Chapter

1
Stiff winds tore at the traveling cloaks of three lone figures marching into the setting suns of Bish. Every day was the same as the last. Hot. Miserable. Surrounded by dust devils and hungry vermin. Above, white clouds were scattered in long lines over the horizon. In front led a man bigger than the other two put together, pushing through the wind in great strides. The other two kept pace behind his broad back, heads down.
Melegal rubbed the sandy grit from his eyes. Spat dust from his mouth.
“It’s been over a week, Venir. How much farther to the alleged oasis? You said we’d be there a sunset ago.”
Venir kept going. Solemn. Boots crunching over the hard and dusty Outland ground. It had been this way mile after mile. Day after day. Venir hardly saying anything.
“Is anything going on inside that cavernous skull of yours?” Melegal tugged on Venir’s cloak. Venir jerked away. Melegal stopped in his tracks. “Will you stop, Lout!”
Venir didn’t. He kept going. His gait stiff. His footfalls determined.
“Pah!”
Melegal felt Haze’s hand wrap around his. Her lithe body pressed into his, trembling.
“I’m hungry,” she said. Her gaze held his. “Really hungry, and my feet burn like fire.”
“Ah,” he said, reaching under his robes. He placed in her hand a handful of nuts that the wizards, Fogle and Boon, had given them. “Have these.”
“Thanks,” Haze said, brushing her dark hair from her gray eyes. She nibbled them down. “Is there much left?”
“Enough, I think,” he said.
Haze’s eyes drifted over his shoulder and onto Venir.
“Your friend doesn’t seem right. Something’s missing.” She looked back. “I wish those other men were still here. The old one was interesting. Different, to say the least.”
Melegal didn’t know Fogle or Boon, but he agreed. The wizards, though odd, at least offered conversation. The pair had fire in their eyes, bright as gems. The kind of fire Venir used to have, but that was gone. In all his years, Melegal had never seen a man more sure of himself than Venir. But something had happened. That confidence was gone. He patted Haze on the rump and grabbed her hand. “I know. Come.” He shuffled back into step with Venir’s tracks.
Ahead, he noticed Venir’s easy gait was gone. One shoulder dipped lower than the other. Sometimes his fingers trembled a little. He just needs some grog to loosen him up. Oh, what I wouldn’t do for a taste of wine on my lips. This City of Three better be everything I expect and more. He glanced back at Haze. What was I thinking?
He wasn’t going to admit it, but his feet burned every bit as much as hers. No doubt he had blisters as big as his toes. Every discomforting step was a reminder that he’d had to leave Bone. His home. A great city under siege and fire. Swarmed by evil. He could have stayed. Instead, he’d chosen to follow Venir. Two days into the journey, he regretted the decision. He didn’t even have any idea where in Bish he was. Like a giddy woman, he’d hopped into a black portal that twisted his guts out, only to find himself in the most discomforting blank and barren part of the world. After all I’ve been through, I still do something stupid. Wouldn’t be so bad if I had Quickster.
Haze pulled his arm.
“What!” he said, jerking his arm away.
“Easy now,” she said, pointing west.
“Sorry.” He rubbed her shoulder.
“What was that?” She was still pointing.
Melegal narrowed his eyes. Something hazy in the distance moved behind the cacti and bone trees. A dark shape against the sun. More than one wavering in the heat like a mirage. Something crept between his shoulder blades and tightened the muscles. He’d seen plenty of the Outlands. Sand spiders. Underlings crawling out of holes. Worms and insects bigger than horses that burst out of the ground. Give him a nice city any day.
“Uh … Venir,” he said, catching up to the big man. “Venir!” he hissed. “There’s something out there.”
Venir stopped and peered down at Melegal. His blue eyes now almost a dull shade of gray. He grunted. Eyed the horizon where Melegal pointed.
“Probably coyotes or some other desert vermin. Keep moving.”
“It’s not vermin. It looked like men. Don’t take me for a fool, Venir.”
“I’m not going to waste any time finding out whether I’m right or you’re wrong,” Venir said in a hard tone. “We need to keep moving. If something wanders too close, well, kill it.” He resumed his walk.
“You fat headed …” Melegal started, his voice trailing off. He’d gotten to know Venir plenty well over the years. The two of them usually bickered back and forth like old women. But now, the lout just shook his head and walked aside. Melegal peered over the horizon. Whatever was there, or at least what he’d thought was there, was gone. “Do you see anything?” he said to Haze.
“Not now,” she said, eyes darting side to side. “But there was something.”
Strange. On skinny tired legs, he followed Venir. Silent. Miserable. Bickering with himself. Haze fell in step behind him. She was resilient for a slender woman. Didn’t complain much either, if any at all. In most cases, the women he spent too much time with started bickering in the best of conditions, but he found Haze’s resolve refreshing.
Hours later but just minutes after the last sunset, Venir stopped in an Outland thicket of sorts. The tightly interwoven white limbs of the leafless Bone Trees jutted a dozen feet into the sky. Their bending branches made for an eerie howl in the wind. Venir cut a path through them into a small clearing. Then he hewed one of the smaller trees down with his axes. Minutes later, a fire burned with warm orange light. Melegal’s stomach groaned.
“Let me try and snare us something,” Haze said, sliding off her boots. “Ew.” She grimaced, peeling her sock off. Her feet were red, blistered and swollen.
“I wouldn’t do that,” Venir said, removing his hood. He shook his square jaw a little. “Just keep them on, or they’ll swell up so much you won’t be able to put them back on. You need to stay used to it.”
Haze wiggled her toes. “I was starting to think they weren’t even there.” She pulled out a thumb knife and slit open a blister. “Ah …”
“That won’t heal by morning. It’s gonna be dreadful tomorrow,” Venir said with a snort.
“Well maybe you should have said, ‘Don’t take your boots off’ earlier,” Haze said with disgust in her voice.
“Melegal should have told you,” Venir said, tossing on more kindling. He made himself comfortable away from the fire. A boulder of shadow in the darkness. Melegal could barely make out the blue in his eyes.
“She’ll be fine,” Venir, Melegal said, rubbing her leg. “No one ever died from a foot blister out here.”
“No, but plenty have lost a foot or leg because of it. Just make sure she sleeps with her boots on.”
“Sure,” Melegal said, looking away. “Sure.”
He checked Haze’s feet and spoke in a lower tone. “You’ll be alright. Just—”
“I’m fine,” Haze said. Her voice was cool when she said it. “It’s not like I haven’t had blisters before. It’s just been awhile.” She touched his hand. “You alright?”
“Never better,” he said with a straight face. “And don’t you worry. I’ll set the snares.”
“You haven’t caught anything yet,” Haze reminded him.
“You haven’t either.”
Haze chuckled. Melegal knew they weren’t likely to catch anything. He certainly didn’t have the knack for it. He’d probably perish before he ever bothered to learn.
“Let’s just let him do it,” he said softly. “Continue to act pitiful.”
With a chuckle they both scooted toward the fire. Haze stretched her limbs, yawned, lay down and closed her eyes.
“Let me know when you want to get those snares ready,” she said, yawing again.
Melegal covered her with a blanket. Seconds later she was snoring. He crawled over to the other side of the fire and faced Venir. Wanted to speak but hesitated. What am I afraid of? After all I’ve been through, I’m worried about him. He opted for a gentler approach.
“Vee, do you think we’ll be there tomorrow? We’ve barely enough to sustain us.”
The boulder shrugged its shoulders. Shifted a little.
Exhausted, Melegal felt his temper rise. Impudent oaf! He was used to Venir being moody, but that was usually due to the drinking. This was different. Stark. Offensive. Not knowing where he stood with Venir left him uneasy. He didn’t want to make small talk either. That was for women.
“Venir, when in Bone are we going to get there?” he said, quietly, but not holding back his anger.
Venir rose to his feet and grabbed his axes. The dwarven blades shown like fire in the light, dangling loose at Venir’s sides. “Tomorrow,” he said, walking away. “I’ll take first watch.”
Melegal’s keen eyes followed Venir until the darkness swallowed him.
Arsehole.
He leaned back against the tree, listening to the fire pop. The Bone Tree wood burned slowly, and grey smoke rather than white rolled from the logs and drifted into the air. The smell was different than most other wood, which Venir had told him critters found offensive. So far he’d been right. Still, the images of those distant figures Haze had spotted earlier in the day troubled him. The way they moved was different. Unnatural. I wonder what happened to Chongo? Venir’s giant two headed dog had always kept them safe while they slept. Perhaps that was what bothered Venir, but he hadn’t asked. He squirmed and shifted. Rubbed the dark grey cap on his head. I’ll never lose you again.
He covered a yawn, then stretched out his arms. He was still confident that if something was out there, Venir would kill it. But what would happen if that something got Venir first? Tomorrow then. It better be so or I might kill him. He drifted off to sleep.
Melegal felt the whole world shaking. His eyes popped open. His wrist bracers were pointed at Venir’s nose.
The man squeezed his shoulder, looked him dead in the eye, and said, “Your turn.” He turned and tossed some sticks on the fire and lay down in the dirt.
Melegal’s stiff limbs ached as he rose. They felt tight as bowstrings. He shuffled by the fire on feet that felt like they walked on broken glass. Oh for a bed and a pillow. The first hour, ears alert, he watched the clouds drift beneath the moons like ghosts. The second hour he checked Haze and enjoyed a faint aroma. Is that coffee? I’d kill for some. The third hour, lids heavy as iron gates, he slept.
He woke up with his face in the dirt, gasping. He popped up into a sitting position, eyes blurry. The thicket was washed in bright light. The campfire smoldered. Venir lay still as a rock. The hairs on Melegal’s neck stood on end. Strange tracks were in the dirt. Something had been dragged away.
“Haze!”
2
The Magi Roost. Once it had been a hive where the Magi slipped from their towers to play games and sip wine. Once it had hosted the prettiest faces in all the City of Three. Once it had been solemn, aesthetic, and filled with quiet energy. Once the barmaids and barkeeps had smiled all the time and oversized stone hearths had roared with fire. The chandeliers had twinkled with crystal. The black mahogany furniture had shone. The smoke had been misty, yet fragrant. The conversation quiet and interesting.
Georgio churned his mop in the bucket and swabbed the floor. Side to side he went, wiping up spilt wine and crushed food. There was something in the corner that he couldn’t identify, rank as a rotting onion.
“Ew,” he muttered, pinching his nose.
Nearby, Nikkel bussed the tables, his wiry arms glistening from his sleeveless jerkin. He hummed a tune. Low. Sad. Behind him, Brak and Billip draped a fat drunkard’s arms over their shoulders and hauled him out the front door. Billip came back in, dusting his hands off then cracking his knuckles. Brak was right behind him, looming over his shoulder like a goon, his big face complacent.
“That’s the last one,” Billip said. “Let’s put our backs into this so we can get some rest. I’ve a feeling we’re gonna have another long night ahead of us.”
Georgio’s stomach growled.
“Can we get some breakfast first? I’m starving.”
“We eat when the work’s finished, Georgio. Do you always have to ask for it before it comes?” Billip made his way behind the bar. Pointed to the fireplaces. “Scoop out the ashes, Brak. And you, Georgio. You know the food’s coming. It always does. They haven’t even started cooking yet.”
Georgio rubbed his tummy. He caught Brak eyeing him. His sullen eyes were hopeful.
“But—”
“No more,” Billip said, “Keep it up, and you sic ‘you know who’ on you.”
“Slat,” he muttered.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
He jammed his mop in the bucket with a scowl, trying to clear the image of the big woman, Darleen, out of his mind. He swore the coarse woman must have been born of an ogre. She was dangerous too, Georgio thought. She kept a strange amount of control over everybody. Especially around Scorch.
The handsome man was like sunlight in the room when he wanted to be, only to turn it as dark as storms when he didn’t. He was the reason the wizards never came back. He’d scared them away with a snap of his fingers. The ones he hadn’t killed. Pop. Crack. Bones shattered, they’d been dragged out into the street wailing. Darleen’s gusty laughs shook the room as she guffawed with big hands on her wide hips. The barmaids cried. The patrons shouted in praise and dismay as the Magi Roost became a storm of mixed emotions. The new crowd ushered out the old.
Nikkel brushed by his shoulder and whispered.
“I’ll see if I can slip us something from the kitchen.”
Georgio nodded.
Every night since he’d been back here, he’d wanted to leave. Billip made it clear they weren’t going. Not without Kam anyway, and she wasn’t going anywhere. Instead, the beautiful one handed mage kept to herself in a small room that was not her nice apartment, tending to her baby, Erin. Georgio eyed the pickle jar that sat on at the end of the bar. No more pickles floated in the murky green water. Just a delicate rotting hand.
He’d never forget the day Darleen told the story: “Cut that hand off, I did. She was cursed, I tell you. I saved her. She’s indebted to me. So’s her baby.”
He’d hardly talked to Kam since the first day he’d returned. She wasn’t the same woman. Her green eyes seemed sad and her shoulders sagged. If the news about Venir and Venir’s son Brak affected her, she didn’t show it. She did show something however. Tears. They had started as soon as Billip asked where Lefty and Gillem were. That’s when Georgio’s tears had started too. Gillem was dead and Scorch had made Lefty go poof. He wiped his sleeve across his eyes. Aw Lefty, where are you?
He started scrubbing the hearth on one of the fireplaces. At the other one, Brak’s metal shovel scraped over the stone and dug into the ash. The giant sized boy dumped the ash into a canvas sack. Georgio heard Brak’s stomach rumbling as well.
“Going to be a long time,” Brak said in a low voice.
“Huh?” Georgio added.
“Till breakfast. Long time. Suns aren’t up yet.”
Georgio leaned the mop against the mantle. Sat down on the hearth. He stretched his arms and yawned. He was tired. He’d been so since before he got there. It didn’t help that he, Billip, Brak and Nikkel were all cramped in a small room together. It made Venir and Melegal’s apartment at the Drunken Octopus seem huge. Plus, sleeping in the daytime wasn’t much fun either.
“It used to be better than this,” Georgio said, looking up at the cobwebs on the chandeliers. “And I never went hungry more than an hour, unless I ate too much or made Kam mad. I did have kind of a big belly though. Mmmm. But I just love eating. Back in Bone I used to get a special biscuit—”
“I know,” Brak said, wiping soot from his face, “‘The Georgio’.”
“Oh,” he said, licking his lips, “I’d kill for one of those.”
Above, the planks on the balcony groaned.
Georgio and Brak froze.
Speaking of wanting to kill.
“Georgio!” A woman’s voice shattered the peaceful silence. “Is that you talking?”
He jumped up to his feet. Grabbed the mop and started scrubbing, parting ways from Brak.
“Front and center, Curly Head!” Darleen yammered.
Bone!
Head down, he pushed the mop in front of the balcony.
“Yes?”
“I’m not paying you to chitter chatter. I pay you to clean, with your hole closed.”
His chin rose. Brows buckled.
One floor above, Darleen’s mitts squeezed the railing. Two hefty men in leather armor stood on each side. Her big hips swayed a little. Her bloodshot eyes watered from the smoke of her cigar. Georgio wouldn’t eat for a day if that railing broke. Just to see that woman fall in her trapper’s leathers and bust her back might be worth it.
“What are you glaring at?” she said, slurry. Her hand fell to the knife on her hip. “See that pickle jar-hic.”
Georgio pointed to it and said, “You mean, that one without the pickles in it?”
“Don’t you mouth me, Boy. I’ll put both yer hands in there.”
Georgio’s neck turned red. All she did was boss and run her mouth day in and day out. Her voice was as coarse as her clothes. It was time to get rid of this woman. Take back the Magi Roost. He held up his hands.
“I’d like to see you—”
Billip clamped his hands over Georgio’s mouth.
“What? What did you say!”
“The boy was saying, Darleen,” Billip said, “I’d like to get back to work. There’s much to be done.”
