“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Boon said. The man blinked. Rubbed his eyes and sat up. “You aren’t giant flesh, you know.”
“Do what?” Fogle said. He dropped the dirt and stuffed his bloody thumb in the folds of his robes. His green robes, once garish in their own way, now looked little better than what a starving nomad would wear.
Boon stood up. His bearded silhouette was formidable against the night sky.
“You know what. You aren’t made out of mud, you know.” Boon reached over. “Let me take a look at it.”
Fogle shifted away.
“I’ll be fine, Boon.”
“Well, at least wrap it up, will you? We can’t have you dripping all over Bish. Underlings can smell the blood of men for miles, don’t you know?”
Fogle sighed. It was pretty hard to believe that underlings could smell his blood from miles away. “It’s more likely that they’d smell the odor of Barton long before my fragile wound. Besides, I wouldn’t be surprised one bit if you were excited that they were right on our trail. Looks like you are plenty rested up for another battle, aren’t you?”
Scratching his chest, Boon groaned. “Well… I admit that I wouldn’t be against it, but I’d rather have a trap set first. There’s nothing quite like seeing a look of surprise on an underling the moment before their face melts away. It tickles my teeth every time.”
He’s insane. I’m the spawn of a madman.
“Tell you what then, Grandfather. You stay here.” Fogle pointed at the ground. “Set a nice magic booby trap while me and Barton go and search for our friends. Does that fit into your plan? Because I’m not sticking around so you can get us all killed. Sure, I realize the underlings are evil, but there is a time and place where you pick your battles.”
“NO! You are wrong, Grandson. The time is anytime. The place is anywhere. Every chance you get to kill them, you take it. You don’t let evil linger around. You can’t let it take root. You must destroy it because if you don’t!” Boon seemed as tall as a giant, but his voice was deep and cold. “It will destroy you.”
Fogle tucked his chin into his chest and swallowed. He knew the truth when he heard it. Everyone did. The difference in most people was they ignored what they believed, rather than acting on it. He’d been locked inside the mind of one underling already. Even if it had only been a glimpse, an underling’s mind was the darkest, most sadistic thing he’d ever seen. The underlings took pleasure in all the vile things they did.
“I understand that. We should kill them. We should kill them all. But right now,” Fogle stepped nose to nose with Boon, “I need you to help me find Cass, that dog, and that man. I need your word, Boon. Will you help me find them first?”
Boon rubbed his bearded chin and made some clicking sounds with his mouth.
“Boon?” Fogle said.
“I … well … hmmm … well, you really are fond of that gorgeous woman, aren’t you? I’d fight a thousand underlings for a woman like that.”
“You’d fight a thousand underlings for pleasure.”
Boon huffed a laugh.
“You take as much joy in killing them as they take in killing us, don’t you?”
“Well, it’s not worth doing if you don’t enjoy doing it, Grandson. You wouldn’t be pursuing the druid if not for her libidinous thighs. Certainly you enjoy them?” He perched his eyebrows up and down. “Hmmm? Hmmm?”
“I pursue her because it’s the right thing to do, not because of anything else. Her thighs, her hair—”
“Her bosoms?”
“No—not her bosoms!” Fogle turned away. “And stop changing the subject!”
“I remember the first time I saw your grandmother. She had the most amazing bosoms, like those of three well-formed women in one. She was bathing at the Three Falls. I’d been trying to catch a peek for weeks…”
Fogle stuck his fingers inside his ears. In the process, he ripped his bloody thumb from his robes. “Ow!” Blood maddened Wizard. He’ll get us all killed. I wish Mood were here. He kicked the dirt. “Bish! Bone! Slat!”
He looked north, where the moons were rising. How long would it take to get back home and sip some wine? Will I ever see the City of Three again? And how far was it, anyway? The truth was, he didn’t have much of an idea where he was or where Boon had taken him. He paced towards the forest where Barton had trotted off. There was no sign of the giant, but he noticed a track. Mood would be proud. I can track a giant. He sniffed. Humph. I think I can even smell him as well. Pah, why am I looking for the giant, anyway? He headed back towards camp. For all he knew, he was on the other side of the world.
