The Darkslayer: Book 01 - Wrath of the Royals (26 page)

The strange moonlight on Bish hindered the movement of most inhabitants at night. The moons were sometimes white, red, orange or blue. Their colors changed, so it was, so it had always been. The light could come and go, sometimes hidden by clouds and other times disappearing altogether. Tonight a red moon sat on the edge of the world of Bish, offering little light and darker shadows.

Only a few races could see at night, and humans were not among them. But at this particular moment, one human inhabitant on Bish was not hindered at all. No, Venir could see every bit as well as an underling at night. The mystic helm allowed for that. It was something he’d grown fond of over the years.

The underlings used their night sight to take advantage of unsuspecting people. They could see the warmth of living bodies, sneak up on them and kill. It was one more tactic they used to instill terror on the surface world. Venir learned over the years how to turn the underlings own guerilla tactics against them. He thrived at it.

Venir was far south of the ravine where he had left Melegal and Mood. A thick coat of sweat coated his armored body. A dream had awoken him, a sixth sense of sorts he couldn’t explain. Such dreams had become more frequent over the years and saved him a time or two as well.

He stood inside the edge of a stagnant and foul-smelling marsh. Many dark groves such as this were scattered about, providing water on Bish’s open plains which, by a cruel twist of nature, was undrinkable for humans. It was refreshing for underlings however, and they often sought refuge in such places. Venir could feel their presence inside as his heart began thumping in his brain.

The nervousness in his belly was choked down by his burning desire to kill. Venir the Darkslayer was compelled to venture into this nasty grove to put an end to the filthy inhabitants that sought its sanctuary. He pushed through the brush, boots sinking into the muddy waters, and merged deep into the shadows. It wasn’t long before he picked out several warm shapes huddled together, muttering their ratty chit-chat.

Silent as a cat, he crept forward and counted as many as twenty underling hunters. The small humanoids wore cloaks and leather, armed with steel and shields. He could smell their rancid breathe and their chittering voices aggravated him. His head scanned around, but he did not feel the presence of any guards.
Good.
He knew this race that he hunted. No guards meant something else, a magic ward perhaps, if he ventured close enough. Magic—all underlings had magic. And underling hunters, though not powerful in magic, still had spells that would aid them. But, Venir thought, the Darkslayer was privy to most of it. He fought the urgings within the helm, crouched down and waited. His sweaty hands were squeezing the shaft of his axe.
Patience!

After minutes of hard riding, Mood and Melegal pulled their mounts to a stop. Ahead lay several groves scattered throughout the barren landscape. Chongo’s heads snorted the air, paws stammering in a certain direction. Mood hopped to the ground, pulling the dogs wet noses to the dirt.

Mood said, “Sometimes smells gets mixed up in these areas. The acidic trees and marshes give off strong odors that kill a scent. It makes underlings hard to find.”

The man-sized dwarf stuck his nose in the air and sniffed long and hard.

“Chongo’s the ultimate tracker … noses ten times better than mine. But sometimes the two pooches heads clash. One wants one thing, one wants another. It happens” he said as he ran his sausage-like fingers through the dirt and pointed to a marsh ahead. “Dogs seem right … usually are.”

“Underlings can see at night and Chongo’s so big he’d be spotted. It’s harder for them to see Venir. The underlings, like me, see the warmth we give off, but I don’t think they see Venir when he has that get-up on.”

“I’ve never seen Vee fight underlings at night,” mused Melegal. “I’ve been out here and there with him, but never encountered much. But I have seen him in his scary outfit. It’s hard to believe they can’t see him!”

Mood chuckled as he swung himself back up on Chongo’s saddle and pointed.

“I think he’s in that grove ahead, if you can make it out. Go, Chongo!”