“No,” Darleen said, shaking her head. She stomped down the stairs. The two men with daggers on their hips were right behind her. “That’s not what he said. He’s got a mouth on him. I used to have a mouth on me until someone taught me a lesson.”
“You must be joking,” Georgio said, but Billip covered his mouth again.
“Be silent, will you, Boy?” Billip hissed in his ear. “We’re all thinking what you’re saying, but she’s got Kam and Erin up there. Be patient.”
Georgio gave a quick nod even though he wasn’t sure what Billip meant. He wasn’t sure if Kam was a hostage or not. If she could come or go. What would Darleen want with her? It was like they were hostages without saying so. A sick twist on life.
Darleen squared up on them. Looked down her big nose at both of them, bouncing her knife off her palm.
“I don’t like the way you’re looking at me,” she said. “Either of you.”
“Darleen,” Billip pleaded, “he’s adolescent. They aren’t good at controlling their tongues at this age. Please, allow me to discipline him. It won’t happen again.”
“Tongue, eh?” She scratched her chin with her knife. “Maybe he’s got a forked tongue like those wizards.”
“I assure you,” Billip started. “It won’t—”
“No, it won’t happen again,” Darleen said with a gleam in her eyes. “Because-hic-I’m going to cut it out. Seize him!”
3
Glitch!
Creed ripped his sword out of the underling’s face. Black blood spilling to the ground, it fell onto the heap of the others. Creed’s chest was heaving. His swords dripping in gore.
“Help me,” a voice moaned nearby. “Help me.”
A City Watchman sat propped against the alleyway, face gashed and belly soaked in blood. He was one of many Creed had tried to rescue. Victims to underling terror that struck the city at night. Six underlings had wiped out a patrol of ten, and only one still lived.
Creed kneeled down beside the man and put a canteen to his lips.
“Drink,” he said.
“Who are you?” the man said, sipping. “An apparition? A terror that attacks these fiends as they attack us?” The man coughed. Sputtered. His eyes rolled up inside his head with a final gasp.
“Bone.”
Weeks ago, the City Watch had been little more than thugs to him. Now they were his allies. As was every man. Every woman. Miscreant. Criminal. Royal. They all battled for their survival against the assault of the underling world. The underlings struck in the moonlight. Killed women. Children. Horses. Dogs. Anything that wasn’t underling that moved or crawled. The furnaces that breathed hot life beneath the city were filled with the dead, the smoke and smell almost unbearable.
Creed wiped his blades on the underling corpses and spat blood from his mouth. Exhausted, he stuffed the blades in their sheaths and shuffled on. He’d been fighting for days. Each night a different battle. No rest. No recreation. No wine. No women. A glimpse of Lorda Almen flashed in his mind. Perhaps I’ll see her tonight.
Whoo-ooo-wooo … Whooo-ooo-wooo …
He froze in his tracks. Somewhere an underling called. He whirled. An underling survivor crawled from the pile of dead brethren with his dark lips to a pipe. It scurried.
A shadow pounced on the underling from the dark. A glint of steel flashed in its hand and buried itself in the underling’s throat.
“Who in Bish?” Creed said, swords ready.
Corrin rose up and pulled his shoulders back. His jerkin and trousers were coated in blood. His steely eyes reflected the moonlight above.
“Who else?” Corrin said, “You can’t do this every night, Creed. They’ll get you.”
Creed turned his back. His shroud made a strange crooning inside his head. He could sense them. The underlings. Every time he tried to sleep, they woke him. He could hear them scratching beneath the ground. He could see their devious deeds in his dreams. The only way for him to rest was to kill them.
“You better go, Corrin,” he said, twirling one blade. “Many come.”
Corrin walked up beside him. The man was average in size and well built. He had a dangerous quality about him. Cold. He peered from the alley down the street that led to the Royal Roadway. “How many?” he said. “I don’t see any.”
“Too many,” Creed added. He twirled his swords. Falchion blades. Heavy. They felt perfect in his hands. The dark metal was razor sharp. Skin the hair off a frog. Invincible. “Go.”
Corrin huffed and said, “You need rest. I need rest. Let’s walk away. The underlings will be here tomorrow. We’ll take them one at a time, but we can’t take them all at once.”
Creed agreed. But more people would die. Good or bad. And it wasn’t right. He couldn’t let that happen. The Royals, some but not all, were fighting. Others preserved themselves. Soldiers galloped through the streets in the day, but they’d already given up the night, unless they were part of the City Watch. Those got the bad duty. In the meantime, citizens boarded up their homes. Apartments. Waited for daylight. Others tried to leave. Beyond the walls, thousands tried to get in. It was Chaos. Everywhere. Chaos.
Corrin stuffed his knife in his belt and said, ‘Take it from me, Creed. They aren’t all worth saving. Just save yourself. The ones you can. Like the Bloodhounds. The Lorda.” He smiled. An earring flashed in his ear. “I think she’s warming up to you.”
“Go.”
Corrin jerked Creed’s cowl down. “Take a breath, will you.”
Creed back fisted him in the chest. Grabbed Corrin by the collar and pulled him face to face.
“Don’t ever—”
“What?” Corrin said, fearless.
The crooning was gone. The hairs on his arms no longer itched. His shoulders sagged.
“Huh…”
“Let’s get back to the castle,” Corrin suggested. “Drink and eat a little. Enjoy the morning. You never know when it will be the last one.”
Creed rolled his neck. The air felt cool on his blood-smeared face. Taking off the shroud cleared his head. Allowed his thoughts to become his own.
“Perhaps,” he said. “Let’s go then.”
Nights in The City of Bone had always been dangerous. City Watchmen used to call the shots with arrogant priggery, where they controlled the districts. Man-urchins, rogues and thugs would rule the streets, preying on the drunk, stupid and weak. Only the seediest of sorts would ever dare come out a night, before. But now, all those troublesome elements were gone. Replaced by permanent evil that preyed on every human, without any discretion.
Hugging the walls from corner to corner, Corrin led the way. A pack of dogs gnawed on dead flesh. Many human heads were mounted on lantern posts. Creed’s stomach no longer turned. He hadn’t gagged in days. He was used to it. Death. Decay.
“Foul, these things,” Corrin muttered, stepping over a corpse with a dozen holes poked in it. “This way,” Corrin said, trekking down an alley. His feet splashed through the muck. He came to a stop, gaping. “Bish.”
A cobweb filled the alley from one side to the other. Behind it another and another.
“Let’s go back,” Corrin said, backing away. He bumped into Creed’s chest.
“No, wait.”
Creed stepped forward and stretched one of his blades out.
“Don’t,” Corrin started.
The metal sliced the webbing. It peeled away and dissipated.
“I’ll be.”
Creed donned his hood and took the lead. The crooning renewed. The underlings were near, but not near enough. Good. He wanted to get back to Bloodhound Castle. Satisfy Corrin. Although coarse and unpleasant, the man had a resolve about him. Made up his mind and stuck with it. Creed liked that about the older man. He had family like that. Liars, thieves and whoremongers, or of a reputable sort. He was used to it. But even his family, a pack of jackals, no matter how hungry didn’t venture out at night. Corrin did.
“Agghh!” Creed said.
Something big as a cat scurried out of the wall. A spider with glowing green spots on its back crossed from one side to the other.
“Did you see that thing?” Corrin said, shivering.
“Just a bug,” Creed said.
Corrin seemed shriveled up when he said, “Hate spiders. Even the tiniest ones.”
Creed slit more webbing. Marched through. There were spiders bigger than horses roaming the streets. He’d seen them. Killed them. Corrin hadn’t heard about that part.
Another spider scurried by and up the wall. Followed by another.
“We almost there?”
“Yes,” Corrin hissed. His head swiveled around. Eyes darting up and down. “Go faster.”
Creed could sense the underlings, but not spiders. Or any other thing for that matter. He wondered why that was. His hood began crooning again. An eerie sound filled his ears. His skinned crawled. His veins ignited with fire.
“What is that noise?” Corrin said, drawing out his sword.
Above, the clouds blocked the light of the moons. That’s when Creed looked up. Over the rooftops they came. Underlings riding on the backs of spiders.
Corrin gawped. “You must be slatting me.” He took off running.
“No Corrin!” Creed said, stretching out after him.
Toowah. Toowah. Toowah. Toowah. Toowah. Toowah. Toowah. Toowah.
Darts filled the air. Javelins clattered off stone. Corrin spilled face first in the ground. In an instant he was covered in cat-sized spiders.
4
“Stay awake!” Venir said.
Melegal shuffled back. Eyes wide. Long fingers drifting to his hilts.
Venir shook his head. “Just come,” he said, gathering his gear. He filled his hands with dwarven steel. “We’ll get her.”
Melegal fell in step. A shadow behind him. Venir wasn’t so much mad at Melegal as he was himself. It wasn’t the first time the thief had dozed off. His friend wasn’t accustomed to the Outland like him. And, the weary eyed thief was exhausted. He didn’t say it, but Venir could tell.
Venir squatted down and fingered the dirt. Haze’s body had left a dragging impression, but the tracks were small. Tiny impressions in the ground. Barely traceable. He sniffed the air. Keen as his instincts were, he smelled nothing out of the ordinary.
“Not sure,” he said, moving on.
“Not sure what?” Melegal asked.
Venir glanced over his shoulder.
“What took her.”
“Underlings?”
Venir shrugged. Kept going. The morning light behind them. It bothered him. Every hour of the trip bothered him a little more with every league. If he had the armament, he could at least rule out underlings, but now he couldn’t say. He felt blinded. Muted. Weakened. He ached. He should have shaken it off by now.
Continuing another few hundred yards, the body impression of Haze stopped. He circled the spot wider and wider, peering everywhere.
“They picked her up,” Melegal said, staring at the ground. “Whatever they is.”
Venir had his theories. The tracks were similar to sand spiders, but those didn’t sneak into camps and haul people off. Underlings often rode spiders’ backs, but they would have taken them all out, not just one. Whatever it was, it was different. He pushed the hair out of his eyes as the wind picked up.
“Be ready,” he said, picking up his pace. “The hot breeze will wipe out the tracks if we don’t move quick.” He started into a trot. Bone!
Venir had thought the journey back to the City of Three would be quick and easy. It was anything but that. The man who once thought he could handle anything wasn’t so sure of himself. His ribs were busted. His jaw rattled. One ear was sawn off. Over the past few weeks he’d had the living snot beaten out of him and had lived to tell about it. Talking only made it worse. The threshold of death sang to him. Somehow he dodged its embrace. He should feel joyous. Triumphant. The survivor that survived it all. But the fires inside were gone. And, he missed Chongo. He’d found him only to lose him right after. Mood and Slim were gone too.
Suck it up, Venir!
Now, he felt naked in the Outlands. Raw. He knew the terrain as well as anyone, but he knew it better with the Armament. With Chongo and others.
We should have stayed with a caravan.
Pride had prevailed. He could cross the landscape faster than any man. Lead Melegal and Haze through the wilderness. But after a day, he doubted himself. And there were things Melegal had told him. About Georgio, Billip, and Mikkel. He had a son by a woman named Vorla. He’d really liked her. She’d died looking for him. And Kam waited for him in the City of Three with their baby daughter. So much had happened since he departed, he didn’t know what to feel.
They’ll probably wish I hadn’t come back once they see me.
His booted toes stopped on the edge of a sink hole that started to form. He stretched out his axe, stopping Melegal. He pointed to rocks that lay nearby.
“Toss one in there,” he said.
Melegal ambled over, drawing one sword, picked up a rock and eyed him.
Venir nodded.
Melegal tossed it in.
A sand spider erupted from the ground. Sand-colored with black stripes, tiny red eyes and dripping fangs. Its body the size of a large hound.
Venir chopped into its legs.
Hack! Hack! Hack!
It spit webs. Spewed acid.
“Argh!”
Venom sizzled on Venir’s forearm.
Hack!
He brained it.
Its eight hairy legs juttered and it sunk back into its sandy hole.
Melegal’s hips twisted back and forth, sword ready.
“Should I expect more?”
Venir shook his head, grimacing. The skin on his arm was red and bubbling.
“You alright?”
“Could be worse. Just stay behind me.”
Another half mile they went. Trotting. The brisk winds started to blur the tracks. Venir ignored the burning in his arm. Hid his worry. There was a good chance that if they lost the tracks, they’d lose Haze altogether.
“Maybe we should move faster,” Melegal said.
“Maybe,” Venir replied. “But if we hit a spider pit, it’s over.”
“If we don’t find Haze, it’s over.”
“We’ll find her,” Venir growled.
A hundred yards later, he came to a stop. The tracks were gone.
Melegal rubbed his forehead, shaking his head, facing down.
“We keep going the way we were headed,” Venir said.
“What’s that?” Melegal pointed.
In the distance, strange objects jutted from the ground. Mud houses shaped like bee hives. A faint smell caught Venir’s nose. He sniffed.
Melegal yawned.
“Bone!”
It was the same smell he’d awoken to. Like coffee. A little sweeter. He yawned. His instincts fired. His eyes caught Melegal’s. That’s why they’d slept so soundly. That smell.
Melegal started his march forward.
Venir stayed him with his hand.
“I’ll go—”
“You aren’t—”
“—first!”
They approached.
The structures weren’t particularly large or many in number. Dome shaped entry ways, a few feet high, made out of dirt, rock and wood, held together by a white pasty substance. Venir touched it. It was hard. Didn’t stick. He guessed the threshold was there to keep the light out and the dirt from filling in. He peered down inside the tunnel. The coffee smell wasn’t strong, but it was from there.
“Pretty dark in there,” he said, kneeling down. “Maybe we should wait them out.”
“We don’t even know what they are.”
Melegal reached inside his cloak and withdrew a coin wrapped in cloth. A bright burst of light winked from it.
“I’m going in,” Melegal said, creeping toward the entry way.
Venir’s head throbbed. He longed for the helm. It had made the night seem as bright as day. He’d been without the armament before, but it had never bothered him so much. He hadn’t been so long without it. It was almost as if he’d lost everything. He needed to get to the City of Three. Reunite with the others. Sit by a fire. Drink.
“Melegal,” he said, laying a hand on Melegal’s bony shoulder.
The skinny-faced thief with the scraggly beard paused and looked right at him.
“Fight or die,” Venir said.
Melegal huffed.
“What else would we do?”
5
Brak swung the fireplace spade into Darleen’s nearest goon’s face.
Wok!
The man screamed, his nose crushed beneath the metal.
Darleen squalled. Ripped another knife out.
“Yer gonna regret that!”
She lunged at Brak. Tripped over Billip’s foot and crashed to the floor.
The other thug tore a dagger at Billip’s chest. He twisted out of the way.
Georgio socked the man in the jaw. Drove a fist in his gut, doubling him over.
Brak smacked the same man in the head with the shovel again. The spade bent and the man went down cold.
Billip twisted the blades from Darleen’s hands and kicked them away.
“Enough of this, Woman!”
“I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you all!” She squealed like a pig.
“Brak!” Georgio said.
The other thug had Georgio’s curly head in a lock at his waist. The heavier man held him locked in a vice. Georgio’s face turned red.
Brak was there in two strides and said, “Let him go!”
“Let her go,” the thug said.
Brak slugged the man between the eyes with a sledge-like punch.
The man blinked a few times. His head rolled on his fat neck. “Try that again—”
Whop!
The thug melted onto the planks.
Georgio coughed and rubbed his throat. He looked at the man on the floor.
“They don’t miss any meals.”
Nikkel appeared. Wide eyed. Worried.
“What are you doing?”
Billip had Darleen’s arms behind her and his knee in her back.
“We’re wrestling trolls,” Billip said, struggling. “What’s it look like we’re doing?”
“Who you calling troll?” Darleen spat. “I’m going to rip that goatee off your face, Billip!”
Brak had never wanted to hurt a woman ever, but he wanted to now. Or at least make her disappear somehow. Darleen was a menace. Hardy. Annoying. Stupid. Dangerous. She fit in the Magi Roost about as well as a sow with make-up. He shook his head. He was hungry. Tired. Angry. He kneeled down and grabbed a handful of her hair. Pulled her face to his. Looked her dead in the eye. She reeked of alcohol.
