrassing!”

  Catten felt invisible fingers poking his back, nudging him forward. It hurt.

  “I cannot fathom how you managed to fail,” Sinway said. “I armed you well. You had great power at your disposal. Yet the Darkslayer still lives, while underlings still die in multitudes.”

  There was a long silence. Catten turned to see his master gripping the edges of the table.

  “Last time, Master Sinway,” Catten said, stepping forward, “we allowed ourselves to be distracted. It was a costly error and we did not foresee it. It was the first time we had taken the matter directly into our own hands. We have learned much about our enemy now. We will not fail again.”

  “No, you will not,” Sinway said. “Because if you do, you will never set foot in the Underland again. Do not return if you fail this time!” he yelled as the edges of the onyx table crumbled in his glowing grip.

  Catten fell to his knees. No! He felt like a child caught one too many times, shrinking under his master’s hot glare. He searched his brother’s face and saw his shock as well. He should not have been surprised, for the Darkslayer had been a constant thorn in their sides. What would he have done in his master’s shoes?

  “Kill this human,” Sinway said. “Bring me his body and his weapons. I want everything he has. I don’t know what it will take and I don’t care. Stop him!”

  Two clawed fingers pointed at their chests. Catten felt his heart stop. Then he pitched forward, clutching his chest just as Sinway released his spell. He was sweating now, gasping for air, trying not the writhe like a worm all over the floor. It had done its work. Finally, Catten gathered himself, still shaken as he watched Sinway shadow-walk through the doorway and disappear. As the door closed, silence enveloped the room. He couldn’t have been more relieved. Then he noticed Verbard lying on the floor.

  “I told you he was mad,” Catten tried to shout but couldn’t find his breath. “And you had to try to stare him down! You are fortunate to still have your mind left.”

  Verbard was still clutching his chest, his face grimacing with pain. Catten realized his brother’s old wound caused him further stress. He pulled his brother up and watched as his ashen face returned back to gray.

  His brother dusted himself off.

  “He still has it, I will say that,” Verbard said. “I have not tried that with him for over a century, but I lasted longer than ever. Either he’s getting weaker or I am stronger!”

  “You are a fool! He almost killed you,” Catten said.

  Verbard’s silver eyes sparkled. “No, he respects it. He doesn’t like it, but he respects it.”

  Catten took a deep breath, walked over to his table, and began rolling up the scrolls.

  “What are you doing?” Verbard asked.

  “Gearing up. I suggest you do the same.”

  “Why bother with that?”

  “We will be gone awhile, brother. It is not wise to leave anything on the table. You must do the same.”

  “Okay, if that is the case, then we will not go alone. I will bring some help and protection,” Verbard said with strange cheer.

  Catten knew what his devious brother had in mind, but he didn’t resist. His brother was right: it was time to pull out all the stops. Never in their lives had they been faced with a kill-or-be-killed mission, but the time had come. It was their charge.

  “Hurry back, brother,” Catten said, shaking his head at the ruined table. “I cannot wait to see what you return with.”

  Catten looked up and saw Verbard’s wicked smile as his brother walked out through the open door.

  CHAPTER 7

  Venir had reached the outskirts of the City of Bone after leaving Mood and the Red Clay Forest behind. A mile away from the city’s main south gate, he stood and gazed at the massive stone walls surrounding the city. They were unlike any others on Bish, enclosing well over a hundred thousand occupants as if in a giant castle.

  There was little evidence of how the great city had come into existence, but the dungeons and catacombs below were filled with tombs and bones from a long-forgotten time.

  Venir watched as the wall’s enormous portcullis opened like a gaping maw ready to devour its next meal. The southern outskirts of the city walls always bustled with activity as merchants and farmers plied their trades day and night like worker ants.

  The City Watch was thick in the area, Venir knew from experience. They were strict in enforcing who could enter and who could not. The Royals did not welcome other races, but allowed inhabitants to barter with them on the outside. The City Watch also recruited citizens. Anyone with skill or charm would be welcomed and escorted inside, never to be seen again by their families. It was considered a great honor by outsiders to be taken into the city’s sanctuary, but often those persons met a most unpleasant fate. This, in fact, was how Venir had arrived in Bone as a boy.

  He had been a strapping young twelve-year-old with bright blue eyes and shiny, thick blond hair. But he was alone: his family had long been slaughtered by underlings at his village of Throhm. Bandits had taken him in and traded him to devious merchants, who then took him to the City of Bone to exploit his skills. There he worked as a slave below several Royal castles.

  His only friend then was a fellow slave boy named Melegal. Their days were filled with cleaning the muck and grime of the excesses of those above. The nights were filled with lashings and fitful sleep on a cold, damp dungeon floor with only grimy cleaning cloths for blankets.

