“Well, they ain’t done. YAH!”
***
As the first dusk settled, Fogle got his first glimpse of green tree tops in the distance, but it brought him little relief. When he wasn’t focusing on his spells, he was thinking about Cass and those piercing eyes of the Dragon that Barton called Blackie.
I’ll get you back, Cass. I swear it. Even if I have to find a way to the Under-Bish all by myself.
Eethum led the way, followed by the Black Beards, then Mood and himself. The King of the Blood Rangers had little to say, however, unlike before. He seemed grim and angry for some reason. Fogle was about to ask him if something else was wrong when Eethum brought them to a halt less than a mile from the lush branches of the jungle.
Mood rode forward.
“You want two ranks or one?” Eethum asked, bushy red brows raising up and down.
“Two. But no more than thirty yards between us. It’s as thick as my beard in there.”
“Well, I’m certain the giant left a noticeable trail,” Fogle said, dropping from the saddle and stretching his limbs.
Mood huffed.
“Wouldn’t he?” Fogle said, gulping down some water, looking around. None of the dwarves had taken a single drink, now that he noticed, and now that he’d gotten used to it, he’d been sipping every hour. He held it out to Eethum. “Drink?”
The dwarf showed his teeth and shook his head.
“Trusting the giants are ye now, Little Wizard?”
“Well, no, just following him. But he’s helped me, and I’ve helped him. I see no harm in it.” He plugged his ever-flowing water skin. “Besides, he seems to know where Venir or Chongo is. Where else would he be going?”
Mood and Eethum just looked at him.
Fogle shrugged. “What? I’m not a dwarf, you know.”
“A good thing fer us you ain’t, Wizard. Now hush your mouth and get back on. We’ve got a ways to go.”
***
Fogle pulled at his sweat-soaked robes. Hoping for relief in the shade of the jungle, as opposed to the dry Outland heat, he instead found himself overwhelmed by the chronic dampness of the humidity.
“Like walking through water,” he muttered.
“Aye,” Mood agreed, “but don’t worry: you’ll never get used to it.”
They’d traveled through night, the jungle as black as a cave, before the dawn of a new light. Fogle found little comfort in it, swatting at mosquitos as big as his hand and smashing them on Mood’s back.
“Ye want something?”
“Uh…” Fogle wiped his hand on his robes. “No… But, shouldn’t we have caught up with Barton by now?”
“Barton? Is that what ye call yer friend?”
“Never mind.”
Mood had been plenty clear on his hatred for the giants. He’d even shared a horrible tale of another one called Horace. The insane giant had slaughtered more than a hundred dwarves. Some of Mood’s sires. One of his wives. But, how Mood captured the giant, tethered and killed him was another thing. It seemed the giants had a mystic way to come and go as they pleased. Fogle was curious about that.
“Look.” Mood pointed his sausage-thick finger toward an opening in the trees.
Squinting, Fogle shook his head. “What?”
“Not thata way.” Mood grabbed Fogle’s chin and turned his head. “Thata way.”
A stark log-made structure like a giant’s home sat atop a mountainous hill.
“What is that?”
“Men call it Outpost Thirty-One or somethin.”
“Are you serious?” Fogle knew the history of the fallen outpost that gave the underlings the upper hand in the southern lands. ‘Nothing on Bish has been the same since the fall of Outpost Thirty One,’ the travelers from the south said.
It was rumored that whoever controlled Outpost Thirty-One controlled the South and would gain a foothold on the North. Now, it sat there alone, abandoned so far as he could tell. The logs that made up its framework were five times as thick as the surrounding forest trees. That was the other odd thing. The fort, a safe-haven for men, had been built by giants, they said. It reminded him of the City of Three, where a few structures still stood that marveled the others in size.
“Mood, you’re a giant dwarf. Who built that? The giants?”
“It don’t matter who built it. It only matters who’s in it.”
“Then who’s in it?”
Mood shook his bushy bearded head and snorted the air.
“Well, I’ll be slat on a stick. I think Venir is in there.”
“Alive?”
