The Darkslayer: Book 02 - Blades in the Night (10 page)

Over the passing weeks, Verbard had learned much about Eep and his magic eye. The magic eye was the means that Oran the cleric had used to track down the Darkslayer. Verbard aimed to use it as well. He had to find the man. He cast the spell with his brother along his side, and off Eep went.

A mirror of scintillating colors burst before his eyes and they could see everything in sight that the imp did as he flew through the air. It was one of the most fascinating things Verbard had ever felt. His brother’s gold eyes were as wide as saucers. Through Eep’s eye, Verbard could see the treetops below. Skirmishes in flux. Humanoids jumping away. The imp moved so fast that he could gather a great deal of information in an instant of time. Still, finding the Darkslayer would not be easy. The imp knew what he looked like, but finding him for certain in the City of Bone, where they hoped the man would be, would still be an excruciating search. He along with his brother could only hold the spell so long. It was a strain on them both.

Verbard spent hours looking upon detestable human faces over and over again. He hoped every single one would die … in pain or anguish. The more he watched, the more he learned about them. Their wicked practices were similar to the brothers’ own, except that they tormented their own. Verbard’s kind only practiced it on other races, except when under judgment. He found it odd that they took their own kind for granted. The humans did good things for one another too, but he couldn’t relate to that at all. They were weak. They deserved to die.

The days had become weeks and his patience was wearing thin. Then Eep shouted in his thoughts,
“It’s him!”

And there he was: a hulking figure of muscle tangled up with a dark-haired woman. Verbard almost broke the spell as he tore his silver eyes away.

“
Catten,” he yelled, “what are they doing with their faces? I hate it when they do that. It’s disgusting.”

“
It’s called kissing, I think. Don’t look if you don’t want to,” Catten replied in agitation. “You’ve certainly witnessed far worse events these past days than this, so quit being so annoying. Be glad we have found the man instead. See that big tattoo on his back? It must be him.”

“
I can’t stop watching,” Verbard cried while squinting his eyes and then he mentally commanded Eep to move on, sighing relief. He looked at his brother.
Now what is your big plan?

Now that the imp had finally located the Darkslayer, there would not be a problem for him to find him again. He had the imp keep tabs on the man and his companions. The armored Darkslayer never surfaced however. All he saw was just ordinary men. It didn’t help either that Verbard could not hear what he could see. The spell had that limitation.

He and his brother spent the days mulling over the task at hand. The brute man was no doubt formidable. But was he the same man that carved up their Badoon brigade? The one who chopped Master Sinway’s prized warriors, the Vicious, into bits? Eep assured them it was indeed the same man, but they needed more proof.

Verbard was almost jealous of the imp’s powers as he was able to see whatever he wanted without being there. Somehow the magic allowed the imp to view the world from another dimension. If the imp didn’t want to be seen, then he was not. The underling marveled at it, along with his brother as well. If only he could figure out how to do that. Most likely his brother would, but writing spells was not his thing.

One day, the imp had been watching the apartment of the humans. The big man was talking with excitement as his skinny friend and two boys watched. One of the boys was a halfling, and he stayed busy scribbling ink into thick tomes.

“
Catten, come here. What do you make of this?” Verbard had said.

Catten floated over and stared into the portal for a moment. Catten slapped him on the back.

“
Tell that imp to bring us a tome!”

Verbard hadn’t heard his brother that excited the whole trip.

“
Will do,” he replied.

The plan was simple. Eep could blink into the apartment and would only have to fly away as he could not take the tome back into the magic dimension. The timing proved to be an issue, however, as the halfling and human boys were almost always in the apartment. There was still some tension in the air, but it lightened. Verbard planned to enjoy his seclusion in the lair. He laid down on the soft velvet couch while listening to the cave water dripping and his brother’s pacing footsteps nearby. It wasn’t long before he was asleep.

When Eep blinked, he could feel Verbard watching through his eyes. It was as if he was inside his head. It irritated him. He slapped his head and growled. The sparse apartment was dim as no candles or lanterns were lit. It was early in the daytime, and both boys were gone for a change.

Eep crept through the small room. The table, cots, blankets, stove, and cupboard were cold. Things were in good order. In one corner of the room, a stack of tomes of various sizes were stacked along with loose parchment, ink, and quills.

He buzzed over to them. Verbard screamed in his mind:
Open a window first!
He did and returned, scratching his head. All the books looked the same. Verbard then said,
Pull one from the bottom.
He did. Then he straightened the pile and headed for the window.

Eep scanned the room one final time. He noticed a large leather sack underneath one of the cots and pulled it out. He began to look inside when he heard something. Faint footfalls were just outside the door. He stuffed the sack back under the cot and hopped onto the window sill. He could hear the tumbles on the locks being worked and the lock unlatching as he closed the window behind him just a moment before the door swung open. He was already buzzing away as the thief named Melegal sauntered in. The giant book-wielding bat screeched from the sky, startling the busy early goers below. Then he disappeared into the blazing horizon.

Two suns hovered, orange and red, blazing like mirages over the world of Bish. Little reprieve could be had from the sweltering heat, day or night. The inhabitants never stayed comfortable for long. Most of Bish was barren, though its landscapes included lakes, streams, forests, and cities. Life of all sorts had grown accustomed to the harsh elements of this world. It was either that or give in and die.

Coping with the challenging climate and terrain of Bish was one thing all its races had in common. It kept them weathered, hardy, and ready for the next battle. All races—the good, the evil, and those in between—were locked in an unending battle for survival, whether they liked it or not. It was their fate, and it was unavoidable, for it was the very reason that Bish had been created.

