The Darkslayer: Book 01 - Wrath of the Royals (24 page)

The underling was the size of a child by comparison, but Oran’s dark eyes showed power and wisdom unlike that of any child or man for the matter.

“I care not, Royal Almen,” Oran said in an insulting retort. “My race will never understand this human attachment to family. We underlings do not mourn the dead.”

It was a lie, as underlings cherished their lives more so than men.

“It is pathetic. There are always more to take a dead one’s place.”

Oran, black to the bone, was also a cleric for his kind. The underlings were Bish’s most prominent race in the mastery of magic. Underlings could heal, but they focused more on the aggressive forms of magic. Still, in order to dominate, even underlings sometimes needed their lives saved, though none would care to admit it.

Oran was unique among underling clerics, for rather than merely healing, he had also mastered ways of causing great harm—especially to other races. But, as much as he hated humans and other races, he could not help but be fascinated by them. Oran’s meddling with the other races had made him a renegade among his kind.

He was a studious underling, whose eyes revealed a deep knowledge of the black arts. His coal black hair was thick, long, and matted. Simple robes and shoes adorned his body. His face was narrow, with high cheeks, a strong chin, and with the sharp gray teeth of his kind. His eyes were round and hypnotic. Lord Almen struggled to keep the underlings stare. Yet, he feared no underling, or he would not have been where he was today.

“I was wondering if you have discovered the cause of my son’s death, Underling Oran. Your work is not complete until I know this. Surely, you know what brought my son to such a brutal end, Oran?”

Oran huffed and gritted his teeth, before he answered.

“I don’t know what stabled beast could have done this. It’s not the bite of a horse, a mule, or a giant bug, for that matter. It seems to be an Outlands creature, but I cannot say what. It had four legs with paws and canine teeth, possibly a Fenris wolf.”

The underling shook his head.

“It is odd because they reside in the far north. Big though, big enough to ride, I would say.” Oran rolled his eyes in indifference.

“He has spoken a bit. He has said ‘heads’ over and over. Odd … he may mean a symbol, or something else, but I found no evidence on his—”

“No, but I’ve questioned enough people to know there is such a creature. And I’ve tracked it outside the city heading toward the Red Clay Forest.”

“A scourge of the underlings?” Lord Almen was incredulous. “Can this be? Hah!” he said, smiling at the thought of a man that troubled underlings.

“Is it the beast or his rider that you call the Darkslayer?” McKnight asked.

“Ah,” Oran grew flustered as he spoke, “… he is a man, a thick man at that! He is like no other and he wields a war axe like a stick. He appears a split second before he kills, made of magic and changing shapes. He is the only one known to ride a two-headed beast.”

The candles seemed to flicker as the room became silent.

Oran continued, “But maybe I can help track him down and kill him.”

Almen, McKnight, and Sefron were looking at one another, and all eyes fell back on the underling. It was common knowledge that underlings feared neither human nor any other race. The fear and respect with which Oran had spoken of the Darkslayer was unheard of; not that any man ever dared—or survived long enough—to repeat what an underling had said. It was an amazing turn of events.

“What now, Oran?” Almen asked. Lord Almen’s mind was beset with more questions.
Has a rival house hired out this Darkslayer’s services? Was the Darkslayer a member of another house? The Klings? The Caapes? The Crones? Slergs? Who could it be? How did Tonio fall into their midst?

“Let us finish today’s business with my payment. I shall contact you soon. Your servant has provided helpful information to me,” Oran said.

“Various experiments—while they are alive he studies their reactions to torture, mutilation, rape, and breeding with various sorts of creatures. Once they have breathed their last, he tries to find other practical uses for their bodies.”

Venir jerked up from his slumber, eyes darting back and forth. A monstrous howl cut through the branches as he snatched Brool and charged through the foliage. He burst into a clearing just as the Mood cut the neck out of a silver-backed grizzly bear. The massive animal sunk into the ground. He watched as the Mood wiped the blood from his axes, looking toward him. “Enjoy yer nap.”

Mood and Venir skinned the beast as Mood devoured lumps of the raw flesh, its blood deepening the color of his beard. Georgio still napped while Melegal sat grim-faced, holding his stomach, and retching. Venir shivered a tad himself.
Some things you never get used to.

Chongo devoured his portion of the treat with vigor. Venir bundled up the remainder of the meat and gathered the hide and head for Georgio’s poor family. They would be thankful for such a fine gift.

Mood led them to stream that was as cool as cave water. Georgio jumped in, while Melegal rinsed out his dingy hat. Chongo barked away the fowl on the water as Mood rinsed out his beard. Venir eyes began to swell and he splashed water into them. He was thinking about home, so long ago. The familiar scene of content faces splashing in the water tugged at his heart.

