The Darkslayer: Book 01 - Wrath of the Royals (22 page)

Venir was not there. In his place was the form of a brutish muscled man, wearing a spiked helmet, a round shield, and massive battle axe. It was a chilling sight.

The words from the man’s lips were scary and reassuring.

“
I‘ll get it back.”

Melegal and Georgio stepped out of his way.

Trinos was pleased with her world, Bish. Whenever she checked in, it seemed to be stuck deep in a mud puddle of chaos. Yet it was not as entertaining as she had hoped, because she knew what was going to happen most of the time. She remembered something from other worlds that they had called repeats; so still she watched, even when she had seen it all before. She liked the people.

But sometimes a ripple here and there would catch her off guard, for good and evil were always somewhat unpredictable. It was those precious thrills that gave her world meaning. The infinite ones had escaped from good and evil over time, as their eternal life transcended it. So it seemed.

Whenever Trinos saw that things had become too mundane, she would place a ripple in the world—a new creature, race, or ecosystem—and come back later to see what effect it caused. This proved the most effective way to keep things interesting, or to create the feeling she had once referred to as
fun
. It was unique how the life on the world of Bish always reacted to her interventions. The balance would tip in favor of good or of evil. Currently, things were much in favor of evil. So Trinos had her tool in place to protect the good for the time being. And it was a bloody creative tool at that.

Venir took off in a flat run, angling to cut off the forest magi somewhere down the winding paths. His bulk achieved amazing speed as his ragged hair waved like a banner underneath his helm. His unusual breadth was deceptive as he could shoot off in a blink.

It wasn’t long before the pair was caught up in the thatches and began to slow. Melegal’s ears were keen, though, and what he might not see, the seasoned thief could hear.

In the distance Venir had stopped. He had almost overrun the pinched path where he intended to cut off the forest magi. He knew the forest well enough to track them down. He stood on stout legs, shoulder width, with a slight bend in his knees. His helmet was keen to his needs, but it didn’t feel like a boiling pot on his head. Not like the underlings, but different. He was in control, but his anger was far from in check.

He laid his banded shield behind him while Brool twirled in his left arm, cutting the air in short strokes. His head rolled, making his neck crackle as he grumbled beneath his black-spiked helm. The forest grew quiet and a score of birds flew away as the magi rounded the bend in the path.

The tallest of the forest magi floated forward, twirled around, making odd gestures with its hands. Venir flexed his grip on his axe, his arm muscles pulsating, thick blue veins rising like small roots. He had played their games before, but he didn’t always win.
What’s it gonna be this time?
The rest of the magi began forming two columns on opposite sides of the path, centered on their leader.

“One of you took something that was not yours,” Venir said in growl. “I will be taking it back!”

The forest magi weren’t known to take material things, such as a commoners cap. This was considered dishonorable among them. However, though they loved magic, they were greedy little pests, and were not often challenged about what they took. Most would leave the forest magi alone as the fear of the unknown gripped them. Travelers were often happy for the inconvenience as they felt their lives were spared.

The forest magi, greasy and unkempt, were the bullies of the forest. They did what they pleased. Only a fool would tangle with a pack of magic wielding misfit’s. Then again, most people weren’t the Darkslayer, who had faced more than his share of terrors.

Venir watched as one lone forest magi floated forward from the back of one of the columns. Much shorter than the others, the magi came alongside his leader and removed his hood. Venir could make out a human face covered in bright red blemishes. A nasty grin crossed the little magi’s face revealing missing teeth and a swollen tongue licking dirty lips. Atop the magi’s mangy tufts of red hair sat Melegal’s floppy hat.

The little man spread his arms wide, pointing outward, and brought his fingertips to the hat and started tapping it. The forest magi began to tap his chest and twirl while waving the hat in the air.

Venir’s temper began to unshackle at the sight of the creatures countenance. He strode towards the magi, axe drawn behind his back. Each time he drew back to swing, the forest magi floated out of reach, grinning and making childish sounds. The gruesome magi weaved in and out of his kindred, taking off the hat and waving at Venir’s face.

Despite his experience, he could not square up on the floating man for a single swipe. He knew that he was being set up for something. That was how their kind worked, and these were magi after all. Time began to tick as he felt their mutterings inside his head. If something didn’t happen soon, they would be gone, or he would be dead.

*****

Melegal and Georgio had crept up on the scene, peaking from the brush. To Melegal’s surprise, Georgio wasn’t making a sound. The thief watched as a mage was doing a strange dance of sorts.
It’s wearing my hat!
Fury began to swell in his belly as he watched the remaining forest magi stare, captivated by the spectacle. Melegal’s keen ears realized that the magi were not just watching. They were muttering underneath their hoods. He nudged the boy, dangling a sling in front of him, and Georgio followed suit. Melegal eyes darted back at the magi as he withdrew some stones. The magi seemed preoccupied, unaware of their presence.

“I’ll take the one with the hat. You take the tall one,” Melegal whispered.