“Don’t know, but there’s only one way to find out.” Mood dug his boots into his horse and lead the Black Beards towards the mountain.
“I thought the fort was run by an army of underlings.”
“So?”
“Well, there’s only fifteen of us. Can I assume the King of the Dwarves has a plan?”
“I’ll let ye know before we get there. It’s still a bit of a ride ahead.”
“That’s not a plan.”
“It’s better than whatever you got.”
CHAPTER 51
“Order up! Order up! Order up!” Darlene clamored. “Move your boots, ladies! There’s hungry fellows out there!”
“I heard you, Darlene!” Mercy said, grabbing a tray of food from the kitchen and rushing it over to a loud and eager table.
Kam had been rubbing the black polish on the bar for over an hour, trying to ignore the rough cut woman. Now, her elbow was sore, and her cheeks burned.
I’m going to kill her!
Over the past few days, the Magi Roost had been turned upside down and inside out. No longer the quaint establishment it once was, it was now a seedy den for travelers from all over the land. It hadn’t ever been this bad before, not even when Venir was here. Not by a long shot. And all of Kam’s patrons, many of whom she adored, were gone, replaced by anything from an orc to a halfling. The City of Three had become a harbor for Southern refugees, and it was a problem.
“I hope you aren’t planning on going through with that.”
Taking the dust rag off the stump of her hand and slinging it over her back, she turned and faced Scorch. The man’s comely looks were startling. He’d been sitting in the same spot at the end of the bar for days. He never left, and she couldn’t get used to it. But, she’d gotten used to it enough.
Eyeing her hand in the pickle jar and blowing her red locks from her face, she said, “And if I am? Are you going to cut off my other hand?”
“Certainly not. It was Darlene who did that, not I. But Kam, I must warn you: I’m not comfortable with murderous thoughts.” He refilled his goblet. “I want this to be a happy place. A place of celebration. A place of fun.”
She could feel her missing fist clenching. Through gritted teeth, she said, “A place I cannot flee, because you will not permit me to. No, Scorch. If you want this place to celebrate—then leave!”
His blond brows creased a little.
She felt her breath thinning.
“Kam!” Darlene said. “We’re shorthanded. Get over to that table of half-orcs. I like those guys. They tell the filthiest jokes. Here,” she held a pitcher out, “they need replenished!”
Cheeks flushed, Kam shot her a dangerous look. “You do it!”
Go! Scorch’s voice rattled her head.
More on his will than her own, she grabbed the pitcher of ale and started over.
“And show more cleavage,” Darlene shouted after her, “they’ll pay extra for that. And hide that stump of yours. I don’t want the patrons uncomfortable.”
CHAPTER 52
“How’s he doing?” Billip asked.
Shaking his head, Nikkel wiped the sweat from Brak’s head with his sleeve.
“He’s still burning up. I could fry an egg on his big head.”
Brak lay still, his big swollen face creased in a frown. His back was red and purple where the snake had bitten him, leaving the man bloated.
Georgio groaned on Quickster’s saddle. He was swollen a little himself, and his stomach still hurt. He didn’t remember anything after the snakes struck. Instead, he’d awoken on a stretcher of sorts, being dragged by Quickster. That was two days ago. All he could figure was his body’s special gift for healing itself had saved him. But Brak, he wasn’t so sure about.
“He’s still chewing,” Nikkel said, widening his blue eyes. “I’ve never seen a man who could eat in his sleep before.” He shrugged. “At least he isn’t dead. But it doesn’t look like he’s going to get up for a while.”
Brak’s body convulsed, and thick saliva dripped out of his mouth.
“Yech,” Nikkel said, tossing Jubilee a rag. “You can wipe that up; he’s your friend.”
Jubilee lifted her chin up and strutted over to Brak. “I’d be happy to.”
Georgio felt miserable. Part poison, part other things. Brak hadn’t done anything wrong aside from being hungry, and in all truth, it had been Brak’s berserker’s fit that saved them, all of them. The man-boy had scared up plenty of food, and Brak’s clearing in the cactus pit had revealed many round cacti filled with water. He had filled them all up, but Georgio didn’t feel like eating any more.