The brightest star in the world of Bish was the City of Bone. The lone monolith stood in stark contrast to the barren terrain that surrounded it ominous walls. A human-dominated city, Bone boasted over a hundred thousand occupants enclosed by thick stone walls that stood four stories high. Miserable though they usually were, the commoners of its inner districts preferred the interior of Bone to the harsh outlands of Bish. The Outlands offered few comforts to the common man.

Bone, as they called it—and used the name as an epithet—was full of corruption. The ruling Royals managed to keep their own brand of order behind the scenes of the treacherous city. Every inhabitant knew that crossing the Royals was to one’s detriment. The public executions testified to that. Many of the innocent died in this way. The people did not complain, though; instead they boasted that Bone was the greatest city in the world. The simple folk simply minded their own affairs—or else.

Among the common folk, many prospered. The slaves, thieves, prostitutes, and executioners did just as well as the merchants, guardsman, farmers, and landlords. At first appearance, a newcomer to the City of Bone would think it a grand place to live or visit. But it did not take long for Bone’s plethora of indulgences to drag a good man deep into the vileness of its belly. Yet its self-enslaved people seemed to prefer it that way.

Not all in the City of Bone succumbed, of course; there were those willful ones who enjoyed its pleasures without falling into its soft yet suffocating grip. Just as the Royals were able to enjoy life on the backs of its citizens, others were also able to have fun and make a profit from the weakness of others.

The shambled tavern of the Drunken Octopus was the perfect example of a place where these types of profiteers thrived. The Octopus stood off the beaten path, deep in the narrowest of alleys, far from patrolled districts. Smugglers, slavers, skimmers, adventurers, pleasure seekers, and other dodgy spirits from the city and elsewhere would gather at the Octopus every day, as it was a place where citizens could unwind and do business of whatever sort satisfied their needs and pleasures.

On this particular day, the robust tables of the smoky tavern brimmed over with desperate risk takers, their eyes cold and sunken. Tales spewed back and forth from foul mouths and rotted teeth. The perfumes of shameless women mingled with the smells of unwashed men. Pint after pint of ale was guzzled and spilled on the grimy oaken floor. Shots of grog were sucked from the bellies of giggling dancers. Uproarious laughter and shouting voices filled the sagging room, cast in flickering shadows by way of burning torches and candles in wrought-iron chandeliers.

Among all those who sat in the room, one large man’s voice bellowed over the rest. Between slurps of ale and swigs of grog, Venir sat centralized at table near the bar. His long straw-blond locks were drawn back, revealing his hardened face, bright blue eyes, and broad grin. He relished the gaze of the long-lashed women at the table, and she seemed captivated by his handsome face and wild stories. Although he knew they were more interested in his purse than his tales, he was intent, as always, on holding their attention.

He faux-boxed in the air, almost knocking over a waitress. One would never suspect that the delicate balance of good and evil on Bish hung upon the very edge of his great axe. Yet despite his impressive stories, not a man or woman believed half of what he said. But true or not, he could spin a yarn. His voice sucked them in. And they liked it.

Only one person at the table knew the truth: Venir had not stretched a word, and had even left out a detail or two. Only his friend, Melegal, sitting opposite him, knew the half of it for sure. A sultry woman hung on his arm as well.

Melegal was gaunt, quiet, and thin. Dressed in deep gray clothes, he sipped purple wine and surveyed the room. Venir kept rambling on, knowing his friend was waiting for something. The thief leaned forward, while another attractive woman played with his graying hair and the floppy gray hat that hung over his ear.

“
So, Melegal,” Venir said, leaning back in his chair after he finished with his tale of the Outlands. “Is that how you recall it, back at the marsh?”

The thief leaned in farther, speaking loud: “I can’t say, Vee. I didn’t hear the whole thing. Why not tell it again?”

“
A great idea. What do you say, ladies?” Venir said smiling from ear to ear.

The previously interested female parties at the table began to disperse. Looks of disappointment drew on their painted eyes. It was clear that one particular lady had established squatter’s rights on Venir for the night. Seated next to him, this woman, in her revealing red gown, was smiling while gazing into his eyes.

“
Tell me another story, big man, or the same one. I love ’em,” she said, almost slurring.

Venir felt his blood run hot when her bare thigh crossed over his leg. He squeezed her knee as he leaned back. She made a squeak.

“
Another bottle of wine, barkeep!” Venir said. “Make that two. Maybe I’ll sample some as well,” he added, looking back into her eyes. “You really are pretty, you know—Dresla, you said your name was, right?”

Dresla blushed.

“
Hey, Vee, don’t you go telling her all that same stuff,” Melegal said, then finished off his wine and motioned for more. “You know how mad they get when you’re not so nice to them the next day.”

“
Shut up, Me. Dresla and I know each other plenty well.” He held her chin. “I could teach you a thing or two about how to sweet-talk a lady.”

“
Talking’s for blabbermouths,” the thief replied as a wry smile crossed his lips. “I let my actions speak.”

He squeezed the knee of his own lady, who let out a yelp.

Amid their laughter, the wine soon arrived, along with more grog and ale. The tavern crowd brightened by the minute as the two men flattered their dates with compliments and coin.

Venir soon began another tale. A new crowd began to gather around their table, helping themselves to the drinks. Venir was too caught up in himself to care. He let Melegal handle those things. He was more talk, Melegal more business.

A fine young lute player—Luke—joined their table and began playing in harmony with Venir’s new tale. The slender fingers strummed the strings, drawing more interest from the crowd. Venir soaked it all in as he charmed the crowd with his rumbling voice, his massive arms gesticulating as he recounted tales of epic adventure.

Most everyone enjoyed his storytelling—but not all. Many a bad element lurked within the tavern, looking to take advantage of those with foolish tongues. And Venir knew his lips would draw them out. Anyone in the room would see him as prey if they did not know him from before. He was counting on this, as was Melegal; it’s what they did.