The Darkslayer: Chaos at the Castle (Book 6) (50 page)

“Just a scratch.”

He moved away.
Where is that thing?
His eyes drifted towards the only exit. “No,” he said, shoulders sagging.

“What
?” Creed said, looking around.

Several underlings entered the room.

Eep buzzed alongside a floating underling with bright silver eyes. Accompanying him was a burly underling soldier with a shaven head and dark ruby eyes. Lord Almen’s whip glowed in his grip. Four other underlings in dark chain armor escorted them. The floating underling hesitated in midair a moment, pointing at Creed as it spoke.

“Jottenhiem, Eep, kill him. Leave the skinny one to me.”

***

Creed could feel them. Sense them. They were going to kill him.

“Let’s give it a go then. Shall we?”

One by one, the four underlings, brandishing a variety
of sharp blades, surrounded him. He glanced at Eep, his keen ears keeping track of the buzzing.
Not going to let that happen again.

The bald underling with the whip chittered out a command. The well
-trained team of underlings struck in unison.

Creed was already moving. He stepped into one underling.
Stab!
Piercing its heart in a lightning fast strike.
Swish!
He ducked under the next cutting blade.

Clang! Slit!

He ripped the sword out of one’s hand and took its throat.

Gulch!

Gored the face of another.

Slice!

Tore the innards from the third.

Chop! Chop! Chop! Chop!

And butchered the fourth’s head like a melon.

He took a bow.

“Next.”

The imp and the whip
-wielding underling circled him.

Blink!

The imp was gone.

The
bald underling uncoiled the mystic whip and grinned.

Wupash!

“Oh, Great.”

He backed towards the thrones. He had no sense of where the imp was. He needed a barrier on his backside.
You won’t be getting to my back again.

Blink!

Eep re-appeared right in front of his face and latched onto his chest.

“NOOOO!” Creed yelled. He dropped his swords. Grabbed the imp by the throat. The creature was solid. Muscle. Hard knotty skin and bone. He was no wrestler. ”Get off me!”

Eep was merciless. Talons dug deep into his flesh. Its oversized jaws bit hard into his shoulder.

Creed
punched the imp.
It was like hitting a rock. He’d been in hundreds of fights, but he’d never faced anything supernatural like this. He punched and punched.

Wupash!

Eep blinked away, reappearing alongside Jottenhiem.

Creed sagged to his knees, fingers searching for his swords.

Wupash!

The whip coiled around his neck and jerked him to the ground.

Creed’s head was burning hot. He clutched at the air.

***

Melegal’s feet were lifted from the ground. He sailed right into Lord Verbard’s powerful grasp. The underling squeezed his neck.

“Interesting for a human, you are. A survivor. I might have a use for you yet.”

The words registered, but the meaning was lost.
I’m choking to death.
He twitched and recoiled from the depth of evil in those silver eyes.

A long shiver went through him when Verbard said, “Of course, it all depends on how long your breath can last. Can it last longer than my grip
, Little Rat?”

CHAPTER 72

“Eh…” Catten mumbled, his golden eyes flaring.

Boon, a forgotten nemesis
, had become a great fish hooked and struggling on his line.

“So be it,
Enemy! I’ll kill you first and take your grandson next.”

He released his grip on Fogle Boon’s mind
, blasted every stitch of armor from Boon’s body with a single thought, and started shoving Boon’s broken form into a deep, dark, grave.

***

Fogle gasped. Breathing again, recollecting his senses, he crawled over to his spellbook and thumbed through the pages. Blinking hard and trying to block out the sounds of battle that echoed in the chamber, he found the page he needed.

H
e pressed his finger on the first word.

“I never thought I’d do this.” He touched his grandfather’s unmoving form. Boon was ashen and cold.
Knowing it would erase the spell, Fogle read straight from the book.

The first word was soft, like a drink of sweet wine. The next syllable exploded in his mind, taking it yonder and back in a split second. His face lit up. His back straightened when the last syllable fell. “Eethum, get ready!” The page of the
spellbook faded into smoke.

The air sizzled, shimmered and crackled.

Underling Lord Catten materialized before them, his wizened face gaping.

“What!” he said, outraged. Bewildered. “You shall pay for—”

Slice!

Eethum’s stroke took his head from his shoulders. Its bright golden eyes rolled over the ground.

“I did it,” he said, looking at Eethum. “He’s dead. He’s really de—”

Clang! Bang! Crunch!

Fogle whipped his aching head around.
Venir!
Buried in underlings, the big man was in for.

***

The underlings. Their hatred was deep. Venir’s was deeper.

Chop!

Rage. They ignited it. He hated them. The smell of them. The sight of them. The oily stink of them. And he was going to kill them. Kill them all.

Hack!

He was a hurricane. Dwarven steel gone wild.

He launched a fatal blow into a bright blue-eyed underling
’s chest.

Sixteen!

Venir was no longer a man, but now a savage animal. Hungry. Starving. Battling for survival. For supremacy!

He brought both axe-blades down hard on a helmeted underling’s head
, splitting its skull to the teeth. Wrenched his blades free.

T
wo underlings jumped on top of him, pinning down his arms.

