The woman gave her a hard look as she finished her drink. Kam began to sense another presence in the room. The woman stood up. She was tall, more so than Kam expected. Kam’s heart jumped when she reached inside her cloak. She noticed more blades along her belt as well, and legs as long as a man’s. The woman opened a small purse and dropped some coins on the table.
“Very well, Kam. You win. I’ll leave, but you better hope I don’t have to come back.”
Kam stood up to face her, pulled her shoulders back, and said, “This isn’t the kind of place for those kinds of people. You’ll have better luck deeper in town, but you won’t hear where from me.”Glowering at her, the woman strapped on her sword belt. Kam had never met a woman so commanding. Please leave. Please leave. Please leave. She couldn’t take her eyes off of the woman, though; she was too scared to even blink. Where’s a really big man when you need one? It wasn’t something she thought would do her much good, but any kind of back-up would do.
“You are a pretty one, Kam, bold too. I hate that in a woman.”
Before she could respond, the woman had turned and was walking through her doors. She let out a sigh of relief as she slumped back down. She clasped her jittery hands together. Tears, boys, and now a butcher of a woman. What could make the morning worse?
The tavern door swung open.
Oh no, she’s come back! She shot up from her seat, magic words dangling on her lips. Georgio came running in, as white as a ghost. Thank goodness!
“Slow down, Georgio!”
The teenager dashed behind her and squatted down.
“What are you doing? I’m in no mood for games, Georgio!”
“But … but … they've got him!”
Another figure stepped inside the door and closed it from behind. He was short and heavyset, dressed in fine, loose-fitting clothes. He made his way over with grace that belied his girth. His light eyes and skin went well with his baby soft skin. His face was calm, and his voice was as pleasant as his walk.
“Hello, Kam. It’s been a long time,” he said with a bow.
The sound of the familiar voice aroused the butterflies in her stomach. It had been a long time indeed since she had met with Palos, son of the master of the thieves’ guild.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
Chapter 27
Three figures rushed by Melegal as he remained hidden along the wall at the bottom of the stairwell. They smelled like fish and rice. One stopped and stood with a long dagger in hand. The biggest one had an ugly club, and the third held a lantern.
“Hey Boy, what happened?” the skinny one said, kneeling by the unconscious sentry. The other shined the light on the boy, who was still curled up and shaking on the steps. The big one with the club spoke first.
“Uh … I think he slipped and broke his head, Sis.”
The one with the lantern shined it back in the fat woman’s face.
“Is that so, Frig? Well … it’s a good thing we brought you along to tell as that.”
Melegal could see the dumb look on the woman’s face turn into a smile. What an imbecile.
The skinny woman then added, “Duh! Stupid.”
Frigdah frowned.
“Uh …”
“Just go gather up that boy, Frig. Let’s figure out what happened.”
The slender one kneeled by the sentry, checked, and shook him hard.
“He ain’t waking up, Sis. He hit his head hard … real hard. There’s blood, see,” she said holding up her hand.
Melegal wanted to laugh at the sight of the Motley girls. It looks like Bone has three new detectives. He waited, wary of the lantern light. Come on, girls. What else you got?
Sis shined the light on Frigdah, who was carrying the boy back down. With her hand on her hip she said, “All right sisters, just settle down. We got ourselves a situation. ” Sis spit out some juice. “Haze, get those buckets and refill em’. Frigdah, settle the boy down, and get ready to send him back up.”
Melegal watched the extraordinary gang of three hop to it. Haze dashed by him with Frigdah carrying the boy from behind. When Sis held the lantern’s light on the sentry, he could see the dire expression on her illuminated face. He heard her mumbling.
“Poor boy’s gonna get a whipping something fierce.”
He saw her shoulders sag as she walked by. Like a mouse, Melegal followed.
He followed Sis around the corner, every step inside of her shadow that was cast from the light that glowed from up ahead. Two burning torches outlined the wall, casting shadows on their worried faces. He could see Haze and Frigdah standing beside a large stone-carved fountain with a burbling spout of water in the middle. It was an Everwell. Melegal had never been this close to one before. Sis stopped and he froze, hunkering down, head twisting about. Melegal pressed himself along the wall. He could smell the stink of her feet. He noticed a hole in her boot with a long black toenail jutting out. The other boot was missing a heel.
“Hurry up, Haze. Get that boy going. We’re gonna have some problems explaining this up top. I’ll take the boy up with me and tell them what happened, but you two are gonna have to look after the well.”
Yes, the Everwell; worth more than gold to the Royals.
The Everwells were scattered around the city, hidden in a network of ancient corridors built ... another time long ago. It was Melegal’s understanding that the water never stopped, flowing free as the rain. It was the elixir on which the City of Bone thrived. How else could such a big city survive in the Outlands? The Everwells were little known to the city's miserable citizens. The Royals saw to that. They controlled the water, therefore they controlled the people.
All of this water and still the people die of thirst.
Frigdah set the boy back down on his feet.
“I think he’s ready to go, Sis.”
Haze put a bucket in each of his shaking hands. She patted his head and gave the child a toothy smile.
