The Darkslayer: Chaos at the Castle (Book 6) (32 page)

A dozen yards away, Sefron
slowly shuffled over the floor, bending over to grab one of the Keys.

Melegal extended his
dart bracers and let Sefron have it.

Clatch-zip! Clatch-zip!

Sefron whined like a dying sheep, falling over, clutching at his legs.

Melegal cr
ossed the room―deftly avoiding the melee―and kept shooting.

Clatch-zip! Click! Click!

Melegal overpowered Sefron and straddled his belly, pressing a knife to his throat.

“Remember my friend, the servant girl
? You know, the one you almost whipped to death?”

Sefron’s bulging eyes were merciless
. “Hard to say. There’s been so many.” He licked his lips. “And there’ll be many more to come, I assure you, long after you’re dead.”

Melegal felt Sefron’s clammy hand wrap around his wrist. It was cold, ice cold.

“No, slug, it’s you who’ll be dead. And if I had the time, I’d whip you to death myself.”

Melegal
pushed his dagger into Sefron’s throat, but no blood came forth, just Sefron’s cackle.

“Fool, do you really think I’m so weak that a rodent such as yourself could take me
?”

A wave of nausea overcame Melegal.
What’s happening!

Sefron’s grip became as solid as iron, squeezing his wrist to the point of breaking it.

His dagger fell from his numb wrist.

Before his eyes, Sefron changed. His hair thickened. His teeth straighten. His body firmed like a fighter
’s beneath him.

No! What is this!

Melegal watched his hand curl and shrivel. It horrified him.

“No!” he groaned, trying to pull his
rawboned body away.

Sefron cackled
and sucked his teeth.

“Ah, such succulent life from such a s
crawny man. Surprising.”

***

Creed’s father had told him that the first time he picked up a blade and swung, he was three. He’d cut into a leg of mutton and saved the butcher some trouble. He’d been swinging steel ever since.

Bang! Chang! Clang! Swish. Swish. Chang!

His opponent: an underling that weaved steel with skill he’d never seen. He thought he’d seen everything. He’d thought he knew everything.

Creed parried
, dodged, ducked, and jumped backward. Forward and followed up with a chop-chop-chop.

Always attacking at the same time, t
he copper-eyed underling batted every blow away.

Not possible!
Creed backed away.

The
underling’s blades were of the finest craftsmanship, archaic and curved at the very end. They moved like black flashes of lightning. Quick as a blink of an eye.

Creed
had trained all his life, defeated every man he faced in fence or battle. The ones that would fight him, that is. Many Royals never gave him the honor. It bothered him. And now, entering his prime, for the first time in his life, he was worried.

“I never believed an underling could be so fast,” he stall
ed. “Quite remarkable.”

Kierway showed his sharp teeth
. “Remarkable is my lowest level of skill, Human. Whatever it is you’ve done, I’ve already done a hundred times a year over a hundred years. You should know: this battle is over.”

Creed wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

“Then I suppose this is what I’ve been training all my life for. Ee-Yah!”

In a flash, his gleaming blade leapt at the underling
’s throat.

Kierway deftly shifted his body a foot out of the way and swatted into the back
s of Creed’s legs with the back of his sword.

“Ugh! Blast it!” Creed cried out. He could feel the blood dripping down over his thighs already
.

T
he floor made an eerie sucking sound. 

Creed’s face showed horror.
“What in Bish is going on?”

“Interesting,” Kierway replied
. “It seems the floor hungers. I think I shall feed it.”

Creed banged his blades together. One blade the finest of steel
, the other enchanted by a mystic forge master. Until today, he’d always felt himself invincible with them and his skill, but it seemed for the first time in his life he’d met his match. He banged his blades again and muttered angrily to himself. “Come on, Creed! Draw his blood at least!”

Use your reach. You’re longer!

Steel scraped against steel. Sweat mixed with blood.

They say, ‘When your final battle comes, you’ll know.’

His father had told him that, years ago, hours before he died at the Warfield.
He’d always wondered who killed his father. A great sword. A great hound. Now he’d never know.

He charged. One sword high, the other low, he swung.

Kierway caught both blades on the outside with a smirk.

Creed
’s booted toe lashed out into Kierway’s chin, clattering his teeth and splitting his lip.

Shocked, the underling hissed
.

Creed kept swinging hard and fast.

Bang! Clang! Chang! Chang! Bang!

Back and for
th the pair went. One master. One ancient master.

The
underling’s arms were strong like steel, but tireless and flexible as snakes.

For seconds, Creed pressed the advantage.

Slice.

Kierway ended it with a lightning fast stroke across
Creed’s thigh.

Slice.

Followed by another one across his belly.

Slice.

A hunk of flesh fell to the floor. It was Creed’s.

“Hear that, Human? It’s the sound of your death getting closer.”

Parry, Fool! Parry!

B
lue sparks showered the air.

Kierway pounded at his blades. Knock
ed Creed’s steel down, numbing his hands.

That was Creed’s plan.
To beat his opponent’s arms down until they felt like lead. But now his own arms felt like lead. Laboring for breath, he struggled to keep up with the blinding speed of Kierway’s blades. Below, something sucked at his feet on the floor.

“You tire, Human
.” Kierway swatted Creed’s blades away like toys. “Drop your blades, and I’ll give you a merciful death.”

“No
. I’m going to cut you just once, Black Fiend. I can’t go down like this. I can’t.”

