The Darkslayer: Book 01 - Wrath of the Royals (3 page)

The high ground was good ground, as small royal outposts could be seen in the distance with the flags of their people. The royal soldiers kept watch over this lush land. Farms and villages thrived in the rich soil, where food, water, and timber were valuable commodities among the world’s rulers. The Royals protected their investments well, yet the southlands of Bish were just as treacherous as those of the north.

Brigands, orcs, dog-faced gnolls, and kobolds thrived and raised their kind in this land as well. Most of the time they fought one another, but they also raided and pillaged the more peaceful inhabitants. It was a natural order of things for as long as anyone remembered. Not a day passed in the world without violence of the most treacherous nature. It made for hardened people everywhere.

As the men passed through the villages they happened upon, the tales of Jarla’s brigand army became more intriguing. Venir could not tell if what they heard was truth or rumor, but the people seemed convincing enough. The repeated claims of a large army of orcs, kobolds, humans and gnolls, all functioning as a single unit under a woman’s command, toyed with his imagination.

Still, it was a hard story for Venir to swallow. In his experience, two races almost never fought in a cohesive unit, let alone four of a kind. It must be the biggest, ugliest woman a woman could be, he thought. He was compelled to see for himself and the thoughts of hunting underlings seemed to drift away.

Female leaders were uncommon in the world of Bish. Most races were not led by fighting women, and for the rough races to follow a female leader, let alone one of another race, was astonishing. As for female soldiers, he had known plenty among human ranks, but they never ventured together too long. The men tended to want the women as more than just fellow soldiers, and those men often suffered dire injuries as a result. So how had this one woman created an army that threatened the southern lands of Bish? He had to find out.

The long hours of silence was broken when a powerful black man spoke with the voice of a rushing river.

“Man, I can’t believe there are kobolds in that army. That’s stupid!” Mikkel said, spitting.

“Yeah, I’m not so sure we need to get too curious about all this,” Billip added, wiping the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief.

“We’ve come this far. Let’s just get a quick look. It’s hard to imagine the stories are true, but who knows,” Venir answered, sipping from his canteen.

The small band pushed through the slippery terrain, on foot, pressing deeper into the forests. He and the company had traveled like this dozens of times over the years, and they all knew how to handle things if they ever got into a pinch. They were all dressed in tunics of leather or woodsman garb, except for Melegal, who wore drab clothes of his own design. Backpacks, canteens, belt pouches, and weapons of choice made up the rest of their personal gear.

The humidity in the south was as thick as water. Sweat rolled off the men’s heads and soaked their attire. Venir and Mikkel’s bare biceps were thick with oily sweat. Billip’s cloth covered arms were soaked, while Melegal appeared as dry as a bone, drawing a frustrated grunt from Billip.

The men did not brandish arms as they navigated the difficult territory with grubby fingers fighting for miniscule grips, over jutting hillsides and down into plunging gorges. Billip carried a short composite bow across his back, and Mikkel had a heavy crossbow strapped across his. Venir carried a short bow, and each had a quiver, while the wiry scout ahead carried a spare. Swords, daggers, and knives could be seen at their hips. Whatever the thief carried was not apparent.

“So what’s the plan, Vee?” Mikkel asked from behind. “I know you have one. Do we take a look? Spy—attack—join?”

“I thought we’d just rob them. I’m sure we can take them all on since you’re with us, Mikkel.”

“Well, I’m the only true fighter in this gang, besides you. I’ve no idea why you brought these other two sandbags along; they never fight closer than thirty feet.”

“Hey, don’t talk like that,” Billip said, glaring back. “I do my fair share, unlike Me. Just look at him, he even avoids his own sweat.”

“Hah, you can say all you like, but someone’s gonna have to dig your graves one of these days,” Melegal chimed in from the rear, “… so be grateful. And just to be clear, I won’t do the digging, I’ll use Billip’s money to pay his urchins to dig.”