Georgio gave several quick nods, brushing his hair from his eyes. It was a rare thing when Melegal felt his heart in his chest.
Ten of those things, Bone!
He low crawled over to a clearing as the boy squirmed behind him. He looked back and watched the thick beads of sweat drop from the boy’s brow. His breathing became shallow and rapid.
Calm.
He closed his eyes and thought of a burning candle. He blew it out and his body began to cool.
Better to die doing something than nothing.

Melegal watched as the unpleasant song and dance continued between as the ugly forest mage and Venir. He could see Venir’s cold blue eyes burning under his helmet. Venir’s feet were shuffling back and forth as he made clumsy swings at the magi. Melegal began to worry again as the other magi voices became louder. He noticed a thick root rise from beneath the dirt, tripping Venir, forcing the man to one knee. As the big warrior faltered, his tormentor took advantage of the moment by muttering a spell. Melegal signaled to Georgio.
Now!

The tiny mage’s lips began to shimmer as more roots began to burst from the ground.

Whoosh-Thunk!

The magi’s next word was stifled with a stone, broken teeth and the taste of blood. The forest mage sputtered toward the ground with an anguished groan, trying to spit out the stone. Melegal watched in awe as Venir slung Brool as if shot from a heavy crossbow, its spike tip penetrating the magi’s sternum. The weightless man was flung backward and pinned to a mighty Red Forest tree.

Whoosh-Thunk!

Georgio’s sling stone crushed the temple of the leading mage, who collapsed onto the hard forest ground with a
thud
. It all happened so fast that the other magi watched in disbelief. The roots they summoned began to seep back into the clay ground.

Venir leapt over to the tree and plucked the hat from the dangling mage’s head and tossed it away. Somehow the strange mage lived, still struggling to spit out the stone. Melegal watched Venir clutch the handle of his weapon, brace his leg on the mage’s chest and jerk it free. The thief couldn’t control his wince. Venir then whipped the blade in a full circle and severed the ugly mage’s head from his body.

The lifeless head floated away from its body, leaving a trail of red blood bubbles in the air.

The others!

When Melegal looked for the forest magi they were beginning to flee. Venir then took the flat of his great axe and batted the floating head at the rest of the pack. The head smacked into a tree and dropped to the ground.

“Yeah, because next time they won’t just get a few sling bullets,” Melegal said, pulling out a small knife, “but the whole battle package.”

A small army of slaughterer’s traveled at a rapid pace from the great caves of the Underland. Five squads, with twelve heavily armed underlings each, cut through the brush. They were the Badoon underlings, each well known for their stealth, skill, and tactics.

The Badoon were the most sinister warriors in the underling world. This Badoon Brigade, in particular, had been battle tested time after time over the decades. Many of them bore scars from the wrath of the Darkslayer. The stories of the surviving Badoon inspired the other cold-hearted soldiers as they marched across the land like a black caterpillar.

The Badoon were armored in dark leathers, stud, and mail. Weapons jangled at their hips as the glimmer of blackened steel revealed curved blades, knives, swords, dagger’s and crossbows. Some of the dark faces chittered from underneath cloaks. Others were brazen with shaved heads, bodies bare and long clawed hands hanging at their sides.

It was night and the barren fields of cacti that lay between the dark, hairy little race and the nameless mountains of Bish did little to slow their pace. The towering Vicious led the Badoons with great vigor. Many of the underlings followed mile after mile, day and night, on blistering feet.

A couple of the soldiers stumbled along the way, drawing off their boots of hide, wrapping bloodied feet. As they returned to the column the Vicious barred their way. The Vicious snapped their necks and mounted their heads on spears at the fore and aft of the column. It was gruesome sight, unless you were an underling. For an underling, it was a great honor to die at the hands of a Vicious. The sacrifice left the Badoon Brigade feeling as invincible as ever and they picked up the pace.

They had lost more than enough men to the Darkslayer, and they all shared in the hatred for this enemy of their kind. In the past their numbers never seemed to be enough. The Darkslayer had foiled them time and again. But this time the odds would be in greater favor of the underlings. Their time for vengeance had come. The Vicious had never lost.

“Nya, nya …you can’t catch me,” the boy said, waving a handkerchief over his head. “I’m the goofy magic moron and I’m too fast for you.”

Georgio attempted to float by leaping upward, clutching at branches, only to fall on his butt. The boy broke out in giggles’ as he pretended to impale himself to a tree with a stick. Melegal and Venir continued to storm ahead while Georgio looked around scratching his head.

“Hey … wait up!” the boy said, tripping and falling, before getting on track again.

Venir was a several yards from the clearing when he squatted down. He smelled something. Closing his eyes he focused on the sound of the mounts. Melegal was at his side, swatting the winded Georgio on the back of the head.

Venir motioned for them to follow. Melegal nodded, towing Georgio by the shirt cuff behind him. Venir crept toward the clearing; Brool was clutched in his hand. He came to a stop and coiled like a big ape ready to spring. His eyes grazed back and forth. Ahead, Quickster and Chongo seemed undisturbed, each lay in a thick patch of tall grass.

What is that smell?
It was driving him crazy.

Chongo’s head and ears perked up over the grass, the dogs fat paws began stamping. Chongo began to howl as Venir emerged into the clearing and the giant dog began licking his face like it was covered in beef gravy.