Better make it count.
“Drop the woman!” Creed said, stepping into the clear, swords ready. “Slat, you’re an ugly thing. What in Bish are you?” He looked at Melegal.
“An imp.”
Creed shrugged. “Drop her, Imp, or taste my steel.”
Eep laughed, rose twenty feet high into the throne room, and dropped her.
***
I’ve found them, Mastersss.
Found who? Verbard replied.
The Skinny Man who had the Keys, a woman, and the murdering swordsman you seek.
Where?
In the Throne Room.
“That was fast,” Catten said. “Even for an imp.”
Suddenly, Verbard’s and Catten’s eyes locked.
It cannot be, Brother, Verbard thought.
“But it is,” Catten hissed through curled lips.
Someone was searching for them. An old enemy. A great foe. An enemy they’d fought decades ago.
“Boon! And his grandson, Fogle!”
“How did they get here? Where did they come from?”
“They must be in the chamber.”
Verbard fingered the Keys in his pocket, as did Catten. They were all there except the one Kierway had lost, the one that led to Outpost Thirty-One.
“So they were the source of all the commotion? They’re here? How did they make it through an entire army?” Catten was outraged. The surrounding castles were still attacking, and he’d sent all their reserves to Outpost Thirty One for reinforcements. How many giants had arrived down there?
“What do you want to do, Brother?” Verbard said.
Catten slipped the cap on his head. “Boon is not what he was; I can sense it. And his grandson is still green.” Catten rubbed at his side where Fogle had zinged him months before. “I think I can hold them.”
“Then I’m after that swordsman, whoever he is,” Verbard said. “Jottenhiem, come with me and bring every soldier you can spare. We’ll wipe this out quickly.”
CHAPTER 70
Fogle’s knees knocked. His chin rattled. His mind rocked and reeled. The image of the golden eyed underling Catten snickered in his head. He and Grandfather were somewhere else. A battlefield in the inner mind, inescapable and chaotic.
“Grandfather! Grandfather!” he sputtered out, fingers knotted around Boon’s.
The old man’s body withered and sagged to the ground, making a feeble gasping sound.
Fogle remembered the last time he’d locked minds with Catten. It had almost killed him, and now, the underling was prepared. Enlightened. More powerful.
“You will die, Human. You and the old man both.”
Biting into his lip, Fogle felt his mind collapsing on itself, turning dark and filling with despair.
Hold on, Fogle. Hold on.
The voice was weak and distant.
The underling was slowly ripping Fogle’s mind from his grandfather’s. A great gaping maw filled with razor sharp teeth was ready to devour them. Swallow them into an abyss forever. A long yellow knotty tongue lashed out around his grandfather’s waist and reeled the old man in. Boon’s face was sagging and withered, his grip, once strong as iron, struggled to hang on.
I won’t let him go! Fogle’s feet anchored themselves to the warbling floor. I beat you once! I can beat you again!
Catten chuckled and spiked a shard of power in his head.
“Aargh!”
The pain stabbed between his eyes. Excruciating. His entire body felt like it was melting into a gooey drop, ready to be swallowed whole.
Think, Fogle! Think!
His fingers slipped from his grandfather’s.
***
On the other side of things, Catten was laughing and dusting his long nails on his robes.
“This cap is amazing,” he said to himself, making his way out of the arena. He thought of his brother and Master Sinway. “It gives me that edge I’ve been seeking.”
***
The stone wall crumbled. The first underling rushed through. Its head was splattered all over the walls.
“Ten!” Venir roared.
But the stairwell was three beasts wide, and the ranks of underlings deeper than a well.
Hack! A clawed hand was lost.
“Elven!”
Crunch! A chest caved in.
“Twelve!” Blood spurted from an underling’s neck.
Glitch!
Venir took a punch to the shoulder, lost his footing and stumbled backward.
“Blast yer hides!” he screamed, swinging wildly, keeping them at bay.