“Let’s go!” Venir said.

“Ah …” Georgio said, kicking at the water.

Venir let Mood take the lead. The terrain was rough, slick, steep, and narrow. Mood chopped brush like wheat with his axes, and Venir towed Chongo from behind him. Georgio bounced as he rode on Chongo, sweating with a funny smile. Melegal brought up the rear on Quickster, scowling as he kept having to shift in his saddle.

“When will we see the suns again?” Melegal said. “We’ve been half a day in this tangled mess, and then some. My butt hurts, the bugs are eating me, and the humidity’s sweating me dry.”

“Shut up, Me, it won’t be much longer,” Venir said, shaking his head.
Too much time the city
.

Venir didn’t care how hot it was, anything was better than sweltering inside city walls. Here the air was fresh. He didn’t miss the odor of muck that filled his nose. The climate could be perfect and Melegal would still complain. Venir knew what to expect from the thief, but it was still annoying.

“Almost out,” added Mood. “A few more miles and we’ll be back in that blazing desert.” Mood’s broad body trudged forward unfazed by the briars and thorns that tore at his clothes. The dwarven people preferred cooler, darker, and damper places, most of the time. They were the hardiest of races on Bish and not ones to complain. Venir had seen dwarves lose ears, even limbs, and never shed a tear. They were tougher than chewed leather, Venir always said, and Mood was no exception, rather the exceptional.

Tonio’s fatal experience still didn’t add up in the mind of Detective McKnight. Why was the young lord alone at the stables on the day of his debacle? Did he encounter the Darkslayer? And why was he armed with a crossbow—a weapon rarely carried unless one was guarding the wall or marching off to war?

Maybe Tonio would be able to recall why he was there, if the brat wasn’t too ashamed to tell. Even with his pride on the line, a man like Tonio would not venture into danger alone. Did a friend or an ally accompany him? Had someone set him up?

The young Royals kept tight circles. They competed with one another, jumping at openings to grab more power. After all, Lord Almen’s house had been moving up over the years, and so too would his son. Had Tonio been set up by another house, or had the brat messed with the wrong man this time? McKnight was out to get the whole story, even if Tonio was not willing to talk.

McKnight had just finished choking some fresh information from a disheveled chap he found wondering around the barns. He slit a piece off the man’s ear, whispering a warning, and headed for the tavern called the Chimera. He knew it to be a seedier place where Tonio and many others among Bone’s finest jackanapes hung around.

It was evening as he pushed inside the heavy doors. It was just as he thought
. Pompous snobs and overbearing jerks pretending to be scoundrels, like me.
McKnight felt flattered as small groups of eyes darted his way from every corner. He would find out what he needed to know, with or without their cooperation. And their evil little minds need never know. He set his wide brimmed hat on the bar and ordered.

“A goblet of your finest please.”

Oran did not waste time traveling away with new information about the Darkslayer. The lords and masters of the Underland might find his musing useful. Oran the cleric, also known as Oran the outcast, might regain some lost favor. They were not very approving of his dealings with the other races. In fact, they had forced him from his home, the Underland.

The underling’s always feared he might reveal too much about his own kind, despite his proven reliance. He had not betrayed his kind, but still he was mistrusted and shunned. The pit in his stomach deepened at the thought. He was an odd underling, and that much he would admit. He was more concerned with the pursuit of knowledge than the pursuit of world domination.
You cannot have one without the other.
But they did not listen.

Oran was one of the few underlings to have stepped inside a human city of his own free will. An underling in the City of Bone was unheard of and so far as he knew, he may have been the only one inside of Bone in centuries. He had crossed paths with Lord Almen after the siege of Outpost Thirty-One. Lord Almen became a person of interest with him and he allied himself with the man.

Oran wasn’t a fool though, knowing Lord Almen was a dangerous man who liked to take risks. He saw it as an opportunity to learn more about his enemies. Oran was one of the main reasons the Almen house had moved up so fast over the recent years. So far their relationship had paid off, for Oran also liked risk—and its rewards. One day, Oran would make Almen pay much more for his services, but so far Almen had served his needs well.

Oran had left Almen’s mansion via the dungeons, and through a secret tunnel that led into massive caves far below the castle. He traveled by torch, with his twenty new captives, until they reached an underground river. There, an ample barge was waiting, and he loaded the slack-jawed humans aboard. They offered no resistance as he shackled them with chains and gagged them with dirty rags.
Pathetic.
Their glassy stares showed no alarm. He tossed the torch into the murky black river. It was extinguished with a hiss and sank.