The Darkslayer: Book 02 - Blades in the Night

by Craig Halloran

  Melegal rolled his eyes as he chewed. “I know, I know. So he’s been gone little more than half of today while I’ve been asleep. He’s been gone a lot longer than that before.”

  “I know. But something’s wrong, Me. Really wrong.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  Lefty jumped onto the table, disturbing nothing, and then pointed to his feet. The thief could see small damp pools spreading around them.

  “Ugh! Get them off the table!” Melegal said, then picked up his plate. ”Is that sweat, or did you step in something?”

  “I’m a halfling, see?”

  Lefty stood on one foot and held the other.

  “My feet always tell me when something’s wrong. They’re sweating so much that something must really be wrong. I’m not playing you, Me, I swear.”

  Lefty held up his tiny hands in surrender. The thief studied the boy’s feet. They were disproportionate in length, smooth and slender, with thick pads underneath like stuffed leather. Even he had trouble hearing the tiny boy’s footfalls—being so light that the old wooden floor never creaked beneath his feet. But as enviable as the thief found many of the halfling’s characteristics, he had no desire to be a halfling.

  “How long have they been sweating, Lefty?” he said.

  “Since just after you got in.”

  “Do you think it could mean Venir’s in danger?” Melegal asked, pushing the empty plate aside.

  Lefty looked perplexed. It was no doubt hard for the boy to imagine Venir in danger.

  “I guess so,” Lefty finally said. “Though it seems pretty unlikely.”

  “Oh, it’s likely. Venir gets into trouble plenty. Haven’t you paid any attention to the stories you’ve been recording?”

  Melegal saw the boy’s eyes light up like flames while combing his tiny fingers through his thick yellow hair. He understood that the boy had difficulty facing fear or dealing with bad news. It always made him withdraw. Even when writing down many of the things he was told, Lefty often had to take a break when his innocent mind became overwhelmed.

  Reaching out, Melegal gripped the boy’s shoulder.

  “It’s probably not as bad as it seems,” Melegal said. “Take a deep breath. We’ll go look for them and ease your little mind.”

  “Okay,” Lefty said.

  He jumped off the table and scurried for his gear. Melegal washed down the last crumbs with a swig of coffee and rose.

  “Tell you what, Lefty, to save time, you go to the stables. You have a better idea of how Georgio does his rounds. First make sure Quickster is okay—and he’d better be. I’ll see what I can find out about Venir. I doubt he’s far, but he could be in jail. Sound good?”

  “Yes!” the boy answered, pulling on his cloak.

  Melegal waved as the boy jumped out of the little window and descended the bare wall like a spider. Lefty vanished in the streets before Melegal shut the window. The thief shrugged, poured the last of the coffee into his mug, and drank it down before he walked out, locking the apartment behind him as he left. He had no intention of going anywhere to find his friend, but he would at least make some inquiries downstairs if needed. The halfling had been convincing enough.

  Quickster better be okay. Eh … Georgio probably choked on one of those biscuits he’s always eating. Then Melegal chuckled. Venir must be with a woman—maybe one of those Motley Girls. It wouldn’t surprise me a bit. Either way, Melegal wasn’t going to let that spoil his day.

  As he headed downstairs, Melegal noticed that is was almost evening. He took a seat in a corner near a crackling fireplace and let his new day begin on Bish. He had a feeling it would be a great day, Lefty’s portents of evil aside.

  CHAPTER 22

  Jarla, the former Brigand Queen, hadn’t sleep well last night—and had not for years. She was tormented by her own hatred and anger, but guilt was not something she knew. She sat alone in her memories alongside a sandy bank between the trees of the Lush Lakes of Bish. A breeze blew her long silken black hair over her scarred and haggard face. Her body, once spectacular and shapely, had succumbed to the ravages of stress and time, and now felt weighted down and soft. Her eyes, though, remained bitter blazing blue gems beneath a furrowed brow that creased deeply between her eyes and up her forehead. Many who had known her as the powerful Brigand Queen would not recognize her today. Even those who had known her as Jarla their royal captain would not know her now.