“Get over there, Black Beards!” Eethum yelled and ran at the same time.
Three dwarves in heavy armor rushed forward, plugging the stairwell. Steel clashed on steel. Axes splintered bone. Long knives sifted through weak points on armor. Slowly, the dwarves, busted and bleeding, were being pushed backward.
Venir took a quick glance over his shoulder. The wizards had collapsed on the floor. Like their bones were missing. They twitched. He growled. The underlings had taken his friends, and now they had taken his city. He was tired of losing. A raging storm ignited inside him.
“Rrrrrah!”
Charging, he leapt over the dwarves into the underlings.
***
Yes, Fogle. Yes! Boon said to him, his withering voice stronger than before. Do it! Do it quick!
Fogle hung on. Struggling for his sanity, bearing every cruel twist and turn, searching for a weakness in the underling’s probing mind. He summoned The Darkslayer. The underling laughed. One door slammed closed. Find another. Fogle found something. Yes. The green amulet that he’d given to Venir to track him. Yes. He’d put it in Catten’s robes when he exchanged them for his spellbook. It was a little something he’d planned on sharing with Boon when the time was right.
The time is right now! Boon said. The old wizard’s eyes were opened wide. He grappled with the tongue that held him. Grabbing the lip of the beast that tried to swallow him, his arm now held a pick-axe, which he sunk into its lip and held on. I can hold on! Let me go and strike!
“NO!” Fogle said, “I can’t risk it!”
You’ve no choice now. The iron in Boon’s eyes had returned. Do something. Quick! Before he finds out!
“I can’t get out of here.” Fogle said.
Do it!
Boon, geared up in his mystic armor and sword, dove into the belly of the beast and disappeared.
“Noooooooooo!”
CHAPTER 71
Melegal and Creed arrived at the same time, catching Lorda, who’d fainted.
“Nice catch,” Creed said, looking upward.
Eep’s wings buzzed. He was laughing. Blink!
“Watch out!” Melegal said.
Eep pooped up behind Creed. Slash! Slash! Tore into his back.
Blink!
“Argh!” Creed said. “Bish!”
Melegal’s head swiveled on his shoulders. He’d seen the imp tear men into dog food in seconds. Run! Get Lorda and get out of here!
Creed turned his back to him and said, “How bad is it?”
Two bloody gashes formed a nasty X beneath his shoulders.
Eyes intent, Melegal took a quick glance.
“Just a scratch.”
He moved away. Where is that thing? His eyes drifted towards the only exit. “No,” he said, shoulders sagging.
“What?” Creed said, looking around.
Several underlings entered the room.
Eep buzzed alongside a floating underling with bright silver eyes. Accompanying him was a burly underling soldier with a shaven head and dark ruby eyes. Lord Almen’s whip glowed in his grip. Four other underlings in dark chain armor escorted them. The floating underling hesitated in midair a moment, pointing at Creed as it spoke.
“Jottenhiem, Eep, kill him. Leave the skinny one to me.”
***
Creed could feel them. Sense them. They were going to kill him.
“Let’s give it a go then. Shall
we?”
One by one, the four underlings, brandishing a variety of sharp blades, surrounded him. He glanced at Eep, his keen ears keeping track of the buzzing. Not going to let that happen again.
The bald underling with the whip chittered out a command. The well-trained team of underlings struck in unison.
Creed was already moving. He stepped into one underling. Stab! Piercing its heart in a lightning fast strike. Swish! He ducked under the next cutting blade.
Clang! Slit!
He ripped the sword out of one’s hand and took its throat.
Gulch!
Gored the face of another.
Slice!
Tore the innards from the third.
Chop! Chop! Chop! Chop!
And butchered the fourth’s head like a melon.
He took a bow.
“Next.”
The imp and the whip-wielding underling circled him.
Blink!
The imp was gone.
The bald underling uncoiled the mystic whip and grinned.
Wupash!
“Oh, Great.”