“Man Melegal, you are cold. But I like it! You’re my man!” Mikkel shot him a grin full of big white teeth that gleamed in the sun. Billip scowled and huffed forward over a mossy ledge.

Chongo appeared at Venir’s side after he stood atop the ledge. The shaggy brown mastiff licked his master’s face as he poured water into his meaty palm and watched Chongo lap it up. The big dog began scurrying back and forth, and barking in low puffs.

“If we get caught, I say we just act like we’re interested … play dumb is all. Hopefully we won’t arouse any problems. I figure we can get a closer look first.”

“Well, don’t expect me to act too friendly with the kobolds,” Mikkel said, clutching his studded club. “If they get too close, I’ll crack their stupid little skulls.”

“We know!” they all replied, causing the man’s light blue eyes to widen in his face.

As quiet as cats they followed after Chongo, deeper into the belly of the southern forests.

It had taken almost thirty minutes of diligent pursuit before the weathered group caught up with Chongo. The dogs’ growl was low and excited, as its stiff tail whipped back forth. The men crouched down, the sound of clashing steel and raised voices traveled not far in the distance. The trees and broad foliage muted the battle sounds, as the men glanced at one another. He could see their faces drawn taunt, as Billip and Mikkel readied their missile weapons.

Using hand signals, Venir directed Billip and Chongo to scout ahead, followed by himself and Melegal, with Mikkel in the rear. They moved like big grey foxes through the flourishing green, ignoring the briars and bugs. The archer and dog disappeared as they stopped and waited in a small clearing. He could now distinguish the voices of men crying out in battle.

He gestured to Melegal,
How many?

The rogue’s eyes were closed; hand cupping his ear and with a slight shrug he flashed ten fingers.

We can take them
, Mikkel mouthed back.

He wanted to laugh as he watched Melegal’s scowl deepen. Venir had no intention of engaging anyone, even if his companions liked to attack first and think later. In nervous anticipation they waited in the agonizing heat. He took out his short bow and rubbed a dab of oil along its taunt string. Ten men was a lot to take on, and they would need to be ready to fight at a second’s notice—or flee if necessary.

As a trained ranger with seasons of hard soldiering he knew better than too take things head on; sometimes it paid better to just watch and report. The seconds dragged as the sounds of pain and agony droned on. Concern showed in all of their faces now as the dog appeared with the scout running behind.

“It’s safe to talk low,” Billip said, slightly out of breath. “Ten Royal foot soldiers are already dead, and about six are left, heavily armed and battling four gnolls and an armored woman.” Billip pulled out his canteen, shaking his head. “The soldiers have their hands full. They’re below this ridge; looks like they got trapped.”

“Any others?” Venir asked.

“I took a good look. No signs. But that woman fights better than two gnolls together. Never seen anything like it. What do we do? You want to go around?”

Everyone looked at Venir.

Venir didn’t want to risk anyone, but he couldn’t stand the thought of men falling to the gnolls. The tall, wolf-faced humanoids with canine teeth were dreaded warriors. They killed for pleasure and were known for their lengthy torture of prisoners. Despite their hairy, wolf-like appearance, gnolls spoke the common tongue well and could track like a dog. They were not vast in number, but were well trained, armed and formidable warriors. The fact that a woman fought with them suggested to him that he was about to encounter the brigand army. A wave of excitement overcame him, turning his guts.

“Let’s all take a look. I have a feeling this is what we came to see.”

Billip the archer led, drawing from his quiver, as they fell behind in a small column. They crept to the edge of a ridge, flat on their bellies with weapons drawn, bolts locked and arrows knocked. Below, the battle was furious and bloody. The seasoned Royal soldiers battled with gleaming longswords and crested shields. Their breastplates and battle helmets were battered and smeared red.

