“Come with me, Woman. I can’t have my pets running loose, now can I?” It was Kierway. He looked over his shoulder. “I’ve got more pressing matters than watching humans die.”
“Unhand me!” she said.
He backhanded her.
Her legs swayed.
“Speak to me like that, and you’ll never speak again.”
CHAPTER 59
Could he be dead?
Slim the Healer crawled out of his hiding spot and scurried outside. Being king of the Elga bugs was getting old. He needed to stretch his legs. Not the six he had now, but the two he preferred to walk on as a man.
This is tiresome.
Still, he would do whatever he had to do to keep his friend alive. Something had to happen. Something always did. But this time things didn’t seem right. His friend, Venir, was being whittled away, one chunk at a time.
Crawling up one of the Outpost walls, he found a good spot, away from the soldiers.
Oh my!
A man the size of three men was inside the camp, talking like a loud child and fighting against his bonds.
A giant!
A dwarf was whipping his blood red hair in the air, screaming and yelling at an underling like an angry bugbear.
Mood! And Black Beards? Captured? What in Bish is going on?
Bug eyes shifting back and forth, he glossed over a man shoveling in the muck.
Ew! But that’s what Brigands should be doing.
Still searching, he couldn’t find Venir, so he looked for the orc called Tuuth. The big orc was watching over the dwarves, arms crossed over his chest. Fluttering his wings, Slim found another spot and started searching faces all around.
Venir? Where is that brute?
The man was nowhere to be found. Turning back to the man in the muck pit, he took a closer look. Earlier, he’d been looking for blond hair and muscles. But the markings of a ‘V’ tattoo still shown through the muck. Venir!
A sinking feeling started inside his insect belly. Doubt flooded his mind. Over the centuries, he’d seen many things, but he’d never witnessed such a dire scene before.
The underlings singled out one dwarf and chained him to the wall. Above, in one of the fort’s turrets, a pair of underlings grabbed the winch and cranked back the draw string on a ballista. Then loaded a bolt as long as a man. The black beard looked up at the underling, set his chin and raised it high.
Slim closed his eyes.
***
Ballista bolt sticking out of his chest, the Black Beard let out his final gasp, “For the King!” His head dipped. His helmet fell to the ground.
The underlings let out a loud raucous cheer. Venir had never witnessed underlings celebrating so. They danced and jumped. Loaded another ballista. Replaced the dead dwarf with a live one.
“Yer gonna pay for that!” Mood bellowed, fighting against his bonds.
Venir’s heart dipped. Mood’s rescue attempt was going to cost the lives of all his men, and then that of Mood, himself. This wasn’t how the giant dwarves were supposed to end. They should have known by now that his friendship only brought death.
“King of the Dwarves,” the underling commander said, flexing his arms and pumping up his soldiers, “what is it like to see your subjects die? It is customary that we kill the leader first, but I like to watch your eyes. I want to make them water. Making a dwarf cry will be a first.” He pointed up at the fort tower and dropped his arm. “Fire!”
THWACK!
Another Black Beard fell. The bolt sticking out of his skull.
“That probably stung,” the commander said, “but not for very long.”
The crowd chittered, sharp teeth gnashing in agreement.
“Two down, many more to go.”
Venir was used to people dying, but not when they weren’t in battle. Not without a fight. Watching the dwarves fall ate at him. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t natural. Hands white-knuckled on the shovel, he thought of Brool. The white hot power surging through his hands. A hollow feeling overcame him. An old friend lost. Lost forever. He had lived this long without it, but could he live anymore? He was broken. What there anything else he could do to help this savage world?
“You?”
Barton’s hanging head tilted up and looked right at him. The giant sniffed the air.
“Ah-hah, you are hiding in the stink, Venir?”
Tuuth faced the giant. “What did you say, Giant?” He pointed at Venir. “Are you talking to him? Is he Venir?”