“Shut your mouth.”
She fell silent. Her body slackened. She sobbed.
“Why don’t you like me?”
All the men sighed. Billip rolled his eyes.
This wasn’t the first time Darleen had a fit. They all looked at each other. Georgio was shaking his head. Darleen brought this up all the time. Who liked her and who didn’t. So far, only a handful of people hadn’t admitted to it. That was all the men in the room other than the thugs on the floor. They’d suck the dirt from her toes if she asked them to.
Billip eased off her back and slapped her big rump.
“Cause your ornery like an orc.”
She rolled over, tears filling her eyes.
“I’m not an orc,” she moaned. “I’m a woman.”
“A woman with a poor disposition.”
Darleen sat, slack jawed, swaying on the floor. She scrunched her face. Her ferret eyes thinking.
“So I’m brassy,” she moaned. “Lots of folks like brassy.”
“Yes, well,” Billip said, reaching out and helping her into a chair.
“Brazen like an ogre is more like it!” Georgio said.
Darleen’s eyes narrowed on Georgio. “You muffin headed bastard! You started this!” She started to rise and spit on the floor.
Brak and Billip stepped between the pair.
“Nikkel! Is there any coffee ready?” He turned to Georgio. Whispered, “Get your arse out of sight.”
Darleen and Georgio were oil and water. Brak would never forget how it started. A day after they arrived, they’d all sat a table reuniting. There was a feast. Loaves of bread. Stacks of meat and cheese. Soups of many varieties. The serving girls were polite and very pretty. Darleen was even cheerful. Coarse, but entertaining. Then Georgio had asked Kam why they kept a woman with a butt like an ogre. The grudge match had been going on ever since.
Darleen sniffed. She craned her neck. “I hate him.”
“Darleen,” Billip said, patting her knee. “He’s a young man. But a good worker. I can get good work out of him.”
She shook her head. “You guys are just here for Kam. And that baby. Otherwise you’d probably leave me.”
“We like it here. Just let us do the work and you enjoy it.”
Brak nodded.
Darleen scowled at him. “You’re an ogre, Big Face.”
Brak had heard it all his life, but it didn’t bother him. He’d known he was different from the beginning. He was much bigger than people his age. Much older looking too. Always tall, thick and quiet, he never fit in. Just let Billip do the talking.
“Darleen, let’s settle you in the sack. When you get up, I’ll have this all taken care of.”
She nodded.
Brak felt the tension between his great shoulders ease. They might even get something to eat earlier than expected, with Darleen down. She always wanted to take charge where she wasn’t needed, and it was Kam’s place, not hers. Of course, he’d spent little time with Kam and his, so far as he understood it, half-sister, Erin. He glanced at the entrance to the Magi Roost. He saw Kam staring at it from the balcony from time to time. He wondered if she was thinking what he was. Would his father, Venir, stroll through there one day?
Nikkel returned with an urn of coffee and two metal mugs and set them on the table.
Darleen shuddered a sob and said, “Thank you. Mmmm. Smells good.” She grabbed the metal coffee pot and poured. She bobbed her head and looked at Billip. “I think I’ll take your advice. It’s been a long night. Can I fill you up a cup?”
“Sure,” Billip said. He grabbed his cup and held it out.
Darleen swung the metal coffee pot into his jaw.
Clang!
Billip fell out of his chair clutching his face, stunned.
Darleen raised the pot again and slung it at Nikkel.
He ducked under it, swooped in and locked up her arms.
“Let go of me!” she growled. Nikkel was big for a young man, but Darleen was bigger. Nastier. She drove her knee into his crotch.
“Oof!” Nikkel said, buckling over.
Brak went in for the bear hug. She slipped out of his arms like a wild animal and slugged him in the jaw.
“Ow,” she said, flinging her hand, wincing. She launched her boot between his thighs. Once. Twice. Three times! “How’d that feel, you big-faced bastard!”
Brak sagged to the floor.
Darleen went for her knives.
“Now I’m going to cut all your—”
Georgio tackled her. Drove her into the floor. She started stabbing.
Georgio howled.
“How’s that feel, Pie Face!” She stuck him the leg again.
“OW! You wart hog!”
All the men piled on top of her. Billip wrenched the blade from her stabbing hands.
“I’ve had enough of this!” Billip said. “Stop it!”
She spat in his face. Kicked and flailed all over. “You haven’t seen the worst of me yet,” she growled. “Scorch! Scorch! Scor—mmrph!”
Brak clamped his mouth over her mouth. She bit through the skin. He held on.
“I hope you have a very good reason for this,” a voice said.
The room went silent. Everyone froze. Ears perked. Eyes wide.
Brak glanced over his shoulder. Scorch stood, arms folded over his chest. A look of disappointment on his handsome face. At his side, another man stood, hair black as coal and dark features. His eyes shone like red rubies.
“They attacked me, Scorch!” Darleen said, wrestling back up to her feet. She shoved Billip’s face. “Tried to kill me.”
“Humph, did they now?” Scorch rolled his fingers.
Brak felt himself lift off the floor. A second later, all the men were careening toward the wall.
6
Toowah! Toowah! Toowah!
Creed dove under the barrage of darts and rolled against the wall. Bone! Riding on spiders whose fangs dripped with venom, the underlings scurried down the wall. Creed pulled the shroud over his head. Stupid. Slunk into the shadows and crouched. The underling riders scurried into the alley. Bright gemstone eyes, pale reds and yellows, blinking. There were four of them. They tugged at the reins on their saddles. On eight legs, the spiders swiveled around. Searching. Spider feet testing the ground.
Behind them, Corrin lay unmoving. An underling rider poked at his back with a spear. The man was stiff as stone. Paralyzed. Creed had seen the poisoned darts in action before, as well as living bodies dragged off like corpses by underlings and spiders.
The underlings chittered back and forth. Readied their weapons: curved swords, spears and javelins. For two weeks, Creed had learned their tactics. They were quick and calculating. Ruthless and lethal. So far as he could tell, the humans they didn’t kill were tortured or were turned into spider food. He’d learned some things about himself too. The underlings couldn’t see him when he had the shroud on. At least not until he struck. The spiders he wasn’t so sure about.
The tiny red eyes of two spiders were on him. They crept closer. The underlings held the reins tight. Creed could make out the underling faces clear as day. One’s head was bald and the other’s hair was up in a ponytail. They had strange marks on their faces. Small jewels in their faces and ears in rows. They sickened him. His blood charged with fire.
Closer. Come closer!
The shroud urged him. Pushed him. His blades throbbed inside his palms.
Strike Creed! Strike! It beckoned him on.
Closer the spiders and riders came. Eight legs. Sixteen. Twenty-Four. Spider Venom dripped and sizzled in a filthy puddle. Creed couldn’t contain himself anymore. He rammed his first blade into the nearest spider’s face.
Cut open the belly of the rider.
Slice!
Energy filled him. His body exploded into motion. Blades flashed like lightening.
Slice! Chop! Hack!
Another spider and rider fell.
A javelin zipped over his ducking head. A sword ripped through his thigh.
“Argh!” he sagged to the ground. Whipped his blades up and deflected a spear coming for his throat.
A spider turned and spewed webbing from its rear, covering Creed like a blanket. A cord of webbing caught his feet and jerked him to the ground. He cracked his head on the block pavement. Dark spots formed in his eyes. Grogginess assailed him.
The underlings hopped off their spiders and shrieked in triumph. Creed lay still. Snagged and coated in sticky webbing. The spider reeled him in with its front legs. Its dripping maw snapped open and closed. The underlings surrounded him. Yellow eyes on one side. Red on the other. They poised sword and spear to strike.
Creed fought against the webbing. Sawed at it with his blades. They started to dissipate, too late. Sword and spear struck in unison.
Glitch! Stab!
The metal went straight through his chest from one side to the other.
Nooooo!
Creed’s strength fled him. His body filled with pain. He could not move. Up and down the underling weapons went. Again. Again and again. Blood erupted from his wounds. Wicked chitters erupted from the underlings’ lips. Their gemstone eyes aglitter.
No. Creed thought one last time as darkness descended on his eyes. I’m not supposed to die this way.
Still as stone. Helpless. Feeble. Corrin watched the underlings stab Creed over and over. A slaughterhouse. Their chitters were low and wicked. They bumped the backs of their bloody wrists, hoisted their gory spears in the air and spit on the swordsman. At least he took two of them. All I managed to do was piss myself. His stomach twisted when the underlings and spiders turned on him. No, not this way.
They grabbed him by the boots and dragged him flat on his back. Both spat on his face and kicked him. Spider legs pawed all over him. Poison dripped on his legs. Corrin struggled against his unseen bonds. Screaming. Water filling his eyes. Just kill me, you evil fiends! How many people had the underlings tormented like this?
The underlings looked at one another, chittered, and poised their weapons to strike the final blow. Eyes glowing bright, they brought their weapons down.
Bloodied blades burst in and out of their throats.
The spiders reared up with an eerie screech.
The underlings collapsed dead on the ground. Spider legs flew off in bits and pieces. A tall shrouded man struck them like a steel tornado, filling the air with rancid guts.
Creed? Impossible!
Green eyes smoldered under the hood. It had to be Creed. Who else could it be?
The man stuffed his gory blades in his sheaths and dashed over. He scooped Corrin up in his arms and threw him over his shoulder. Corrin’s body bounced and jolted in and out of the alleys and through the streets. I hope he knows where he’s going.
The running stopped. A fist beat on a heavy door, one hard knock after the other.
Corrin heard a tiny door squeak open.
“Let me in, Mauk,” Creed ordered.
“No coming in. You leave at dark, you take your chances, Fool!”
The tiny metal door slammed shut.
Castle Bloodhound wasn’t a castle so much as large well-fortified home of block and mortar. It resided along Bone’s walls at the end of the Northwest districts. It didn’t have towers nor turrets. It didn’t have moats, massive gates nor stables. Of all the castles, it looked the least impregnable, but the Bloodhounds knew that.
That’s when Corrin heard it. Angry chitters were coming down the street. Right at them.
He could feel the giant spider legs all over him again. Just kill me now, Creed.
Creed set him down and propped him up against the wall. Pounded at the door with both fists. Kicked at it with his boots.
“Let us in, Mauk! Or by Bone, I’ll run you through the next time a see you!”
“You’ll not be around to do that,” a voice muttered from behind the door. “Death is what you get for playing in the night, Fool!”
Creed kicked the door again.
“Blast you!”
The swordsman stood tall and drew his blades once more.
Underling soldiers spilled from the alley. Corrin could see enough to count. Twenty maybe? At least there are no spiders.
“Nice knowing you, Corrin,” Creed said.
Am I going to watch you die again?
7
Melegal pressed on, his narrow shoulders scraping against the tunnel walls. Behind him, Venir grunted and squirmed his bulk through the oversized dirt hole. Sounds like an ogre back there. The tiny beam of white light glowing in his hand, the thief’s ears pricked at every sound. His nostrils flared, filled with the smell of rot and decay. His heart pounded inside his scrawny chest like a mason’s hammer.
Bish!
Squeezing through the confines of the City of Bone was one thing. He’d been doing that all his life. But diddling underground in the Outland was another. His mind was troubled with thoughts of getting lost or trapped, caved in. Blast Haze, I should have left you.
He’d left most women in the past. Mostly after a night, but Haze had stuck with him like a loyal cat, and for some reason he didn’t mind. Swallowing his fear, he slid through the tunnels, doing for her what he knew she’d do for him. I don’t know why I’m doing this.
After they wound dozens of feet deeper into the cool ground, a soft glow appeared. He slid his coin into his pocket and cast a glance at Venir. There was just enough light to see the man’s form filling the tunnel. His bearded faced was stern. Grim. He opened his mouth. Melegal poked him in the chin. Venir followed with a soft grunt.
Two hundred thirty two steps in, he had counted and then stopped at the bend. The smell of death was there. Like a mausoleum. The faint smell of ground coffee was there as well, and some other things, more pungent. He wiped his watery eyes, closed them, and cupped his ears.
Venir breathed softly behind him. Quiet as a gentle breeze. His own breath was hardly noticeable. He inhaled and exhaled slowly. His heartbeat no longer filled his ears. Something ahead scuffled over the ground like large critters. There was a clink of metal. Strange mutterings crawled between his shoulders. He slid out one of his swords, adjusted his cap, and peered around the corner.
A ten-foot drop greeted him, leading to a cavernous dirt room. The glow came from jelly stuffed in strange lanterns on the wall. Things moved. Spiders the size of large dogs scurried back and forth. But they were different. Fear gripped Melegal. What is that?
The spiders weren’t spiders at all. Rather men with spider bodies. Naked from the torso up, they had short black hair, beards, coal-black eyes and antennae on the top. Some carried short spears. Others nothing at all. There were half a dozen at work in the lair. Two of them stood along the wall like flies, blowing bubbles of web that coated a lean figure on the ground.
Haze!
Two of the arachnamen were spinning her as the others blew their webs and coated her with a cocoon. Melegal flinched at the big hand on his shoulder. Venir’s blue eyes were intent. His bearded jaw set. A panther ready to pounce. Melegal barred his arm over his chest. In the past, when Venir had the armament, he’d felt more confident. Now it was different. For the first time in a long time, he sensed that Venir was mortal.
Melegal mouthed a single word. Wait.
Hunkered over the ledge, he watched with bated breath. There were several cocoons in the corner, one stacked up on the other. More arachnamen made their way in and out from another tunnel below. Two of them picked up another cocoon and carried it out. Haze’s body was tossed to the side. Please be alive.
Two more Arachnamen took another cocoon and disappeared. The second of the three pairs followed suit, leaving only two. One of the odd humanoids stood at attention of some sort and minutes later the last one disappeared into the hall. Melegal’s fingertips tingled. It was time to move. He nodded to Venir.
Venir’s hulking form slunk back.
He grabbed his light coin and tapped the metal edge against his Dart Launchers. His toys were fully loaded once more, thanks to some help from the wizards. He held his thumb over the coin’s light and made rapid flashes. Took aim with is other arm and waited.
Flash. Flash. Flash.
A minute went by, maybe two.
Come now, take the bait! He rapped the coin on the metal launcher again. Still nothing came. Bish, it’s probably not even looking this way. Crawling forward, he tucked the coin away and peered down the opening. The arachnaman was gone. There was no sign of the foul creature anywhere and Haze’s cocoon was still down there. Yes! He nodded back at Venir and slipped closer to the edge. Looking downward, he felt an odd tingling on his back. He jerked his head around. High on the dirt ceiling, an arachnaman’s black eyes pierced him. Melegal froze. Spear first, the creature dropped from the ceiling.
Move!
Melegal twisted his entire body, but the spear tore through his arm. Man and arachnaman crashed into the ground. Melegal kicked its spider body. Punched its hard belly. It brought the spear up and jammed it down.
Melegal rolled left. Right. The stabs fell inches from his neck. He grabbed the spear shaft and hung on. Tried to wrestle it away. The creature was smaller, but stronger. It made strange sounds. Webbing blew from its mouth, filling the air.
No you don’t!
Melegal drove his fist into its belly and squeezed the trigger on his launcher.
Twing! Twing!
The arachnaman jerked and screamed something awful and darted for the exit tunnel.
“Great,” Melegal said, pulling the webbing from his face. Something big was in the corner. He whirled with launchers ready.
“You better save those things,” Venir said, heaving Haze’s cocoon over his brawny shoulders, “I hear more coming. Move!”
Melegal ran, jumped, grabbed the lip of the tunnel and pulled himself inside. Venir tossed Haze’s sticky cocoon up to him.
“Eck,” he said, dragging her up the tunnel. He stopped and went back for Venir.
Like a great ape, Venir swung himself up into the tunnel.
“I hope you remember the way out of here.”