“Boon, where in Bish are we anyway?”
The old wizard pointed one finger toward the dipping suns and the other at the rising moons and spun around slowly three times. “Let me get my sense of direction. You know, in the Under-Bish, the suns and moons were quite different.” He stopped and shrugged. “Well, I don’t know where we are, exactly.”
“So, maybe we are farther away than we started then? That would be convenient, now wouldn’t it? Next time, why don’t you send us straight to the Underland? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Why don’t you just rest, Grandson? Things will be better when you rise up tomorrow.” Boon patted his stomach. “I could use some food about now. Say, where’s Barton? I bet he could scare something up.”
“Boon!” Fogle grabbed him by the arm and squeezed it. “Get your own food. As soon as my familiar is ready, we are moving in whatever direction it leads us toward Cass. And there’s rations in the saddle. I don’t think we need to be making too much noise about it. Have you forgotten that giants are still after us too? Not to mention the underlings and Bish knows what else that lies out there. Now, give me your word you will help me find her, or else!”
Boon peeled Fogle’s hand off his arm. “Grandson, you have my word, but don’t tussle with your elder unless you want to lose that hand.”
“And don’t tussle with your grandson if you want to keep yours!”
They stood eyeing each other. Unmoving. Unblinking.
Boon’s eyes were as hard as diamonds: passionate, powerful and fearless.
Fogle admired them. He wished he had them.
Irritated, Boon said, “Tell me about those golden and silver-eyed underlings, Catten and Verbard. Why did you give those eyes back to them? Did you not realize what you had? Burning them would have dealt a blow to the entire Underland.”
“How do you know their names?”
“Never mind that.” Boon motioned him over toward the fire and patted the ground. “Just have a seat.”
Fogle did so with a sigh. He’d forgotten the conversation they were having earlier when the hoard of underlings attacked. Now it was time for both of them to satisfy each other’s questions. As for the golden eyes of the underling he’d given away, he was certain he’d done the right thing, but there was always doubt inside him. He remembered what Mood had said. You cannot bargain with evil. Evil wins every time.
With a wave of Fogle’s hand, a small book floated out of his sack.
“It was the only way to get the spellbook back. A trade. The eyes for the book.” He swallowed. “And the robes too.”
“Pah!” Boon spat. “You cannot bargain—”
“I know! With evil! Yes, I know, but you can’t sit there and honestly tell me that you wouldn’t have done the same.” Fogle waggled their spellbook under Boon’s nose. “Huh? Wouldn’t you?”
Boon took the book from his hand. “Well, I could always make another spellbook.” He ran his hands over the leather binding. “And I know it wouldn’t be the same, but there is only one golden-eyed underling. And he’s one of the most powerful ones. He’s the one known as Catten. The other is Verbard, and how did I learn their names? I discovered them when I fought some of their allies. Gold eyes. Silver eyes. The only two of their kind. They were close. So close. I felt them. They felt me. I was young, like you, decades ago.” His voice trailed
off. “I’d say Catten is fully restored by now.”
“What do you mean?”
“Underlings can bring back their dead so long as they have the eyes. That’s why people burn them. Why else would his brother, Verbard, have wanted them?”
Fogle shivered. He sprinkled mystic energy from his fingertips on his ebony hawk. It was almost ready. “He was killed once already, you know.” He grabbed the knife. “He had this punched through him. Venir did that. And I say if he can be killed once, he can be killed again.”
“Give me that.” Boon snatched the knife away. “I knew there was something unique about that blade. I could smell it. I might even be able to track that underling down with it.”
“No! You gave your world we’d find Cass! You won’t be getting any help from me on that quest!” He grabbed the book and closed it. “And you won’t be taking this book.”
“Grandson, if we can catch them, surprise them, kill them, and burn their eyes up, then it will be the end of them. The underlings would sink back into their holes and not come out for decades.”