  Not long after the fall of the Outpost Thirty-One, Jarla had inflicted merciless vengeance on those who had wronged her. She had trusted those men. She’d fought along their side for years. They gorged themselves in blood-filled battles and were showered with glory. But they were not the men she thought them to be. She had saved them many times with instinct and skills they did not have. Yet they became jealous—and her good character did not see it coming. And they took her one day. Her own trusted inner circle of men had pinned her down and defiled her. They beat her. They broke her. Then they laughed at her. She crawled away from Outpost Thirty-One, stunned, heartbroken, and humiliated. She never cried, but she survived, disappearing from the clutches of the outpost.

  Soon enough, though, Jarla showed up again, with her horde and the underlings—and they mutilated every single living man at Outpost Thirty-One, good and evil, beyond recognition. She enjoyed every bit of it. She even found some of her former tormentors and castrated them. She laughed as they were dragged away by the underlings.

  Her revenge only darkened her heart, and her problems had only begun anew. She was yet without her armaments contained in the mystic sack—her precious bracers, axes, and helmet. With those armaments, Jarla’s power had reached its zenith. But then they were taken from her by another man.

  Venir …

  He was brash, handsome, and cunning. She had melted in his iron arms. He was like no other she’d met before. But when it all ended because of her betrayal, he swore that he would kill her. She knew he would. It was only a matter of time.

  Bringing herself back to the present, Jarla used some cloths to wipe down her burnished bronze armor near the lake. Wearing only a long white shirt, she waded waist deep into the soothing waters of the Lush Lakes deep in southern Bish. She pulled off the shirt and began to scrub the sweat and filth from it. She then let it soak and watched the shining waters settle around her. She could see herself in the water. Jarla looked hard at her figure, which was fuller, her chest more prominent but less appealing—and her scarred faced sunken and worn. She was once a beautiful and proud woman that was the envy of them all, but the hazards of Bish had taken that from her. For a moment in those waters, she saw herself younger and happy, but the image faded. She began smacking the water and cursing, then grabbed up her armor and shirt and stormed naked up the beach and into the forest to her fire.

  There she sat again, uncertain what to do. She always came here to wander. It was here that she had come years ago and found the large leather sack on the forest floor. She remembered that clank the moment she’d picked it up then emptied its contents—to be reborn as someone else. That power had consumed her. She remembered the years that she terrorized the south with exploits of daring and wonder using the armaments of the sack. Piece by piece, she took back from men what they had taken from her. She turned her small band of brigands into an army and destroyed Outpost Thirty-One—the most powerful outpost in Bish—only to be running scared for years from Venir, who now wore her mystic mantle.

  Venir and his men kept her on the run for days and months. The man had been relentless. He and his comrades chopped her brigand army into bits and pieces all over southern Bish. Jarla rode her beloved Nightmare, the dapple gray warhorse, to the brink of death one day as Venir and his men closed in on her and the few of her army that remained. Those remaining few sacrificed themselves for her as she hid deep beyond the Outlaws Hide. She waited for her certain death to pass. It never came. And Venir never caught up with her, so her inevitable death by his mighty axe had been delayed. She never kn
ew what happened. He’d abandoned her to herself. Just like a man. She couldn’t even count on one to kill her.

  On the brink of starvation, she had staggered into Outlaws Hide, her life without purpose. She gave into its simple pleasures. She carried on without shame, and for years her induced state allowed her to survive. During those tainted years, she cared for no one but herself—until a startling dream woke her from her intoxicated slumber, causing her to run out of town screaming in terror. Venir was near, so she’d thought. Her paranoia would not let her rest. The dreams sobered her. She had to face him. She was a big girl, and facing her fears was better than dying from them. Deep down, she hoped she would wrest the armaments once again. So now she set out alone, armed and ugly with strife, determined for one last glorious battle with her former lover Venir, the Darkslayer.

  CHAPTER 23

  The thief’s corner in the Drunken Octopus was cozy and discreet this time of day. The dingy windows and shabby curtains curtailed the blaze of Bish’s late-afternoon suns. The stone fireplace blazing beside Melegal added warmth in the damp corner. He liked the seclusion; it gave him a feeling of solitude that he craved amidst constant activity.