“Go away, Orc! I do not like your stink!” Barton’s eye rolled back over to Venir. “Give me my toys!”
“Gag that giant!” Tuuth ordered his men.
“What’s going on?” the Brigand Flaggon said.
“This man, Commander, has a bounty on his head. A big one. This is Venir the Outlander, the one who destroyed the Brigand Army.”
Flaggon rubbed his chin. “I thought there was something familiar about him.” He kneeled alongside the pit. “Your bounty is big, and the penalty is death. Get his shovel, men. Tuuth, clean him up a little before you cut off his head. We’ll want to bring it as a trophy, if we ever make it back to the Brigand City.”
Throughout the fort, everyone’s heads snapped up.
The sound of trees snapping like twigs echoed in the distance.
“What now?” Flaggon said.
Tuuth kept his eyes intent on Venir. “Get him out of there.”
The ground shook. Not like before, but worse.
Thoom!
It shook again. More trees snapped and cracked. Branches sounded as if they were being crushed into the ground.
Thoom!
Above, Venir glimpsed several robed underlings soaring above the walls, clawed hands filling with color.
Wumpf!
An uprooted tree soared over the wall, smacking into an underling mage and crashing them both into the ground.
“Oh No!” Barton said. “They’ve come!”
The underling magi fired balls of energy over the wall.
The soldiers in the towers fired their ballistas.
Rocks bigger than men flew over the wall.
Men and underlings scrambled.
A rock smashed into a turret. Underlings fell to their deaths.
“They’re after the dwarves!” The underling commander cried out. “Prepare for parlay! We’ll hand them over!”
“Hah!” Venir heard Mood say. “If there’s anything giants hate more than dwarves, it’s the underlings!” Mood snapped his chains and punched the wide-eyed underling commander in the face. “But none hates more than I do, Fiend.” Mood let out a gusty word. “SHARLABOTZ!”
The leather and metal that bound the Black Beards withered and snapped. The dwarves burst into action. In seconds, they were an armed force. Hacking and slashing into the off-guard underlings.
Venir stirred. A fire ignited within. He raised his shovel and brought it down on the back of Tuuth’s head.
Snarling, the orc turned, grabbed Venir by the hair, and slung him to the ground. The orc pinned him down. Wrapped his fingers around his neck and squeezed.
Venir couldn’t breathe.
“You’re done for now, Venir!” Tuuth pushed him towards the muck pit. “And your grave’s even ready. Your bones will be right where they belong, Outland Scum.”
CHAPTER 60
Thump.
Thump. Thump.
Boon’s heart still beat. His nose still breathed. But that was all he could to. Beat and breathe. Barely. Is this all I have left? The mystic cuffs tightened with every move. Biting into his wrists and burning at the same time. Inside, his own mystic fires still burned, but he could not summon them. His mouth was bound tight as well. Eyelids heavy, heart skipping and slowing, it was his magic that kept his fiber together. Without it, he would have died long ago.
Oh, to wield the armament one last time! I’d give these fiends a show.
Sagging on the ground, he was oblivious to the commotion that stirred the camp
. His mind was somewhere else, fighting to keep his body on this side of the threshold between life and death.
Fire fell from the sky.
“Eh…” He opened his eyes.
Smoke began.
The hairs on his arms and beard curled and singed.
Hot smoky air filled his nose and lungs.
A cry of Chaos went up.
A clamor spread through the underling camp. Underlings barked orders. Flames spread from tent to tent.
Someone grabbed hold of him. Pulled him to his feet. Cut his bonds and yanked the gag from his mouth.
“Eat this!” his rescuer said. A fruit of some sort was stuffed in his mouth.
He sunk his teeth right in. Juice dripped down his beard.
“Come with me!”
He followed, blinking the dark smoke from his eyes. Flames surrounded them. Underlings screamed out. They burned. They burned alive. The sound of underlings suffering was music to his ears.
Is this real? Or am I dead?
