The Darkslayer: Book 01 - Wrath of the Royals (30 page)

“Well, this is close enough for me, Venir,” Mood said under his bushy beard, green eyes following along the disused trail. “The smell of city, ooh, it’s as bad as the marsh. I’ll take care of Chongo and the pony if you like, while you two dogs go into that hole and do what you gotta do.”

“I figure it’ll take us some time to get settled in,” Venir said as he hopped off Chongo and started gathering his necessities. “If we decide to lay low here, you may have to keep Chongo with you longer.”

Venir began rubbing the big dog’s floppy ears.

“I don’t know how persistent those Royals will be. They may look here, but they won’t get much help. The Royals here aren’t like the ones in Bone. But they’ll get other help, I’m sure.”

“They won’t find us in this city, Vee,” said Melegal straightening his hat. “And as long as we’re here, I plan on enjoying myself. Oh, and I’m keeping Quickster with me. I’m not gonna walk anymore than I have too, especially drunk.”

Melegal scratched the black mane of the shaggy mount.

“That’s one thing I like about Two-Ten. Nobody messes with Quickster.”

“Fine, keep your stinkin’ pony, stick man,” Mood said with a gruff laugh. “I’m sure as slat nobody will want to eat or steal that smelly beast, not even an orc. Ha!”

Mood slapped Venir on the shoulder, and hoisted himself on Chongo. Venir watched them go, then turned and followed Melegal into the city.

Venir’s body throbbed with every step. The green snake meat did its part countering the poison, but his body was far from one hundred percent. When he awoke earlier in the morning he wished he was dead, but the survivalist in him kept him going. It always did. He could see Melegal’s sharp and shaven face was now wooly and haggard. Guilt settled in his thoughts, so he tried to lighten the mood.

“Ah, Melegal, it’s good to be back into Two-Ten City. I can smell the ale, grog and cheap perfume already. And some of Bish’s best-kept secrets are in Two-Ten. There’s always something new every time I come.”

It wasn’t long before the neglected trail had led them toward the bustling activity on the outskirts of the city. Every type of commerce could be found scattered around the borders of the city as well as within. Merchants and farmers fought for space to sell their baubles or their food. The worst of the harlots aggressively foisted their wares in the faces of the two adventurers. Their lucid tongues promised indecent favors. Their expressive seduction added a bounce in Venir’s step as he watched a thin smile cross Melegal’s lips as he brushed the women away.

There was something about Two-Ten City that represented the high life he enjoyed most in Bish. Maybe it was the oddity of it all. The prostitutes were not just human, but orc, dwarf, and even halfling. They were all jostling to try to find seekers of their tricks, each race offering its own specialties. The open fondness of the different races was not represented in the City of Bone. The Royals there considered it something of a crime to intermingle with other races within its walls. But the Royals of Two-Ten cared not, for they too, were of different races.

It wasn’t long after the first wave of jobbers that the ragtag urchins, faces wrought with filth, swarmed around the men. Venir shoved them away with a growl, sending them in a scurry, but for one who made his way to Melegal.

Venir coughed a laugh. He had almost forgotten how ignorant and smart-alecky orcs were by nature. Melegal came to a stop. The thief waved his finger across the orc boy’s watching eyes.

Melegal’s frown turned upward. He poked his finger in the boy’s throat, like a striking snake. The orc dropped to his knees, clutching his neck, kicking at the air.

Melegal bent over the misfortunate boy whispering in his ear.

“That’s what I’m gonna a do. And if I ever see you again, I’ll be the last thing you ever see. Got it?”

The orc boy was turning purple as he began to pee himself. The boy’s growing eyes blinked over and over. A small crowd started to gather. Melegal looked around and then poked the orc boy’s throat again. The orc gasped, looking back at Melegal, screamed and ran clumsily away and out of sight. The laughing crowd began to disperse.

“You know, I’m starting to remember why we left this wretched place. Those orcs are stupid, a real nuisance. I can see they haven’t changed. I’m starting to recall another reason why we had to leave last time.”

He led the way towards a rundown tavern that stood near three stories high. The oak building was covered in dirt and grime. It was as ugly as it was unnatural. A sign hung cock-eyed on the wall that read: THE BEATEN BOAR’S BUM
.
Venir could hear the plank walls creak as the building seemed to sway in the breeze. The Bum stood in defiance of its odd and decaying appearance. Some said it was magic that somehow held the giant tavern together, while others said it was the dwarves who had built it so soundly centuries ago. The stories had grown in extravagance over the decades, and it mattered not. The Beaten Boar’s Bum was one of the lowest and dirtiest places to be found on Bish, unless you were underground.

