The Darkslayer: Chaos at the Castle (Book 6) (37 page)

Bang!
“Let out! Give Word! Let out!”

“The word of a liar is as useless as the slat of pigs.” Jarla stuffed a dagger in the waistband of what was left of her clothes. “All men are liars. All men are filth. But I’ll give you both my word―and my word is ‘Slat on you both.’”

Melegal
huffed a laugh.

That’s good enough for me
.” Creed eyed her up and down again. “And if we do indeed survive this, I’ll like to share some drinks.”

“Pig!”
She slung a pair of shackles at Creed.

He caught them
against his chest and winked. “Just lighting a fire in you, Man-hater. Now, let’s get on with this.” He tossed the cuffs to the ground. “You’ve got some ornery ideas for such a fine woman.”

Jarla’s face reddened. “I’ll clip your—”

“That’s enough!” Melegal stepped around Jarla and strapped on a sword. “Creed, get the door.”

Creed unlocked Tonio’s door.

The tall half-dead man stepped outside, morbid and scary, rubbing the hole in his head.

Melegal’s spine tingled.

Hate that man.

Even Jarla’s breath hastened
.

Creed’s eyes were wary.
“Grab some metal, Tonio. Detective, lead the way.”

Swinging the dungeon door inward, Melegal felt something crawl
ing in his stomach.

Why haven’t they killed us already? What d
o they need with us, anyway?

He remembered what he’d seen and what he’d been told. The underling
s would mutilate some and send them out to spread fear in the world.

S
houldn’t we be dead or crippled?

Up the stairs he went, followed by Jarla, Creed and Tonio’s
heavy steps.

He’ll get us all caught
.

The dungeons beneath Castle Almen weren’t deep, but more
or less a sublevel of the basement with a lone entrance at the top. In this case, Melegal knew where he was, but there were places in the Castle he’d never explored. A lone door awaited them at the top. He knew it led into one of the main basement corridors. It was perfect. All they needed to do was overpower any guards, and Melegal knew a few secret corridors with hiding spots down there.

Alright, Rat. They fight. You run.

Running his fingers through his salt and pepper hair
, he felt naked without his hat.

Forget it. Just run, Rat. Run!

He mouthed the next words to his followers.

“Ready
?”

Creed nodded.

“One.”

“Two.”

He grabbed the door handle.

“Threeeeeeeeeee….
”

The door transformed into a black mirage and enveloped them.

Suddenly, Melegal was free falling.

Creed was
yelling.

Jarla was screaming.

In the next instant, he felt himself land hard on the ground. Spitting the dirt from his mouth, he sat up only to face the heads of many spears lowered in his face.

I know this place.
All too well.

They were inside Castle Almen’s arena.

“What kind of bloody magic was tha—ulp!”

Creed bit his tongue thanks to the barbed spear at his throat.

“Well, finally, some new opponents come.” It was Master Kierway. “And just when I was beginning to wonder whether or not you would show.”

Kierway
wasn’t alone. He was accompanied by several underlings, warriors one and all, being served by men and women, barely clothed, and shackled at the neck. One was kneeling by his side, holding up a plate of fruit. It was Lorda.

“Ah,” Kierway rose up, “these will be much better opponents for my Juegen to spar with. The others,” he gestured toward the wall of the arena, “didn’t last so long.”

At least a dozen human heads on spikes encircled the inner wall.

So this is what they were saving us for.
Games. Underling games.

Melegal’s head felt heavy
, and he couldn’t stop his chin from dipping. His stomach rumbled. All he could think about was Brak here in the arena. His wailing. His moaning.

How in Bish did I get here?

It was pretty clear
that nothing was going to save him now. Not Brak, not Venir and not himself. All those years he fought to escape the horrors of the Castle, and he still wound up here. He locked his eyes on Lorda. She was still captivating despite the scrapes and bruises on her face, and he’d never seen her voluptuous body in such revealing clothing before.

“Who’s that?”
Creed whispered in his ear.

An underling jabbed the butt of a spear in the back of
the Bloodhound’s head.

“I hope t
hey let me fight you first,” Creed said, “Black fiend!”

Whack!

Creed hit the ground.

“Secure them all, except the skinny one,” Kierway ordered, copper eyes on Melegal
. “We’ll whittle what little is left of him down first.”

Melegal raised his brows and allowed himself a smile.

Lorda showed a grim smile back.

Well, i
t’s over. Nothing like a little flirting before you’re dead.

CHAPTER
50

“Watcha layin’ there fer
?” a gruff voice said. “That ain’t what I had in mind when I taught you about adventurin’.”

Fogle didn’t move
. He couldn’t. Instead, he lay in the sun, baking like a biscuit in a roasting oven. Still, he forced his eyes open, trying to blink the hallucination away from his mind, his thoughts.

“Go away, Mood. I’m done for,” he
said with a dry throat.

“What’s the matter? Did ye lose your little druid friend
? And now yer tender heart is broken, so you quit? This is Bish. You quit, you die. Now get up!”

Fogle didn’t. Instead
, he closed his eyes, but the scent of Mood’s cigar drifted into his nose.

This is one powerful hallucination.

For hours, maybe days, he
’d lain there, letting his inner self fight it out. He’d failed. He wanted to go home. Crawl under a rock and bury himself.

He’d been here before. Back when Venir beat him. Busted his mind and his nose. A broken man, he
’d left the Magi Roost. It had taken him years to understand his failures. His fears. 

