The Darkslayer: Book 01 - Wrath of the Royals (7 page)

His body went cold and his mind numb at the heartlessness of her statement. He knew she meant it and was prepared to end his life with a single command. He felt like a fool as he stood flat-footed with no means to defend himself. He was about to be slaughtered and he felt the sweat break on his brow. The gnolls hairy hands dropped onto their sword hilts. He wanted to scream, but who would come.
Think!

“Throk and Keel normally eliminate my pets while they’re sleeping, or sometimes as they try to escape. They’ve been begging to kill you and your men as payback for the loss of their comrades and one of my best commanders, Durn. But that’s in the past.”

Venir was agape
. Billip and Mikkel!
Were they dead as well? A wave of guilt swept over his fear now. He ignored their warnings. He was a fool whose folly would lead to the death of two good friends as well. Yet, despite the news she had shared with him, he still found her magnificent. To her surprise, he even managed a grin.
Smile, no matter how bad it seems.
Who told him that?

“Well, that’s a first, a fool grinning in the face of the death. You are something, I’ll give you that,” she said, almost smiling herself.

“What bounty?”
A bounty from who?

“Actually, I’ll tell you. I was careful not to disclose anything to you before, because I know how you feel about them. But there’s been a war going on for a long time … a secret war.”

Deep creases crossed her forehead as she stroked her silky hair.

“I’m part of it—a distraction for the most part—but I’m very well paid, as we all are. And I don’t mind carving into the supporters and forces of the Royals who lead the humans. They put me through great pain long ago, so it satisfies my thirst for revenge. The truth is, I don’t feel much for any race, I just enjoy what I do.”

She licked her upper lip.

“I could do it for either side in this war. But right now, I’m on the side that’s gaining on the humans.”

Venir’s neck hairs rose up. Was she about to say something he never would have believed? She mustn’t. He simply could not believe it to be true, and that he too, may have become a part of it.

“The bottom line is … it doesn’t matter to me who wins or loses. But when it comes to tendering for my services, the
underlings
pay far better.”

Rage exploded inside Venir’s chest, flushing his cheeks with fire. He had been sharing a bed with this traitor for months. She had been in league with his most despised enemies, had even known how he felt, and had used him anyway. The betrayal was as enlightening as it was overwhelming. It was a cruel twist, but an awakening as well.

“I’ve survived bigger threats. Don’t worry yellow hair; the underlings have agreed to let me be present when they put you through. Apparently, some of the underlings you’ve allowed to escape would like to apply your own methods to you. We’re going to watch them put your head on a spike. They’re even going to let you lead their army as we take Outpost Thirty-One. Won’t that be an honor, you leading the march on the Royals?”

He didn’t wince at her words. He stared at her with growing hatred. His mouth was dry as he choked out his next words.

“They won’t take me alive! You’ll have to kill me! I won’t give you a choice!”

“I assure you, that won’t happen. Give yourself up, man. You’re unarmed and the whole tent is surrounded. It won’t be hard to wrestle you down. Be good, and I’ll try to make your suffering quick.”

His lust and pride had made him a fool. He didn’t know who he hated more, her, the underlings or himself. Perhaps he deserved to die, but not his friends.
Not Chongo
! With the desperation of a cornered tiger, he eyed his surroundings for a weapon of some sort. The only object close to him was the large worn leather sack, lying on the map table. He had looked in the sack several times before, unbeknown to her, and never found a thing. He knew it was futile to try it again, but he felt compelled to—he had nothing to lose.

“They do that every time,” Jarla sneered, patting Throk on the back. “These poor brutes just can’t come up with anything better.”

The gnolls looked at one another and Jarla’s face froze. He pulled out an object and watched their eyes widen, none more than Jarla’s. For she was not gazing upon either of her twin battle axes, but a much larger one that looked like both of hers put together. Venir felt something incredible and powerful in his grip.

He had never seen a woman so angry in his life, and he had seen plenty. Her frenzy almost persuaded him, but he caught himself, realizing that he no longer cared for her anymore than a marsh witch. He flashed them all a hardy grimace.

Throk and Keel drew their bastard swords in time to parry his attack, but Venir was all over them like lightning in a rainstorm. Shattering their blades and their bones stroke after stroke they were dead the ground. His new weapon felt alive in his hands and power seemed to course through his body. It felt good, very good indeed. The sight of the bloody gnolls bulky bodies blocking the entry caused the soldiers to hesitate.

Venir yanked out a helmet and put it on. A wave of awareness overwhelmed him. He could sense everything. Then he pulled out a round shield.
Great Bish!
He then prepared himself for a stand. He felt like he could fight the entire army. It suddenly struck him that the back of Jarla’s tent faced the entrance to the ravine and the path back to his tent. He grabbed his gear. He at least had time to warn Billip and Mikkel. As the guards charged in, he slit open the tent canvas and slipped through it as fast as he could.

