The Darkslayer: Book 01 - Wrath of the Royals (11 page)

Then back up and it flashed again.

He lined up the tip so that it glowed steady in light. A silhouette began to form in the tree tops. It was an underling floating near the upper branches of a willow tree.

Got him! Center mass.

He pulled back the bow string as an excruciating surge of pain dug into his shoulder, and let the shaft fly.

Twing! Zip!

A streak of hot red light punched straight through the sternum of the hovering underling and out of the other side.

Bulls’ eye!

The underling came towards him, chittering with rage. Had his missed? No, he knew he hit it, yet it came. He fumbled for another arrow, brushing the ravenous insects away. As the underling began descending towards him, a look of horror crossed his features. The underling began to glow, eyes and mouth catching fire from the inside, and then exploding in a bright red flash. A cloud of black ash filled the air. Billip crouched back down, noticing the mosquitoes losing interest in him as well. He wiped the creatures away, and gathered his thoughts.
Got to check on Mikkel!

He ventured down the ravine, bow ready. Another shadowy figure descended on him from above and he dropped his knocked arrow. He clutched after it as the cloaked underling drifted towards him. He was terrified as he watched it touch the ground and crumple in a sagging pile.

Billip inched closer and noticed his red feathered arrow lodged deep in its brain. Shivering at the sight, he marveled that the arrow had somehow found two targets from his single shot.
Powerful magic indeed
. Did the same apply to the bow? He reached for the arrow, noticing that the feathers were now blackened and dry, its magic spent.

He slid down the ravine and soon came upon Mikkel on the ground; his breathing was shallow and raspy, lips caked with blood. The man groaned as he sat him up. He put his canteen to Mikkel’s lips.

“
How is he?”
a hard voice said.

He turned and saw a startling figure of muscle and metal splashed with gore.
Vee?

The thick webs peeled away as Venir’s axe sliced through them. Gasps of pain escaped labored lips from behind him as they treaded back up the ravine. He was exhausted, body wracked with pain. Holes had burned in the mail that covered his belly, singing his flesh to metal. They reached the bottom outpost wall and entered through the same steel storm drain they had been defending. He locked it down as they headed inside the bowels of the outpost.

Three stout Royal henchmen in scale armor guarded their path, but moved aside with wary glances. Venir could see debris falling as heavy activities were in force above. He led the way as they traveled upward through the wide tunnel of rock and soil as the sounds of chaos grew. Dim light filtered in at the far end where a steel ladder led twenty feet up through a man-sized hole.

A lanky figure in pale green terrycloth robes and ankle-strap sandals descended the ladder at a brisk pace, hopping off the final five steps, and rambling towards them. It was a tall man, near seven feet in height, his narrow face light-skinned and boyish beneath short sandy hair. His voice was soothing, somewhat childlike, his light blue eyes showing a wisdom and compassion that was rare on Bish.

“I know you guys, you never miss a party,” Slim said raising his eyebrows. “Mikkel looks bad. What’s been going on?” The boyish man began inspecting the brawler with his fingers, motioning his hands downward.

“Ah,” the cleric said with a smile as Chongo licked his face. “That wasn’t so bad, was it boy?” Slim then turned back to the man laid out in the tunnel and said, “Now the big guy. Hold him still, you two.”

Venir pressed down on Mikkel’s shoulders as he watched the young man work. He couldn’t believe their good fortune. Slim always reminded him of a young Melegal, except more friendly, something the thief resented. Billip helped him pin down the listless man’s powerful arms and legs.
Here we go
.

The long limbed man grabbed the shaft of the small bolt lodged in Mikkel’s belly. The iron warrior’s mouth and chin were covered in spit and blood. Slims slender lips muttered a fast cadence of words, and as he spoke, power radiated into his glowing and elongating hands. The bolt blazed in his hand like a furnace poker as he extracted the bolt. The warrior screamed and writhed. The smell of burning flesh filled the tunnel as the charred bolt turned to ash.

Mikkel groaned, his light eyes flittering open and closed. The cleric placed his hands on the man’s hard belly and gashed thigh. Again the Slim’s face distorted in anguish and he began aging before their widened eyes. The wounds closed and it was over as fast as it begun. Slim gasped for air, his now withered face full of hard lines and cracked teeth. Venir thought Slim looked like the oldest man he’d ever seen.

“He’ll be okay,” the cleric said in a ragged voice. “He should be able to walk in a minute, but he’s not up for fighting for awhile.” Slim stood up, hunched over, and cracked his skinny neck. “Ah … man, sometimes I hate this.”

“What’s going on up there, Slim?” he asked, looking at the shaking ceiling above. “They need to know that the underlings are bringing more forces now.”

“Too late Venir, it’s over. Outpost Thirty-One is already lost. And if we don’t get moving,
we’ll
be lost, too.”

He and Billip’s eyes met as Slim continued.

“You don’t want to go up there. It’s overrun. I’ll fill you in.”

