Scorch’s remarks were a mystery to Venir. Still, he pressed for conversation. A little fire from the Grog helped the worst come across a little easier. “You said you had much to share,” he said in his loud voice. “What did you mean by that?”
“That was all more or less in regards to your friends’ immediate suffering. We’ve moved on from that.”
“I see, uh,” Venir started, looking around, “so now what? You say you like to watch the underlings fight.” He pulled out his knife. “I say, what are we waiting for? I’ll give them the fight you’re asking for.”
Scorch’s eyes brightened. “Hmmm, tempting. I have to give this world some credit. Everyone sure does like a good fight. As for the underlings, I’ve had my fill of them for now.” He rubbed his head. “But I wouldn’t mind seeing a good fight. This is a tavern, is it not? I think a brawl is in order.”
The silver bell appeared, rang, and disappeared.
Slom and Zurth emerged from the kitchen with faces as long and miserable as ever.
“I think you three big fellows would make for an interesting match-up. What say you, blond and bold one? Are you up for a scrap with them?”
Venir shrugged his shoulders.
“Excellent.” Scorch’s eyes flashed with a bloodthirsty look. “Winner take all then, or in other words … To the death.”
CHAPTER 3
“I thought you said you could find them.” Jubilee was standing ankle deep in a sand drift half covering her eyes. “Well, I don’t see them.”
“Me either.” Brak had formed a wall between Jubilee and the wind. “I’m getting hungry … again.”
Fogle couldn’t help himself from rolling his eyes. It was a bad day in the outland. Too many suns. Too many problems. He rustled the grime off his robes for all the little good it did and took out his spellbook. The portal he’d cast should have taken them within yards of the rendezvous with Venir. Instead, something else had happened. They were off course. Way off course, and in all truth he had no idea how far off course they were.
I should have stuck with the illusions.
“Say, while you’re in there,” Brak said, “think you can conjure up some more food? Those portals make me hungry.”
“The very air you breathe makes you hungry,” Fogle fired back. “Just tie a knot in your stomach until I get things sorted out.”
“How can I do that?” Brak asked.
“It’s an expression.” Jubilee hooked her arm through Brak’s elbow. “Let’s take a look around while sour face figures out what he messed up.”
Good, Fogle thought. It’s so much easier to concentrate without overgrown children around. Especially the hungry ones. Giant urchin.
He thumbed through the spellbook pages. It really wasn’t the answer to his problems, but it was his natural inclination. The spellbook, thick and bound in worn leather, was a friend. Maybe his only friend. It gave him comfort. It didn’t talk back. It just did what it was told.
“What a dilemma.”
The portal should have taken them to the rendezvous miles away from the City of Three. It was a stone well in a grove of haunting bone trees. There was no water there, but there wouldn’t be any trespassers there either. When Fogle gazed up into the sky, the rising suns seemed much more distant than they had the day before.
“This isn’t right. It just isn’t right at all.”
He’d gazed at the skyline often enough. Sure, he wasn’t any kind of ranger, but he was far from stupid. His grandfather Boon had taught him a thing or two as well. So had Venir. It was clear: he, Brak and Jubilee were not where they were supposed to be.
What to do, Fogle? What to do?
The spellbook gave them options. They could go back, possibly, but the distance might be too great. A few miles was one thing, but they might be leagues away from the City of Three now. It felt like even farther. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and had another thought.
Oh great.
He didn’t have the decanter of everwater.
Maybe it’s time I did conjure up some nutrition.
He flipped through the pages, eyes perusing dozens upon dozens of spells. Most of them would never be used. They were more or less cantrips, tricks to impress your beginner wizard friends, not created for practical application. He smiled at one he’d invented long ago. It was near the back of the book, written in his hand rather than Boon’s. He called it Milking the Flea.
There had been a classmate he couldn’t stand. A pompous slob, the son of a high-powered aristocrat, who hadn’t treated Fogle well. Being only eight years old at the time, infecting the other boy with the fleas of every dog he passed by was all the young wizard could think of.