  The only good thing was that the slavers educated them so that they could understand their duties and how Royal systems worked: reading and writing were needed to meet the demands of their superiors. And as they grew more skilled, they rose up from the less subservient positions. It was still slavery, but a better life than many had on Bish. Those without skills did not survive long.

  But the slavers took the older ones as they approached adulthood, and these were never seen again. The younger ones were left wondering where they had gone. Unbelievable rumors had struck terror in their hearts. Even today, Venir still did not know where the older slaves had gone, but he knew of many who had survived.

  He and Melegal had been lucky: they had picked up the
reading and writing. Melegal had the precious gift of being able to take dictation with a fluent hand. Venir, conversely, relied on his strength, and was made a sparring dummy for Royal sons to develop their battle skills. He never fought back as they dished it out to him over and over. It was a time in his life he preferred to forget, and he pretty much managed to do that—until times like these that brought him back to Bone.

  Returning his thoughts to the present, he headed far off the beaten trail up a barren hillside. He started to feel good about returning back to civilization and his friends, good food, strong drink, and feisty women.

  Venir entered a cave opening hidden by thick bushes. It was just big enough to get a small horse through. Inside, it fanned out in a variety of directions, and he walked ahead a hundred feet or so. The caves were neither deep nor dangerous, but those who came across them were invariably too scared to enter for fear that underlings were nearby. And Venir liked them to think this, and he would even litter the cave paths with old bones of various animals—and sometimes even underling skulls.

  Now he took several turns in total darkness, then found a door. He felt around in the rock for the keyhole, inserted a key, and gave it a turn. The door swung open.

  Inside was a stone tunnel, taller than a man, sloping down toward the distant sound of rushing water. He approached the source of the noise: a large storm drain with an old steel grate, beneath which water rushed some fifty feet below. As soon as he had passed over it, the corridor began to slope upward again. By the time he reached the end of the tunnel, Venir had risen again to ground level. There, a large ancient wall loomed before him. He tripped a simple latch and the low ceiling roof dropped downward, revealing a large opening. He walked up a massive plank, tripped another hidden mechanism, and the floor raised back up, sealing the secret opening.

  He was now in a hay-filled stall inside the great stables of the City of Bone. Only he and a few others knew of this long-neglected secret passageway. He stepped out of the stall into a barn of massive proportions. Hundreds of stalls and stables lined two rows north to south, illuminated by a massive hole in the roof, its rim streaked with gray and white pigeon litter. Venir welcomed the strong smells of hay and manure after the barren Outlands he had just jogged across in the sweltering heat. In the distance, he could see some activity in the northern stalls, but the southern stalls seemed mostly vacant. This barn had always been the least active of the six giant buildings that housed mounts for Bone’s City Watch and the Royal families. He peered over the stable gate to see if anyone was in the immediate area, then treaded out. He hadn’t taken two steps before he heard a yell.

  “Vee!”

  Georgio came running toward him from a mere twenty paces away, causing an unwanted commotion.

  “Vee, you’re back!”

  “Hush!” Venir said with a wave of his arm.

  Georgio covered his mouth and ran on tiptoes, stumbled to the ground, then scrambled back up again, sending pigeons fluttering. No one seemed to be around. Venir hugged the husky farm boy who smiled and nodded in return.

  “Man, I’m so glad you’re back, Vee!” Georgio whispered.

  “It’s been little more than a week, Georgio. You act like I’ve been gone a year.” He rubbed the big boy’s head. “So how’s it been going?” He regretted the question as it left his lips.

  “Melegal’s grouchy all the time. Lefty keeps writing. I get bored. It’s no fun when you aren’t around. They won’t play with me. Melegal and Lefty play games but they say I’m not smart enough. I tell them I am, but they still don’t let me play. And after I come to take care of Chongo and Quickster, Melegal asks fifty questions about Quickster and I tell him to go check himself. Then he starts cursing and lecturing. He gives me a headache with all his yakking. It’s better when you’re here.”

  Georgio sighed, shaking his brown curls. Then his eyes grew round with excitement, and Venir already knew what he was going to ask.

  “So how many underlings did you kill? Tell me!” he blurted. “Ten? Twenty? Tell me, tell me!”

  “Six,” Venir responded.

  “Six?” Georgio shook his head again. “That’s it?” Then his eyes lit up again and he snapped his fingers. “Wait! You killed them all! Only six were left on Bish?”

  “No,” Venir said.

  Georgio frowned.

  “I didn’t have much luck tracking them down,” Venir said. “It happens. Besides, there were enormous sand spiders, too.”

  Georgio perked up again. “I’ve heard about them. How many did you kill?”