Melegal stuck the coin in his mouth, leading the way. Venir had Haze tucked under his arm, squeezing his way through the giant hole behind him. Eerie hoots filled the air, getting louder and closer. Melegal sprinted forward.
“Slow down!” Venir roared. “Unless you want to carry me too.”
One Fifty Eight.
“We’re almost there. Just run, you beast, run!”
Two hundred. Two Twenty Five.
The exit out of the tunnel was bright with light. Venir was less than ten spaces behind him. He ambled back and grabbed Haze’s legs and started to pull. They burst out of the hole, carrying her as if on a stretcher.
“Whew!” Melegal said. He’d never loved the suns so much.
He and Venir staggered twenty yards from the hive-like openings and set Haze down. He peeled the webbing from her face. It was drained. Her cheek under his palm was cold. He swallowed.
“You’re bleeding,” Venir said. “Bad.”
Melegal blocked it out and tried to resuscitate Haze.
“Me,” Venir warned, “we have to keep going.”
The eerie hooting crept out of the tunnels, louder and louder like a howling wind.
“I don’t think they like the daylight,” Melegal shot back. “Go if you want. I have to bring her back!”
“I’m not going anywhere without you.”
“And I’m not going anywhere without her.”
Venir leered down at him. A stone shadow blocking the sunlight.
“Then you better fill your hands with steel.” Venir’s knuckles were white around the dwarven shafts. “Because they are coming.”
One. Two. Three arachnamen popped out of their holes. They didn’t seem so big in the hot open space. More like eight legged dogs that needed put down.
Simmering inside, Melegal rose up from his knees and snaked out both his blades, the Sisters, from their sheaths. He narrowed his steely eyes.
“Let them come then,” he said.
Venir’s shoulders crackled when he rolled them. His neck popped from side to side.
“We can handle them,” Melegal added.
The eerie hoots howled from the tunnels. A sea of arachnamen emerged like rats off a sinking ship.
Slat!
8
“Kam,” a voice said softly, nudging her, “Kam, wake up.”
She sat up on her cot, yawning. Her good hand rubbed at her eyes and the other one just hung there. She could still feel it. She still tried to use it. She hadn’t gotten used to it and it had been a bad day ever since.
“What’s going on, Joline? Does Erin need fed?”
Joline had Erin over her shoulder, jostling her up and down. The older woman’s thick salt and pepper hair was a hazard and her sweet face filled with worry. Her ear was pressed against the door of the tiny room that was now their quarters. It had four walls, a small bed, a cot, dresser, and small cradle. It was the smallest room at the Magi Roost. Darleen had taken Kam’s, the largest.
“No, no, no,” Joline whispered, “but there’s a big commotion out there.”
Kam brushed her auburn hair that hung like curtains from her eyes and slipped her shoes on. She was still in clothes. The ones she’d worn yesterday and the day before that. She got up, knocking over an empty bottle of Muckle Sap.
“Here,” she said, holding her arms out, “let me have my baby.” Erin’s bright blue eyes warmed her heart. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
As hard as life had been, it was hard to imagine that such a little living thing could bring her such joy. Purpose. Kam knew she’d never be the same, not after what Palos had done. She could still picture his drooling face, crystal clear in her thoughts. I should have killed him. She had killed, however. She’d snapped Diller’s neck like a twig with a mystic thought which she wasn’t certain had come from her or something else. The gems that had overtaken her, perhaps.
“Are you hungry?” she said, bouncing Erin up and down.
The little baby girl cooed and giggled.
“Huh,” Kam laughed. “And you’ve been eating like a pig.” She shrugged. Rested Erin on her shoulder, closed her eyes and hummed.
Scorch. Darleen. The strange pair had saved her life, only to invade it. She tried not to think about them. If she thought too much, Scorch might appear. Handsome. Powerful. Intrusive. The man wielded powers she didn’t comprehend like a child shaking a rattle. She wanted to leave but was scared to. But that wasn’t all. She didn’t want to go either. She wasn’t going to give up the Magi Roost, the place she’d worked so hard for. It was hers and hers alone. It didn’t belong in the hands of the bearish Darleen. The rough-cut woman seemed well-intentioned, but she was off her rocker. I’ve suffered worse.
“Kam,” Joline said, “can you hear that?”
“Hmm?” Kam said, finishing her hum. She’d learned to block out all the clamor with a cantrip she’d dug up. She muttered an incantation. Instantly, her ears filled with Darleen’s squalor. “Is someone strangling a rooster down there? Here!”
She handed Erin over to Joline and threw open the door. Fists at her sides, she stormed down the hall. “She makes orcs look like halflings.” Traipsing by the balcony rail, she got to the top stair, took the first step down, and stopped. The Roost was dead quiet. She turned and looked down. Four men floated in midair, slowly turning shoulder over shoulder, like roasts. Her friends were screaming but no words came out. Kam’s knees buckled. Scorch!
An icy voice replied from behind her.
“Hello, Kam.”
She took a sharp breath. Scorch stood right behind her in white robes that covered his toes. Without touching her, he shoved her downward.
“Won’t you join us?” he said, impolitely. “We have a dilemma.”
Down the steps she went but through no will of her own. Fear and panic seized her. She turned and shot a look at him. Her neck snapped forward.
“I’m not feeling very cordial today.”
Her toes drifted over the wooden floor and she was slammed down into a chair. Paralyzed, her thoughts went to Erin.
“Don’t make me have to bring her into this,” Scorch said. A chair slid over the floor and in front of the fireplace. He took a seat.
Darleen moved behind him with the look of a hungry critter in her eyes.
Another man she hadn’t seen before glided behind Scorch’s other shoulder. His features were dark, his hair black. His robes, dark gray and ornate, hung loosely on his slight build. His eyes met hers. Kam shuddered in her unseen bonds. Dark ruby-red eyes greeted her. Fear raced along her spine.
Scorch gently clapped his hands.
“Kam, dearest, eyes on me. Introductions are coming.”
“Who is he?”
Her last word was silenced. She held her tongue.
“That’s better,” Scorch said, leaning forward. He propped his elbow on his knee like a wise grandfather. His smile was quaint and magnificent. “I want you to take a moment and take a look, a very close look at your friends.”
She hesitated.
“Go ahead,” he assured her.
She turned. Georgio, Billip, Brak and Nikkel’s faces were red and screaming in silent terror. They kicked and squirmed. She couldn’t read their lips but she knew that were trying to warn her. Tears formed in her eyes. “Please stop this, Scorch,” she said, gentle and pleading.
“Stop, you say,” he replied. “Well, perhaps.” A log lifted from the rack on the mantel and hung in front of his face. “Watch.” The bark separated from the log. The rings of the log separated one from the other. Fifty rings at least. One by one, from the inside out, the rings ignited with fire and drifted to the ground in ash. “That is what is slowly happening to your friends.”
“No,” she begged, “please don’t!” Her words fell silent again.
“I’m no longer humored by your rebellious nature, Kam. Nor that of your men. You seem determined to stay here, for reasons that are well beneath me, and they are even more determined to stand by your decision.” He thumbed over his shoulder at Darleen. “This one likes this place. She’s loyal. Doesn’t dispute my authority. The place is hers for as long as she wishes.”
Darleen’s beaver face gave a quick nod. She folded her arms over her chest.
“Now, as unpredictable as creatures such as yourself are, I would suspect, as do you, she’ll tire of this and move on. But that might take a while, whether you make her feel welcome or not.” He huffed and looked at the man behind him. “People are more orderly where I’m from. Trinos did a strange thing here.” He shook his head. “I need you to keep Darleen happy. I have more pressing matters on my … oh what is the saying … on my plate.”
Kam glowered at Darleen. Looked away. With great effort, she buried her vehement thoughts.
“We have an understanding then?” he said, perching one brow.
Certainly. Knowing he could somehow hear her thoughts, Kam merely thought this at him.
Scorch flicked his wrist and the ashes from the log quickly reformed. He stood up, looking like a perfect portrait in his robes. The wave in his blond hair, the lashes on his eyes. Everything was in perfect alignment. Too perfect.
“Excellent. In the meantime, I’ll be coming and going. My new acquaintance will be in and out as well but for now will help smooth things over. I’ve some troublesome persons to attend to. I think you two have met already, a bit informally.”
A human with ruby eyes came forward. His chiseled complexion seemed gray. The short beard on his face was a soft white.
What about my friends, Scorch?
All four men fell to the floor, gasping for air. Each and every one looked miserable, their expressions aghast. Billip dashed to a tankard on the bar and guzzled from it like water. Georgio and Nikkel helped themselves to a bucket of mop water. Fear glazed their eyes.
“Scorch, I don’t need any help,” Darleen said, placing her meaty hands on her wide hips. “They step out of line again, I’ll put an end to all of them.”
“Is that why you called me, Darleen?” Scorch said, “to show me how you were going to put an end to them?”
“Well …” Darleen’s eyes drifted away. She tried to speak but her lips were seamed together.
“So Kam, greet your former master, from whom I’ve managed to bargain your freedom. Yes, you owe me again.” He winked. “Please, go ahead and introduce yourself.”
The man walked over and gently touched her face with icy fingers. She cringed.
“Hello Kam,” the man said with a harsh accent, “call me Master Sidebor.” His eyes locked on hers. Serve and live.
9
“Just say the word. Say the word,” Boon said. The older man stood by Fogle’s side, adorned in a see-through suit of mystic blue plate armor. A pair of glimmering blades of magic pulsated in his hands. His hard eyes were wild like fire. “This’ll put hair on your chest.”
Fogle was geared all the same, his armor a pale green. It wasn’t heavy, but it had heft to it and it didn’t clank when he walked. His heart pounded in his chest.
“I can see them,” he said, eyes closed. “Almost at the spot right now. Can you see them?”
“Aye, I can,” Boon said. “I can already taste their blood in my mouth. Time to kill them.”
Fogle readied his swords. Peered through the black Dimension Door. This is crazy!
Boon nodded and dashed through.
Fogle took a breath and jumped in right after.
In a flash, they went from one part of the Outland to another. Bright sunlight greeted them, casting shadows over the backs of a dozen underlings.
One in the back turned just in time to catch Boon’s blade through its chest. The next that turned lost its throat.
Sling!
“Keep swinging until they die or flee,” Boon roared, ramming his mystic blade through one chest and another.
Fogle froze.
“Attack, Fogle! Attack! I cannot do this alone!”
Fogle rose his blades and charged, yelling at the top of his lungs.
In an instant, the underlings spread out, their jagged teeth filled with angry chitters. A pair in dark leather armor, small bucklers and wavy swords flanked him. Fogle chopped, shearing through one’s sword and arm.
It howled, watching black-red blood erupt from its arm.
Zip! Zip! Zip!
Tiny crossbow bolts zinged off his armor. Fogle threw up his arms and stumbled back.
“They can’t hurt you, Fool! Fight!” Boon yelled. Fogle didn’t hear anything.
The underlings pressed. Necklaces of tiny bones and metals jangled. Blades flashed and crashed into his armor. They hit his belly, head and legs. How many times he didn’t know. One squeezed his legs together. The other knocked him over, stabbing at his face.
“No!” Fogle screamed, flailing his arms. The mystic swords he’d formed were gone. He flailed with weaponless fists. Blow after blow the underlings hammered at him. Gemstone eyes glittered with hate. Claws ripped at his mystic helmet. It felt like the weight of the entire underling army was on him. Exhausted, he gasped for breath.
The underling chittered in his face. Jabbed a dagger at his eyes. The blow skidded off his face but he felt it.
Think, Fogle. Think. They cannot hurt you!
He willed a dagger into his hand. A sharp blade of green fire erupted in his palm. He slammed it between the underling’s ribs.
It lurched upward. Its knife fell loose from its grip. Fogle struck again.
Zing!
An ear came off, exposing the skull. It howled and caught a sharp jab in the belly.
A pair of underlings jumped on his arms. Another appeared over Fogle’s head with a big rock. Its wiry arms brought it down full force.
Crunch!
Fogle’s Mystic Armor splintered and cracked.
The underlings chittered in triumph and brought the rock down again and again.
Flecks of green metal splintered off and dissipated in the air.
“Boon!” Fogle screamed.
The rock came down again.
Crack!
The green shield over his eyes was gone. Underling claws dug into his arms like knives.
Up the rock went and down it started.
A bright blue blade cut the underling’s arms off at the elbows. Blood sprayed the air. Underlings screamed.
Boon shoved his blade into the one hanging on Fogle’s arm through the back. Fogle summoned his energy and screamed. A full-length blade erupted from his hand. Through the underling’s spine it went.
“How are you holding up, Grandson?” Boon said.
Fogle eyed his grandfather.
The old man didn’t seem so old at all now. He’d shaved most of the white hair from his head and his beard was gone, leaving only a frosty mustache over a square jaw.
Fogle grimaced, stitching up the gash in his arm with a hook needle and biting off the thread.
“I still have my arm, no thanks to you.”
“Hah,” Boon replied. He buried his face in a stream of water. Jerked it out and shook his head like a dog. “It was exciting, now, wasn’t it?”
“I don’t know about that,” he replied. His voice echoed.
They were in a cave illuminated by the orange glow of some very strange bugs Fogle had never seen before. Boon called them Lantern Bugs. Fogle didn’t care so long as the bugs the size of his hands didn’t crawl all over him. He wasn’t fond of bugs or caves. The caves especially. They just made him think of underlings.
“Loosen up,” Boon said, rinsing the black blood of his robe in the stream. The well knitted old man was packed with the lean muscle of one half his age. “Plenty more fighting to come. Don’t overthink it. You did well.”
He’d done well not to die at least. Hours ago, he’d used Inky his ebony hawk to track down a pack of underlings. Boon had set up an ambush. Two wizards attacking twelve. Boon’d had them both cast the Infinity Armor spell.
Fogle found the entire event exhilarating and terrifying. Seconds into it, he’d been pinned down. Dying. What happened in seconds had felt like hours. His arms still trembled. Invincible or not, fighting hand to hand took great effort. His body, though hardened of late, was far from prepared for it.
“What now?” Fogle said, sticking his hand in the creek and washing the blood away. He grimaced. “Are we going to take down all the underlings a dozen at a time? It’ll take years. Decades, assuming we live.”
“But it would be fun, now, wouldn’t it?”
“No.” Fogle said. He rubbed his neck. “Can’t we just go back to the City of Three? I’ve had enough adventures to last a lifetime.”
“You don’t really feel compelled to go back there, do you? Hmm?”
Fogle didn’t reply. It wasn’t the City of Three he’d been thinking about. It was Cass. The crazy woman had abandoned him for a Dragon. Now Mood was gone and so was the beast Chongo. He felt bad. He didn’t like the thought of never seeing them again. Even Cass.
“Well, you won’t take us into the Mist?”
“Oh no,” Fogle said, eyes narrowing. “I’ve had all the Under-Bish I can handle for a lifetime.” His voice became serious. “You don’t understand, Fogle. Life is much easier up here. The world is twisted down there. Giants, the ones you saw. There are bigger. They toy with the races like rodents.”
“You survived.”
“Aye, but there’s always survivors. Just not many of our kind down there.”
Fogle wasn’t so certain he believed his grandfather. He was almost convinced Boon didn’t want to tell. And it was more likely he just wanted to kill underlings. He was so enthusiastic about that, he almost had Fogle looking forward to it.
He swatted a Lantern Bug from his sleeve.
“We can’t keep this up, Boon. The underlings will figure us out. They have plenty of magic at their disposal too. What happens when we show up and they’re waiting?”
“They’ve already ambushed us once,” Boon moaned. “Don’t be such a whimper face.”
Fogle laid his head back in the soft cool dirt with a sigh. They’d been doing more than ambushing underlings. They’d been spying on them. Taking notes. Measuring their forces. Boon said this was what he did back when. During the days when he had wielded the mantle from the mystic sack. Decades ago. Boon’s comments haunted him when he whispered, “I’ve never seen so many before. Do they now breed like rabbits?”
