The Darkslayer: Book 02 - Blades in the Night

by Craig Halloran

  An eruption of power came forth from Verbard as he squeezed his hands and ignored the burning pain in his chest. Dark hatred coursed through Verbard’s mind and Catten could feel it all. Verbard’s compressed hands now glowed like a thousand candles, and his face twisted in a snarl of rage, sweat dripping off his brow.

  The Catten felt the final heave of Verbard.

  POP!

  The creature splattered—everywhere. Chunks of slimy flesh showered the room. Verbard fell to the ground clutching his chest.

  “Happy, dear brother?” Verbard croaked, spitting out a dash of blood.

  “No. Your idiot urchlings destroyed the potions.” Catten shook his head, extending his hand to Verbard. “I see you still are not completely healed from the Warfield.”

  “No, I’m not, but the more I use magic, the better I feel. That exercise did serve me for the better, and that is why I did it,” Verbard said, out of breath.

  “I see.”

  Catten gathered up the chest and placed it on a different table. He pulled out another object: a scroll. He rolled it out.

  “Take a look at this,” Catten said.

  As his brother drew near, Catten’s gold eyes darted over it. As Verbard read over it, Catten could sense his brother feeling better the more he read.

  “Do you think it will work?” Verbard asked.

  Catten shrugged his shoulders. “There is only one way to find out.”

  They cleared off a large circular table in another cavern. Catten grabbed a thick vial from the chest and poured scintillating glitter on the table. It crackled and smoke on the surface. He felt excitement growing within. Verbard stood behind his brother and put his hands on his shoulders. Catten read from the scroll. The spell was strong, his words a whisper, soon turning to thunder. It took over his body as he read, sucking out the magic within. Catten, though, could feel Verbard’s will strengthening him. His heart was bursting but it was thrilling at the same time. The cavern seemed to shrink and grow before him. A gateway opened in Catten’s mind, from somewhere else, somewhere incomprehensible. Something dark and sinister came through it. A brilliant golden flash burst in Catten’s eyes. He fell, but Verbard caught him and pulled him up. Steadying himself, Catten smelled sulfur.

  He looked at the table. Two black leathery bat-like wings flapped gently before him—the wings being attached to the back of a three-foot-high imp whose head was looking left to right and rasping with shrill excitement.

  “You killed him, Master Oran!” the imp said. “You killed that man that spiked me! Let me eat his head! Where are you, Master Oran? Do you sleep? Are you back in your lair?”

  Catten watched as Eep the imp turned around. Its big eye popped open wide. It turned back around—then back again, slowly opening its eyelid. The imp had tiny horns on his head, a single large orb-like eye over a hawkish nose with flaring nostrils, all of which sat above an oversized mouth filled with white razor-sharp teeth. Eep had short muscular arms with hands that featured a thumb and three long black-clawed fingers made for ripping flesh and bones to shreds. Its skin was ruddy, purple, scaled, and knotted. Eep was a one-of-a-kind horror in the world of Bish and even the underlings admired him. Catten couldn’t have been more thrilled. The legendary imp was now at his command.

  Lord Verbard, though, spoke first: “So, Eep, in a unique turn of events, it appears you are no longer in Oran’s service. No need to thank us; it seems he has undone himself, but I think that you can possibly shed some light on things.”

  Catten knew that Eep wanted nothing more than to tear their throats out. Over the decades, he and his brother had tormented the imp to death while Oran was his master. He envied Oran’s possession of the imp, but now the fearless terror was his. Verbard grabbed the imp’s long dimpled chin.

  “The last time you came to us with a message about the Darkslayer,” Verbard said to Eep. “I want a full detailed recount of everything that transpired since then and up to this very moment. Don’t try to trick us, or we’ll send you back to your realm in pieces again.”

  Eep muttered something under his breath then nodded.

  Catten clapped his brother on the shoulder.

  “Enjoy your new pet, brother.” Verbard couldn’t contain his elated smile.