“You’ll be fine, Boy. Just take the water—”
“Don’t coddle him, Girl! Boy, get up them stairs and hurry back. The sooner you get it over with, the better,” Sis said so loudly her belly jiggled.
The boy sobbed as he walked by, staring at the steps as if they were a guillotine, careful not to slosh more water on the ground. Sis headed toward the Everwell. Melegal began to feel the cool mist of the waters on his face.
“You want me to go up, Sis?” Haze asked.
“Nah … just gimme a drink.”
Melegal stepped from the shadows and raised up behind Sis.
“I’ll take one too.”
Sis whirled, swinging the lantern at his head. He ducked under it and kicked his boot heel in her belly.
“Oooph!”
She fell breathless to the ground, clutching her stomach.
Haze charged him, knife slashing in the dim torchlight. Melegal caught her wrist and twisted it away with a clatter on the stone floor. He caught the astonished look in her eye.
“You!”
“Yes me, now sit down,” he said, sweeping her legs and knocking her off her feet.
Frigdah charged three steps, snorting like a bull, and then came to a sudden stop as he held his blade in the meaty side of her neck.
“Crap …” she said, eyes darting to her sisters.
The Motley girls remained still. He could see the tension in their pasty faces.
Sis sat back up, holding her stomach, and pushed herself up against the fountain.
“Haze, looks like yer boyfriend missed you.”
“Shut up!” Haze said with her lips drawn down. She started to get up.
“Stay put.”
She stopped.
Melegal eased his blade from Frigdah’s neck.
“Good. Now, back off, Biggie. Just get down on the ground.”
Frigdah flopped to the ground, lying flat on her belly.
That’s one big arse.
“Get over here, Idiot,” Sis scolded.
Frigdah crawled over
to her sister’s side. Haze scooted over as well.
You never knew who on Bish you might need, so Melegal kept tabs on everyone, just in case. Now, he couldn’t help but take note of the hapless women he had previously taken pains to never see again. He shook his head as they cast wary glances at each other then back at him.
Haze was the most normal of the bunch, wearing steel hooped earrings that hung past her chin. He could almost see the bone beneath her thin pale skin. Frigdah’s girth was still formidable, even for a man, bigger than the other two sisters put together. Her face drooped above her chins. Sis was stout, pie-faced and adorned with red pimples all over her forehead. He couldn’t determine which was worse: Haze’s over bite or Sis’s under bite. A marvel.
He almost sighed.
Frigdah’s belly rumbled aloud.
“Quit it,” Sis said with a nudge.
“Sorry. Can’t help it.”
Melegal shook his head.
Haze said, “What do you want, Melegal?”
“Yeah,” Sis said, “… what is it? We know yer working for them Royals. You come to make us slaves again … Traitor?”
He didn’t show it, but the word stung. Slave is more like it.
“I have a simple request, and I’ll pay.”
The women all looked at each other, their disheveled faces lighting up.
“We’re listening, Thief,” Sis replied, as they all leaned forward.
“I need to know where the man … Tonio is.”
“Who?”
“The man with the split face … the big one who kidnapped the boy.”
Their faces darkened as they all bristled and sneered.
“We’ll never tell,” Sis retorted.
Chapter 28
Verbard slumped to the ground, relief flooding over him. There he sat, quiet in the moonlight, staring at the glowing fire several feet away. He was tired, but not as tired as before. The magic he had used to vanquish the man was something different, not all his. He reached inside his robes, pulled out a small scroll, and unrolled it. When he had read it just hours ago, it had been a complicated series of mystical symbols and words, but now those words were gone. His brother had been right: scrolls could come in handy.
The telekinesis spell was powerful, not something Verbard would ever have taken the time to remember. He never would have thought that such a passive spell could give him such delight.
Now he sat by his brother's tomb, accompanied by the whispering wind and the crackling embers of the Darkslayer’s dying fire. Verbard couldn't remember ever being so tired before. Exhaustion was not something he was accustomed to. He could hear his heavy breath as he allowed his eyes to close. He began to drift into sleep.
He lurched up, staring into the mist. The Darkslayer was coming, but where from?
“No! It can’t be!”
His silver eyes scanned the mist. He saw nothing. His instincts couldn’t shake the thought that the man was still coming. He closed his eyes, summoning magic, focusing on the living, but there was nothing. The Darkslayer was a ghost, an apparition in his mind, something that would haunt him for a long time. He pulled his robes around him and began walking around his brother’s tomb.
“Dear Brother, who would have thought I would figure something out without you?”
But he had. All along, he had never needed Catten for anything more than a sacrificial lamb. Silly. He knew better. He grabbed one of the small boulders and tried to lift it. It didn’t budge. Verbard cursed. At the moment, his body was little stronger than a male child’s, and not much stronger than one with full rest. The telekinesis spell would have been perfect for this task, but that opportunity was lost. How would he get his brother’s remains out of there?
His clawed fingers rummaged through his robes. A few small vials rattled in his palm. He held a rod in his hand. It was a heavy piece of wrought iron, with a fist on the end, less than a foot long.
Interesting.