Fogle closed his eyes. Rested his burning wounds and aching muscles. He could hear Boon munching on nuts or something in the background. The two of them had become quite connected over the past two weeks, feeding off one another’s magic. When Fogle summoned Inky now, Boon could see through the bird’s eyes too. From the clouds above they kept watch on the underlings. Armies of them headed from the Mountains of the Underland caves and marched east toward the City of Bone. Fogle shuddered at the thought of it.
Their warriors donned the finest dark metal armor. Their weapons were jagged edges, sharp as razors. Squads, rows, columns of them traversed the harsh landscape like a black plague. There were spiders, huge and enormous. Cave dogs bigger than horses pulling chariots. Alongside the ranks, Underling Magi and Clerics walked. Some floated. What fled was hunted down and destroyed. Wherever they went, blood and death followed. What stood its ground died … horribly.
“Boon,” Fogle said, “I’m not very well versed in the military. All I’ve ever known was when it came to fighting Underlings, there were always a lot more of us than them.”
“So we have always believed.”
“Have you ever seen armies of men that big?”
“All at once?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t think. Maybe.”
“That doesn’t sound very promising”
“Some say there’s more room below the ground than above.”
Fogle propped himself up on his elbow. Boon was crunching on a Lantern Bug. The goo on his chin glowed. Ugh! I am not related to you! His stomach turned.
“Try some,” Boon suggested. “Tasty.”
Fogle sighed and resumed his thoughts. The idea of Bish being filled to the belly with underlings horrified him. He could see them pouring out of caves, sewers and every nook and cranny.
“When are we going to tell somebody what we know? Shouldn’t we have done that by now?”
“We will.”
“When? The longer we wait, the more people will die.”
“Most of them are already dead anyway.” Boon grunted and lay down. “Now try to get some sleep. We have much fighting ahead of us.”
Fogle lay back down.
If I wasn’t learning so much from you, I’d go back to Three and let you do all the fighting.
10
Creed’s grip was white knuckled on his hilts. He could see and feel everything about the underlings. Their hatred. Cruelty. How they punished men. Ripped them to shreds. There was no good in them.
He stepped in front of Corrin. He could hear the blood dripping from his soaked shirt. Moments ago, he had felt the painful bites of sharp metal jabbing through his chest. Up and down, the blades had gone. He’d not been able to stop them, nor even to scream. In agony, he had died. His entire life had flashed in front of his eyes. Every triumph. Every failure. Moments later, white fire had coursed through his body, causing even more agony as felt the burning sensation. But then he had heard his muscles and bones mending. Burning like fire. Felt the open wounds in his skin sealing. With scorching pain. Now he was back. Pure. Clean. Terrified. Angry.
He sliced his blades in front of him.
Swish! Swish!
“Come on then,” he beckoned with his blades.
The first pair advanced. They struck fast. Swords licking out in flashes.
Creed parried both.
Clang! Clang!
And opened their throats.
Slice! Slice!
Two fell and three came. Their chitters were angry. Hateful. Their efforts were muted by Creed’s speed and skill. Children wielding sticks fighting a swordsman of another kind.
He ducked. Parried. Chopped.
An underling hand came off. The fourth fell, then the fifth. The third picked up his severed hand and ran.
A circle of death surrounded him. Creed sensed every move. Every tactic. Countered and jabbed.
He lanced two hearts and ripped his blades out with gore coated to the hilt. Dark blood filled the cracks in the cobble stones. The sixth fell, and the seventh. But more and more were coming.
I can’t keep this up!
Creed’s chest burned. His arms tired. The shroud crooned inside his skull, pushing him from one new limit to the other. The eighth, ninth and tenth fell.
Something slit his back. Stabbed his shoulder.
Lightning fast strokes struck at necks beneath glittering eyes.
Underlings dove at his legs. They screeched and hung on despite his stabbing blades. Two underlings in heavy armor appeared, swinging battle axes. Three more pointed small crossbows at him.
Clatch-Zip! Clatch-Zip! Clatch-Zip!
Bolts buried themselves in his arms and shoulders.
“No!” Creed yelled.
He ducked under a battle axe. Parried another.
Clatch-Zip!
Creed lurched. A bolt buried itself in his back and burned like fire.
No!
His swings were wild. His arms like lead. The underlings swarmed him. Claws and blades ripped at his clothes, skin and armor.
“No!”
He busted one in the teeth with his hilt. Cracked another nose. A long blade slipped into his heart and it beat no more.
Not again! NOOOO!
“Creed!” A deep voice bellowed. “Creed!”
Twack! Twack! Twack! Twack!
Castle Bloodhound attacked. The small gate in the front opened and a squad of Bloodhounds in heavy armor poured out. Packs of attack dogs surged out before them.
Above them from the small parapet, archers fired with deadly accuracy. The underling ranks were dissected by the aerial attack and the bigger men in heavy armor. The ones that fought, died. The ones that didn’t, ran. The underlings were fast, but the big dogs were faster. Their jaws locked on necks, arms and legs and the Bloodhound soldiers finished them off with heavy swords and war hammers that cracked skulls and bone.
“Get them both inside!” a man ordered. He wore a steel breast plate and helmet and had a thick grey beard.
Two Bloodhounds dragged Creed’s bloody corpse over the road and inside. The others followed suit and grabbed Corrin. Someone made a sharp whistle and the panting dogs headed back through the tunnel with bloody maws panting. The door was shut. The crossbar dropped.
Mauk howled. A small dagger was jammed straight through his shoulder.
“You might hang for this, Mauk!” the grey bearded man said. “This is no time for children’s grudges!”
“I’s only following orders, Grom,” Mauk the Gatekeeper whined.
Grom ripped the dagger out and punched Mauk in the face.
Mauk howled and fell to his knees.
“That’s Lord Grom!”
“He’s dead,” Lord Grom said.
“He breathes,” a woman said. Her old voice rattled in her throat.
“I’ve no time for your games, Hag.”
“I play no games with you, Lord. Your grandson lives!”
Creed lay still. He could hear everything they said. Once again, he felt the healing white fire rushing through him from head to toe.
“Impossible!” Grom said. “He’s got gashes clean though his armor. I saw him fall. With mine own eyes. Do you dare tell me they play tricks!”
“Lord, Creed breathes, but not on my account.”
Her bracelets rattled on her bony wrists. Her breath was like putrid honey. Creed knew the hag well. An ancient woman, even when he was a child. Her frizzy hair more white than brown. His family called her Haggie, but she seemed to accept the name as if it honored her. Haggie wandered the halls like a banshee in the night warding off evil, she said. Creed always figured she was evil. ‘Never trust a woman with hair like that’, his father always said. “Nor one that eats rats, either.”
The life in Creed’s limbs returned. He sat up.
“Great Bish!” Lord Grom said, staggering back. “Creed! Is that you or is this some fiend’s trick?”
“It’s me, Grandfather.” He groaned and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I live.”
Lord Grom pulled out a dagger. Pointed it at his chest.
“Open it!”
Creed jerked back.
“Grandfather, open what?”
“Let me see those wounds. I need to see if you are a man or a wraith.”
Creed slid out of his blood-soaked armor and dropped it on the floor. There were white scars that hadn’t been there before. He coughed and spat blood.
Haggie poked him with her crooked fingers.
Grom’s hard green eyes were filled with wonder.
“He’s a regener,” the hag said. “A great gift.” She tugged at the scraggly hairs on her chin. “But I don’t recall him ever mending ‘fore. This swordsman been cut many times. Several times I’ve stitched him, I have.”
“A regener?” Lord Grom said. He slid his dagger back inside his sheath. “I’ve heard about that. A great gift indeed. Is this true, Creed? How long have you known?”
“Uh,” Creed started, scratching his ear. He’d kept the nature of the armament a secret from everyone in his family. He couldn’t trust most of them. Only Corrin and Lorda knew. But there was no explanation for what happened to him either. A regener? Go with it, Creed. “I noticed this healing a few weeks ago when I was sparring with some Royals. I got clipped good. But I only bled for a second.”
“Hah!” Grom said, slapping him on his shoulders. “You Ducker of Death! My own Grandson. Leave us, Haggie, and send for some wine. And not a word of this. Too many Bloodhounds might envy his blood.”
Haggie scowled at him.
“I don’t converse with you mutt-lovers.” She jerked her raggedy robes. “I’ll tend to the rest of the wounded. Fetch your own wine, Hounds.” Teetering through the door, she snickered and slammed it closed.
Creed swayed through the halls of Castle Bloodhound, humming a dark tune. At his side, a tall shaggy grey hound followed. He bumped into a table, hiccupped, and steadied himself against the walls.
“I don’t remember these walls moving?”
Castle Bloodhound was nothing like Castle Almen. There was no marble. No great magnificent halls. The heavy plank floors creaked in some spots and the wooden beams above showed cobwebs and dust. The paint on the plaster walls was chipped and most of the furniture was covered in dogs. Urchins, young and old, scurried from one room to another, bowing as they passed.
Creed found the door to his quarters and depressed the thumb handle.
“Aw, not his again.”
He knocked softly.
“Lorda,” he said. “Lorda Almen? Will you please let me in?”
A deadbolt scraped against the wood and metal on the other side and the door swung open.
He had one foot in when a delicate hand shoved him in the chest.
“No more dogs,” Lorda said.
“But that’s Marnx. He protects—”
“None,” she fired back.
“Oh, alright then.” He looked down at the big dog. It had already lain down along the hall. “Good beast.”
The room was large and well furnished, with a four-poster bed. The furniture was well crafted but nothing exquisite. Lorda Almen took a seat in front of a vanity. She started combing her silky black hair. She looked magnificent in her white cotton gown.
Creed combed his fingers through his long reddish hair.
“How has your evening been, Lorda Almen?”
“Please don’t call me that.”
“What?”
“Lorda or Almen. Just call me Katherine,” she said, dabbing her wrists with perfume.
“Oh,” he said, staggering forward. “I like that, Katherine.”
She turned and held out her hand.
He came closer.
“Nothing. I just wanted to smell what you were wearing.”
“Well, you smell like a sweaty dog.” She shooed him away. “And you look horrible. Like you’ve not slept in days. Get in the tub. The bath’s ready.”
“Uh … alright.”
Creed unbuckled his sword belt and tossed it to the floor. His trousers were caked in blood and the Shroud tucked under his arm. He looked inside the hood, shaking his head. What is this that I have? Can I not die now? He slipped the bracers off and tossed them in the corner.
“Here,” Lorda said, tossing him a bar of soap. “Don’t be stingy with it either. This entire place needs burning down, it stinks so.”
He made his way over to the tub, slipped out of his trousers, and in he went. The water was warm and smelled good.
“Ah,” he moaned. He glanced at Lorda. He would call her Katherine, if that was what the lady wanted, but to him she would always be Lorda. Her back was still turned to him. He started scrubbing. For two weeks, he’d been in and out. When he was in, Lorda had barely noticed him. When he slept, he did it on the floor, not in his own bed. Exhausted and tipsy, he felt delighted she’d shown him this much attention. Everything about the woman was incredible. He wanted her. I think I’d die for a peek inside those robes. “My, this feels good, Lorda, er, I mean Katherine.”
He rinsed his chest off with a jug of water. Fingered the white scars. Blast, that hurt! He eyed the armament lying on the floor. He’d been a killing machine for days. He’d blindsided dozens of underlings, but tonight he’d fallen in over his head. All his speed and skill hadn’t been enough to overcome their numbers, yet the shroud hadn’t allowed him to leave. It had scared him. I can’t let that happen again!
A towel hit him in the face.
“Have you finished cleansing yourself?” Lorda made her way over to the bed and sat down. She crossed her sensuous legs.
“Er … well, yes, but I thought I’d soak awhile.”
She had a hungry twinkle in her eye. “You can soak, or you can come over here and lie down. You look tired, Creed.” She patted the bed.
Creed swallowed hard. He popped out of the tub, dried himself off, and wrapped the towel around his waist. He made his way to her. Thirsting.
“Lie down and keep silent.”
He did as he was told.
Lorda blew out most of the candles, crawled over the bed, straddled his waist, and disrobed.
Creed’s heart thundered in his chest.
“You are—”
“Not a word,” she said. Her soft body shuddered with passion. “Not a word.”
“I want you to stay in the castle, Creed,” Lord Grom said, stuffing steak and eggs in his mouth. “It’s too dangerous out there, with or without your gift. What if they cut your head off and ate it. Burned you on a stake. Scattered your ashes to the Four Winds of Bish, hm? You won’t be coming back from that now, will you.”
Creed sat at the dining room table and tossed strips of steak fat to the dogs. Even after his silent night of passion with Lorda, he was as restless as a wild man. Still, his grandfather made a good point. Everyone dies and it’s always ugly when they do. His father had told him that.
“We have to join the fight, Grandfather. We can’t be neutral about this. The underlings aren’t Royals. They’re a different kind of evil.”
Lord Grom slurped milk from a wooden tankard and burped. He wiped his beard with his meaty forearm.
“Maybe so, but Bloodhounds don’t rush into trouble. We do the Royals’ dirty work. We track, kidnap, murder, spy. We do what we’re paid to. We’re not paid to fight their war. Stay in. Stay on course. This house can’t afford to lose its finest warrior.” He thumped his chest with his fist and burped again. “The daylight is still ours.”
“What?” Creed said. “They don’t fear the light, Grandfather! They take a piece of this city each and every night. Day will follow. You’ll see. What will we do then?”
Lord Grom stood up and slammed his fist down.
“Let the Royals handle it! You stay in, and that’s an order!”
11
“Stay at my back!” Venir said as he sliced the dwarven axes back and forth, backing alongside Melegal. “I don’t know what to expect from these things.”
The arachnamen came at them. Their faces were as fierce as rabid dogs.
Venir advanced. Chopped his axe into the face of his first aggressor. Pulverized another one’s skull. Though fierce, the creatures were no match for his size and strength.
“Taste my metal, bugs!”
Glitch! Hack! Hack!
Arms, legs, and guts filled the air. The dirt was sticky with blood. Venir hammered away at the strange monsters. Limbs fell from torsos. Blood streaked across the white sky.
“Come on!” he beckoned.
A small spear buried itself in Venir’s shoulder. He dropped one axe and ripped out the spear.
“Yer gonna need a bigger toothpick!”
He pinned the little monster to the ground. Snatched up his axe and fought like a wild man.
Towering over the partmen part-insects, Venir hewed into them with all his might. They reminded him of underlings. They stunk like evil things that scurried and snatched victims in the night. Venir roared. He crossed his axes over his chest and swung outward.
Slice! Slice! Chop!
An arachnaman’s head popped off its shoulders. Venir kicked. Stomped. Screamed. They stabbed and slashed. Venir batted away their attacks with his heavier blades. He was a great man among fiendish children.
The hoots crescendoed and hit a high pitch. The ranks of the creatures scurried back and blew web bubbles that drifted through the air.
Venir took a sharp breath and clutched the pain in his side. He was bleeding everywhere.
“Melegal,” he said, turning around.
The skinny thief shoved a dead monster off himself. His eyes were murder and steel.
“I hope you killed all of them,” he managed to say. “Uck!” He rubbed the bloody goo off his hand in the dirt. Nearby, an arachnaman tried to run on four legs. Melegal jammed a blade in its back and ripped it out. He adjusted his cap with his scrawny chest heaving. “Nasty things.”
The immediate area fell silent. Dozens of black eyes had them surrounded.
Melegal stood shoulder to shoulder with Venir.
“Did you scare them?”
Venir grunted.
Slowly, in step, he and Melegal backed away.
The arachnamen began hooting a strange dreary chant.
“Well, they sing better than you at least,” Melegal said.
Ahead, the arachnamen parted, leaving a large gap.
“Is that for us?” Melegal said, turning away. “I’m getting Haze.”
The ground trembled.
“Eh?”
Venir watched the ground ahead of them sink into itself, leaving a hole in the dirt. Two black antennae popped up over the edge. The face of a giant arachnaman emerged. Crawling out of the hole, it towered over Venir and Melegal. So big it was, Venir could almost run beneath it.