I wonder what happened to that spoiled brat? Maybe one of those towers fell over on him.
Scanning the pages, Fogle had to resign himself to the fact that there wasn’t much in regards to food. That wasn’t a wizard’s way. Most all of them preferred illusions—good for passing the time in the taverns but darn useless when it came down to it.
If I don’t die in the next few days, I’m going to have to update this thing.
He spied something else.
Ah. The Tent of Fulfillment. That will do in a pinch, though I don’t think Brak will fit inside it.
Some of the letters on the page were smudged.
Son of a Bish!
“Fogle!” Jubilee’s girly, whining, pestering voice cried out. It was distant. “Come quick!”
“I’m busy.” He didn’t say it loud enough for her to hear it. He just wanted to be alone. Read his spells. Think. Plan. Be by himself.
“Fogle!” Brak said in his baritone voice. “Come! Now!”
“Now? How dare that little giant!” Fogle slapped the book shut and rose up on his feet. He kicked through the hot sands toward the sound of their whining voices. Drifting down the slope, he found himself wedged in between Brak and Jubilee. “What’s got you so excited? Did you see a giant chicken or something?”
Brak stretched out his long arm and pointed his finger down at the ravine at the bottom of the slope. A small band of men and horses were way down there. Maybe twenty. The sunlight winked off the metal on their armor. “I almost didn’t see them. Can’t tell if they are men or underlings.”
Narrowing his eyes, Fogle said, “Or something else entirely. Did either of you bring a spyglass?”
“I don’t think any of us thought we would need it,” Jubilee said. “Besides, you’re the old one.”
“I’m old?” Fogle shook his head.
I suppose I am in their eyes. It’s not like I’m feeling any younger these days.
He put his hand on his lower back and rubbed it.
Feeling stiff back there. Where’s a good strider when you need one?
“I think they’ve seen us.” Brak hefted his club over his shoulder and squeezed the shaft. “Yes. They’re coming right for us.”
Still searching through the hazy landscape, Fogle replied, “Can you tell if it’s men or underlings?”
“Underlings don’t ride horses,” Brak said. “And if I’m not mistaken, those are men’s heads hanging from the saddles.”
Fogle shuffled down the slope a little farther. A dozen riders were making their way up the hill. There was a man’s head on a spike. And the riders were big. Bigger than men. “Slat. It’s orcs and gnolls.”
CHAPTER 4
Melegal turned in his chair. Venir, long knife in hand, blocked his view of Zurth, but Slom and Scorch remained in sight. The all-powerful being had a delighted look on his face, somewhat twisted and serene. Slom’s scowling eyes were nothing short of deadly. He was a real killer. Fearless, crafty—and now more than ever, desperate.
I have to agree with Scorch, this is nothing short of entertaining, the thief thought. Ugh! Blast my mouth and these needles in my eye.
No, the needles in his eye didn’t hurt, but the pressure and discomfort was always there. It took all of his will not to try and yank them out. It was a chronic a
nd blurry smudge on his keen sight.
And I thought Venir’s stories were annoying. There’s actually something a hundred times worse.
“He is armed,” Slom said to Scorch. The lanky, hairy-armed half-orc kept his eyes on Venir. “And we are not. And these needles will only hinder us.”
Zurth stepped into view. Broad built like Venir, he held his needles out. “Aye. If it’s entertainment you like, then let’s make it a fair fight. Let these blasted needles be gone, and I promise to make it interesting.”
Venir’s hand clenched the bone handle of his knife. His big tiger-like body was ready to spring. “Me versus them. And what do I gain when I win?”
“Your life, of course,” Scorch said.
Venir eased back. “Ha. That’s hardly a wager in this world. You need to sweeten the pot, Scorch. In Bish, we like to wager with more than just our lives. We like comfort. Status. A prize of some sort.”
“Oh, I see.” Scorch tapped his temple with his finger. “I sense, I sense, well, actually I don’t sense. I can read your minds. All of them. So, what is life without freedom? That is what you want, freedom. Is it not?”