It was a trophy from a human wizard he had defeated long ago. It was something that had been used on him, but that he had never had need to use. No, that's no help. What else? He reached deeper inside his pockets; he had stored much in there, so much that he had long forgotten many of the things he carried with him. His robes had mystic pockets that allowed him to store a great deal and do other things as well. There was nothing, however, that would help him with his present situation.
He put another small vial to his lips and drank the sky blue fluid. He was filled, and his thirst was quenched, but he still felt weary. He placed the cork back in the vial and stuck everything else back in his robes, except another scroll. He needed rest and protection. With the twirl of his finger, he made the scroll unroll in midair and remain suspended before him. He began to read out loud. His face lit up and his eyes seemed to glow. Some of his words were whispers, while others were quite loud. He stopped as the scroll withered in the air. He waited.
Over an hour went by before something popped up from the ground: a mantis-like creature, almost twelve inches tall, emerged from the dirt. Its insect head tilted back and forth, looking up at him.
“Spread out and warn me of any trespassers.”
The insect creature made a clicking sound. Hundreds more of the creatures crawled from the ground and took flight in every direction. In a moment they were out of sight. Verbard sighed, lay back, and soaked in the darkness of the night. His thoughts drifted to home and to his pregnant monster of a wife. He was actually beginning to miss her fanged and unpleasant face. If he could figure out a way to get his brother out from under the rocks, he could return home. If not, did he dare go back? After all, as far as he knew, the Darkslayer was gone.
Dawn was breaking when the tug of the mantis creature startled him from his rest. He cracked open his eyes and turned his head from the glaring sunlight. He crawled into the shadows on the other side of the rocks, yawned, stretched his arms, and felt restored. His gray skin seemed to shine under his thin pelt. The magic he commanded had returned, and he felt in control once again. He picked the mantis up in his hands.
“What is it?”
The insect made several clicking sounds, its mandible jaws opening and closing, its pinchers gesturing.
Verbard nodded and frowned.
“I see.”
He crushed the mantis in his hands and dropped the remains on the ground.
Apparently, that wizard and Blood Ranger were approaching. How?
They were not far away, either. Verbard summoned more of the mantis hoard. He ordered them to cover his tracks and also those of the man, and to erase all traces of the fire. The creatures swarmed all over as Verbard rose from the ground. In moments, the land around the tomb looked undisturbed by man, beast or insect. He floated northward, letting the insects be his eyes. He was curious to see what his enemy's friends would do. When they arrived, he would be ready. If necessary, they would die.
Chapter 29
Bound, gagged and blinded by a sack that covered his face, Lefty’s body jolted as he was hurried away. Panic seized his thoughts along with something else. Do something or die! Melegal’s words spoke inside his head somehow. Don’t panic. He let his ridged body go limp. The rough hands had him secured over a knobby shoulder. Focus. Where did that man say they were taking me? ‘The roost’? No, ‘The Nest’. That was it! A hide out of some sort. Melegal had told him about a place in Bone like that before. What else had the thief told him?
Count the steps to know how far you go.
Smell the city. Listen for sounds you know.
It was all a blur, though, as his tiny hands fidgeted with the tight leather cords that bound his wrists. Almost there. 212 steps. 220 … 230 …. The smell of ginger was in the air, the shouts of playing children in the distance.
A door slid open as the host of men stepped inside and slowed down. The sunlight he felt warming the cloth sack on his head—that smelled like potatoes—was gone. It was darker; the warm shadows from the daylight were no longer on his back
. He was jostled, bumping up and down. 265 … I’m going down steps. Bad, very bad! A smell like dry mold hung in the air, and the sounds from the street were gone. Do something!
His wrists hurt from the effort, but they were free now. The sack was still taut around his neck. He didn’t know whether to strike or pull the sack off. Fear of the unknown below began to rise inside him. The thought of never seeing light again rushed the blood through his body. He had to act. He listened to the man’s breathing and tried to picture his face. He reached out and jammed his tiny thumbs in the man’s eyes.
“Aargh!” the thug screamed, as he squeezed Lefty by the waist.
He pushed his thumbs farther into the man’s head. The man wailed, dropping him. He landed like a cat, removing the blinding sack as he did so. The man that had held him was holding his eyes and screaming now.
“Get him! Get him now!”
The stairwell was pitch black, however. The thieves preferred the darkness. It was a lucky thing for Lefty. He pressed himself along the wall and crouched, still as a stone. The men grumbled as they crowded inside the stairwell. Some were ahead of him and some were behind.
“Come on, Little Boy. You ain’t got nowhere to go,” one said, his foul breath only two steps from his face.
“Shut up and listen, Fool,” warned another.
The corridor became quiet, but Lefty could hear their breathing and rustling clothes, and the sounds of daggers being scraped out of sheaths. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. The men were moving to cut off the upward stairs. There was only one way to go, down, but he was determined not to go that way. Think! Move or die!
The thieves' excited panting began to subside. The smell of sweat filled the air. For a moment, the stairwell became dead quiet. A pant leg rustled, brushing past his nose. Lefty clamped himself onto it and bit the thigh as hard as he could.
The Darkslayer: Book 03 - Underling Revenge Page 12