Slice!

A curved blade lashed out across his leg.

Down he went with five underlings on top of him. He fought like a tiger. He fought like a beast. He lost his blades. Something hard, heavy, st
ruck his head. He could not feel. His vision blurred. He swallowed blood. He spit blood. He saw blood.

Small blades rose and fell.

He was going to die. He was certain. He booted one in the nose.

“Remember,” he said. “I killed a thousand of you
, and you only killed one of me!”

Crack! Stab Slash!

Venir didn’t feel a thing.
Fight and die.
Everything faded. Fuzzy. Black.

Chop! Chop! Chop!

What was that?

Something was stuffed in his mouth. He tried to spit it out.

“Chew!” the Blood Ranger ordered. The Black Beards, the two that were left, kneeled along his side, beards dripping wet.

It hurt to swallow, but he did. Then he glanced at his burning belly. It was open, in more places than one.

“Got any Elga bugs?” Venir looked over a Black Beard’s shoulder. “Say, what happened to that underling?”

The stone wall was back. A breathing underling
was stuck inside it.

Eethum tore a p
iece of string off his sleeve with his teeth, threaded a fine needle, and started sewing Venir’s belly up.

“Hold on,” Venir said to Eethum.

Rising to his feet and holding his innards in, Venir limped over, grimacing, and jammed his axe in the trapped underling’s head. Sat and lay down again.

“Here,” Fogle said, holding a canteen to his lips. “Drink.”

Venir pushed it away. “I’m not an infant, and I’ll have no part of a bearded nanny.”

***

Boon forced himself up into sitting position and put his throbbing head between his knees.

“Did you get him
?” Boon said, holding his stomach.

“One of them,” Fogle said, holding Catten’s head up by the hair.

Boon blanched.

“You cut his head off! With a sword!”

Fogle smiled. “Eathum did. With an axe as big as my head.”

“Well, that’s a big axe alright, but,” Boon paused, “the other one, Silver Eye?”

“Haven’t gotten him yet.”

Boon sighed
. “How much have you got left?”

“About as much as you, I’d guess.”

Boon rubbed his forehead and held his trembling hand out. The fire was back in his eyes.  “Give me that spellbook.”

CHAPTER 73

Jottenhiem yanked on the whip, jerking Creed from his feet and slinging him across the room into the hard wall behind a tapestry.

Creed felt every bit of it.

Wupash!

The dark purple light of the mystic whip ripped the skin from his arm.

Wupash!

It coiled around his
other arm, burning like fire. Jottenhiem pulled him across the floor.

Creed screamed. The pain was
maddening. It shocked every inch of his body.

“Let me eatss him!” The imp said, wringing its taloned hand
s and gnashing its over-sized jaws. They opened so wide, Creed could see his entire body fitting inside the imp’s mouth.

He grabbed at the whip and cried out.

Jottenhiem slung him into another wall.

Wupash!

He cracked the whip into Creed’s blood-seared back again and again.

Wupash!

The whip coiled around his neck with only The Cowl protecting him.

“Go ahead, Imp,” Jottenhiem said, flashing his sharp teeth, “I’ll hold him still. You eat.”

Eep smacked his thin lips and slowly buzzed over.

Creed tried to scream, but he couldn’t. All he could do was scream in his mind.

NOOOOO!

Rage mixed with helplessness. The urgings from his cowl now shrouded by the pain. Creed outstretched his arms and flexed his fingers.

I’m not going to die like this!

The imp was fifteen feet away. Ten. Five.

No! Not like this! Where are my swords?

Two sharp objects shot across the room into his hands.

My blades!

Eep paused and blinked.

Creed sunk one blade through its eye before the lid could open.

Slice!

He cut the whip away. The imp twitched and howled, sporadically flying all around.

Slice!
Slice!

He clipped one buzzing wing, then the other.

Blink!
The imp vanished.

Creed took a deep breath.
That was close.
His arms were shredded. He dripped blood. He hobbled when he moved. He wanted to rest. Heal.

The
Cowl wouldn’t allow it.

Suck it up, Creed.

Jottenhiem tossed the broken whip away and came running with his swords. They collided at the center of the room, sword hilts locked together. Shoving back and forth, Jottenhiem held his ground. The underling, though smaller, was far stronger than he looked.

Jottenhiem cracked
Creed in the jaw with his head, bringing painful spots and slicing right at him.

Clang!

He deflected a blow.

Clang!

Then another.

Jottenhiem sneered, reversed his grips
, and came after him slicing, stabbing and spinning. The bald underling was almost as fast as Kierway, but a different skill of fighter. Hours ago, Jottenhiem would have been far better, but that was hours ago. Much had changed in the past few hours.

Creed whipped his blades under
Jottenhiem’s nose in a flurry.

“Smell that
, Underling?”

Jottenhiem’s lips twisted.

“Smells of death, doesn’t it?”

The underling tore into him. Blades clashed. Showers of sparks went everywhere. Creed felt his hatred growing. His skill increasing.
The battle led out of the Throne Room and into another.

Clip! Slit! Clip!

Jottenhiem bled from three separate wounds.