Melegal could make out the foggy grove’s outline in the distance. Tall, ugly trees seemed to spike the sky, and the ever-changing glow of the moons cast an eerie haze over the strange marsh. Melegal hoped they wouldn’t have to enter it; the Red Clay Forest seemed far preferable to a swamp. But, for some silly reason, Melegal knew Quickster would enjoy it. What a strange pony, he thought.

An abhorrent stench assaulted Melegal’s nose.

“Oh slat, don’t tell me that’s the grove!” the thief muttered, pinching his nose.
What’s with all these smells?

But Mood and Chongo were galloping out of sight. He had no desire to be left alone and dug his heals into Quickster. The thought of fighting underlings terrified him, that and being left in the Outlands, alone.

Venir watched as an underling hunter broke from the main group, coming his way. He choked the neck of his axe, knuckles white, head aching with fury. The underling’s eyes sparkled, peering around as it began to piss into the murk, releasing a sound of relief. Finished, the underling headed back to his group, followed this time by a silent, axe-wielding shadow.

Venir closed within five paces, mimicking the smaller underling’s movement’s step for step. He listened as the returning underling stood before the group and rambled something amusing. The group chattered in the odd way of the underlings. Venir had heard those twisted laughs before. He could no longer contain the savage cry within.

As the underling before him giggled on, the laughter of the others came to a stop. There colorful eyes were transfixed, and their mouths dropped open as his great shadow rose up before them. The underling turned just in time to see Venir thrust down the double-bladed axe, splitting it from head to belly. Venir rushed between falling body parts before the first drop of blood hit the ground.

The nearest underling stood stupefied as Brool exploded into its chest, spraying blood like a rainbow across the grove. Another underling’s neck was punctured from his backswing. Venir ripped out its throat and prepared his next swing.
Three!
The next underling turned to run as he swung Brool around his head and down onto the creature’s shoulder. The heavy blade crunched through the clavicle, severing the shoulder and arm from its body. Stepping onto the dying underling’s bloodied corpse, Venir moved forward for more kills. He could sense them if not see them, spreading out and preparing for action. The surprise was over, now the work was about to begin.

The remaining underlings had readied curved shortswords and hand axes and were chittering orders. Five of them, armed and ready, formed a semicircle before Venir, but it didn’t slow his coming.

Venir dove into them, sweeping Brool left to right, keeping the five underlings at bay. His axe blade whistled, making an eerie sound that many underlings had come to know as the ‘last call’.

Two flanking underlings charged Venir. He leapt forward, chopping through the head of the astonished center figure. The two beside the fallen underling swiped at his legs, striking a pain-filled gash and drawing blood. Venir slammed his shield edge into the head of one, cracking its skull. He was howling in bloodlust as he swept Brool into another underling’s side. It fell in a gurgling heap.
Seven!

The last two underlings cut into his shifting thighs. The hot blood oozing down his leg did little to slow him, but it burned. He fought back, Brool hacking from the right and the shield defending on the left. The underlings were skilled and patient, ducking and dodging under his swings. He could feel his blood seeping from his wounds. There was no time for these games. He knew they only wanted to wear him down and it wouldn’t be long before help arrived.

In a blink between underling attacks, he whirled a hundred and eighty degrees, cutting one underling deep into the leg and shattering the other’s knee with his shield. Their howls of pain were cut off as Venir put them to death.
Nine!

The long run to the grove, the fury of his attack, and the loss of blood were taking a toll on Venir. It was the part he hated, the torture of being pushed on despite his agony. He couldn’t tell if it was in him or from the helm, but he would not quit until the underlings were all dead. He was like one possessed, all reason banished by his hatred and rage.

His chest heaved and his lungs burned like fire as he slunk through the murk.
Control it Vee!
His heart pounded as he pressed himself into the thatches, fighting the drive that urged him forward. A voice deep in the back of his battle raged head reminded him that there were still many more.