Now, those
fears returned with a vengeance. The Outlands. The sweltering heat, the chronic battle to survive, and the threat of the unknown had rattled his brilliant mind.

I can’t do this anymore. I can’t.

“Just leave me alone,” he said, rolling over.

“Get up, Wizard!” the gruff voice prodded. “Get up, else I’ll kill you myself.”

He curled up, covering his face.

“Go ahead
,” Fogle said. “If my hallucination doesn’t kill me, I’m sure something else will. Perhaps a giant will step on me, or some bugs will eat my flesh,” he cackled, “or a dragon will roast me like a log.” He cackled again. “Or the underlings will cut my throat. So many ways to go. Getting killed by my imagination seems more soothing than the rest. So Mood, my long gone friend, I’m prepared for the worst.”

A silence fell
. Even the hot winds slowed. The scent of Mood’s cigar drifted to his nose again. Fogle sighed. “That’s much better.” He curled up and pulled his robes tighter. “Sorry, Cass. I failed you.”

A minute passed, maybe two.

“GET UP, I TELL YA!”

Fogle’s eyes popped open. In the next moment, water was pouring over
his head. Down it came, second after second, soaking his hair, his robes.

“GET UP!”

Spluttering a mouthful from his lips, he forced himself to an upright position. Water was still being poured over his head by the figure of a large stout man. When the water finally stopped, he wiped his eyes.

Two emerald eyes
under bushy red brows were staring right at him.

“Mood? Are you real?”

“As real as a mole on an ogre’s fanny.” Mood puffed on a cigar stuck between his two meaty fingers. “Are you finished belly aching now?”

Fogle stretched out his arms and hugged him.

“But how? You were, well, in such bad shape.” He patted the rocky muscles in Mood’s thick shoulders.

“True, but I was still breathing. And I’m King of the Dwarves
. Soon as I fell, the lady dwarves came running. They patched me up leagues away, where Eethum caught up with me.”

That’s when Fogle noticed Eethum, the big black dwarf, arms
crossed over his long blood red beard, standing like a mighty oak. He wasn’t alone either. More Black Beards, each just under five feet tall, but stout as keg barrels, sat on the back of dwarven horses.

Fogle couldn’t hold his tongue
from catching Mood and Eethum up on everything that had gone on.

“A dragon
, ye say? Woot! It’s been a long time since I’ve seen one of those,” Mood said, taking a knee, wincing.

“Mood, you aren’t fully well
, are you?”

The ancient dwarf shot him a look.
“Ye need to mind what you say, Wizard.” He grabbed Fogle by the forearm and squeezed. “I’m well enough to snap you in two.”

Biting his lip
, Fogle tried to pull away. “No need to be so cranky. I was just concerned.”

Mood squeezed harder.
“You were what?”

T
he fingers on his hand went numb. “Nothing! Nothing!”

Mood released him and blew a puff of smoke in his face.

“Mind yer manners.” Mood reached into a pouch on his trousers and tossed him something in a cloth.

Fogle
unfolded it and found the remnants of Inky.

“Thanks,” he said, f
anning the smoke. “How’d you find me?”

Mood rolled his thick neck towards Eethum
, who said, “We’re Blood Rangers. Once we got yer scent, we could track you anywhere, but we did lose you for a bit.” He glanced at Mood.

“I hate to admit. You disappeared into thin air.”

Fogle knew what he was talking about. It was the spell Boon had cast that got them out of the jam when they fled a wave of underlings.

“Still,
why can’t you follow Chongo?”

“He doesn’t have a scent.”

Fogle raised an eyebrow. “I guess not.”

Mood handed him his
water skin. “Yer gonna need this. We’ve a ways to go.” He grunted as he swung his leg up on his horse. “Get on.”

Mood looked like a giant atop his dwarven Clydesdale,
large axes strapped across his back.

“
Where are we going? What about Cass?”

“We
’re going after that giant,” Mood said, “Find him, most likely we’ll find her. Now get on. Time’s a wasting, and I suggest you find ye some good spells.”

“Why’s that
?” Fogle said, getting on.

“’
Member them giants that socked it to me?”

“Yes,” Fogle said, looking over his shoulder as the horse lurched forward.

“Well, they ain’t done. YAH!”

***

As the first dusk settled, Fogle got his first glimpse of green tree tops in the distance, but it brought him little relief. When he wasn’t focusing on his spells, he was thinking about Cass and those piercing eyes of the Dragon that Barton called Blackie.

I’ll get you back, Cass. I swear it. Even if I have to find a way to the Under-Bish all by myself.

Eethum led the way, followed by the Black Beards, then Mood and himself. The King of the Blood Rangers had little to say, however, unlike before. He seemed grim and angry for some reason. Fogle was about to ask him if something else was wrong when Eethum brought them to a halt less than a mile from the lush branches of the jungle.

Mood rode forward.

“You want two ranks or one?” Eethum asked, bushy red brows raising up and down.

“Two. But no more
than thirty yards between us. It’s as thick as my beard in there.”

“Well, I’m certain the giant left a noticeable trail,” Fogle said, dropping from the saddle and stretching hi
s limbs.

Mood huffed.

“Wouldn’t he?” Fogle said, gulping down some water, looking around. None of the dwarves had taken a single drink, now that he noticed, and now that he’d gotten used to it, he’d been sipping every hour. He held it out to Eethum. “Drink?”

The dwarf showed his teeth and shook his head.

“Trusting the giants are ye now, Little Wizard?”