Melegal sucked in through his teeth and said, “Slat! What is that? You take him, can’t you?”
The giant-sized arachnaman raised an enormous trident over its head and bellowed a long loud hoot at them. It wiggled the back of its tail that rattled. Its large black eyes shone with intelligence and cunning. The fangs in its mouth were like razors.
Venir pulled back his shoulders. He’d killed big spiders before, but this was different. And he’d had the armament then.
“Fight or die,” he mumbled.
Go away! Go away! Go away!
Melegal summoned the power in his cap. Nothing happened. The tired bones in his body that had ached now throbbed even more.
He twisted the ring on his finger. The one from Sefron’s lair in Castle Almen. He shook his head. The giant monster was the ghastliest thing he’d ever seen. Hairy. Scary. I bet they were going to feed Haze to that thing.
The smaller arachnamen closed the circle and scooted back, forming an arena and hooting bubbles.
Evil things want a show!
“Any ideas, Venir?”
“Don’t let him stab you with the trident. It’ll probably kill you.”
“Aside from that, Arsehole?”
Venir shrugged his huge shoulders.
“You go for the back, I’ll go for the belly.”
“Whenever you’re—”
Venir let out a fierce bellow, raised his axes and charged.
Like that’s going to scare it!
Rushing headlong, full speed, the monster brought down the trident in a flash. Venir skidded to a stop. The center tip of the trident jabbed the ground inches in front of his booted toe. Venir spun around the metal head and sprang at the nearest leg. He chopped into the hairy exoskeleton.
The giant archnaman screeched. Its giant hand flattened Venir to the ground.
“Oof!”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the trident flash in the sunlight. Up it went. Down it came. He rolled left. Sprang right. Above him, the monster stabbed furiously at the ground. Venir hacked a piece of one foot off. Dug the dwarven metal deep behind the knee of another. The giant arachnaman snatched him up like a doll and slammed him into the ground. Dark spots formed in his eyes. His breath was gone from his chest. He took a wild swing.
Swish!
The giant arachnaman swung the trident into his side, skipping him across the dirt. Blinking grit from his eyes, Venir caught the gleam of the trident’s sharp tip in the sun. He sat up on his knees, axes hanging at his sides. Exhausted, he raised his chin up.
“Go ahead,” he said, “stab me with your fork, Bug Eyes!”
It hooted and grinned.
Melegal stabbed the monster’s hide. Chopped into its girth. Slashed its legs. He barely skinned it.
What’s this thing made of?
He dashed between its legs and poked its belly.
It must have a weakness. I’m no more than a flea to it.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Venir kneeling on the ground. Yelling.
Always has something to say, even on the worst of days. Slat! If he dies, I will as well.
He dropped his swords, latched his fingers around one of the giant arachnaman’s legs, and summoned the power from Sefron’s ring.
The monster’s eyes bulged from their sockets. The giant arachnaman jerked and contorted. Its trident fell from its grasp. It staggered in a circle on eight wobbly legs. The black hairs on its chest sizzled as it staggered.
Venir scrambled over the dusty ground and picked up the oversized trident. Grasping it in both hands, he summoned all the strength left in him. The monster staggered back into his path. Chest exposed. Reeling. Venir charged with everything he had.
“AAAARGH!”
He rammed the trident deep into the monster’s belly.
GLITCH!
Arms bulging, legs churning, he pushed it in deep and deeper.
The monster rocked and reeled. It spewed bloody gobs of web from its mouth. Its eyes locked on Venir. Its big hand lashed out.
Swat!
Venir flipped head over heels into the dirt. He scrambled up to his knees. His chest was burning and pain filled his sight.
“Die, Son of a Bish!”
The monster ripped the trident from its belly and raised it high over its head. Furious, it slung it at Venir.
He dove. The weapon scraped over his shoulders. Venir darted for his axes with the giant arachnaman bearing down on top of him. Its belly oozed and its lips spittled gobby goo. Venir swung hard into its outstretched arms, tearing a chunk off it. The creature squealed like a wild pig. Its legs gave out and it sank to the ground.
Finish it!
Venir climbed on its back and sank his axe brain deep in its head.
Chok! Chok! Chok!
It moved and twitched no more.
He hopped off its back and searched for Melegal. The thief was covered in dirt and webs. All of the other arachnamen were gone.
“I took care of them,” Melegal said, picking webs off his sword. He spat. “Bone! Spiders and their webbing.” He cleared his throat. “Glad to see that you came through on your part as well.”
Venir grunted a laugh and ambled over. He knew Melegal had done no such thing.
“Well then,” he said, “perhaps we should comb their holes for some treasure then.”
Melegal stiffened. “I’m quite satisfied above the ground.”
Venir saw him toying with the ring on his finger.
“Since when did you start wearing jewelry?”
“When did you find your humor again?” Melegal said. He ambled over to Haze. “I thought you lost it in Bone.”
The grave was shallow. A pile of dirt with a rock marker behind the shade of some rocks.
“Me …” Venir said, frowning.
“I don’t want to hear it,” Melegal said. “We all make choices that we live and die with. I just wish she would have gotten to see that city.” He looked at Venir and put his cap back on. “It had better be better than Bone.”
12
Master Sinway’s heart was iron. His hatred molten steel. His clawed fingers dug into the metal on his throne. He ground the teeth inside his jaws. Two oversized cave dogs lay at his feet. Mangy and muscled. A pair of Vicious, black, hulking and cat-like, stood behind his throne. His powerful voice spoke.
“Port!”
An underling woman appeared from the nearest chamber. The grace of a gazelle. Supple and exotic figure between her gossamer robes. Long hair white as snow. She kneeled on the dais and held a full goblet of port above her head.
Master Sinway took it to his lips and drank. With a chit, he dismissed her.
“Hmmm,” he said. “I wonder what damage our women could reap on the surface world.”
Master Sinway’s castle was huge. A marvel as big as the castles in Bone but carved out of stone. Pewter chandeliers hung more than fifty feet above. Green flames burned forever on their candles.
Sinway drank and contemplated. The finest forces from the Underland had been turned loose on Bish. The success had been swift. Their path full of devastation. Still, the City of Bone bothered him. The keys were lost. The Chamber of Transportation gone. His finest servants had perished. Master Kierway, one of his finest sons, had fallen. Lords Catten and Verbard, two of his greatest servants ever, had perished. And there was no word of The Darkslayer. It made him worry.
He took a long swallow.
The thorn in their side for years had all but disappeared. Yet something deadly still struck in the night. It gave the City of Bone but little hope. However, even the slightest thread of hope could be deadly. Can’t let the humans rally.
Using the Current, he loaded ships with chests and barrels filled with gold, silver, gemstones and port. The underlings didn’t have the same kind of love for precious things as men did. They found a different sort of value in their baubles. Men would turn on one another for them. But if every man could be bribed, Master Sinway’s mission would be all too easy. More than enough of them could that it would slow the City of Bone’s defenses further.
“Let them soak in tubs of port and shower in metal sprinkles. Soon the streets will be rich in their blood.” He finished his drink. “Once we have the city, we’ll control the Everwells and all of Bish will be mine.”
“No,” a voice said, “it will be ours.”
The cave dogs were up on their feet growling.
The hulking Vicious swung to Sinway’s sides. Eyes alert. Claws barred.
“Oh, it seems I have a visitor,” Master Sinway said, setting down his goblet. He smoothed back his black hair. Rubbed the rat-like hair on his arms. “Kill it.”
Blink.
The Vicious and Cave Dogs disappeared.
Sinway rose from his throne.
“You dare!” he hissed. His iron eyes burned with fire. His nails flared with red heat. “Human!”
A tall man with long blond hair and blazing blue eyes stood in front of him with his arms crossed over his white robes. His smile was white as pearls.
“I’m no human, Underling. I’m Scorch.”
“You’re dead,” Sinway said, pointing his arms and summoning his power. Tendrils of red lightning exploded from his fingertips, blasting Scorch full force in the chest. The red lightning passed through and winked away without a sizzle.
Scorch dusted his chest off and with anger in his eyes. “Have a seat, Master Sinway, if you want to live.”
13
Evening came early to the Magi Roost and half the tables were filled. A lot of new faces sauntered in over dusty clothes, eager to fill themselves after long travel. The City of Three, large but formerly private and peaceful, had been invaded by desperate people fleeing from the underling hordes in the South. There were even a few half-orcs among them.
Georgio bussed a table just as a rugged bunch of hard cases sat down.
“Ale, Boy!” a man with an eye patch growled.
Georgio nodded and moved on, choking back the urge to slug the man in the jaw. He pushed through the swinging door and into the kitchen. Brak stood with his sleeves rolled up, scraping dishes off into a barrel. He nodded at him. Set the pile of dishes down.
Brak, heavy eyed, nodded with a frown.
No one was saying much of anything. Not after what happened with Scorch. The man had boiled their guts. It had been terrifying. Excruciating. Georgio had never been so scared before in his life. Being able to heal like he could, he hadn’t thought he’d ever be scared of anything again. He headed back out to the common room but stopped at the door, looking it over. He sighed.
All of the travelers and dirty faces he wasn’t accustomed to. Not in the City of Three where the people took care of themselves. Without the usual patronage of magi and dwarves, the Magi Roost was a different place. And the pretty girls weren’t as pretty anymore either. Mercy was always tired, no, exhausted. They barely spoke to one another. Even Joline’s bright eyes were saggy. Kam was the worst of all. Her eyes had black rings under them. And she moved around like she was hexed by a spell. Where’s Vee?
“Get out of the way, Georgio!”
He turned. Jubilee stood with a tray of hot food, tapping her foot. The young girl was small, but always spry and mouthy. He grabbed her tawny head of hair and tussled it.
“I’m telling Darleen,” she said.
“No, no,” he said, squatting down and squeezing her shoulder. “Please don’t.”
“Hmmm,” Jubilee said, eyeing the roof, “she doesn’t like you fooling around so much. She thinks you’re fat and lazy as it is. So do I, for that matter. Oh Darleen—”
Georgio clamped his hand over her mouth.
“Please, please don’t do that.” He reached into his pocket and showed her a silver talent. Slowly, he removed his hand.
“I want two.”
“Two?”
“Oh Dar—”
“Two it is,” he said, reaching back into his pocket, “and not another word of this.” He dropped the coins on the tray.
She laughed at him, walking away saying, “Georgio, you’re so stupid.”
He shot a look at Brak. His thick shoulders hopped up and down in laughter.
“I hate your little friend,” he said to Brak.
“Good, she hates you too,” Brak replied.
Jubilee reminded Georgio of Lefty a little. Small-framed and light-headed. He’d forgotten whatever it was he was angry at Lefty for. A sad feeling overcame him. After what Scorch had done to him, it seemed even less likely he’d ever see the halfling again. Lefty would teach her a thing or two.
Georgio left and took a seat on a small stool behind the bar, where Kam took the orders and Billip filled them. The men that came and went were always gawking at Kam. It never used to be that way, but now one crass comment came after the other.
“You sure are pretty.”
“I’ve never seen such beautiful red hair before.”
“How about a peek under that blouse of yours, Red?”
Kam’s mannerisms handled it well and what she couldn’t handle Billip did and what he couldn’t handle Darleen did. The husky woman had thrown more than one patron out on occasion, saying, ‘Lookin’s fine, fellas, but yer taking it far past that, and this ain’t that kind of place!’
Georgio took a quick glance down at the end of the bar. Master Sidebor sat in Scorch’s seat. Unlike Scorch, he didn’t ask for stacks of pickles and plates of cheese. Just a clear goblet of dark red wine. He sat with his back against the wall and his glowing red eyes now and again peering out from under his dark hood. Sidebor’s presence left a cold feeling inside Georgio. His lithe presence was unnatural.
“Georgio,” Kam said, shooting him a look. She was still pretty, even when aggravated. “Get your arse up. There’s a table that needs bussing in the corner and Darleen just rounded the stair well.”
Georgio snatched up his tray, waited, and slipped behind Darleen’s back as soon as she went by.
“Where’s that dirty mop-headed boy?” Darleen said to Billip.
“He’s bussing,” Billip said. He poured a tankard and pushed it over to Darleen. Cracked his knuckles. “Got piles of plates in the corners. I’m keeping them busy. All of them.”
“You better be,” Darleen said. She grabbed the tankard and eyed Kam. “You better be as well.”
“I am,” Kam said, offering a short smile. “How are you today?”
Darleen’s brows perched.
“You look well,” Kam continued. “I think Master Sidebor has a seat for you.”
Darleen spied the corner, her beady eyes narrowing like a little animal’s. She huffed and said, “Don’t toy with me, Kam.” With her mug, she walked away and seated herself with some patrons.
“Interesting,” Billip said in her ear. “I don’t think our wilderness woman cares for him.”
Kam grabbed a half-moon Muckle Sap bottle from the table, poured a small glass, and drank it down. The delicious spiced nectar warmed her belly with a honey flavor and a hint of cinnamon liquid. She eyed Sidebor and then Billip. “Can’t say I blame her.”
Billip moved on, preparing another order. More people were pressing up to the bar. Kam shouted back to the kitchen. “Nikkel, get out here and help us.”
In seconds, Nikkel appeared wearing a dark apron over his broad shoulders. His smile was a welcome sight. He was the only one that still smiled anymore.
“What are you smiling for?” Kam said, smiling a little herself.
“Father always said, ‘Smile and everyone will think things are alright.’”
“Mikkel said that?”
“All the time,” he said, moving on.
“That’s what Venir used to say,” she whispered. Her stomach knotted. She felt more lonely now than ever. She untied her apron and yelled in the back. “Joline, get up here. I need to check on Erin.”
Joline appeared through the door. Her hair was pulled back and her pie face was sweating. She grabbed Kam’s apron and tied it on.
“Oh, look there,” Billip said, smiling at Joline, “my favorite flower appears, and a dandy one at that.”
“Oh, hush, you,” Joline said, blushing. “You better keep those busy hands on the customers and not on me.”
“I’ll try to check myself, but I make no promises,” he said, refilling a mug.
Joline grabbed Kam’s elbow. “Take your time. I can handle things down here.” She looked at Darleen. “I can handle Badger Face if she starts up.”
“Alright,” Kam said. She slipped from behind the bar and headed up the stairs. Into her tiny little room she went.
Mercy sat on a small wooden chair, rocking the small cradle and yawing. “She’s starting to stir,” she said, smiling a little. “Getting fussy.”
“Thanks,” Kam said. She picked Erin up out of the cradle. “Why don’t you go and fix yourself some coffee? You looked tired.”
“No,” Mercy said, getting up and heading for the door. “I’m fine, but I think you could use some. I’ll be back.”
Kam sat down in the little chair and bounced Erin on her knees. The little girl was always happy. Whatever had happened in the Nest didn’t seem to have a lasting effect on her. Kam swore she’d never let anything like that ever happen again.
“No one is ever going to take my baby from me. Not ever again.”
The apartment door popped back open.
“That was fast,” Kam said, keeping her eyes on Erin.
The door closed again.
A chill crawled between her shoulders. She looked up and gasped. Master Sidebor stood inside the door facing her. His ruby-red eyes locked on hers. Erin started crying.
She got out of the chair and pulled Erin tightly to her.
“What are you doing here?” she said with a quavering voice. “Get out of here!”
“Time to serve, Kam,” Sidebor said, stepping closer.
“No,” she argued. “Scorch said he paid my debt.”
Sidebor chuckled. He reached over and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand.
“Your debt is paid when I say it’s paid.”
The door slammed shut. The deadbolt latched into place.
14
“Get up there, Halfling!”
Lefty shot an angry look downward. A wart-nosed dwarf stood at the bottom of the rock face he was scaling. One hand on his armored hip, the dwarf shook a pick axe at him.
“Don’t come back empty or I’ll crack your skull open.”