  It would likely take months, maybe longer to track down the Darkslayer, but with the imp’s help, it would go quicker. Catten rummaged for some wine. Then he and Verbard sat down on the sofa and hung on the imp’s every word. Eep told them everything about the adventure of Oran, the human detective McKnight, and the human Royal named Tonio. He did not leave out a single detail and could not even if he wanted to. Catten lay back, drunk with fascination.

  CHAPTER 11

  “I’m truly starting to appreciate some of the things the underling Oran did, brother,” Lord Verbard said while studying the jars of humanoid experiments.

  He didn’t hear a reply as he scowled at Catten’s back, whose nose was down in other studies. Verbard was starting to feel better while his brother was becoming more edgy. In truth, he didn’t mind the lair so much. He studied what he could and relaxed, while his brother studied without sleep. So be it.

  In the meantime, Verbard had enjoyed the services of the evil imp Eep—at least until he sent him out on his mission. He had been curious and wanted to test out his new toy’s limits. So Verbard had set up a battle. He watched the imp fight and almost kill one of his urchlings in a matter of seconds. He stopped the scuffle just as Eep was about the tear out its throat. He was still tickled, though. Then he told the imp he couldn’t kill or maim during the next bout.

  Eep had then fought all five of the urchlings. The scrap was so brutal that it had caught Catten’s attention. He was elated at the imp’s unyielding fury. He clapped as the imp subdued all of the urchlings.

  “Put him in with my Juegen,” Catten said, arms folded in his cloak.

  My, he is speaking to me now, Verbard had thought.

  Verbard opened the dungeon gate. This is going to be excellent.

  The Juegen strolled in. Eep clutched his claws and Catten almost smiled. He slammed the door shut behind them.

  Catten’s guards pounced at the imp with precision and speed, cutting the imp to ribbons. He heard his brother hiss under his breath. Eep could do little to avoid their blades, as the confines of the cell limited him. Verbard could feel the imp’s anger rise, causing him to clench his teeth. Take it to them! Eep pounded the two armored guards, darting back and forth, and busting their faces. The imp was stronger, endless in energy, and it wore them down. Verbard wanted to scream in triumph, but Catten tore the door open and stopped the bout. He watched his brother and the wounded warriors walk away. He stepped inside and patted the imp on the head. Eep swallowed a piece of Juegen ear and blinked away.

  Over the passing weeks, Verbard had learned much about Eep and his magic eye. The magic eye was the means that Oran the cleric had used to track down the Darkslayer. Verbard aimed to use it as well. He had to find the man. He cast the spell with his brother along his side, and off Eep went.

  A mirror of scintillating colors burst before his eyes and they could see everything in sight that the imp did as he flew through the air. It was one of the most fascinating things Verbard had ever felt. His brother’s gold eyes were as wide as saucers. Through Eep’s eye, Verbard could see the treetops below. Skirmishes in flux. Humanoids jumping away. The imp moved so fast that he could gather a great deal of information in an instant of time. Still, finding the Darkslayer would not be easy. The imp knew what he looked like, but finding him for certain in the City of Bone, where they hoped the man would be, would still be an excruciating search. He along with his brother could only hold the spell so long. It was a strain on them both.

  Verbard spent hours looking upon detestable human faces over and over again. He hoped every single one would die … in pain or anguish. The more he watched, the more he learned about them. Their wicked practices were similar to the brothers’ own, except that they torme
nted their own. Verbard’s kind only practiced it on other races, except when under judgment. He found it odd that they took their own kind for granted. The humans did good things for one another too, but he couldn’t relate to that at all. They were weak. They deserved to die.

  The days had become weeks and his patience was wearing thin. Then Eep shouted in his thoughts, “It’s him!”

  And there he was: a hulking figure of muscle tangled up with a dark-haired woman. Verbard almost broke the spell as he tore his silver eyes away.

  “Catten,” he yelled, “what are they doing with their faces? I hate it when they do that. It’s disgusting.”

  “It’s called kissing, I think. Don’t look if you don’t want to,” Catten replied in agitation. “You’ve certainly witnessed far worse events these past days than this, so quit being so annoying. Be glad we have found the man instead. See that big tattoo on his back? It must be him.”