“More so for them, not me. I’ll do your wicked bidding if you let them all go free.”
“Oh ho ho! Now you are jesting with me. I could better control the winds of this world than your wild and wooly will.” Scorch was all smiles. Handsome, dangerous smiles. “Sorry, Venir, but you are the biggest troublemaker here. That’s why I’m going to let these clever men put you down.”
Venir’s hard eyes slid between Slom and Zurth. “That’s not going to happen.”
“Oh, I believe it is.” Scorch snapped his fingers.
Pop!
The needles disappeared from Slom and Zurth’s bodies. They both dropped to their knees. Their faces were filled with elation. “Thank you, Scorch! A thousand thank yous, and I’ve never thanked any man before!”
Slat! Maybe I need to join in this fight against Venir.
Scorch snapped his fingers again. The fighters were instantly adorned in fine chain mail armor. Fine swords and daggers hung from their belts, and shields rested along their knees.
Zurth’s blade whisked out of the scabbard. It cut through the air.
Whisk! Whisk! Whisk!
“It’s finer than any woman I’ve ever held.” He picked up the shield. “It will be an honor to skewer you, outlander.”
“Aye.” Slom flipped his shield up into his hand with ease. “It’s almost a shame to cut down a kindred slayer of underlings.” He eyeballed Kam. “But no doubt the reward will be sweet.”
“Terms, Scorch,” Venir said. It was more of a demand than a question.
“What is it that you want, Slayer?” Scorch said. “Other than your freedom, which I won’t give, what else will you fight for?”
“You can take those needles out of my friends.”
“Consider it done.”
Oh mercy, that would be wonderful.
“But,” Scorch continued, “I’ll probably have to put needles in everyone else. That should give you a few more seconds of life. But don’t fret, you won’t be keen to their suffering once you’re dead.”
“Venir,” Kam said, “don’t do this. Walk away. He’s just baiting you.”
Melegal knew better.
We’re all going to die soon, and it’s going to be painful.
Venir was as fine a fighter as any—unbeatable with the armament on—but this was different. Slom and Zurth were skilled men with fine steel and armor. It would take only seconds to turn Venir into a bloody pincushion.
Am I actually going to witness Venir’s final stand? At least he will not have fallen to the underlings.
“Venir, please,” Kam pleaded. Her voice became a choking sob. “Back off. For me. For Erin.”
“There’s no way around this,” Scorch said in a matter-of-fact manner. “It’s fight or die, either way. But if he survives, I’ll let you all live. I’ll even take away the needles from Melegal and his little friend, Jasper.”
“And what do we get once we cut him down?” Sloth asked.
“You’ll have those fine weapons and armor, my gratitude, and,” Scorch said, leering at Kam and Joline, “those women of course. Methinks they’re already looking lonely.”
Eyes filled with lust, Slom and Zurth nodded. The pair began to ready themselves. They cut and jabbed. Executed the moves of skilled swordsmen. Both had shown Melegal on more than one occasion that they were formidable.
And there Venir stood, towering and fierce, long knife in hand, looking entirely outmatched.
Melegal’s throat tightened.
I can already feel the noose around my neck.
“Just to be clear, Scorch,” Venir said with a darkening scowl. “If they both die, I win.”
“Precisely.”
Venir nodded. “A moment then.” He made his way over to Kam, Erin, and Joline. Taking a moment, he held his baby girl in his arms. He kissed her, handed her back to Kam, and kissed her as well.
Melegal could barely hear his own thoughts through all the sobbing. His own spiked eyes teared up a little as Venir walked by and then set his feet, knife ready.
With a nod, Venir said, “Fight or die. So be it.”
CHAPTER 5
Staring into a mirror, Master Sidebor clutched the gaping hole where his right eyeball had been.
At least it’s healing well. Ugly, but healing.