Bang!

Kierway ripped one of Creed’s swords from his hand and paused.

Creed’s lone sword arm trembled
. He grabbed his wrist with the other to support it.

“You are a fine swordsman, Human. But I’ve faced
many better. All dead now, of course. So take note that you’ll die at the hand of the finest swordsman this world has ever known.”

Creed labored for breath
.

Kierway was barely winded, his eyes darting around, looking for something.

“So be it then, Underling.” Head down, Creed took a knee and set down his sword. “Vanquish me.”

“With pleasure.”

Catching a glimpse of Kierway’s nearest knee, Creed lunged forward with everything he had, stabbing with a dagger concealed in his bracer. The blade sank into flesh and hit bone.

Kierway howled.

“I swore I’d cut you!”

Kierway
’s blade came for his head.

CHAPTER 42

Corrin rubbed his eyes. For hours he’d sat watching the images in the fountain, mesmerized. Trinos had shown him the world outside the City of Bone, the home he’d never left. It was all fascinating and horrifying at the same time.

“What do
you think?” Trinos said.

Corrin stretched out his stiff arms and shook his head
. “It’s a horrible, horrible world out there.” He cleared his throat. “And just as bad in here.”

Trinos
lifted her brows without making a crease in her perfect forehead.

“How so?”

Corrin wasn’t sure how to respond at first. After all, he was a murderer and cutthroat, even though he was pretty certain that was all behind him now. Watching all he’d seen―people dying of thirst or getting lost in the Outlands, battling for honor in a place she said was called the Warfield―it seemed as if someone was always fighting something else somewhere in this world. All his years, he’d assumed Bone was the worst the world had to offer, but it clearly wasn’t. The entire world was in a struggle, and the driving force behind it all was the underlings. Or was it? He wasn’t so sure.

He took an apple from a
wicker basket, started peeling it with his knife, and looked into her eyes.

“I always figured there was solitude somewhere in this
world. But if there is, I’ve never seen it. And I’ve never experienced it. At least not until you came around.”

“Well, Corrin, you’ve only seen what I’ve shown you. Don’t you find it entertaining?”

“I can’t tear my eyes away from it, if that’s what you mean by entertaining, but I have to ask, is all of this real?” He stuck a piece of apple in his mouth and chewed. “Or is it an illusion? Are these places you’ve been to?”

Trinos
’s smile was warm and radiant, creating a soothing vibration in his chest. He almost felt ashamed just for looking at her, and even when he tore his eyes away from her, he glanced at her perfect figure constantly. Trinos was a mystery. Powerful. Unlike anything he could imagine in this world, but real. He didn’t know what to make of her, but he’d do anything she said.

“Do you want to keep watching, Corrin?”

He shrugged, staring back into the waters where a new image started to form. This time it was different. His jaw dropped. This time it was people he knew, and they were in danger. He felt his heart speed up inside his chest, eyes transfixed.

“Perhaps you’d rather see something,” she stuck out her hand and the waters wavered, “more pleasant?”

“No-No!” he said, shoving his hands over the water. “I want to see how this ends.”

The waters steadied
, and the image cleared. Trinos leaned towards the fountain and said, “Me too.”

CHAPTER 43

Melegal felt his stomach tighten into knots.

The cleric
’s hair grew and thickened. His sagging jawline toughened. Sefron’s disturbing features transformed into the countenance of a man full of strength and vitality. It was unlike anything Melegal had ever seen before. In seconds, Sefron went from a hapless weakling to a formidable foe that was about to kill him.

“Oh yes, Rat
.” Sefron’s teeth were straight and strong. “You thought you would take me. Avenge the honor of a worthless little slut, but now, just imagine what I’ll have in store for her the next time I see her. She’ll think I’m handsome, will she not, you fool? She’ll be having me instead of you.”

Melegal wanted to scream for help, but his tongue
shriveled in his mouth, and his throat was dry. The chaos surrounding him was in full force where men and underlings battled. The Keys skittered over the mosaic floor. In his mind, he could hear them, count them all.
One-Two-Three-Four-Five... Forget the Keys! Save yourself!

“Oh, this feels so good
.” Saliva dripped from Sefron’s mouth.

In horror, Melegal watched
his own age spots and crooked fingers form. It felt like Sefron had the grip of an ogre.
Am I to die like this? A rotting old man?
His doubts overwhelmed him. His anger and surprise turned to shock and confusion.
What do I do?

“Heh-heh-heh
.” Sefron gloated, licking his lips. “It’s time to die, Melegal.”

Die?
He let out a feeble cough. The air in his lungs felt thin. For the first time in his life, he wheezed. He was confused.

“Ha! Painful
, isn’t it?”

Melegal shook his head.
Can’t let this happen! What do I do?
His mind was drifting. The pain was growing. His focus deteriorating.

“I think I might have what’s left of you for soup
. Melegal stew, stirred with your own bones and sautéed with your eyeballs.”

Now, Melegal’s eyes looked at Sefron like a complete stranger. He tried to withdraw.
Fear overwhelmed his feeble mind.
Let go! Let go! Let go!

The hat on his head ignited.

Sefron’s grip popped open, eyes blinking, shaking his head.

“Why—why did I
let you go?” Sefron reached over, grabbed his staff and raised it over his head. “No matter, I’ll just bash your sock ridden he—”