Slim stretched out his long arms, and Venir watched the older face slowly regain its youthful vigor. The young man now inspected his wounds and began chatting in the quick.

“Here goes—the brigands stormed the south gate. Three hundred Royal horsemen rode out to battle them, or so we thought, but they just kept on riding, giving the brigands clear access to the outpost. I’m not sure which Royal general it was, but he clearly betrayed the rest. It won’t be long before all of the gates are compromised and we’re up to our elbows in underlings. Now, we’ve got to go back out that way.” Slim pointed his long index finger toward the south grate where they had just entered. “No choice.”

“Man, what did you guys do out there? And what’s with all the bug bites? That’s gross!” he said with his face drawn, hands on his chest. “You got whipped by a bunch of little underlings? Didn’t you? ” Slim now ran his ginger fingers over the archer’s shoulder, then reached into a pouch and pulled out a small jar and applied a pasty blue salve to the wound.

Slim had a childish grin and said, “Just teasing, it’s a little something I whipped up. I haven’t named it yet. Good thing your wound was only cosmetic. It’s just a little make-up to match your cheeks. You’ll be fine.”

The chuckles came, but were hollow, none more so than Venir’s. He wasn’t so sure he could get them safely out of there.

Billip rolled his shoulder, releasing a brief smile, cracking his knuckles. Touching the scar that had already formed over the wound he said, “It’s closed up!”

The healer slapped his tender shoulder bringing a grimace.

“And don’t worry about the scar. Get a nice tattoo over it and the ladies will love it, especially the orcen ones.”

The tunnel was silent for a moment as Venir watched all eyes draw on him. Other than Slim, the bunch looked ragged and beaten. He wanted to collapse, his belly burned and his body ached from head to toe. It seemed there was no other way out. One choice,
Fight or flee.

Slim tried to convince the sentries at the outer grate to come along, that remaining would be to their immediate peril. They laughed. They were hard and loyal men and would not abandon their duty. The soldiers made it clear they would rather die than run, wished the men good fortune and turned away. Closing the storm drain behind them, before sealing it shut, one yelled out.

“Bish be with you!”

Now the men stood in the forest, listening. Venir could hear the rising crescendo of bloodshed ringing in his ears. He could picture the underlings and the brigand army spilling inside the outpost and blackening its interior. The gates were compromised. The shouts of Royal orders were silenced by magic, missiles and manslaughter. Plumes of fire and smoke began to fill the sky.

It was clear that the onslaught was overwhelming and no Royal man or beast would survive. A great chunk of evil would follow the valiant soldiers into the bloodied ground however, that seemed clear judging by the roar of the fighting above, but it would not be enough.

Mikkel was nodding his head.”

What is the plan!?”

“The last plan was to get word to the northern cities for assistance,” Slim said. “So let’s head that way, or else I’ll go alone.”

Venir said, “No, we go south. They won’t be looking as hard there. The northward route will be the most heavily guarded. The underlings will be thick for miles.”

“They underlings will be everywhere—period!” Mikkel added.

Slim had something to offer.

“I have magic that should conceal us all. But I don’t want to use it until the last possible moment; it won’t last long. We’re going to have to move like a banshee to get clear. I’ve got other ideas, too. Are you guys with me?”

Having ventured with Slim before, Venir had some idea of what he had in mind. He wasn’t keen, but they had little choice other than to trust his magic. It could do more than heal.

“I’ll take the point. For some odd reason they can’t see me. You guys should be fine. I just hope there’s nothing worse than underlings out there looking for us.”

Slim tightened the cords on his sandals.

“Awesome Venir, you just gave me another idea. By the way, nice helmet or whatever that is. It makes you look mean … like Melegal.”

Venir barreled down the ravine with Chongo at his side. The others followed not far behind, all thoughts heavy on the downfall of Outpost Thirty-One. Mikkel managed to recover his heavy crossbow as they passed by the ambush site. Venir maneuvered through the thick foliage like a metal apparition, striding through the dark like a bobcat. He could sense underlings were all around, but not close enough to pinpoint. He fought the urge to find them, as the awareness made the battle very compelling. He began to realize that he could lead them all out of harm’s way if he could stay focused on fleeing, rather than killing.

Nevertheless, the spiked helmet on his brow beckoned him to make contact and destroy the underlings. He had to stop more than once to regain his composure, rather than succumb to the battle lust. His will was strong and only his loyalty to his friends prevented him from giving into his reckless desires.

He led them through the forest, minute after minute, stirring little more than a muskrat. His nerves were on edge as every unfamiliar sound seemed amplified. He looked back time and again as Billip signaled they weren’t followed. They were already a full mile down the hill.
Almost free
. He kept them moving.

At this pace the great hill that held Outpost Thirty-One would soon bottom out; they were almost halfway down. He felt something strong ahead and froze.

Slim fidgeted beside Mikkel.

Venir signaled back,
Nothing.