The red haze of battle began to subside in his thoughts. The marsh was filled with sounds of crickets, toads and squawking birds.
Maybe they all fled.
He sucked in a deep breath, closed his eyes and focused. No, they were still out there. Venir cleared himself from the thatch when something caught his feet. Roots, vines, and grasses of the marsh began winding around his legs, pulling him down. He bit his tongue.
Bone!

The dark magic coiled around his thighs like tightened rope. He could feel them cutting into his torn skin. He chopped and tore at his tangled assailants, Brool’s honed edge slicing the cords away. The vines crawled up his back and around his face and mouth. If he didn’t escape he would be overcome and suffocated. Brool cut through the twisted foliage, his arm and elbow working like a saw. He was on his knees now, coughing and fighting to stay alive. He gave another gasp, wrenching at his bondage, tearing himself free.

He pulled himself upright, spitting vegetation from his mouth, his legs held fast from below. Venir’s drained eyes shot up just as three more underlings encircled him. Heavy darts assailed his body, stinging like a nest of wasps, causing him to wriggle with pain.

“Arghh!”

“Curse you little maggots!” he said, roaring from behind his shield as the poison burned like fire in his straining biceps.

Venir wiggled and sliced away at the vines that finally gave way, sinking back into the marsh. He was free now, free to destroy. A small robed underling turned on him, a foot long pipe protruding from its lips. Venir bashed its brain in with the edge of the shield.

Another flurry of darts came from behind with several landing in the back of his legs. His knees buckled as pain raced into his chest.
Poison!
His anger blinded his mind from the pain as he whirled to attack. Both underlings fired from the left and right turning him into a human pin cushion.

Venir hurled his spiked axe like a spear, impaling the chest of one. The other underling yanked out its sword, a hiss of triumph parting from its lips. Venir charged as the underling thrust at his thigh, but the blade bounced off of his shield with a clang that brought sparks. As the underling drew back for another attack, but Venir’s steel-toed boot crushed its ribs, collapsing its lungs. The underling sank to the ground as the edge of his shield dealt the death blow to its skull.
Twelve is a good!

Venir bounded after Brool, hobbled as he plunged further into the darkness of the marsh. Time was running short. His body burned like fire and his strength was ebbing. He knew he had to rest, but rest did not kill underlings, and he drove himself on in pursuit. The underlings were in hiding, planning another attack on him. He knew it. It was time to flush them out.

He moved southward, quiet as a deer, when he spotted them. He saw three bulges of heat hunkered down in the murk. Their eyes were shifting back and forth, axes and swords gripped in their clawed hands. He could assault them all, chop them down one by one, but more were bound to come. Poison filled darts and all.
No need for more of that.

Like a shade, Venir moved behind their line, and crept back up on the one in the middle. He set his axe and his shield down. He slipped behind the hunkered down underling. He struck like a cobra, clutching the underling’s neck in his mighty hands, lifting the creature from the ground, and choking the life out of it. The underling’s feet dangled and twitched in the air. Venir fought the urge to snap its neck before setting the limp creature down.
Good.
The dead underling’s leg gave one last violent twitch, kicking the thicket.

Two enraged underlings were charging at his sides. There Venir stood weaponless with their brethren dangling in his grip. Venir flipped the dead underling’s feet up into his hands and swung the underling like a sack of melons into the body of the closest attacker. Bowled over by the impact, the underling collapsed in a heap. Venir dropped the underling just in time to dodge the two-handed axe attacks of the other. Without a weapon or shield he was defenseless.

The underling moved in, chopping in a flurry. Venir lashed out, catching the underling by one of it’s the wrists, restraining it like a toddler swinging a stick. The underling countered, swinging its free arm at his neck. Venir caught it in the same manner, now squeezing both wrists like a vice, causing the underling to drop his weapons. The underling released a high pitched wail that was silenced by a crotch-crunching kick, dropping the underling to its knees. Venir snatched one of the underling’s hand axes from the ground and slammed it deep into its brain. Now, the other underling was back on its feet charging full force, just in time to receive a flying hand axe between its eyes.