The Darkslayer: Chaos at the Castle (Book 6) (29 page)

Fogle could barely hear her words. Even Barton
’s bellowing shouts seemed muffled compared to the dragon’s terrifying sounds.

“BARTON KILL YOU
, BLACKIE! BARTON KILL YOU NOW!”

Fogle was shaking his head.
You aren’t going to kill that thing.

The dragon’s
wings seemed impossibly long as it spread them and roared once more.

Cass was screaming
, tears appearing in the corners of her eyes. They huddled on the ground like two babes in a storm.
This is happening!

Fogle could feel the hot coals of
the dragon’s breath getting hotter. Then Barton said the unthinkable.

“BARTON HAVE WIZARD TO HELP HIM NOW. ATTACK HIM
, WIZARD!”

The dragon’s long neck moved
his head from Barton down on the ground facing him.

That thing can understand Barton. Stupid giant
! What can I do? Think, Fogle, think!

“HA! HA! HA! BLACKIE GOING TO GET IT NOW!”

The giants were terrifying enough, and he’d had help with them. The dragon was something entirely different. It wasn’t shaped like a man. It was shaped like a monster.

The dragon snorted and sniffed. A strange cackling erupted in
his long neck.

“WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR
, WIZARD? KILL BLACKIE!”

“He doesn’t want me
. He wants you, Barton!” Fogle yelled.

That’s when Cass look
ed up at him with weak eyes and said, “Do whatever you have to, Fogle. I’ll fight with you.”

From behind Barton’s monstrous leg, he
touched foreheads with Cass and said, “Fight or Die, my sweet. Fight or die!”

“WHAT?” Barton said, leering down at him with his good eye.

Do something or die, Wizard.
A spell came to mind.
Huh! Am I ready this time? For a dragon?
He wrapped his arm around Barton’s ankle and yelled upward. “Barton!”

“WHAT?”

“How much to you hate that dragon?”

“A LOT!”

“Get ready then! Help’s coming!”

Closing his eyes
, he summoned his power. Words of magic filled his head. Rolled from his tongue. Churned from his lips like hummingbird wings. Seconds later, he sagged, Cass holding him up.

“HAMMER!”
he said.

A glowing hammer, with a head like an anvil, materialized at Barton’s feet. It was longer than Fogle was tall, radiating with energy. Barton snatched it up and slung it at Blackie
, striking him full in the chest.

KAROOM!

The dragon let out an angry screech, flapping backward and away.

Barton charged over the landscape, snatching the hammer up in his mighty arms, swinging.

WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!

Fogle felt the air shake with every blow. Black
ie screeched and clawed, angry, hateful.

“BARTON KILL BLACKIE!”

WHAM!

“FEEL THAT
, BLACKIE!”

WHAM!

“BARTON HATE BLACKIE!!”

The two titan
s fought and clawed over the ground, but Blackie was still bigger, quicker, and deadlier. Barton was a man fighting a giant-sized lizard.

Like a snake,
Blackie struck, biting Barton’s hammer-swinging arm.

“AARGH!”

The hammer fell from his grasp.

Barton cocked his elbow back and socked Blackie in the eye.

The pair thrashed and rolled through the dirt.

Barton was flailing and screaming.

Blackie clawing and biting.

It was an awful sight. Fogle grabbed Cass, pulling her as far away from the Chaos as he could.

“NOOO!” Barton squeezed.

Blackie pinned Barton under his weight, an adult atop a large child.

The giant’s fingers clawed at the dirt, clutching for the hammer.

Blackie swatted the hammer away with
his tail and hissed in Barton’s face.

Fogle could see the giant
’s futile squirms under Blackie’s power and weight. Barton, a giant, yet still a boy, couldn’t overcome his adversary, his oppressor.  It was a sad thing when the fire in Barton’s eye went out, defeated.

“Help me, Wizard?” Barton said, exhausted, finger
s feebly clutching at the dirt.

Fogle did nothing. The dragon didn’t want him or Cass
. It only wanted Barton. Keeping Cass behind him, he watched Blackie dig his black claws into Barton’s shoulders.

“OW!” Barton cried. “Wizard
, help!”

W
hump! Whump! Whump!

Stirr
ing the air like a small tornado, Blackie was up and off, with Barton in his grasp.