  Sipping wine and cleaning his nails with a tiny knife, Melegal sat in thought. The halfling boy worries too much. He was glad to have peace of mind away from the rest of the group for a change. He was even glad that Venir was out for a spell—though he found it odd that the man had not yet returned.

  The past several weeks had begun to take their toll on Melegal. Sharing a cramped room with a big man, a big boy, and a tiny one exhausted him. It was far from the dreams he’d envisioned for himself at this stage of his life. He scratched his dimpled chin, wondering what it would be like if none of them ever returned at all. He finished his wine and chuckled.

  The past few weeks had taught him more patience but it had tested it as well. The last thing he needed to do was going on a wild-goose chase. He told himself he was going to spend the day making good use of the booty they had scored. A half-empty plate of potatoes and roast, along with two bottles of decent wine, were a good start. Even with his roommates gone, Melegal was not without companionship, either.

  He stroked the thick fur of the massive black cat sitting on the table. The cat was as big as a wilderness bobcat and just as mean. Thousands of cats ran the streets of the City of Bone, but none like this. It was the king of cats if there ever was one. Melegal could feel the table shake as the cat’s belly rumbled like a tiny thunderstorm. The animal was a mystery to him. The cat seemed to have come with the tavern and had been there as long as anyone could remember. As far as the owner and the patrons knew, the Drunken Octopus was named after the powerful feline. Indeed, Octopus could eat and drink just about anything, including the cheap grog.

  Out of everyone that ever came in the tavern, Octopus only let Melegal touch him. Now Melegal watched the cat sprawl across the table. As it yawned, it stretched out and flexed its four fat paws, all the size of a normal cat’s head. Each black-padded paw had eight long pearl-colored claws that looked like they could cut glass.

  Smiling, Melegal remembered the time when a City Watchman had come in with his canine companion, a rottweiler. Octopus tore the dog’s skin with his thick claws and deep into the bone, leaving the once-proud dog in a mangled mess on the floor. No dog had ever entered the tavern since.

  The feline rolled onto his back. Melegal studied another of its odd features. The feline’s eyes were milky white, almost the color of its claws. The thief could see only a faint outline of its pupils and irises within, but as best as he could tell, the cat was blind.

  “You are one mean, crazy kitty, Octopus,” Melegal said, dropping some chunks of beef and cheese into its gaping mouth. “But you know what I like about you most? You can’t talk.”

  Melegal was enjoying the peaceful moment—until more patrons began filling the tavern. The sound and smoke started building anew as the locals began to unwind from their daily labors. Many appeared to have just woken up from the previous night’s lecherous behavior. Melegal sat, eyes alert, with his floppy gray hat hanging over the side of his face. But then a scowl began to emerge on his lips. He knew Octopus would be gone soon and so would the best part of the day.

  Cats certainly weren’t the most popular creatures in the City of Bone, but they kept the rats away. Most people treated them with disdain, as they tended to overrun things as well from time to time. He heard tavern customers sometimes complain about the cat, but it was to no avail. None had ever been able to capture the beast.

  Octopus was smart, fast, and dangerous, and when he left, people stepped out of his way. A single scratch from one of his claws could puff a man up like a pillow for days. Melegal had seen the happen a time or two.

  Luke the lute player sauntered in the tavern now and began making small talk as he peered around, looking for familiar faces.

  Oh no, Melegal thought. It’s “Mister Happy.”

  Luke always appeared to be bright and refreshed, dressed in white and beige colored clothes that were more exquisite than those of the typical brethren in the tavern. The curly blond-haired man was charming to all. People knew him to be quite the entertainer and liked his company, which was odd since Luke wasn’t a true local from this part of town. The lute player, though, took full advantage of his popularity.

