The Darkslayer: Book 01 - Wrath of the Royals (23 page)

“Why all the excitement, Chongo?” Venir said with a puzzled look. “I haven’t been gone long.” He scratched Chongo’s ears while trying to avoid the soaking saliva. “The last time you acted like this—”

A figure that was broader than Venir and almost as tall had hoisted Georgio and Melegal off of the ground like rodents. They kicked and flailed like children as the red-bearded fellow pinched the life out of them in the nooks of his elbows.

“Put them down, Mood, you’re gonna kill them,” Venir said laughing, dropping his helm and Brool, spike first, to the ground. Chongo was howling and stammering his paws at the sight of the husky figure.

“Oh, why not let me kill them?” Mood said with a snort, dropping them unceremoniously to the ground. “Humans are about as useful as underlings nowadays.”

He came and stood toe to toe with Venir, his mighty hands grasping and almost engulfing Venir’s forearms. Melegal and Georgio shook their heads and looked over at each other with uncertain glances.

Mood’s head was almost as wide as one of Chongo’s, his features indistinguishable behind his bushy red hair, eyebrows, and beard. Only a pair of glinting, green eyes gave evidence of the dwarf within. Beneath a heavy chainmail shirt Mood wore a long-sleeved leather jerkin with matching pants and high, floppy-cuffed brown boots. Two giant hand axes were strapped crisscross over his broad back, and a large belt pouch was wrapped around his waist. Melegal dusted himself off and pulled Georgio back to his feet.

Mood reached into his pouch and produced two purple fruits, which he tossed to Georgio. Chongo leapt after them, knocked Georgio back down, fruits falling from his hands. The dog licked them up and belched. Venir noticed Melegal’s perched eyes and began the introductions.

“So, I saw you and those little forest magi having a tussle, eh?” Mood said with a chuckle. “You sure scared the slat out of them, I’ll tell you! Never seen ’em scatter like that.”

“That’s the first time they’ve done something so blatantly ignorant,” Venir replied.

“Times are tough. The underlings have been creeping around the borders, making trouble. They aren’t used to anyone messing with their territory, never mind invading it. It makes them edgy, thinking the fiends want their magic. But you’d think by now they’d know you’re on their side.”

Melegal interjected.

“Whose side? What’s all this business with forest magi, underlings, and giant dwarfs for that matter? What in Bone have you gotten me into this time, Venir?”

Venir and Mood looked at one another and laughed. Mood had such a belly laugh that he had to kneel, leaving Melegal feeling foolish. Venir struggled to hold back his own laughter, but he settled down and began to explain.

“I told you Me, you’ve been in the city too long.”

He almost lost it again, took a deep breath, and smiled.

“You don’t need to worry about the forest magi, they’re lightweights. You and Georgio could have handled them, you just didn’t know it.”

Venir winked at the boy. Of course, it wasn’t true. The forest magi were well known to trap and cannibalize a man from time to time, but only the ones that used magic.

“Uh … well anyway, he’s an old friend and so are his people. Sometimes we track underlings together. As a matter a fact, he’s the one who taught me most of what I know about such things.”

“As for the underlings,” Mood piped up, lounging against Chongo who was lying down, “I don’t think you need to worry about them, either. Your buddy with the big axe over there goes through them like crap through ah … well, I forget how it goes, but you get the idea. It’s like nothin’ I ever saw. Almost fun to watch.”

Venir sighed and sat down.

“Anyway, we’re gonna be just fine.”

As long as we don’t run into any underlings.

He was thirsty and tired. His friends looked the same. He broke out a canteen and tossed it to Georgio and opened another for himself.

“Royals?” Mood sat up. “Uh, that would be something I’d definitely worry about. They kinda run the show on Bish. Why are you running from the Royals, Venir?”

“You’re leaning against the reason.”

“Oh.”

The big dwarf leaned back, deep in thought. A silence fell over them, and the forest quieted. A rare breeze wheezed through the glossy blue, green, and red leaves of the Red Clay Forest. Mood lit a massive cigar and its aroma began to calming their nerves. Exhaustion filtered through Venir’s body and his eyes grew heavy, and in moments he was fast asleep. Melegal and Georgio followed suit while Mood chewed on his cigar.

“Royals … sheesh!” Mood said in a whisper.

There was the feint roar somewhere nearby. Chongo’s tails began a fast twitch. Mood pulled his massive hand axes off of his back and rose from the ground. A second roar came, closer now, but the men didn’t stir from their slumber. Mood watched the trees shaking in the distance as another growl came.

Two days had passed since Tonio’s demise in the stables near the south gate of the city. And in those two days Lord Almen’s detective, McKnight, had figured out that Tonio had not been assassinated.