  “I can’t stop watching,” Verbard cried while squinting his eyes and then he mentally commanded Eep to move on, sighing relief. He looked at his brother. Now what is your big plan?

  Now that the imp had finally located the Darkslayer, there would not be a problem for him to find him again. He had the imp keep tabs on the man and his companions. The armored Darkslayer never surfaced however. All he saw was just ordinary men. It didn’t help either that Verbard could not hear what he could see. The spell had that limitation.

  He and his brother spent the days mulling over the task at hand. The brute man was no doubt formidable. But was he the same man that carved up their Badoon brigade? The one who chopped Master Sinway’s prized warriors, the Vicious, into bits? Eep assured them it was indeed the same man, but they needed more proof.

  Verbard was almost jealous of the imp’s powers as he was able to see whatever he wanted without being there. Somehow the magic allowed the imp to view the world from another dimension. If the imp didn’t want to be seen, then he was not. The underling marveled at it, along with his brother as well. If only he could figure out how to do that. Most likely his brother would, but writing spells was not his thing.

  One day, the imp had been watching the apartment of the humans. The big man was talking with excitement as his skinny friend and two boys watched. One of the boys was a halfling, and he stayed busy scribbling ink into thick tomes.

  “Catten, come here. What do you make of this?” Verbard had said.

  Catten floated over and stared into the portal for a moment. Catten slapped him on the back.

  “Tell that imp to bring us a tome!”

  Verbard hadn’t heard his brother that excited the whole trip.

  “Will do,” he replied.

  The plan was simple. Eep could blink into the apartment and would only have to fly away as he could not take the tome back into the magic dimension. The timing proved to be an issue, however, as the halfling and human boys were almost always in the apartment. There was still some tension in the air, but it lightened. Verbard planned to enjoy his seclusion in the lair. He laid down on the soft velvet couch while listening to the cave water dripping and his brother’s pacing footsteps nearby. It wasn’t long before he was asleep.

  CHAPTER 12

  When Eep blinked, he could feel Verbard watching through his eyes. It was as if he was inside his head. It irritated him. He slapped his head and growled. The sparse apartment was dim as no candles or lanterns were lit. It was early in the daytime, and both boys were gone for a change.

  Eep crept through the small room. The table, cots, blankets, stove, and cupboard were cold. Things were in good order. In one corner of the room, a stack of tomes of various sizes were stacked along with loose parchment, ink, and quills.

  He buzzed over to them. Verbard screamed in his mind: Open a window first! He did and returned, scratching his head. All the books looked the same. Verbard then said, Pull one from the bottom. He did. Then he straightened the pile and headed for the window.

  Eep scanned the room one final time. He noticed a large leather sack underneath one of the cots and pulled it out. He began to look inside when he heard something. Faint footfalls were just outside the door. He stuffed the sack back under the cot and hopped onto the window sill. He could hear the tumbles on the locks being worked and the lock unlatching as he closed the window behind him just a moment before the door swung open. He was already buzzing away as the thief named Melegal sauntered in. The giant book-wielding bat screeched from the sky, startling the busy early goers below. Then he disappeared into the blazing horizon.

  CHAPTER 13

  Two suns hovered, orange and red, blazing like mirages over the world of Bish. Little reprieve could be had from the sweltering heat, day or night. The inhabitants never stayed comfortable for long. Most of Bish was barren, though its landscapes included lakes, streams, forests, and cities. Life of all sorts had grown accustomed to the harsh elements of this world. It was either that or give in and die.

  Coping with the challenging climate and terrain of Bish was one thing all its races had in common. It kept them weathered, hardy, and ready for the next battle. All races—the good, the evil, and those in between—were locked in an unending battle for survival, whether they liked it or not. It was their fate, and it was unavoidable, for it was the very reason that Bish had been created.