“I’m going!” Lefty dug his tiny fingers into the crevices and heaved himself up higher. He hissed through his teeth. “Blasted Wart Face.”
“I heard that! That’ll be another day in the Gruell for you.”
“Who’ll fetch your eggs then?” Lefty said.
The dwarf fell silent.
Hah!
Lefty ascended the steep rock face until the ground below him was no more. He was miles outside the City of Hohm, deep in the belly of its misty forests. It was a wonder anything grew there, but odd plant life thrived. Bright green mosses covered the ground and rocks. Wheat colored grasses grew. Strange birds nestled in the jagged multicolored spade-leafed trees.
He felt a tug at his belt. The Wart Nosed dwarf below had him tethered.
Impatient as he is ugly!
Lefty jerked the rope. Felt the resistance on the other end. Grunted.
Scorch had banished him. In a blink, he had traveled from one edge of Bish to the other, having no idea where he was when he appeared. In a ramshackle tavern. Surrounded by dwarves the likes he never knew existed. Wart-nosed. A surly and smelly lot. He hadn’t even seen their kind in the Thieves’ Nest below the City of Three. They were broader and taller. Beards shorter and their uni-brows were as bushy as their beards. Their noses were big and their eye sockets wide circles. They weren’t just gruff in their mannerisms either. They were mean.
Snatched from one evil nest and dropped into another.
Lefty hauled his lithe body up to the next ledge, sat down, and dusted off his fingers. He couldn’t see much of anything above or below him. Just some holes. Too little for a man or a fat dwarf, but not too small for a halfling. A young one. He tugged at the little hairs on his goatee. He tugged on the rope again. Felt a tug back. What a dreadful occupation.
Gully was the wart-nose below. He might have been the friendliest and stupidest of the lot. The day Lefty landed in their laps, they had teased and poked him in painful ways. They mistreated him. He could have run that very first day. But, he didn’t have anywhere to go. And, after all he’d been through with Kam, Erin and all his friends, he felt he deserved what was coming. So he’d stuck it out. Why not? Everyone has something you can learn from. Watch and Learn. Learn and live. Gillem had always said that. Melegal had said something similar. ‘Even stupid people have their tricks.’
Digging his fingers and bare toes back into the rock face, he scaled to the next ledge. It was more narrow than the last, but a hole in the crag was a few feet above it. A large nest sat on its edge.
Perfect. Get the eggs and get this over with.
He’d been fetching eggs out of the rocks for weeks. The eggs were hot items in the markets. Each was worth more than its weight in gold. They came from a rare bird, big like a condor, called a Buula. The Royals from Hohm were crazy over them. They were an odd lot so far as Lefty had experienced with Royals.
Fingers barely hanging on to the rocks, he climbed up and peeked inside the nest.
“Oh, golden,” he said. Five bright blue eggs lay there, each nuzzled against one another. One had a crack in it. “Not good.” He climbed up into the cave and took a closer look at them. “Bish, I think it’s about ready to hatch.” He touched the cracked one and stuffed it inside his pouch. “I’d better leave you for momma.” He switched it out with the others, leaving it alone by itself. He grabbed another egg and put it back, leaving two. “There, you’ll always have each other.” He shrugged. “Besides, this is more than I’ve found all week. Stupid Gully will never know.”
A soft noise pricked his ears. Something stirred deep inside the small cave. The rattle of a snake tail followed.
Snakes! Up here?
A slithering sound shocked his ears. A pair of bright green eyes came right for him.
Heart beating like a tiny hammer, he hopped over the nest and swung himself down to the next ledge.
“Whew,” he said, back pressed against the rock-face. He checked the eggs. All three were tucked safely away. He tugged the rope three times. It tugged back once. “A job well done. No Gruell tonight. Some good stew perhaps.” He patted his belly.
A rattle sounded. A rattlesnake head peeked out of the cave. It was a nasty looking thing with a large flat diamond-shaped head.
Its red tongue flickered out of its mouth.
“You missed your chance,” Lefty said, sticking his tongue out. Heart still pounding, he crawled down to the next ledge. Suddenly, his feet started sweating. The snake’s rattle got louder. He looked up.
The rattlesnake slithered down the rock face like a spider. In seconds it was right on top of him.
“Ew!” He slipped a small knife from his belt. He swung. “Back!”
Lefty hopped down to the next level, slippery toes gripping on the ledge. The snake came right after him. It was large. Six feet long and thicker than his leg. Its eyes said it wanted to make a meal of him. It slithered up the same ledge, coiled its head back, and struck.
Sssah!
Quick as a mongoose, Lefty dodged. He lost his grip on the rock and grabbed it again. The small knife fell from his fingers.
The snake struck again.
It missed his toes by an inch.
Move, Lefty, move! He was quick. Quicker than snakes. He’d trapped them as a boy. But not hanging from a wall or standing on a ledge inches wide. Facing the rock, he slid along the ledge as far and fast as he could. The snake was right on top of him when he ran out of ledge.
Oh no!
He could see the venom dripping from its fangs. It curled back to strike.
A bird cry filled his ears. A Buula appeared. It was as big as Lefty. Face like a hawk with blue feathers in its brown wings. It snatched the snake off the ledge with its claws, flapped its great wings, and clipped him with its beak.
“Whoa!” he cried out, losing his balance. His toes slipped. His fingers clutched at the rocks. He fell, bouncing down the rocks. Fingers and toes dug. Reached. Clutched. He slowed but didn’t stop. He landed hard.
When he looked up again, windless, Gully was standing over him, scratching the black wart on his nose.
“Let me see what you got.”
Groaning, Lefty opened up his pouch. All the eggs were broken, the young birds inside dead.
Gully growled and drew back his fist.
“It’s the Gruell for you.”
Wop!
15
The suns set behind the city walls of Bone and Creed tucked himself away in the shadows. The past few days inside Castle Bloodhound had been agonizing. He couldn’t sleep. He paced the floor. Lorda had ignored him, adding confusion to his tension.
A cat scurried by. Stopped and looked at him. It padded underneath his feet. He nudged it with his boot.
“Shoo.”
Leaning against the wall, he listened. Wait. All around the town, doors were shut. Locked. Windows boarded up again only to be opened up by morning. The dusk was the quietest time he’d ever known. These were the times he had enjoyed the most. Strolling the streets at night. Moving from one tavern to another with his comrades and tasting different wines. The life he’d known was gone.
He rubbed the pommels of his swords. Took a soft breath. Checked the cowl around his neck. Not yet. The shroud was a problem. Once he put it on, a bloodlust was soon to follow. He’d had some time to think about that. He’d fought too many enemies at once and had gotten killed for it. He couldn’t let that happen again.
He made his way through the streets and followed a flight of steps to the top of a four-story building. At the top, a stone deck housed gardens. Small trees and large stone planters. Bushes and flowers were lined up in benches and rows. His mother had liked to take him here when he was young, but she was gone now. The circumstances of her demise he’d never understood.
He took a spot underneath a tree and propped his back up against the wall. From there he could see the Castle Road that ran the length of the Western Wall. He could just barely make out the banner of Castle Bloodhound in the distance. He chuckled. Despite Lord Grom’s efforts, he always found a way out. Every castle had secrets. Many forgotten. But curious boys have ways of discovering things that others easily miss.
He took the pack off his shoulders and opened it up. The Mystic Sack was in there. Some food as well. Hard fruits and bread chips. A flask of water hung on his hip. He ate. Eyed the streets. Royal Soldiers on horseback clopped up and down Castle Road making checks at all the Castle Gates. There were squads of them. All in plate mail armor that gleamed in the moonlight. He could hear their soft voices speaking, but was too far away to comprehend. The horses nickered and then moved on.
Creed packed his food away and took one last swallow of water. He was sweating like he’d woken up from a nightmare. His fingers tingled. That dreadful feeling overtook him. He rubbed the strange metal on his bracers. I should be dead now. Something had brought him back from the threshold of life and death. The armament and its great power. Still, he could feel the blades and spears sliding into his guts between his ribs. He didn’t want to go through that again. Ever. Are you mad, Creed!
He rubbed the cowl on his neck. The cloth was heavy and well knit. He could feel the ornate stitching with his fingertips. Great power is hard to control. That’s why the Royals are so corrupt. That’s how Bloodhounds like us take advantage of them. That was what his father had said. He rubbed his clammy hands. He had to control the power he had. If he didn’t, he’d get killed again. Get it together, Creed. One underling at a time. One at a time. Not a dozen.
The city was as quiet as it had ever been over the next hour. The higher the moons rose, the more a prickly sensation took over. A murmuring rose from outside the City Walls of Bone, where the people sang and chanted at night. Thousands of voices crying out for sanctuary. Mercy. The royal gates were closed. No one came in. No one went out. All the food supplies were under heavy guard. Commerce had all but stopped.
We can’t keep living like this! Cowardly Royals!
He checked the moons. Hmmm. No Royal patrol had passed in hours. That’s strange.
Clop. Clop. Clop.
A squad of soldiers on horseback traveled south in his direction. They were in a box formation with a small group of people guarded in the middle. The people were covered in robes from head to toe and they were slight in stature. They didn’t move like men either. Creed gripped the edge of the terrace and peered over.
Those aren’t men.
He darted over the garden roof and back down the stairs. From the alley he took a closer look. They looked like grey ghosts. Their gait fluid. Hands and feet hidden. Underlings. Has to be. But why?
Two dozen paces away, Creed crept along the storefronts and apartments. A soldier in the rear stopped and looked back. Creed pressed himself against the wall, moved again when the soldier turned away.
A fire brewed inside him. What are they doing? Where are they going? Were they underlings or not? He slipped the shroud over his head. The crooning started. His hands fell to his hilts. He moved closer. He could smell them. Hear their heartbeats in his head. Evil oozed from them like sap. No! It can’t be!
He stepped off the porch and onto the street. Control it, Creed. Control it! Sword pommels throbbed in his hands. He got closer. The host of Royal Soldiers stopped in front of Castle Kling.
Creed released his pommels. Slipped back onto the porch and into the shadows. The large gate doors to Castle Kling opened and the soldiers marched the underlings inside. Quickly, the gate sealed shut behind them.
The crooning stopped. Creed dropped his hood, but his heart pounded in his head.
If the Klings are in cahoots with the underlings, who else might be?
He slunk back into the alley and took a new path back to Castle Bloodhound. He needed to tell Lord Grom what he’d seen. But would that be enough to convince him? How do I know he’ll believe me? I’ll just convince him. Oh, but he’ll be furious that I was out here spying on them. But if not me, then who?
He rounded the next corner and found himself face to face with an underling. Its wide eyes were yellow gemstones. Its guard was down. Creed cracked it in the face with his fist. It jumped back. Pulled a curved dagger out. Struck. Creed caught its wrist and wrenched the blade free. Twisted its arm behind its back and shoved it headfirst into the wall.
Smack!
Creed put his superior height and weight to his full advantage. The underling went face-first into the wall again.
He didn’t hold back his fury.
Blood smeared the wall. Creed flung the corpse aside like a doll. There was another body in the alley. A young woman’s eyes were frozen toward the sky, her throat opened. He kneeled down and closed her eyes.
“I hate underlings.”
Chitters echoed down the alley. Bright eyes appeared. He started to pull the shroud up and stopped. Control, Creed. Control! They’ve already seen you anyway. He slid out the blades, which were now edged extensions of his hands. Dark. Deadly. He counted five underlings coming down the alley. He widened his stance. Lowered his chin.
Chitters and steel came.
He stabbed a black heart.
Slit a throat.
His blades became a bloody whirlwind.
Chop! Chop! Chop! Chop!
A face split.
Skulls cracked open.
An underling’s arm dangled by the tendons. It took a wild swing with its other blade.
A hand flew. A stump spurted blood.
Creed watched it sag into the alley and die, glowing blue eyes wide. Chest heaving, he took a breath. “That’s more like it.” He checked his cloak. Leather armor. There was a gash through the clothes and leather. He rubbed it. Checked the blood on his fingers. “I’ll live.” He kicked an underling aside and headed back down the alley toward Castle Bloodhound.
He winded through the alleys, left, right, left. He came to a stop midway down the next one. A rumble of chitters started. A pair of underling eyes popped open, followed by another then another. Creed set his stance. A dozen more pairs of eyes appeared. An angry wave of evil came right at him.
Blast! Too many!
He ran back in the direction he’d come from.
Another wave of underlings cut him off.
Blast!
He donned the shroud.
16
Fogle held his nose with one hand. Swatted at flies with the other. Death was all over. He gagged.
Boon patted him on the back.
“You shouldn’t expect to get used to it. But I’ve got a cantrip for it,” he said, lifting his bushy brows. “It works well.”
Fogle retched. Spitting bile from his mouth, he said, “I’ll take it.” Boon walked him through it and a moment later the choking stench of death was gone. He nodded.
The Outlands had many valleys. High places and low. The terrain could be as rocky as it was sandy. In this valley it was bloody.
Men were dead. Impaled. Stabbed. Blasted into bits and pieces. Charred remains covered the ground. Vultures picked at their flesh.
“Who are they?” Fogle said. He stepped over the corpse of a man in heavy desert robes. A warrior with a curved saber gripped in his pale and bloody hand. His face was split open. “There must be hundreds of them.”
“They are soldiers from the nomad cities,” Boon said. “Jungs. A proud and fierce kind. Good men. Stalwart. Strong.” He shook his head. “This is sad. Sad indeed.” He kneeled down and picked up an underling’s dagger with the hand still attached to it. He took the knife, tucked it in his belt, and tossed the hand away. “Underling steel is good steel. Never rusts. Always cuts. Humph … I imagine all the Jung families are dead by now. Unless then found sanctuary. But I don’t think there is any … anymore.”
Fogle picked his way through the valley, scattering the vultures, which he noticed were only picking at the men, not the underlings. Dead underlings were fallen as well. Plenty of them. Fallen to arrows. Spears. Axes. A ghastly sight, bright eyes gleaming in the sunlight. It was the first time Fogle had taken a long hard look at them. Even dead, they were still permeated with evil. Each was different though. Skin carvings. Brands. Short hair. No hair. Long braided hair. Pony tails. Odd jewelry in their ears and necks. Their faces were like those of men, but with a twist of evil. Merciless.
“Not so much different than us, are they? Just a little fuzzy,” Boon said. He squatted down and checked an underling’s citrine eyes. He cut one eyeball out and then the other.
Fogle cringed.
Boon looked at him, bewildered. “Taking their magic. Have we not reviewed this already?”
“That’s savage.”
“No, it’s survival. Catch!” Boon tossed the eyeball to Fogle.
He plucked it from the air. It was hard as a marble and not a drop of blood or gore was on it.
“Shouldn’t we burn them instead? Are you going to pluck the eyes out of all of them?”
Boon tossed the dagger at his feet and said, “No, you are.”
Fogle kicked it away. “I’ll do no such thing. I don’t care how much magic is in them.” He turned away.
Boon was weird and annoying. Many times hard to understand. Fogle began to believe his grandfather would go to any lengths to kill underlings. I won’t become like him. The old buzzard is crazy!
“Heh, heh,” Boon said, picking the dagger back up. “It’s not so brutal, Fogle. Not considering what they’d do to us. Bury us head first. Skin us. All while warm blood pumps through our veins. Have you not heard the screams?”
Fogle kept moving through the valley. So far as he could tell, the Jung Nomads looked formidable. Rangy men with iron muscles and sun-darkened skin. Underling magic and steel had cut through them like a hurricane. Fogle turned away from a man’s face that was melted to the sand.
“I thought the underlings buried their dead. Why are so many still here?” Fogle asked.
“Good question.” Boon rubbed his white mustache. “It seems they were in a hurry. They didn’t even stop to torment any passersby. Usually, Diggers leave a mark, but not this time. They’re moving like some sort of stampede.” His mustache twitched. “Fogle, this worries me. None of this is common of the underlings. The people of Bish will cower in their wake if they don’t stand up to them.”