An old stablehand, haggard and leathery, stood shaking in his sandals. The man’s hair was salted with white flakes and lice. McKnight averted his eyes from the sight. The old man continued to tremble as he spoke in a threatening tone.

The old man’s teeth were chattering as he said, “No … I’ve worked all my life in this stable and I only saw this creature once, a few months ago. Me thinks it was what you’re asking for.”

Why is this stuttering fool scared? Killing him would be a kindness.
Wait, that can’t be right. Killing someone would be kind? Doing them a favor? I have been going about this the wrong way all of these years.

“Well …” he said, shaking his blade at the old man, “I don’t like your story, but I’ve gathered little more the same from others. You say this is the stable the dog beast was in?”

McKnight jerked out another knife from his scabbard and the old man flinched. He nodded his head and began poking all over the stable.
I hate these foul smelling places.
After several minutes he stormed from the stable. McKnight looked up and down the rows, stepping back and forth.
Something’s not right here.

The man jumped and pushed the gate closed with a loud
clank.
The old man backed away. McKnight began opening and closing some other gates. They latched without a clank.
Interesting.
He looked back at the first gate, noticing it was set a little lower than the others. He chuckled.

Brushing the old man aside, he opened the stable gate and closed himself on the inside. From there his long fingers searched for a handhold or latch of sorts. Two big grooves lay under the main support beam of the stable gate. McKnight lifted it, felt some give, and stopped. He tried again.
Bone!
He squatted down and braced his arms on the bar and pushed up with his legs. The heavy piece of wood popped in his ears. Nothing happened. He looked around and noticed a small wooden lever protruding from one of the rafters.
Clever.
He jumped up and pulled it down. The floor at the back of the stable dropped open. He turned around, staring at a gaping hole leading down into the ground.

“This could come in handy,” he whispered to himself. “Well, there we have it—Fascinating.”

He looked back over the stable gate and the old man was no longer there. Instead, he saw him hobbling away down the middle of the barn.

He’s horribly slow.
He pondered whether to kill him or let him go.
Living is a much worse fate. Perhaps he will be of some use to me later.
His curiosity had the better of him today.

McKnight studied how the latching mechanism worked. It took some time, but he figured it out. He then gathered a small bull’s-eye lantern, stepped into the secret corridor and closed the passage behind him.

It was early in the day as Lord Almen strolled from his chamber. His handsome face was heavy in thought as he passed by the nervous bows and downcast eyes of servants. Castle Almen was decorated with the finest materials available in Bish. A marvel in comparison to the other houses ranked below it, as well as some above. Marble pillars sparkled with intricate inlaid copper designs, that reflected the candlelight from the golden wrought chandeliers. Every chamber oozed with wealth as his footsteps echoed down the hall.

None on Bish ever needed so much, but the Royals were the most selfish beings in the world. Each house competed with one another to obtain more material, slaves, and bragging rights. Lord Almen would not be undone. It was his passion, the acquisition of beautiful things. But how he acquired them was dark, dark indeed. Fear and killing was the formula for success in this cruel world, and Lord Almen and his family had perfected this.

Lord Almen descended down a spiraling set of stone cut stairs. At the bottom, a lone door and sentry appeared. The sentry saluted, opened the door, closing it behind him. He now stood in a makeshift bedroom with a large, plush bed. The room was dry and dusty, unlike the chambers of the rest of the castle. Two figures stood beside the bed and one turned to greet him with a bow. It was the house cleric, Sefron. The other was scrawny, black-robed, with a sharp fuzzy face and a sparkle of violet in his eyes—an underling.

Sefron was flabby and naked, except for a small cloth around his waist. His body was shaven from head to toe, and his crystal blue eyes were bulged and watery. The look on Sefron’s face would draw questions about his sanity and Lord Almen never got used to it. The strange man had his uses though. Many clerics in the City of Bone had disturbing ways, and Lord Almen made the most of it. Sefron shuffled forward, wheezing, going down on his knees in front of him. The underling stood silent, without a single glance his way.

Lord Almen walked past Sefron and stood alongside the bed. The figure of his son, Tonio, lay on exquisite blue silk sheets and spreads. Tonio’s face was bandaged with wet salves of damp medicated cloth. Only his nostrils and eyes remained uncovered. His chest rose and fell. The rest of the young man’s mangled body was wrapped like a mummy. Strange symbols were drawn on the blood stained wraps.

“He lives?”

Sefron shuffled along his side, speaking in an excited lisp.

“Oh yes, he lives, dear Lord Almen. He lives indeed. I did not think it could be done after we found him after many hours of bleeding. He is strong like you Lord.”

Sefron cast a wary glance at the black-haired underling.

“Of course, I merely stopped the bleeding and applied the bandages. Your lordship’s … er … underling acquaintance brought him back to life … it seems.”