  Venir knew that just one wasn’t going to impress the boy. Lefty would want all the details, plus Venir was eager to hit the town, so he opted for the truth—at least this once.

  “I fought two, but I only had to kill one. See what the spider spit did to my legs.”

  The boy’s eyes grew at the sight of the thick red burns healing on his hero’s leg. “Wow! That’s nasty.”

  “I’ll tell you all about it later. Let’s see how Chongo’s doing. Where is he?” he asked.

  “I moved him over this way,” the boy said.

  Venir followed the boy deeper into the southern end of the barn. Chongo occupied a variety of different stables in case anyone became too curious about the unique animal. Georgio did a fine job of relocating him regularly and making sure no one messed with Venir’s favorite pet, mount, and friend. Soon Georgio stopped before an old, worn stable gate. Unlike the others, it was over six feet high, so one could not see over it. Set into it was a smaller door that latched from the inside.

  The boy climbed over, followed by Venir. He was set upon by two large, wet tongues of black and pink. Two lion-sized paws pinned him to the wall as the two-headed Chongo licked him up and down. Venir laughed and scratched one of Chongo’s heads and then the other, noticing that Chongo’s two stiff tails snapped back and forth like cattails.

  “Oww!”

  Georgio shrieked as a tail whipped across his cheek, leaving a red welt.

  Venir gave a little frown, but then smiled at Chongo again. The bull mastiff—known also as a dwarven setter—was the size of a small horse. Chongo’s heavy coat, unusual for a mastiff, was deep brown and red, and as soft a retriever’s. And his two snouts made him an excellent bloodhound, able to pick up a scent for miles, maybe even leagues. Chongo had been with Venir on and off since his boyhood. They had always managed to find one another again, despite the odds against survival on Bish.

  As soon as both of Chongo’s heads had calmed down, Georgio passed Venir a rag to wipe off his coating of saliva. After drying himself off, Venir looked around the oversized stall, noting that it was layered with clean hay and that the food and water troughs were freshly filled.

  Venir noticed that another beast lay snoring in the corner. It was Melegal’s gray pony, Quickster, who looked more like a mule than a pony—except for his furry black underbelly. Venir laughed again, thinking about how it always annoyed Melegal that everyone called Quickster a mule or donkey, though the beast himself didn’t seem to mind. As usual, he just lay there on his back in his own world, hooves dangling below bent knees, oblivious to the presence of Venir and Georgio.

  “Why does Melegal keep that silly donkey, Vee?” Georgio asked, rolling his eyes.

  “Don’t start, Georgio, or I’ll tell Melegal he looks hungry.”

  Georgio grunted. “But that’s the dumbest animal I’ve ever seen! All he ever does is eat, sleep, and fart. He even tried to eat a live chicken. Ever seen a donkey chase a chicken, Vee?”

  “Shut up, Georgio. I just got back. Save your words for Melegal.”

  Georgio pouted and muttered and finished up his chores in the stall. Venir watched the boy as he scratched Chongo’s ears and belly. Despite the boy’s endless questions and pointless comments, Venir was glad to be home and to see Georgio.

  Venir had taken care of Georgio over the years like a kid brother—ever since rescuing him from the Red Clay village, south of the forest, when Georgio
was just a toddler. Now about twelve years old, Georgio reminded Venir of himself at that age: full of energy and a thirst for adventure. Georgio had remained cheerful despite his circumstances, and had grown on the hardened warrior. Truly, the boy gave Venir another purpose besides slaughtering underlings.

  “Things look to be in good order, Georgio,” Venir finally said. “Let’s head back so I can wash. On the way, I’ll take you by the market and get you some of the fruits you like, for your fine work. How’s that sound?’

  “About time! I’m starving. Quickster eats better than me. Oops … sorry. I didn’t say that. Uh, so, can I get some jerky, too?”

  Venir squeezed the boy’s thick shoulder. “Sure, all you can eat.”

  “Man, all the jerky I can eat?”

  Brimming with joy, Georgio skipped out through the small door in the gate.

  As the two of them stepped out into the seductive grasp of the City of Bone, an old stable hand emerged from an adjoining stall. He hobbled across the barn and out of the main entrance. Wide-eyed, he kept muttering over and over to himself, “I must tell him. I must tell him.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Catten’s thoughts were heavy as he made haste from the Underland. He had been banished from his seclusion, power, and comfort of the cave lands. It was unsettling. His mind played countless scenarios of the task ahead. The destruction of the Darkslayer was a challenging assignment and his only way back home.

  He blamed himself for their failure less so than his brother. Verbard had been careless and cocky the last time. Catten didn’t doubt that his twin blamed him for the failure, either. His brother never found the fault with himself. Neither did he, for that matter. The truth was, failure was something he hadn’t experienced in a long time. It disturbed him.