“Grab this and get on!” the voice ordered, placing his hands on a rope.
“What?” he started to say, but was cut off.
Something huge lurched beneath him, stirring up a cloud of dust and fire. Off the ground they rose. Boon fought to hold on. He slipped, but a strong arm grabbed him and held him tight.
“Am I on what I think I’m on?”
“Keep silent, and hold tight!”
CHAPTER 61
Creed’s fingertips touched leather. He dumped out the contents of the sack. A sword belt. Different. Two pommels with a dull gray finish were shoved in short scabbards on it. Compelled, he strapped it on. Two short blades are better than none.
“Food! There must be something.” He reached back inside.
Behind him, Tonio and the Vicious were still having it out, but it didn’t matter to him if either one died, so long as it wasn’t him. “Just a morsel, eh? Or maybe a skin of wine? Please?”
Instead, the sack served up soft fabric.
“What’s this?” Creed held a dark, intricately woven cowl, big enough to cover his head and shoulders.
The cowl throbbed with a life of its own, telling him something.
He traced the tiny swirling rows of stitches with his fingers. “Bish, what kind of garment is this?” Creed’s keen eye understood fine craftsmanship. He’d crafted his own blades with intricate designs. But what he now beheld was nothing short of marvelous in his eyes.
“Huh, a bit much for keeping the rain off,” he said. He put it on. And forgot his hunger.
The Cowl filled him with great awareness.
He jumped from the ground. “Mother of Bone!”
The Vicious caught Tonio in the nose, rocking the half-dead man, flattening him. It turned on Creed, jaws snapping, claws bared.
Tonio moved, but slowly.
Creed didn’t have a stitch of armor on him aside from The Cowl. He wasn’t worried. He felt thick. Tough. He sized up the monster.
Its arms were long like an ape’s. Its skin tough, like black steel. The claws on its fingers were ten blades to his two.
Creed’s hands fell to the steel pommels at his hips. Maybe they can cut this thing. He jerked them out. Steel. Dark. Razor sharp.
“Great Bish!”
The blades were long! And heavy, but light in his hands.
The Vicious charged.
Quick as it was, Creed was quicker. Like a cobra he struck.
Slice!
Slice!
One monster hand fell, then the other.
The Vicious howled, fangs dripping with saliva.
Glitch!
The tip of one blade punctured its eye.
Glitch!
The other its throat.
The Vicious sagged to the ground, dead.
Creed looked at his blades. “I’ll be.” Spun them around. “I could get used to this.”
His head throbbed. Underlings were coming. His eyes glimmered. Two underlings surged down the steps and leapt into the arena. Behind them, Detective Melegal’s scrawny body was sprawled out on the benches, unmoving.
Creed smiled. He twirled one sword in his hand. Held the other behind his back.
Flanking him, one underling came in low, the other high, curved swords licking out like serpent tongues.
Creed swatted their blades away.
They pressed.
He pressed back, laughing. If the Royals could see me now! Hah. They’d never face me.
All his life, he’d been training to fight. We wanted to be respected. Fight the Royals in their arenas. Be their champion. But they wouldn’t let him. He wasn’t their blood. They claimed he wasn’t worthy. Still, he continually perfected his skill and craft. Designing his own steel and other weapons. Now he wielded two as easily as sticks. He felt like he could swing forever.
“Hah!”
His steel flashed.
He clipped through the nose of one.
Zitch!
He tore the lip from the other.
Bleeding, the underling’s eyes were focused. Ready.
Creed folded his swords behind his back, stuck his chin out and shook his head.
Chittering, they came at him.
Creed lunged. Stabbed both through the chest.
Their swords fell. Their bodies right after.
“If only my hounds could see this.”
He slung underling blood from his swords and scanned the arena. Only one underling was left. Its eyes furrowed beneath its brow.
Creed waved him down.
“Time for a rematch, you copper-eyed roach.”