The betrayed
look on Barton’s face would haunt him forever, but he had to protect Cass.

Behind him, Cass cleared her throat.

“What?” he said, watching Blackie and Barton slowly sail away.

“Do something
, Fogle Idiot! Shoot that dragon down!” Cass ordered.

The power of a dragon was one thing. The power of a beautiful angry woman was another. Without thinking, Fogle’s body charged with power. Flashes of lightning shot from his fingers across the sky, striking Blackie full force.

Blackie roared, this time with pain, not pleasure.

Barton slipped from the dragon’s grasp and plummete
d a hundred feet to the ground with a thud.

“That’s better,” Cass said.

Blackie hung in the sky, hovering, flapping his great wings, struggling to stay afloat.

“Whatever you did, I don’t think that dragon liked it. Do it again?”

Fogle shook his head. “I don’t have enough power to kill it. I’d better protect us.”

The dragon’s citrine eyes leered at him like burning suns. He’d hurt it. He
’d made it mad. Now it was coming for him.

It flapped over towards them
, long great neck swaying back and forth.

Fogle grabbed Cass, pulled her clo
se, and summoned a spell.

Hanging like
a black cloud over them, Blackie opened his mouth and breathed.

The blast of a thousand furnaces came out.

Fogle stood tall, a mystic bubble protecting them, scattering the flames around them.

The heat was intense, like standing at the mouth of a blacksmith
’s forge.

The magic shield kept them away f
rom instant incineration. Sweat poured from Fogle’s face. The shield would only hold up as long as he could.

How long can this thing breath
e!
He felt his air begin to thin, his lungs labor, his concentration waver.

“Hold on, Fogle!” Cass encouraged him, her face as red as a beet, “Hold on!”

He couldn’t. He fought with all his will, but his will was out.

“I’m sorry, Cass!” He shook his head. “I can’t. Cass … I—”

The fire stopped.

Blackie reared up, screeching. Barton was on the
dragon’s back, holding onto its wing with one hand and pounding it in the back of the head with the hammer in the other.

Fogle took Cass by the hand and tried to run away.

SWAT!

Blackie
’s tail licked out, knocking them from their feet.

Fogle
gathered his knees beneath him and summoned more lighting in his grasp.

In front of him, Blackie slung Barton from his back. Wary, Blackie’s eyes focused on Fogle’s glowing hands.

“You don’t like that, do you?” Fogle rose to his feet. “Stings, doesn’t it, Lizard?”

A growl rumbled in the dragon’s throat. The creature was intelligent, thinking, planning.

“Leave us be, Dragon,” Fogle yelled. “Else I’ll unleash all of my fury!”

Twenty feet from his nose, the Dragons’ red tongue licked out over its fangs. There must have been a thousand of them.

“AAAIIEEEH!” Cass screamed.

The tip of Blackie’s tail encircle
d her waist and dragged her away.

“NO!” Fogle yelled after her.

The dragon tucked her into his chest, playing with her in the palm of his hand like a tiny doll.

Fogle
could swear it smiled.

W
hump! Whump! Whump!

Up it went, Cass stunned in its grasp, leaving Fogle devastated on the
cracked terrain as they disappeared into the clouds.

“CAAAAASSS!!!”

CHAPTER 39

Castle Almen, a character in its own right, had many secret
s. Many lost over the centuries, others found.  It was spotless; no cobwebs or dust coated the dark wood and velvety furniture. Every piece of metal was polished. Every crystal gleamed.

Lord Almen closed t
he drapes to a large bay window and sealed the balcony door shut. This was once the bedroom of his father. He and his best Shadow Sentry, a long limbed man, fled the Keep and traversed the castle utilizing the secret corridors, avoiding the commotion caused by the underlings. 

Still weak, Lord Almen rummaged through the drawers of a black walnut desk until he
placed his hand around a dagger and stuffed it into his belt. Quickly, he made his way over to the fire place and stood on the hearth.

“Come, stand with me,” he ordered.

The sentry obliged, stepping onto the mosaic hearth, fingering the pommels of his swords.

“Tell no one of this,”
Lord Almen warned, shoving back a marble block on the fire place mantle. The colorful tiles shifted beneath their feet, then disappeared, leaving a black hole. The lanky warrior in the black ghost armor cocked his head. Rapidly, they were sinking.