He pulled at the locks of his curly hair. It’s not my fault.
“This is all your fault, you know,” Jubilee said at him. “If you hadn’t gotten him all riled up, he wouldn’t have gone berserk, Fatboy Idiot!”
“That’s enough, Jubilee!” Billip intervened. “It’s not anyone’s fault. Things like this happen in the Outlands. You children just aren’t used to it.”
“But—”
“But!” Billip turned on Jubilee, nostrils flaring, knuckles cracking, “I’ll tell you about butt, Little Girl. I’m going to bust yours from two halves to ten if you don’t close that big mouth of yours.”
She folded her arms across her chest and stuck her tongue out. “No one’s ever whipped me, and no one ever will.”
“Don’t tempt me,” Billip said, taking out an arrow and smacking it into his palm.
“You’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you, Rogue?”
He smacked it into his hand with a loud whap. “I certainly would.”
“Pervert.”
Georgio thought Billip’s face was going to crack.
But Nikkel, calm as well water, stepped between them. “Let’s not kill each other. Because if we do, who’ll take care of Brak?” His smile, which hadn’t been seen in days, was beginning to show more.
“Quickster, I guess,” Georgio said, starting to chuckle.
“Well, I hope Quickster doesn’t understand what she’s saying,” Billip added, “else he’d kick her in the teeth.”
The men started laughing.
“I wish I’d thought of that,” Nikkel said, smiling. “Let’s give her some rawhide to chew on. That might keep her quiet.”
“Stop laughing at me!” Jubilee whined.
They ignored her.
“Stop it, I said! Stop it!”
Georgio felt a little better, and it was good to see Nikkel smile again. He looked even more like his father when he did that. He even noticed a little moisture in Billip’s eye.
“How much longer, Billip?” Georgio asked. “This is taking twice as long as it did when we came down here. We aren’t lost, are we?”
“No. But we’ve got a ways yet. I’m certain we’ll make it, but I don’t’ know about Brak. I’m afraid if we can’t get him some healing soon… Just keep feeding him bits of the green snake meat.”
Everyone looked at Brak again. It was a sad sight. Somehow, he’d managed to save them, but they had no way of saving him.
Georgio fought back the tears in his eyes. He missed Venir. He missed Mikkel and even Lefty. He pinched the tear ducts in his eyes.
“You alright?” Nikkel asked, patting his shoulder.
Georgio pushed his hand away. “It’s just dust in my eyes.”
“Sure, Georgio, sure. I got some of that too.”
CHAPTER 53
“Keep moving,” Tuuth said.
Wupash!
It was early. The suns hadn’t crested the fort’s high walls yet, but all Venir could think about was the long day ahead. Everything but his fingernails ached. Every step was full of lead, and his back felt like it was on fire all the time. It was misery, but knee deep in an underling slat hole, he kept shoveling muck from one pit to the other.
“Smells good, doesn’t it, Stranger?”
Venir kept his head down. His mouth shut. Tuuth had been taunting him day and night, but he wouldn’t take the bait. He had to hold out. He dipped his shovel in the muck and slung it over his sagging shoulders.
“You don’t look well, but you haven’t died.” Tuuth spat a snot ball in the muck. “Even the underlings are talking about it. Funny thing, Stranger, the underlings aren’t so different than men. Believe it or not, they’re betting on you. How much longer you’ll live.” He spat again. “I’ll tell you this much: I lost my wager days ago. So I don’t have any motivation to see you live any longer, so die already, will you?”
Tuuth spat again and took a long drink from his flask before he continued.
“One of my comrades, Flaggon, will win if you don’t make it through the night. That’s a nice bit of script he’d get with the underlings, and he promised the rest of us enough wine to drink all night.” He stuffed a large wad of tobacco in his mouth. “So plan on a few whippings and more digging. They won’t be stopping at all today unless your heart gives.”