***
Tonio pushed himself off the ground, shaking his head. The black creature was fast. It confused him. Still, he would make it pay.
Turning to face his predator, he saw something he didn’t expect. The Vicious was face first in the dirt, hands missing and dead. He had a sinking feeling when he looked over and saw the next thing.
A faceless man battled the underlings. His swords were fast. Strokes of lightning.
A chill went through Tonio. He looked at the scars on his arms and ran his hand down the split in his face. Something about that man distraught him. He had to get away.
“No,” he said, recoiling. The black forest came to mind, the webs. He noticed a gleaming sword near the arena wall and took it. Then, he headed to the nearest door and ripped it open. His mother, Lorda, was screaming after him, but he didn’t hear her. He had to hide. He had to plan.
***
“Detective.”
Melegal groaned.
“Detective.” It was the soft voice of a woman. Her lips brushed his ear. “We must hurry.”
Melegal found himself gazing up into the beautiful eyes of Lorda Almen. His heart thumped in his chest. He reached out and grasped her hand, feeling her breasts brush against his chin as she held him. He savored the moment.
“We must go,” she said, lifting his chin to face her.
A moment ago, he’d been ready to let his suffering in Bish end. He’d had enough of facing one bad day followed by another. But for now, he had a new purpose. He fought the pain and discomfort and wrapped his hand around her sensuous waist. Fight and fondle. He was going to help the Lorda.
“How many underlings?” he said, coughing a little.
“Hundreds. They come and go. From where, I don’t know. It’s an army.” She pushed her black hair from her eyes. “It’s madness, is what it is. We have to get out of here.” She pushed him. “Let’s go.”
Melegal started to go, then froze.
“Venir?”
In the arena, a man in a dark cowl was squared off against the underling, Kierway.
The sight sent chills through Melegal.
The man under the cowl was tall and muscular, but not savage and brawny like Venir. His face was obscured a little. The man moved like a predator, dark blades whirling at the underlings like storms at small boats out at sea.
Melegal then noticed the pants. Well-trimmed auburn
hair around the mouth.
Creed?
Sadness fell over him. Despair filled his belly. If his friend was no longer The Darkslayer, then was his friend no more?
“Fool!” Lorda said, pulling him along. “You’re supposed to be saving me; I’m not supposed to be saving you.”
They made their way to the door Melegal had tried to approach earlier. He passed through it before her.
A corridor led around the arena toward many other exits. There was a clamor everywhere. Chandeliers fell. Vases were busted. Footsteps scrambled over the marble. Castle Almen was under attack, but the usurped were fighting back.
“C’mon,” Melegal said. He took her hand. One corridor was blocked off by rubble. Another was overrun with underlings. “There should be more options in a castle so large.” Jogging back down the corridor by the arena, they took another path. Melegal had spent considerable time following Sefron and learning many secrets. Others, he’d discovered on his own. He eyed the framework of the wall. “Aw, where is it?”
“What?” Lorda said.
Chitter. Chitter. Chitter.
Underling soldiers were prowling the halls, coming from both directions.
Dripping with sweat, chest heaving, Lorda’s eyes locked with his.
Melegal caught her voluptuous form in his arms and kissed her on the mouth.
She dug her nails into his back. Kissing him back. Her soft lips were hungry. Passionate.
They finished, gasping.
“You know,” Lorda said, “death is the penalty for that.”
Underlings cut them off at both ends.
“Obviously,” Melegal answered, pushing her behind him, “but it was worth it.”
CHAPTER 62
The Castles in the City of Bone were all lined up against the great wall: some looking over, some not as tall. On both sides of Castle Almen, the other two attacked. Small catapults hurled heavy stones, and piles of logs and ballista bolts crisscrossed.
Standing on top of the keep, Lord Catten laughed.
“It seems the Royals have decided to engage,” he said to his brother, “but it’s a bit too late.”
Chaos At The Castle (Book Six) Page 30