Venir stood before the decrepit building and gave a sigh. The refreshing thought of ale, grog, and women began to surge over his aches and pains. A bosomy older woman in a revealing short dress was rocking in a chair on the porch. Her leathery lips and crooked fingers were beckoning for him to enter.

“I’m with you, Vee,” Melegal said, winking at the woman,” but let’s make haste. My tongue’s dry and my bellies groaning, and I’ll be having enough wine to pickle me purple. That trip down was rough.”

“Go on after the boy, then,” Venir urged. As Melegal hurried away he looked back at the older gal and gave her a quick nod. Her seedy smile gave him pause. Maybe coming back to Two-Ten City wasn’t such a good idea afterall.

Oran’s face was filled with glee as Eep took his pinned up frustrations out on many of the imprisoned humans. He made swift notes of the reactions the people had defending themselves from the blood thirsty imp.

“Pace yourself,” Oran had said, but the imp tore through them like a milling stone.

Oran jotted down quick sketches with his deft hand, black lips mimicking their shrieks as he recorded their final words at the threshold of death. They all pleaded, begging for mercy, promising everything a human could imagine. Every word of it would have made him laugh, but he didn’t know how.

He watched all of them cringe in horror, but for one. A lone woman was fighting for her very life, a short mop of strawberry hair hanging down in her eyes. Oran noted how she bit, clawed and kicked, one time clipping the imp’s eye with a long fingernail. Eep silenced the screaming women after that brief moment of triumph with quick clawed blow to the neck. It was one of the better sessions Oran had ever recorded, all five minutes of it.

In a separate cell, the remaining humans had emerged from their drugged calm. Four stout men stood at the bars, while the rest were wailing with tear-filled faces as he let Eep out from the cage. The imp walked by, snapping at them. The men shuffled back as the dripping imp hissed and walked away.

“Eep, come over here so we can get moving,” Oran said, strolling back to his lab. “It’s time for part two of your journey.”

“Ah, thank you, Lord Oran, thank you,” said the imp. “That was just what I needed … I just had to rip something apart. They were perfect.”

The robes caught Eep full in the face, becoming alive and smothering the imp like a living thing. Eep struggled as the robes constricted around his small body, restraining his wings, dropping the imp to the ground with a
plop
. Oran watched his robes confine the entirety of the imp like a waxy mold. Oran focused on the robes squeezing every crevice air tight, suffocating the imp. Eep’s body lurched and kicked from within then lay still. Oran gathered his composure, considering all he had to do.

Eep drug himself up and followed Oran into a study that was filled with less experiments and more paperwork. Oran sat down on a stool and rolled out a long weathered parchment, a map, and pointed at it.

“This is the plan. I have to return to the City of Bone. You need to head southeast to this area. The Darkslayer has to be somewhere between the Red Clay Forest and Two-Ten City. Our human troublemaker will most likely be in the city, so look there first.” Oran’s black nail circled the spot.

Eep’s head tilted, nodded and said, “Yes.”

Oran continued saying, “We have to resolve this quickly in order to help Verbard and Catten. Even if we don’t actually catch the Darkslayer, at least we’ll have aided them. That will go a long way with the underling lords. Then hopefully,” he paused and hissed through his teeth, “I can finally go home.”

Oran was thinking back to the last time he had met with Lord’s Catten and Verbard. Oran was outspoken and they didn’t like it. He had dared to speak against them in the presence of like brethren on the issue of mingling more with humanity and the rest. The mistake had almost cost him his life, but instead he had been banished. Oran had power and status in the Underland, but Verbard and Catten had it removed. Since then, he had not spoken little with another underling in years, but he had his ways of staying informed.

With a wave of his hand Oran watched Eep speed out of the cave, over the Current as fast as his wings could take him. Oran headed that way as well, stepping onto his barge while muttering a spell. The barge glided over the black river towards the City of Bone. He could still hear the screams of the humans calling for him as he went.
Why?
They were begging for food. He wondered if any would die of starvation depending on how long he was gone.
Would they try to eat one another?
He hoped he wouldn’t miss it. Oran’s stomach rumbled. It had been days since he had last eaten himself.