He backed towards the thrones. He had no sense of where the imp was. He needed a barrier on his backside. You won’t be getting to my back again.
Blink!
Eep re-appeared right in front of his face and latched onto his chest.
“NOOOO!” Creed yelled. He dropped his swords. Grabbed the imp by the throat. The creature was solid. Muscle. Hard knotty skin and bone. He was no wrestler. ”Get off me!”
Eep was merciless. Talons dug deep into his flesh. Its oversized jaws bit hard into his shoulder.
Creed punched the imp. It was like hitting a rock. He’d been in hundreds of fights, but he’d never faced anything supernatural like this. He punched and punched.
Wupash!
Eep blinked away, reappearing alongside Jottenhiem.
Creed sagged to his knees, fingers searching for his swords.
Wupash!
The whip coiled around his neck and jerked him to the ground.
Creed’s head was burning hot. He clutched at the air.
***
Melegal’s feet were lifted from the ground. He sailed right into Lord Verbard’s powerful grasp. The underling squeezed his neck.
“Interesting for a human, you are. A survivor. I might have a use for you yet.”
The words registered, but the meaning was lost. I’m choking to death. He twitched and recoiled from the depth of evil in those silver eyes.
A long shiver went through him when Verbard said, “Of course, it all depends on how long your breath can last. Can it last longer than my grip, Little Rat?”
CHAPTER 72
“Eh…” Catten mumbled, his golden eyes flaring.
Boon, a forgotten nemesis, had become a great fish hooked and struggling on his line.
“So be it, Enemy! I’ll kill you first and take your grandson next.”
He released his grip on Fogle Boon’s mind, blasted every stitch of armor from Boon’s body with a single thought, and started shoving Boon’s broken form into a deep, dark, grave.
***
Fogle gasped. Breathing again, recollecting his senses, he crawled over to his spellbook and thumbed through the pages. Blinking hard and trying to block out the sounds of battle that echoed in the chamber, he found the page he needed.
He pressed his finger on the first word.
“I never thought I’d do this.” He touched his grandfather’s unmoving form. Boon was ashen and cold. Knowing it would erase the spell, Fogle read straight from the book.
The first word was soft, like a drink of sweet wine. The next syllable exploded in his mind, taking it yonder and back in a split second. His face lit up. His back straightened when the last syllable fell. “Eethum, get ready!” The page of the spellbook faded into smoke.
The air sizzled, shimmered and crackled.
Underling Lord Catten materialized before them, his wizened face gaping.
“What!” he said, outraged. Bewildered. “You shall pay for—”
Slice!
Eethum’s stroke took his head from his shoulders. Its bright golden eyes rolled over the ground.
“I did it,” he said, looking at Eethum. “He’s dead. He’s really de—”
Clang! Bang! Crunch!
Fogle whipped his aching head around. Venir! Buried in underlings, the big man was in for.
***
The underlings. Their hatred was deep. Venir’s was deeper.
Chop!
Rage. They ignited it. He hated them. The smell of them. The sight of them. The oily stink of them. And he was going to kill them. Kill them all.
Hack!
He was a hurricane. Dwarven steel gone wild.
He launched a fatal blow into a bright blue-eyed underling’s chest.
Sixteen!
Venir was no longer a man, but now a savage animal. Hungry. Starving. Battling for survival. For supremacy!
He brought both axe-blades down hard on a helmeted underling’s head, splitting its skull to the teeth. Wrenched his blades free.
Two underlings jumped on top of him, pinning down his arms.
Slice!
A curved blade lashed out across his leg.
Down he went with five underlings on top of him. He fought like a tiger. He fought like a beast. He lost his blades. Something hard, heavy, struck his head. He could not feel. His vision blurred. He swallowed blood. He spit blood. He saw blood.
Small blades rose and fell.
He was going to die. He was certain. He booted one in the nose.
“Remember,” he said. “I killed a thousand of you, and you only killed one of me!”
Crack! Stab Slash!