“That’s never happened, Boon. You’re delusional.” Fogle scoffed. “You have to quit obsessing over them.”
“No.” Boon’s eyes glazed. Drifted. He ran his fingers over the blade. “They must be destroyed.”
“You’re mad.”
Boon shook his head.
“You’re a fool. You don’t realize the peril this world is in. I’ve never felt so many underlings on the surface before. They have invaded. This is not some skirmish. It is full-blown war!”
“Well, if you want to kill them, then I think your best chance is to find Venir. Find The Darkslayer. And if you help me find Cass first, I think I can have a quicker way to find those underlings.”
“Oh?” Boon grunted. “Tell me now.”
“First, I’m going to prepare some spells for our quest, and when I’m done, you can prepare some as well,” Fogle said.
Boon’s forehead wrinkled. “Grandson, tell me what you know now.”
Fogle tapped his head with the tip of his finger. “I’ll keep it safe from you until the time comes.” I’m in control now, you crazy bastard.
CHAPTER 6
Two days. Long, hot and miserable. Slim had bitten his nails down to the skin since Venir left. He sat alone, despite being surrounded by a few hundred of the finest horsemen that had ever been. He didn’t feel safe. Not because he feared them, but because he’d have felt safer with Venir. Since the warrior left, a feeling of dread had crept into his belly, and it wouldn’t go away. Come on, Venir. Send that flare up.
The horses nickered. The Royal Riders muttered. The foreboding sense of doom continued to grow. Early in the day a scout had returned, reporting another small army of underlings was leagues away. Bigger than the last one they’d fought. The Royal Riders were bold, brave, fearless as any, but they wouldn’t be trapped and slaughtered. They’d fight until they bled their last drop, but it would be on their terms. Given the choice.
“Cleric,” said a large man with a long mustache and plate armor, “we can’t wait much longer. It’s time we go.” It was Commander Jans. A good man. A better soldier. His eyes were hard iron. He stared up into the gloom of the forest. “He was a good man, your friend, Venir. A good one.”
“Still is a good man, Jans. He’s not dead, you know.” Slim rose up to his full height and looked down on the weathered soldier. He felt woozy. His blood still felt as thick as mud. Those spiders had taken a toll on him. “You don’t know him like I do. He probably hasn’t made it inside yet.”
Jans stuffed a wad of tobacco into his mouth, sucked on it, then spat.
“Mmmm… now that’s worth dying for right there. I should have sent some with your friend.” He held his tobacco pouch out, shaking it. “Care for some? It’s the best. Dwarven.”
Slim held up his hand. “No, I don’t think my stomach can handle it. Besides, there are other things I can do to unwind, but now is not the time.”
Jans sucked and spit. “Well, so long as I have some chaw in my mouth, I think I’ll die a happy man. Of course, I want my horse between my legs and my lance down an underling’s throat, too.” He made eyes up the hill. “Used to be you could see the flags at the top from here. Seems two lifetimes ago.”
Slim nodded. “I remember. The last five years have been long.”
And they had been, even for Slim, who had been around longer than most men. Over the decades, he’d seen men, dwarves, orcs and underlings go at it time and time again, but he’d never seen anything like this. It was as if the world was coming to an end. The underlings were creeping up from every corner. In the past, they’d struck terror in the night, keeping the world on edge then moving on. Now, they were getting as thick as a plague of locusts, overtaking and devouring everything in sight.
“Jans, do you think you can hold off another day? There is nowhere for you to run. Our best chance is to see if Venir comes through.”
“Another day? Hah! Man, don’t you realize that this might just be our last day? All of us.” He pointed his mailed hand at Slim. “Now you listen to me, Slim. When the scouts come in with the next reports, if it’s not good, we’re leaving. And when I say we’re leaving, I say we aren’t just leaving this spot, but we’re leaving our bones to Bish. And we’re going to take as many of those dark fiends with us as we can.” He patted Slim on the shoulder before he walked off. “I suggest you do the same.”