Mikkel had been agonizing on tenterhooks for what felt like an eternity. Through a small spyglass he had been surveying the rear of Jarla’s tent. He had watched her leave it, and saw brigand soldiers surround it and watched her re-enter it with the two heavily armed gnoll commanders.
Son of a Bish!
He knew that he was about to witness the assassination of his old friend. No one seemed to have noticed Billip’s departure, and no one seemed concerned with him either, so he waited, keeping watch for a few more minutes.

He was about to pack it in and go when he saw Jarla bolt around from the front of her tent and start barking commands. All of the guards converged on her tent’s entrance. The camp was still in a slumber, but many were now alert and sounding the alarm. Then he saw a figure emerge through a slit in the back of the tent; a naked man with a great axe, a shield, and what looked like the brigand queen’s helmet came running out of the opening, straight in Mikkel’s direction. Two orc brigands intercepted his path and the naked warrior cut one in the neck and punched another down. Mikkel saw a big V-shaped tattoo on the big man’s broad back. He snapped his spyglass shut.

“Man, its Vee!”

Chongo bolted to his master’s aid while Mikkel jumped on his horse and led the other mount into his friend’s path. Two more brigand soldiers cut off Venir, but Mikkel shot one clean through his skull and Venir almost severed the other in two with a wide swipe through its belly.

“Come Vee! Let’s go!”

Jarla’s men were coming, shouting in alarm. The whole brigand army seemed to be awake and on the move, but Mikkel and Venir had the jump on them. Venir leapt onto Billip’s readied horse and they raced down the hillside and into the ravine. Chongo lead the way. Hard and fast they rode, and to their surprise nothing seemed to stand in their way.

Billip did it!
, Mikkel thought.

They even passed clear of the Ravine Watch at the end of the pass.
Billip must have led them all on a fox hunt.

The colorful banners of the Royal houses of Bish flapped above the massive wooden walls of an ancient fort. Outpost Thirty-One was one of a kind, the only structure in Bish built from the massive trees of the Great Forest. Yet these trees had not been cut down. Their rock hard dark woods were rare, fallen specimens, carried by giants long ago. It was a gift to the good men of that time.

Such was the story passed down over the centuries. None knew if it was true, but none cared, for such was the way of most men, self-centered, cold, and focused on the now. The fort complex sat high on a forested hilltop in the southern lands of Bish. It was a perfect square with outer walls twenty feet high. The gates in the opposite corners of each wall faced north, south, east, and west, from which straight, gravel-filled roads ran. They were busy roads, a strategic foothold that maintained order in this region and protected the commercial trade routes. All of the subordinate forts scattered throughout the south were commanded from here.

In the burning midday haze the fort appeared like a majestic castle, blending in with its surroundings, among the distant hilltops that gazed upon it. Many uninvited eyes stared at Outpost Thirty-One, for the outpost was subject of their siege. The underlings and the brigand army had cut off all the roads and laid waste for miles around. All human communication throughout the southern lands of Bish was cut off. Many would have agreed that the Royals had it coming, but when it came to an underling assault on the upper world, the selfish human race was Bish’s one and only hope.

Jarla’s brigand army was busy taunting the confined Royals soldiers, sending kobolds close to the southern gate to deposit mutilated corpses, heads and body parts of soldiers for all to see. The tiny horned humanoids cowered behind small wooden shields, but occasionally an arrow from a vengeful archer would pierce their small bodies, adding to the stinking heap of flesh and flies that lay baking in the sun.

Deeper south in the forest was the large beige tent that quartered Jarla, the Brigand Queen. Alone inside, she was studying maps and battlefield notes. Her beautiful face, now scarred and twisted from a fate she was unprepared for, was drawn in a tight frown. Unlike most women on Bish, she was a born warrior. She stood taller than most men, with strong shoulders and sinewy arms from years of battle. Her jet black hair was tied back, revealing deep blue eyes over her tanned face and scarred cheekbones. She took a deep breath and exhaled, bit her thin red lips, and flung the table over. Everything she had planned for years was about to unfold, yet her gut told her something was wrong. She cursed, spat, and drained a glass of wine.
Venir!

He had escaped her camp, slaughtered her commanders, and evaded the bounty for him by the underlings. Her alliance with the underlings had never been on solid ground, now it was falling apart. She wanted to break the alliance and disappear. She felt her grip loosening not long after the young warrior slipped from her side. She spit at the thought of his cocky grin. But, worse still, he had taken her precious, powerful weapon, or they had taken him? For the first time in years she felt vulnerable, rather than invincible.