  The brightest star in the world of Bish was the City of Bone. The lone monolith stood in stark contrast to the barren terrain that surrounded it ominous walls. A human-dominated city, Bone boasted over a hundred thousand occupants enclosed by thick stone walls that stood four stories high. Miserable though they usually were, the commoners of its inner districts preferred the interior of Bone to the harsh outlands of Bish. The Outlands offered few comforts to the common man.

  Bone, as they called it—and used the name as an epithet—was full of corruption. The ruling Royals managed to keep their own brand of order behind the scenes of the treacherous city. Every inhabitant knew that crossing the Royals was to one’s detriment. The public executions testified to that. Many of the innocent died in this way. The people did not complain, though; instead they boasted that Bone was the greatest city in the world. The simple folk simply minded their own affairs—or else.

  Among the common folk, many prospered. The slaves, thieves, prostitutes, and executioners did just as well as the merchants, guardsman, farmers, and landlords. At first appearance, a newcomer to the City of Bone would think it a grand place to live or visit. But it did not take long for Bone’s plethora of indulgences to drag a good man deep into the vileness of its belly. Yet its self-enslaved people seemed to prefer it that way.

  Not all in the City of Bone succumbed, of course; there were those willful ones who enjoyed its pleasures without falling into its soft yet suffocating grip. Just as the Royals were able to enjoy life on the backs of its citizens, others were also able to have fun and make a profit from the weakness of others.

  The shambled tavern of the Drunken Octopus was the perfect example of a place where these types of profiteers thrived. The Octopus stood off the beaten path, deep in the narrowest of alleys, far from patrolled districts. Smugglers, slavers, skimmers, adventurers, pleasure seekers, and other dodgy spirits from the city and elsewhere would gather at the Octopus every day, as it was a place where citizens could unwind and do business of whatever sort satisfied their needs and pleasures.

  On this particular day, the robust tables of the smoky tavern brimmed over with desperate risk takers, their eyes cold and sunken. Tales spewed back and forth from foul mouths and rotted teeth. The perfumes of shameless women mingled with the smells of unwashed men. Pint after pint of ale was guzzled and spilled on the grimy oaken floor. Shots of grog were sucked from the bellies of giggling dancers. Uproarious laughter and shouting voices filled the sagging room, cast in flickering shadows by way of burning torches and candles in wrought-iron chandeliers.

  Among all those who sat in the room, one large man’s voice bellowed over the rest. Between slurps of ale and swigs of grog,
Venir sat centralized at table near the bar. His long straw-blond locks were drawn back, revealing his hardened face, bright blue eyes, and broad grin. He relished the gaze of the long-lashed women at the table, and she seemed captivated by his handsome face and wild stories. Although he knew they were more interested in his purse than his tales, he was intent, as always, on holding their attention.

  He faux-boxed in the air, almost knocking over a waitress. One would never suspect that the delicate balance of good and evil on Bish hung upon the very edge of his great axe. Yet despite his impressive stories, not a man or woman believed half of what he said. But true or not, he could spin a yarn. His voice sucked them in. And they liked it.

  Only one person at the table knew the truth: Venir had not stretched a word, and had even left out a detail or two. Only his friend, Melegal, sitting opposite him, knew the half of it for sure. A sultry woman hung on his arm as well.

  Melegal was gaunt, quiet, and thin. Dressed in deep gray clothes, he sipped purple wine and surveyed the room. Venir kept rambling on, knowing his friend was waiting for something. The thief leaned forward, while another attractive woman played with his graying hair and the floppy gray hat that hung over his ear.

  “So, Melegal,” Venir said, leaning back in his chair after he finished with his tale of the Outlands. “Is that how you recall it, back at the marsh?”

  The thief leaned in farther, speaking loud: “I can’t say, Vee. I didn’t hear the whole thing. Why not tell it again?”

  “A great idea. What do you say, ladies?” Venir said smiling from ear to ear.

  The previously interested female parties at the table began to disperse. Looks of disappointment drew on their painted eyes. It was clear that one particular lady had established squatter’s rights on Venir for the night. Seated next to him, this woman, in her revealing red gown, was smiling while gazing into his eyes.