Corpses of hacked down men littered the scene, gashed and punctured, still as a log on the ground. Venir watched as more soldiers were cut down with swords and hacking axes, overwhelmed by greater speed and power. He fought the urge to charge down into the fray. He kept his bow ready, rising to a knee. At times like this, the inhabitants of Bish had to weigh their own odds of survival before getting involved.
What’s this?

A striking female warrior was carving up the soldiers as if they were just boys. The impression the woman made on him was unforgettable. She wore only a sleeveless chainmail dress of bronze, ending high above her knees. Her sinewy arms and legs were blood-splattered, and long jet-black hair flowed from beneath a spiked helmet of an ornate design. The only other protection she wore were iron-banded bracers around her forearms. He had never seen the likes of her before. But most impressive were the pair of battle axes she used with intense ferocity. One in each hand, she commanded the matching weapons, as easily as a jester tossing apples. Her strikes were viper-like, powerful and devastating.

He watched from above, in awe, uncertain how to react. Seeing men die under the banner of a good Royal house was not easy to watch. It was even more so as the evil gnolls were taking part. Anticipation and the passion to act built up inside him. Melegal, who watched from his side, gripped his broad shoulder and pulled him back. Venir eyed the man and nodded.
Not our fight.
He maintained his position and continued to watch the battle unfold.

The woman warrior’s haymaker axe blades felled her opponents one by one. Her axes, spiked on the back, penetrated their shields and ripped them from the soldiers grasp, leaving the men to defending with only their longswords. The gnolls were engaged as well, heavy bastard swords swinging hard and deadly, keeping the valiant men from escaping her wrath. She fought each man, one by one, as if there was a personal score to settle. It was clear that she relished in what she was doing as she screamed after each blood curdling victory.

One soldier snatched another longsword from the ground and began to fight her two-handed. He held his ground in feverish parries and she pounded away at him. The exhausted man was not fast enough to counter her attacks. He stabbed at her only to catch a spike in his skull, finishing his valiant efforts. She slung the gore from her axe and was on to her next victim. Despite the demoralizing situation, the Royal foot soldiers did not cower; they faced her, one by one, with the bravado of the best from the world of Bish.

Now the soldiers were down to just two, fighting back to back, pinned in by the woman and the remaining three gnoll warriors. They were surrounded and backed off from their attacks. From above, Venir could the woman cursing and barking at her own; these soldiers were proving more formidable than expected. He heard her demand their surrender. But the exhausted men did not lower their blades, cursing back and spitting on the ground.
Fight and die, no shame in that.

One soldier was bleeding heavily, his leg useless, head sagging underneath a heavy iron helm. Two gnolls pounced on him first, batting away his sword and stabbing his wavering figure deep in the back of the neck, crumpling the man lifeless to the ground. Now there was just one Royal left, the commander.

Two big gnolls loomed to the man’s left and right, barring his path, leaving him squared up against the approaching woman. The soldier readied his sword that gleamed bright red in the sunlight. The man showed no fear, his face as hard as stone, ready to take his fate head on. A loud
klatch
broke through the foliage as a heavy bolt struck a bull’s eye into one gnolls forehead. The Royal commander flinched, but the woman didn’t. Two more arrows zipped through the air, burying into the armored chest of the other gnoll, dropping it wailing to the ground with a
thud
. Venir charged down the ridge.
Bish!

Uncertainty didn’t slow the helmed woman, she responded, moving in like a panther, swinging low, she tore out his armored commanders left knee with her axe-blade. The soldier cut back with a powerful two-handed blow, which she deflected of her bracer, skinning her arm. She screamed in fury. She countered with a crunching blow, punching through his breastplate and deep into his clavicle. The sword dropped from the man’s lifeless grip as he fell to one knee.

Venir was charging behind her, yelling for her to stop, but her finishing blow was too fast as she crowned the man between the eyelets of his helm. The soldier was dead. She turned just in time to see him coming for her and she began laughing.

“It seems you are too late to save this man,” she said, ripping her axe from the man’s head. ”Now, can you save yourself … yellow hair?”