It didn’t even stir him. He dug. Busted wrists and all. His once taut muscles now sagging on his arms. The thought of men consorting with underlings had infuriated him once, but now it didn’t seem to matter. Now, the only thing that mattered was digging from one day to the other.
“Huh,” Tuuth said, walking away, “I think I liked you better when you talked more.”
Venir kept shoveling, glancing around from time to time.
Watch. Listen. Learn.
The remnants of the Brigand Army and the renegades from other orders were fewer than one hundred, including Flaggon and Tuuth. But the underlings were a different story. Venir had never seen so many different colored eyes before. He hadn’t realized there were so many underlings in the world. He’d managed to count over a thousand of them one day, but the next day when he woke there’d been almost two thousand. They weren’t all coming in through the gates either. Instead, squads of them came from inside the Outpost walls, out of a building that was once the Royal Headquarters.
And Venir knew there was no way that building could hold them all. Dread filled him.
Have they taken over the entire world?
Digging, he tried to make sense of what was happening, but he could barely think.
Brool.
His war-axe entered his mind. It seemed his days of devastation were over. What a fool he’d been, to remove the armament and leave it behind. And for what? His pride!
Am I a fool?
He couldn’t shake the feeling he’d seen Brool and the rest of the armament for the last time. He’d do anything to be reunited with it again.
Curse me for a buffoon.
He slung more muck over his shoulder. One shovelful. Two. Fifty. A hundred. Two hundred.
Steam rose from the muck. The big flies and mosquitos swarmed.
A tall man walked over with a jug of water. It was Flaggon.
“You seem to attract the rottenest things.” He fanned the bugs away. “Here, drink.”
Venir took a swallow and made an ugly face.
“What did you put in that?” Venir tried to hand it back.
“Keep drinking, Stranger, and make it quick. That’s vinegar added to it. You need it.”
Venir eyed him.
“I thought you’d win the bet if I died today.”
“Ah.” Flaggon’s brows lifted. “Tuuth told you about that, did he? Well, the truth is, Tuuth doesn’t know what’s going on. I already have plenty of wine, and there�
�s no such thing as money here. We barter a little with the underlings.” He winked. “But Tuuth’s not very good at bartering. Besides, now that you’ve survived this long, I hate to see you die. Ye’ve defied the odds, ya have.” He scratched his head. “And something’s to be said for that.”
Venir took another drink, finishing it off, and tossed Flaggon the canteen.
“How long do you think they’ll keep you around?”
Flaggon shrugged. “I don’t have any choice in the matter. No more than you. But I’ll tell you this: the underlings are running the show on Bish now. They aren’t going to kill everyone, but they will be killing everyone who opposes them. And I figure I’m better off with ‘em than against ‘em.”
Venir scowled. “You make me sick.”
“Ha!” Walking away, Flaggon waved at him. “I see they haven’t broken your spirit yet, Stranger. See you tomorrow. Dead or alive. I’ve a bottle of underling port to crack.”
Digging and simmering, Venir filled the other hole, crawled over the ridge between the pits, and stepped in it. Rolling his shoulder, he realized no one, not man or underling, even noticed. Instead, they all went about their business. A digging corpse, he was already forgotten.
They were Chittering back and forth with one another, even smiling, some of them.
Could it be true? Had the underlings taken over? He even saw one playing an instrument, similar to a lute. But the thing that disturbed him most was―he was getting used to it. Their smell. Their gray faces and their faint fur-like pelts.
Another hour passed, then two.
“Dig, Arsehole Bastard. Dig!”
It was the underling commander.
Venir ventured a look at him.
His bulging arms were crossed over his barrel chest. A razor-edged sword hung by his side.
“On your knees, Arsehole Bastard,” the underling said. “You are now a servant of the underlings.”
It felt like all the eyes of the fort were on him. Those of both underling and man. Dying of thirst, tongue swollen, Venir kept shoveling.
“Orc,” the commander said, “is this man deaf? I told him to bow, not to shovel. Make him bow, Orc. Make him bow!”
Chaos At The Castle (Book Six) Page 27