Slim squatted like a vulture by the campfire and scratched his fingers through his hair. He fully expected Venir to come through in his mind, but his gut told him something else. Ever since the rangy warrior dashed up into the forest, Slim couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d seen his friend for the last time. Perhaps, it wasn’t Venir who wouldn’t survive. Maybe it was him. Maybe his time had come to perish battling the underlings.
What was I thinking? I shouldn’t have let him go alone! I should have died with him!
He nibbled at his fingernails and took another long look up the hill where Outpost Thirty One sat.
“A thousand underlings against one man,” he said. Sadness fell over him. “No one could survive that.”
CHAPTER 7
“Rumph.”
Venir’s eyes fluttered open, but there was nothing to see. The bag on his head was still in place. His tongue was swollen with thirst, and the stinging sweat that once dripped in his eyes was gone. He groaned.
Every time he dozed off inside the stockade, a biting pain inside his wrists awoke him. The small bones in both wrists ached in a way that such small things had no business aching. His fingers were black and blue, but he could move them. Several hours had been tolerable, but now he’d lost all track of time. He couldn’t tell which was worse: being in the Mist, or being shackled and wounded in a fort full of underlings.
Must escape.
Venir had been hopeful at first.
Just wait it out until my enemies reveal themselves.
But the nagging pain in his wrists kept reminding him that he couldn’t do anything. He was crippled. Invalid. Diminished. And the Royal Riders who were waiting on him would be slaughtered. He had failed them. He had failed Slim. He’d failed everyone.
His stomach groaned. His tongue was as thick as wool in his mouth.
“Waterrr …” he moaned.
Venir had never begged for anything before, not even when he was a starving young boy, but his conditions were beyond miserable. He was shackled inside the darkness. Hungering. Thirsting. No chance for escape. He flexed his limbs and fought against the restraints. They didn’t groan. Days ago, they would have.
Bish.
Hours ago, it had been Son of a Bish, but now his deteriorating thoughts couldn’t even muster that. Memories of the Mist sprung forth, worsening his fears. In the Mist, at least he could move; he could walk and talk, and there was water in abundance. In the Mist, there were sounds of life. Here, there was nothing.
Here, it was black. Painful. Agitating. Erodin
g and sweltering. The minutes felt like hours. His great strength faded. His will was breaking. This wasn’t like the dungeons in the City of Bone. This was much worse. A hundred times worse, it seemed.
Fool.
Images were coming and going inside his mind. Friends and foes, distinct and drifting. What had he done in life that had led him here? Into the belly of his very enemy? Georgio and Melegal, what had become of them? And the tiny boy, Lefty? He’d forsaken them so he could pursue his enemy. Perhaps Billip and Mikkel were still looking after them. It seemed like decades since he’d seen them.
His knees trembled. He sagged to the ground. His feet were numb from countless hours of standing. The middle of his back felt like an anvil was stuck inside it. He wanted to sit, rest, but his pinned and swollen wrists wouldn’t allow it. He hung. Locked in the stockade. His suffering increasing by the minute.
No. Must fight it. Focus.
It was hard to even think, but the beautiful face of Kam found its way inside his mind. Why would any man leave such a magnificent woman? Only a bull-headed fool would do that. And he had no lust for her now. Only the desire to see her face and to know that she was alright without him.
Many other memories came to mind. The Battle in the Pit with Son of Farc. As devastating as that had been, he’d rather risk another beating than die like this. And the blonde-haired half-orc woman, Dolly, with the snaggled teeth. Why did he wonder about her?
Jarla.
Was that when all the madness started? The day of her betrayal? The day he took the armament from the sack and hewed down the gnolls, Throk and Keel? His swollen fingers twitched in the darkness. His life had been nothing but underlings after that. He’d hated them even before. They’d killed his family when he was a boy. They’d buried him alive. Yet he’d survived somehow.
Chaos At The Castle (Book Six) Page 3
