The Darkslayer: Book 01 - Wrath of the Royals (2 page)

“Yer gawn bee fine boy.”

Venir shivered.

Over ten seasons passed in Venir’s life and despite the tragedy during his boyhood in the village of Throhm his spirit was never broken. His freedom among the forests and dry lands kept a grim smile on his face most of the time. His blonde hair, bright blue eyes, deep tan, and handsome face gave the women in all provinces plenty to talk about. His exploits and willingness to recount them left an impression on all he came upon. Unlike most mercenaries, Venir did not expect much in return from those who benefited from his deeds; a good meal and a comfortable place to sleep was more than enough to satisfy him. And so, with trial, he earned people’s trust, a rare quality on Bish ….

Where the thick forest’s ended and the harsh grit of the Outlands met, the young outlander had settled in at Two-Ten City. Inside the falling city—an unimpressive tavern called the Orc’s Elbow—he was carrying on with his colleagues. It was an unusual oaken tavern with a grimy gray-brown exterior, in a two-story building with few support walls. It had the appearance that the second story would tumble down at any moment.

Despite its name, no orcs were to be found inside. The tavern’s previous owner, a full orc, had wagered the Orcs Elbow on the fight between Venir and another. The orcen man lost. Since then, not a single orc had re-entered it. Venir had been comrades with the new owner, Billip, ever since ….

“So Billip, what’s the wager tonight?” he said, as he sat his body on a groaning stool. The man behind the bar sent a fresh mug of mead sliding his way.

“Ah, wouldn’t you like in on the action! Well, I’ll tell you. I’ve got ten good gold against Melegal. The dirty donkey of his will be mine, if he can’t throw a bulls-eye—blindfolded—from ten paces.”

Billip cracked his knuckles, grinning with greed. Also sitting at the bar, a lean figure in loose fitting clothes looked up and rolled his eyes. Billip glared at the skinny man. Billip fidgeted and his dark eyes always seemed to be calculating odds under his mop of short black hair. Nothing appeared extraordinary about his stout, wiry frame or his weathered skin as he moved with fluid purpose about the bar. The tavern owner was a tireless tracker and an unrivaled archer, and as loyal a man as could be found on Bish. Older than Venir, Billip had much experience as a soldier, a trader, and a gambler, which was what might have led to him to live in Two-Ten City in the first place.

The scout kept his private thoughts to himself and never confirmed it, but Venir suspected that Billip had got in over his head somewhere along the line. The security of this undesirable multi-humanoid city was as good a place to hide as any.

The other man at the bar, Melegal, pulled his sleeves up along his bony wrists, adjusted his floppy hat, and sucked the froth from his mead. Billip dug around under bar and produced a blackened cloth. Venir sat on a barstool and sipped his mead, smirking at the scene. Melegal pushed himself away from the bar, walked over to Billip and stood as still as a crane. Billip strapped the thick black cloth around the man’s narrow head and stepped back. Melegal the rogue then placed his own mug on top of his head. Not a slosh of the rim filled glass spilled over.

Melegal now stood blindfolded, on an ‘
X’
, as the barkeeper then walked over by the adjacent wall. Billip outlined a large gold talent with a piece of white chalk. Venir could see the blinded man’s ear bend as the raunchy tavern’s dwellers were aroused and closing in. Melegal stiffened, but Venir cleared his throat a few times and the thief’s body turned slack. Being blindfolded wasn’t something one normally did in treacherous taverns, but the gold made it worth the risk. Venir bristled in his chair and the audience regressed their crowding. They all had enemies, and no one was ever safe, especially in Two-Ten City.

“Okay, Me, let me remind you of the rules. You can’t spill a drop off your head, and your hit has to be inside the mark,” he rapped his knuckle on the spot, “… not touching it. Not even close to touching it!”

Melegal smirked and drew a short flat throwing dagger from inside of his shirt. The betting crowd quieted to a hush. Then, with a flick of his wrist, Melegal’s dagger sliced the air and landed with a heavy
thunk
, dead center as Billip jerked away his calloused fingers.

“I didn’t say go, yet!”

Venir was laughing out loud. He couldn’t remember the last time he did so. When the others got over their amazement they began laughing, too. Billip snatched the dagger out of the wall and threw it into the floor.

“You wait until I say go—and you don’t get to use your
own
dagger! That’s cheating and you didn’t let me finish the rules. Don’t move!” Billip said as he scurried away with a furrowed brow.

Melegal waited, hands on hips, sighing while his challenger hunted, crashed and cursed from back inside the kitchen. The barkeeper returned with a thin row of white teeth and placed an object in the Melegal’s waiting hand.
This should be good,
Venir thought, leaning back on the bar.

The blindfolded man ran his delicate fingers over the object and twirled it around with a scowl. Venir could see the mug on the man’s head sloshing around, but not spilling. He took another drink as he heard Melegal say, “Are you expecting me to throw a wood-handled steak knife into that wall?”

“It doesn’t even have a point. Its round on the end,” Melegal said, fingering the edge. “I’m surprised you didn’t give me a spoon. This is ridiculous.”

“Too bad. Double or nothing. No—triple! Make your throw or give me your mule—plus ten gold!”