“You may want to close your eyes, Virgil.”

A quick rush of air followed, the feeling of one flying, the weightlessness of a feather, and an abrupt halt that bobbled his stomach. Opening his eyes, the first thing Lord Almen saw was his office beneath the kitchen, and the front door was still closed.

Beside him, Virgil
’s knees wobbled, his long arms stretching out for support. Lord Almen didn’t bother. Instead, he searched his office. No one would have suspected a single thing was out of place, but he knew. It angered him. Whoever had been here had some idea what to look for and what they were taking. Tonio’s sword was gone. The shelf that concealed the small secret door was out of place, and the door was open. A variety of footprints had disturbed the dust.
Melegal
was the first thought that came to mind.
Sefron
was the second. But, more than that, something lingered in the air. The scent of underlings.

“Virgil, see to it that door is secure,” he said, opening a small case full of vials. “You be keeping post and sending warning if anything comes through there.”

“I hope it’s underlings,” Virgil said. He cracked his neck side to side and eased his sword from the scabbard. “Or any arsehole, for that matter.”

Lord Almen could
n’t see the man’s face behind his cloth mask, but Virgil was one of his best soldiers. A survivor of the Warfield. A friend of danger. Lord Almen favored men like that. Cold blooded killers.

Lord Almen drank down one of the vial
s, followed by the other. He tossed one filled with a pale red liquid to Virgil.

“Take that,” Lord Almen said
. He rolled his shoulders. He was feeling better and stronger already. “It will give you stamina. Improve your focus.”

Virgil pulled up his mask
―exposing his rugged chin, split lip and rotting teeth―before he swallowed it down.

Lord Almen took a deep breath through his nose
, filling his lungs to capacity and slowly releasing.

Virgil thumbed
his blade. “This sword is the finest blade I’ve ever owned, Lord Almen, and I’ll put it to good use in your defense.” He pulled his mask back down. “I feel like killing.”

“So do I.”

Disappointed that Tonio’s sword was gone, Lord Almen grabbed another blade, a poniard with an ivory hilt, and set it on his desk table. Opening a wardrobe, he grabbed his own suit of ghost armor and slipped it on. It fit like a glove, coating him like a thick flexible skin. A smile came to the corner of his lips.
It’s been too long.

“Sir, you look dangerous
, but I plan on killing them all before they make it to you.”

Almen put his hand on Virgil
’s shoulder. “You do that, and I’ll give you your own room in this castle and a personal servant girl, too.”

Black masked, Virgil saluted with his sword. “My life for my Lord. Their life with my sword.”

With that, Lord Almen stepped through the small door’s opening and headed down the stairs on cat’s feet. Stopping, he closed his eyes and slowed his breath. He heard nothing. Not a shuffle, nor a scuffle, nor a scratch. Breathing through his nose, nothing caught his potion-heightened senses. As they passed the bottom of the stairwell, the torches came to life. The large chamber cast his shadow. All six doors were closed.

Where is she?

Making his way back to the alcove where all the Keys usually hung, he noticed the empty pegs on the wall. How in all of Bish had they escaped his grasp?
Melegal.
It had to be. Or had they been taken by the underlings?

He chuckled, remembering the first time he and his father found the chamber. There
’d been more doors. More pegs. More Keys. And rings. Many came, many went. He tried his best to understand it. It seemed the chamber had a will of its own. It would serve him, so he thought, so long as he fed it. A mystery. An advantage he didn’t hesitate to press. No wonder the underlings wanted it. But how did they know about it? Who made it?
Seven Keys last I counted. Eight with the one I gave to Jarla.
I hope she still has it.
He looked at the floor. The slightest sucking licked at his boots.

Lord Almen paced around the circle of the great chamber. His castle was under siege. The underlings had
penetrated for the second time in days. He could have held out in the keep, but the Keys were what he was certain they wanted. He had no plans to part with them. They gave him power. Control. To go whenever and however he wanted to go. And until several days ago, only few knew about his secret. Now that secret had been compromised.

Standing in the center of the room facing
the alcove and the ancient doors, Lord Almen stood, watching and listening.
Where is that Brigand Queen?
He twisted the finger ring that he used to summon her. She never appeared at the same duration, but always she came. Minutes, an hour maybe, but never a day. He frowned.