Confined to a guest room inside his son Master Sinway’s castle, he resumed his pacing around the small bed. Sinway had been gone for days, and things inside the castle had been nothing short of quiet. Sitting down, Sidebor took a nibble of food from a plate on the nightstand.
“So exquisite,” he said, chomping down on the diced-up fruit. “My, won’t this sustain me for days.” He chuckled.
For centuries he’d been trapped inside his own gemstone eyes, longing for vengeance. For some strange reason the thirst for vengeance had been supplanted by a thirst for freedom. As ancient as he was, he was even more patient now. He could afford to not take risks. To let his son, Sinway, take them all.
“But I must admit, I’m fond of my child. His lust for power has even surpassed mine.” He scratched his chest with his sharp fingernails. “Yet I itch. I hunger.” With a thought, his fingernails became flames. Furnaces for mitts.
“I really do need to destroy something.”
He blew his hands out and sighed. “How many months or years will it take before my child turns me loose?” This thought had raced through his mind a hundred times. “What would I do?” He came to the same conclusion. “I wouldn’t let me out either.”
He closed his eyes and visualized all that had happened since he’d been back. The intercession with Scorch had been most delightful. He’d learned so much about a power that was vastly greater than anything he’d ever known. It was the power to create worlds. Entire races of people. And it was there. There for the taking. Sidebor’s hands clutched in and out. “So close. So close. So close.”
He squeezed his good eye shut and continued to concentrate. He tuned in with the world. Its flowing power. Bish was alive. It was sucking up all of the power that was buried deep in its belly. Sidebor needed to tap into that power. Suck up every bit he could and wait until the time was right to strike. Little by little, hour by hour, he grew stronger and became more familiar with a new kind of power.
Interesting.
While Sinway made his march of conquest, he may have missed the bigger picture. He wanted the world beneath his feet. But Sidebor believed it was the other way around.
Heh heh.
A soft knocking came on his door.
His eyelid popped open. He sat up on the edge of his bed and heard the knocking again. His jailers, the Vicious, never bothered to knock. They just swung the door open and slid in the food.
“Strange,” he mumbled, rubbing his chin. He planted his feet on the floor and stood.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
With
a curious eye, he shuffled over. It was odd that someone would knock, seeing how the door was bolted shut from the outside. He opened his mouth to speak.
“What kind of fool knocks on a prisoner’s door?”
The deadbolt on the outside of the door scraped over metal and wood.
Sidebor stepped back.
Slowly the door started to swing in.
Sidebor’s scowl turned into an inverted smile.
“I didn’t want to startle you.” It was an underling woman. White haired, delicately clothed, and glorious from head to toe. Her eyes were the palest purple. “May I come in?”
“Why?”
She eased in with cat-like grace and offered a playful smile. “Let’s just say I’m one last thrill before he kills you.”
***
Master Sinway stood in the window of a castle turret that overlooked the City of Bone. It was daytime. Hot suns beat down city streets filled with the stench of death. The last few days had been full of execution. Alone in the tower, the heavy door swung open and banged into the stone wall.
A man, mature and beginning to grey, adorned in a warrior’s ceremonial garb, stormed in. His squared jaw had a sneer above it. A heavy broad sword hung on his belt. His knuckles were white on the pommel. “This has got to stop, Master Sinway. This is a far cry from what we agreed to.”
“Oh, is it now?” Sinway turned to face him. Dressed in pitch black robes, his eyes were like molten iron. “You feel that I’ve overstepped my boundaries, do you?”
Towering over Sinway, the proud warrior, Lord of the house of Kling, got ever closer, looking down on Sinway. “We agreed you would kill my enemies, not every wretch that works the streets.” He made his way to the window and pointed down at the cobblestoned road. “The rats feast. There’s blood all over the roads. Sickness and disease have started to spread. Who do you expect to clean this disaster up when all of those sorry bastards are dead?”
“It’s no concern of mine.” Sinway drifted up higher and looked down into Ebenezer Kling’s eyes. “I’m certain you’ll get used to it. And I don’t plan on spending too much time inside this city.”
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