Venir covered his mouth as he saw Melegal stiffen at the remark. The two challengers burst into a flurry of unpleasant words.
Billip’s trying to get inside his head.
There had been a hot issue between the two for sometime over the pack animal called Quickster. The two argued for five minutes over the issue of true ownership. He watched the agitated men, wondering who would swing first and as quick as it started it was over. Both men’s lips were turned tight and all the while Melegal never spilt a drop of his mead. Billip looked over at him and shrugged.
Nice try.
Someone else from the crowd told them to shut up and get it over with or they would all leave. The two men then got back to business.

“Wait until I say go,” Billip said.

“I’m waiting,” the thief replied.

Billip paced about, checking the blindfold until he was satisfied. The room was tingling with anticipation. The crowd was shuffling coins between their eager hands. Billip the barkeeper raised his arms and voice.

“Okay—Go!”

The knife flicked out of the man’s hand like a snake’s tongue and lodged itself inside the circle. The knife handle hung down at an angle. Even with the velocity of that near-impossible throw, Melegal still had not spilt a drop.

Several minutes passed before Billip resurfaced and dropped his coins on the bar. The man’s cheeks had cooled and he didn’t look as the coins disappeared faster than they appeared. The two men gave a quick nod to one another

“Come on,” the barkeeper said, motioning with his head. Venir and Melegal followed him to a more discrete booth near the back end of the bar.

“All right, so what’s the big news?” Venir asked in an eager voice, while Melegal fingered his winnings, drawing a hard look from the barkeeper.

Billip turned to Venir, scratching his head.

“You know, I love the Outlands and the forests and all, but I don’t see how you live out there as long as you do and survive. Don’t you miss the comforts of the city? The food and companionship? The girls keep asking me where my blonde friend is. I ain’t got time to answer to your whereabouts all the time. I’m not your keeper, you know.”

“Anyway, things are stirring up around here. I’m not used to it. A detestable bunch of mercenaries, not at all like us, are doing a lot of recruiting here in Two-Ten. Some of our fellow’s say they’re paying well—extremely well—and some have even joined up.”

A warm meal of steak, potatoes, and a strong smelling pot of coffee arrived. The powerful aroma roused his senses; Venir hadn’t had any in weeks. He took a few welcome gulps of his fresh brew, “Ah” he moaned.
Too long.

Venir filled his cup.

“That’s it? More mercenaries for hire? Just Royals up to their dirty tricks, somewhere. I don’t see the big deal—

—I’m not finished,” Billip stammered, almost spilling his glass, “… mind your elder Venir. I’ve been chatting them up as they ask for people and Melegal’s been listening in, too. They keep pretty hush-hush about their purposes, but we’re pretty sure we’ve figured it out.”

“They’re raising a brigand army of the likes never before seen on Bish. I’m talking at least three hundred brigands. And they ain’t all human, either. They send humans to recruit, but it’s the orcs that are leaving in masses, more so than men.

“A woman?” Venir tugged on the locks of his braided hair that hung over his shoulder. “That can’t be. And it’s hardly an army. Maybe a small one. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Melegal interjected.

“It’s true, Vee. They call her Jarla, the Brigand Queen. They revere her. They say she started with a small band near the White Blaze Pass beyond the Underland, and she’s been slowly carving her way through Bish for years. According to her men, they’ve been devastating merchant trains, human settlements, even Royal outposts.”

Melegal kept his voice at a harsh whisper as a group of merchant’s glanced their way.

“Now, that’s not normal protocol for brigands. They might rob men, but now they’ve been slaughtering them too, and their families as well.”

Venir’s flaxen brows creased over his blue eyes as his fingers rubbed his square cut chin. He and his own mercenary troupe had seen and done much that very few would understand. They always drew the line at what had to be done. As for common brigands, they tended to scare rather than harm their own kind, and there were usually no more than a dozen or so to the gang. The thought of a brigand army that plundered, killed, and battled organized soldiers didn’t make sense. He hadn’t been far south lately, but maybe it was time he went and checked on some old friends.

“What are you thinking, Vee? You wanna go check if the rumors are true? I’m ready when you are,” Billip offered. “And Mikkel’s keen, too.”

“Count me in,” said Melegal. “I need to get out of this stinking hole as well.”

“All right, but let’s have some fun first,” he said. “We’ll figure something out tomorrow. I need to unwind. Say, where are they keeping the pretty women these days? Clearly they still aren’t coming in here.”

“Melegal runs them off every time he offers them a ride on his donkey.”

Venir laughed, it was time to revel into the hot night. As he got up, he felt an uncomfortable presence looming nearby. Scanning the room he noticed nothing odd. He gulped down the remaining pot of coffee and tried to let the feeling go, but it hung in the air. A few stiff drinks and wayward songs washed the feeling away.

Two days later, a small band of men began the journey south towards the camp of Jarla, the Brigand Queen. The terrain they traveled was far more hospitable than the barren north as the thick forests offered refuge from the two blazing suns. The southern lands of Bish contained less marsh, dust and much blue-green foliage. Cooling oasis’s with large streams cropped up in their midst. But the terrain was anything but flat like the north. Unforgiving hills and valleys slowed travel as it forced them to wind through narrow passes, rather than straight over the hilltops. It kept the small party’s nerves on edge, as it was a perfect place for an ambush.