  Melegal scrunched down at his table, pulling his hat farther over his face. Please don’t come over here and blather about something meaningless. He figured if he was unpleasant and terse, the young man might go away, but he often didn’t. Melegal didn’t mind the man trying to make a living off him, as long as he got his. He just didn’t like the small talk. Out of the corner of his eye, Melegal saw the red and maroon painted lute in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other making its way over.

  Great, free drinks at least, Melegal thought as he sat up and pushed his hat back.

  “Hello, Melegal,” Luke said in a soothing voice as polished as a Royal diplomat. “Do you care if I join you?”

  Melegal opened his hand over the sleeping cat. The man eased out a chair from across the table. Octopus’s eyes opened then slowly closed. Melegal continued to rub the cat’s furry belly. The handsome musician sat down in the armless heavy wooden chair and set his lute down on the table. Melegal watched as Luke scooted his chair back, clearing his view of the room’s entrance again.

  “That was quite a time last night,” Luke said. “A very nice score I might say, and I thank you for including me. Melegal, I have never seen a man move like that before. I mean, how on Bish did you do that?” The lute player stretched his arms out wide. “That skinny freak you took was baffled. I was baffled. I still am, actually.”

  Melegal smiled at the thought of the hand stabs contest. It certainly was one of his better moments. He found himself wishing that Billip would have been around to see that one. Billip would have had a fit if he bet against Melegal that night.

  “A drunk thief never tells, Luke,” Melegal said. “Now let’s fill these glasses while we still have the coin to enjoy.”

  The man obliged, pushing a fresh glass goblet into Melegal’s awaiting palm. As Melegal warmed up, he began discussing some details of other skims he’d pulled off. Luke was all ears.

  As he talked, Melegal studied Luke. He enjoyed testing one’s powers of observation and quickly learned his lute-playing friend was great at reading other people. He found Luke’s presence relaxing, as the young man always agreed with what he said. The young man appeared to be a good guy who grew up in the seedier side of some town. Even Melegal didn’t know where the man was from, but you could bet good coin that he knew where everyone else was from. The man could just tell. Melegal liked that quality; they had that much in common.

  “So, Melegal, where is Venir?” Luke said, craning his neck about. “Usually you can hear him roaring about some ridiculous adventure this time of day. Do you think he was able to track down the raven-haired beauty or did he run off with those Motley Girls fo
r a tussle?”

  “Probably with those wretched gals, knowing him,” Melegal replied, leaning back in his chair.

  “If that’s true, then that’s an adventure I don’t want to hear about. Hah!” Luke said, slapping his knee. “Seriously, though, is he going to be coming around? No offense, but it’s just not the same without him here. His stories are what draw me back here to begin with. They make for good ballads and I wanted to play some of them tonight.”

  Melegal could tell by Luke’s wide blue eyes that the young man was sincere, but he didn’t have anything to offer him. Melegal was at a bit of a loss as well, as the hours that passed without Venir, Georgio, and Lefty began to feel ominous. But he just shrugged.

  “I’m sure he will be here soon,” Luke said, tuning his lute. “You know he can’t go a full day without taking an opportunity to talk about himself.”

  After another hour of small talk, the Drunken Octopus was burgeoning with activity. Melegal noticed a disruption beginning near the entrance. Must be Venir. Whoever it was seemed to be rubbing the locals the wrong way.

  Curses and shouts of outrage came forth as many were pushed back toward the fireplace. Chairs toppled over in the process. The usual patrons didn’t take to strangers of any kind, so whoever it was had made quite an impression. Melegal knew that if you hadn’t been around the tavern, you wouldn’t be sticking around. He couldn’t wait to see who was causing the commotion. Strangers were among them tonight, that much was clear.

  Not Vee. Would have heard him by now and no one would be making such a ruckus about him.

  Maybe the city guards—but they never came this deep into Bone.

  Things grew quiet.

  A path opened, leading to the room where Melegal’s table sat. He caught sight of two men removing heavy dark gray cloaks and tossing them toward the fire’s hearth. One of the men donned a wide-brimmed black hat—and the other man, a tall stone-faced individual, appeared to have been split in two and sewn back together again. As Melegal’s heart sunk, he heard Luke gasp at the sight of the monstrous man.