Venir didn’t feel a thing. Fight and die. Everything faded. Fuzzy. Black.
Chop! Chop! Chop!
What was that?
Something was stuffed in his mouth. He tried to spit it out.
“Chew!” the Blood Ranger ordered. The Black Beards, the two that were left, kneeled along his side, beards dripping wet.
It hurt to swallow, but he did. Then he glanced at his burning belly. It was open, in more places than one.
“Got any Elga bugs?” Venir looked over a Black Beard’s shoulder. “Say, what happened to that underling?”
The stone wall was back. A breathing underling was stuck inside it.
Eethum tore a piece of string off his sleeve with his teeth, threaded a fine needle, and started sewing Venir’s belly up.
“Hold on,” Venir said to Eethum.
Rising to his feet and holding his innards in, Venir limped over, grimacing, and jammed his axe in the trapped underling’s head. Sat and lay down again.
“Here,” Fogle said, holding a canteen to his lips. “Drink.”
Venir pushed it away. “I’m not an infant, and I’ll have no part of a bearded nanny.”
***
Boon forced himself up into sitting position and put his throbbing head between his knees.
“Did you get him?” Boon said, holding his stomach.
“One of them,” Fogle said, holding Catten’s head up by the hair.
Boon blanched.
“You cut his head off! With a sword!”
Fogle smiled. “Eathum did. With an axe as big as my head.”
“Well, that’s a big axe alright, but,” Boon paused, “the other one, Silver Eye?”
“Haven’t gotten him yet.”
Boon sighed. “How much have you got left?”
“About as much as you, I’d guess.”
Boon rubbed his forehead and held his trembling hand out. The fire was back in his eyes. “Give me that spellbook.”
CHAPTER 73
Jottenhiem yanked on the whip, jerking Creed from his feet and slinging him across the room into the hard wall behind a tapestry.
Creed felt every bit of it.
Wupash!
The dark purple light of the mystic whip ripped the skin from his arm.
Wupash!
It coiled around his other arm, burning like fire. Jottenhiem pulled him across the floor.
Creed screamed. The pain was maddening. It shocked every inch of his body.
“Let me eatss him!” The imp said, wringing its taloned hands and gnashing its over-sized jaws. They opened so wide, Creed could see his entire body fitting inside the imp’s mouth.
He grabbed at the whip and cried out.
Jottenhiem slung him into another wall.
Wupash!
He cracked the whip into Creed’s blood-seared back again and again.
Wupash!
The whip coiled around his neck with only The Cowl protecting him.
“Go ahead, Imp,” Jottenhiem said, flashing his sharp teeth, “I’ll hold him still. You eat.”
Eep smacked his thin lips and slowly buzzed over.
Creed tried to scream, but he couldn’t. All he could do was scream in his mind.
NOOOOO!
Rage mixed with helplessness. The urgings from his cowl now shrouded by the pain. Creed outstretched his arms and flexed his fingers.
I’m not going to die like this!
The imp was fifteen feet away. Ten. Five.
No! Not like this! Where are my swords?
Two sharp objects shot across the room into his hands.
My blades!
Eep paused and blinked.
Creed sunk one blade through its eye before the lid could open.
Slice!
He cut the whip away. The imp twitched and howled, sporadically flying all around.
Slice! Slice!
He clipped one buzzing wing, then the other.
Blink! The imp vanished.
Creed took a deep breath. That was close. His arms were shredded. He dripped blood. He hobbled when he moved. He wanted to rest. Heal.
The Cowl wouldn’t allow it.
Suck it up, Creed.
Jottenhiem tossed the broken whip away and came running with his swords. They collided at the center of the room, sword hilts locked together. Shoving back and forth, Jottenhiem held his ground. The underling, though smaller, was far stronger than he looked.
Jottenhiem cracked Creed in the jaw with his head, bringing painful spots and slicing right at him.
Clang!
He deflected a blow.
Chaos At The Castle (Book Six) Page 35