“Shouldn’t that be what the Royals do? I thought you said they always handled these situations.”
“Well, they should have done something by now, but they haven’t.”
“Aren’t we going to tell the Royals about this? What are we waiting for?”
“The question begs: which Royals to tell?” Boon spat. “Their inaction stinks of treachery. They double cross one another, Fogle. Decades ago when something like this started, the Royals unified despite their differences. They sent the fiends back into their holes! Now, I’m astounded.”
Underneath the hot glare of the suns, Fogle surveyed the dead baking around him. He felt like the only ones fighting the underlings were him and Boon. The rest of Bish either hid or awaited the doom. He knew Boon was right about one thing. If the Royals were going to act, they would have acted long ago. What in Bish is going on? He looked at Boon. The old man was plucking out more eyes. Sick in the skull.
“What about the armament?”
Boon peered at him with a curious blue eye. “The what?”
“The sack. The one you had. You said it was the most powerful magic in the world.”
Boon huffed. “Sure, for fighting small forces maybe, but entire armies? It will take more than that I’d say. But that’s someone else’s problem now. We’ve got our own to deal with.”
“And what would that be?”
Boon stood up and dusted his hands on his blue robes. He looked more like a warrior than a wizard without any sleeves, his arms reddened by the sun and muscular. The straps on his sandals were loosened. Boon slid the underling’s dagger under his belt and looked right at him.
“Raising our own army.”
Fogle’s mouth fell open. His fury followed. “You’re insane!”
“It runs in the family,” Boon said with a wink.
BISH!
17
One step at a time, Melegal traversed the harsh landscape with heavy legs and mind. Haze was gone. He’d never been so attached to a woman before. She’d been far from perfect but he’d liked her, and thanks to him, she was dead.
Venir drifted by his side in great strides, arms swinging a little.
“It’s not on you, Melegal,” he said.
“What are you talking about?”
“You know what,” Venir said, looking down at him. He had a nasty gash on his cheek. His blue eyes were blazing. “Haze. She wanted to come. You brought her. And not for your own reasons but hers. It’s just a shame she didn’t make it.” He patted Melegal’s shoulder.
“What is wrong with you?” Melegal said, shifting away. “Just keep marching me to this fair city. Please. No need to communicate. I was finally getting used to your silent banter.”
He pulled his cloak tighter and flipped his hood over his head. Melegal didn’t care what Venir thought. He’d seen plenty of death in his days. He understood that it could come at any time. On any day. In any way. Does this fool think he can explain to me what I already know: that Bish sucks!
Ahead, Venir picked up his pace. His strides became longer. His arm swing was gone.
Oh great, I’ve hurt the brute’s feelings. Melegal stepped it up. His feet had already been burning against his boots. Now they also started to ache. They’d better have some foot-rubbing wenches in this hole.
He walked mile after mile, deep in thought. His life in Bone was gone, where he’d had everything. An apartment. An assignment with the Royals. A hoard of oak-aged brandy that someone else had bought. A loyal woman to top it off. At least with the Royals he knew what to expect. In the Outlands, he was lost. It’s all your fault, Venir. He stubbed his toe on a rock.
“Ouch!”
Venir came to a stop. Turned right on him. Axes strapped over his shoulders and arms crossed over his chest, he stood tall. Tawny brows buckled.
Melegal touched his cap. Slat, he’s going to turn me into kindling.
“This isn’t on me, Melegal,” he said.
“You know what.”
“No, I don’t know what. Now keep marching. I’ve places to be and no time for your blathering.”
Venir came closer.
“You aren’t going anywhere without me, but you’re welcome to try,” he growled.
Melegal spun around on his heel. There was nothing but dirt and daylight.
“I’ll take my chances with you. What can I say, even my own piety cannot prevail over your strategic thought.”
“And your wit will take you no further than before.”
Melegal huffed. Looked away.
“It was the underlings that invaded Bone. Not me. They are the reason we seek refuge in the wilderness. They are the reason so many are dead.” Venir glowered. “They are the reason.”
“I still think you pissed them off. You piss everybody off.”
“No, I piss you off.” Venir scratched his chin. “They are more understanding.”
“That’s a vile thing to say.”
“So it is.” Venir extended his arm out in the direction they were traveling. “Let us be done with this.”
“Do you have any idea how much I’ve been through since you ran off? Do you know what Lord Almen did to me? And that bastard Sefron? I’ve fought the City Watch, murdered Royals—”
“Murdered Royals?”
“Yes, among a failed attempt on Lord Almen. Not to mention your old flame, Jarla.”
“What?” Venir was aghast. “She was in Bone?”
“She was with the Almens. Their spy. Slat, I’ve even sword fought a Bloodhound, and that’s far from all.”
“Sounds like a good time.” Venir pulled his hair back, exposing his missing ear. “Do you want to hear what I’ve done?”
“No,” Melegal said, avoiding his eyes, “besides, you don’t use those anyway. Now cover it up, will you. Yuck. I don’t want these lizards seeing me with a mutilated man.”
“Funny, Me,” Venir said. He held his wrist out.
Melegal held up his arm, sighed and bumped him, wrist to wrist.
“Let’s get moving then. I’m sure we have several miserable days to go.” He shook the water skin Fogle had given him. It was still full.
Venir lumbered onward with a slight smile on his face. Melegal wanted to laugh. He has nothing to smile about. Not looking like that. He rubbed the pommels of his swords. Checked his cap with his fingers. When Venir had turned on him, he’d felt concerned. If he ever loses control of himself, this hat better work. Might turn his mind to goo as soon as we hit the city. Maybe I can make him forget about me. Or at least make him buy all my drinks … and ladies. Sorry, Haze.
“Have you ever heard about giants on Bish?” Venir said.
“Giant dwarves, yes.”
“No, I mean men,” he pointed to some rather large trees. “Taller than those. I fought them. Killed them. And I fought a real dragon, too, you know.”
“Venir, you’re full of slat.”
Venir’s chest rattled when he breathed. His knees ached with every step. Different parts of his body burned or throbbed all over. He set his jaw and slogged through the hot light.
Just keep talking, Venir. Smile from time to time. Make him think all is right, even though it never will be.
18
“Give us all you have,” the orc said. He patted the battle axe in his hand. Behind him, more orcs stood by. They looked like soldiers. Each wearing a vest of chainmail and having a dark sash tied over its belt. “Everything.”
Trinos did nothing. Said nothing. But offered a smile.
The orc glowered at her with his beady eyes. He came closer and grunted.
“What is a flower like you doing all alone in the forest, eh?” he said. He rolled back his brawny shoulders. “That cloth you wear looks to be worth something. Take it off.”
There were five orcs in all. They were tall and their arms were thick in muscle. Each face was pitted, gruff-haired and scarred. They were brash. Offensive. Misbehaving. Tough as the ground beneath them. Limited in intelligence, but not in cunning.
What did I create them for?
Trinos ran her hand over her garments and excellent figure.
“You want me to remove my clothing? Then what shall I wear? I can’t run through this forest naked. What if someone saw me?”
“Hah!” the orc laughed. The others followed suit. “Why, you can make a dress from the leaves in the trees. Now off with it, Woman.”
“Orc, don’t you find it odd that a woman such as me is wandering around alone in the Great Forest?” She tossed her platinum hair over her shoulder. “Doesn’t that strike you as odd, that I would be here unprotected?”
He and his men scanned the forest. They eyed the tall tree tops. A couple of them checked the bushes. “No,” he grunted. “Human women are stupid sluts.”
“Oh,” Trinos said, toying with her hair. “But maybe I’m not human. Maybe I’m an underling in disguise.”
The orc got a wide look in his eye and stepped away. “Go check it out,” he ordered his men. “You aren’t an underling. You’re just some crazy woman. A druid, I bet. Now, off with your clothes and hand over those jewels you have on.”
“Or what?”
The orc started to speak but she cut him off.
“I know, you’ll kill me.” She sighed. “I tell you what, Orc. You can have the dress and the jewelry. Here.”
She snapped her fingers.
The orc’s armor was replaced with her dress. His bracers now bedecked her arms, and she wore her own form fitting chainmail armor along with the orc’s battle axe slung over her shoulder. She started laughing.
“What!” the orc said. His hairy hands were filled with a bouquet of flowers. He slung them to the ground. “Undo this, you witch druid! I knew it!”
The rest of the orcs started laughing and pointing. One gusty laugh at a time.
“Stop it!” The orc tore at the dress but it wouldn’t come off. “Get it off me!”
“You look pretty,” one of the orcs said, holding his gut. Another one fell over.
Perhaps that’s why I created them. They have a great sense of humor. Crude, but funny.
The orcen leader charged.
“Die, Witch!”
Oh my!
She froze him dead in his tracks. Not even his eyes moved. She whispered in his ear.
“Come after me again, and I’ll end you. All of you.”
She released him.
He stumbled to the ground and bounced back up to his feet, his ruddy face filled with fury. His fists were clenched at his sides. He snorted in her face, shaking. Afraid.
“Go home, Orc,” she said. “This forest is a dangerous place. Even for the likes of you.”
She returned his axe and armor. Her garment changed to the more common clothes of a traveler. Empty handed, the orcs left her. None of them looked back. A sandaled man and woman clothed in sandy white robes from head to toe appeared at her side with haunting faces.
“You should have let us kill them,” the man said. “I’m itching for a fight.”
“As am I,” said the other.
Trinos turned to them both. They were the Nameless Two. She had found them in the lone hilltop in the Warfield. They had tried to kill her the second she stepped into their lair. And failed. They were an interesting pair. Soldiers born for battle and blood. Loyal to their mountain and all of its secrets. She had healed their faces. Cured their insanity. But the fight was still in them. Fearless. Hungry. She would need it.
“Save your energy,” she said. She plucked a lavender flower from the bushes and placed it in her hair. “There are far more dangerous things in this forest. Come.”
“As you wish,” they both said, falling in step behind her.
Trinos wanted to see her world first hand with her own eyes. She wanted to feel it. Taste it. Experience it. But my, was it dangerous. Even here, on a world she herself had created, she needed protection. The underlings were a problem. Scorch had given them too much power when he meddled with the world the first time. She had underestimated the effects of what he’d done. The scales were now deeply tipped in the favor of evil. The equalizer she’d put in place, the armament, might not be up to its task.
Deeper into the great forest of Bish they went, where a series of caves greeted them like an open tomb.
I’ve created a broken world and I don’t think I can fix it. Not without help.
Inside they went.
19
“It’s just a friendly visit, Kam,” Master Sidebor said. “There is no reason to seem so mortified. After all, I’ve gotten to know you quite well.” He looked at baby Erin. “What matters most, eh?”
Kam sat down in the chair. Held Erin tight. The baby had stopped crying and her warm body nuzzled closer to her breast. Kam could barely breathe. Barely think.
“What do you want with me? What does Scorch want with me?” She pointed her stump of an arm at him. “I’m no threat to you! Or Scorch!”
Sidebor leaned his shoulder against the wall. His chiseled face wasn’t old, but it seemed ancient somehow. The way he spoke and moved carried power and authority. The entire room was filled with him.
“Scorch likes your place,” he said. “It’s not to my taste, but for the time being it will suffice. I’m just here to keep things in order. He’s attached to the one woman, Darleen. He likes her loyalty. Your own loyalty could benefit you as well.”
“To him or to you?”
“You’re a strong woman, Kam. I can use you.”
“For what?”
“Things are changing in this world. Changing fast.” He rolled his finger in the air. A circle of blue flame ignited, expanded and extinguished.
She blinked. Her body loosened. Sidebor seemed different. Pleasant.
“I want you to be a part of this,” he said, coming closer. He kneeled down and smiled. “I understand you. I admire you. Your tenacity. Maybe it’s this body I’m in. It feels drawn to yours. Put your baby down, Kam.”
“Uh …” She looked at him and then the baby. She blinked hard. The room changed. It was soft. Comfortable. She smelled tiger lilies, her favorite. “Alright.” She laid Erin in her cradle and it started to rock. Erin was fast asleep. Kam felt a breeze flowing through her hair. The air became misty and hot.
“I know what you need, Kam. What you long for. You’re a passionate woman,” he rubbed her knee.
Her blood went hot. Her breath became heavy. Her lips parted.
“Don’t,” she sighed, looking away.
Sidebor turned her chin with her fingers.
“I can’t help it. You’re so beautiful.”
The small dark man was gone, replaced by the strong visage of a warrior. He rose, towering over her, and dropped his robes.
“I miss you, Kam.”
She looked up with dreamy eyes. His face was hazy. His white teeth grim.
“Venir?”
He pulled her blouse off and tossed it aside. Her body ignited. She shoved him onto the bed. Back and forth they went in passion like she’d never felt. Her body shook and trembled on and on until her passions ran out.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Kam.”
Kam shot up in her bed. Eyes wide searching for Erin. The baby was fast asleep.
“Kam!”
It was Joline’s voice on the other side. She went for the door.
“Slat.”
She was naked. She started shaking. She rubbed her messed up hair on her aching head.
What have I done? What have I done?
“Kam! You open this door right now!” Joline said. “And I’m taking all your Muckle Sap.”
“Coming!”
She snatched her clothes up and jammed them on. Threw up the latch and slung the door open.
Joline startled.
“Kam, are you alright?”
Mercy was at Joline’s side.
“I’ve been knocking for minutes.”
“Where’s Sidebor?” Kam said to Joline, buttoning her blouse, “have you seen him up here?”
Joline shook her head. “Why no. He’s been down at the bar. Quiet as a mouse. Odd as always. Why, Kam? Why? You’re scaring me.”
Kam shoved her way past some curious onlookers and stopped at the balcony overlooking the bar. Billip, cleaning a glass, nodded up at her with a smile. Sidebor sat the bar as he had before. Withdrawn and sipping wine. His ruby eye winked at her.
Bastard!
She stormed down the stairs with fire in her eyes.
The walls shook. Plates rattled. Brak dropped his scrubber and dashed through the kitchen door.
Kam was screaming in Sidebor’s face.
“What have you done to me!”
She started slapping him with her only hand.
Darleen stormed over. She grabbed Kam by the hair and slung her to the floor. Kam jumped into Darleen’s face.
“Get out of my way, Critter Face!”
Darleen socked her in the gut.
Kam collapsed on her knees.
Billip went over the bar and shoved Darleen out of the way.
Georgio, Nikkel, Jubilee, and Brak huddled around Kam. She lay on the ground coughing. Billip helped her to her feet. Her pretty face was drained.
Darleen shoved Billip in the face. He drew back his fist.
“Don’t even try if you don’t want Scorch to roast you again. Now get back to work! All of you!”
No one moved.
“Don’t make me say it,” Darleen said. She pointed at each and every one of them. “Now, behave yourselves. Or you’re done for, starting with Kam.”
Sidebor started to laugh. The sound was chilling.
“Leave them be, Woman. They can bring no harm to me, but I can bring much to them.” He nodded at Kam. “But Red here troubles me. She tried to hurt me. Perhaps you can give her another charge.” He tapped his nail on the pickle jar. “One that’s suited for one arm.”
Something stirred inside Brak’s belly. The ruby-eyed man, Sidebor, was bizarre. The way he talked and moved was disturbing.
Darleen turned on him and said, “I give the charges, wee little man, not you. She does what I say she does, and I don’t care if you don’t like it and she don’t like it, either.” She looked back at all of them. “Get back to work, all of you! Red, you stay with me!”
Brak helped Kam to a seat at the table.
“Are you alright?” he said, looking at her.
She scowled, slapped his face and said, “Go away.”
Now it was Darleen’s turn to chuckle.
“Ew-wee, I didn’t see that coming.”
Jubilee grabbed his wrist and led him back into the kitchen.
“Boy, Brak, for someone that doesn’t say much, you sure have a silver tongue with the ladies.”
“But I …” he started rubbing his cheek. Kam hadn’t even hit him hard enough to sting. It was the look she’d given him that he felt. Like she was hitting someone else. “Never mind.”
Jubilee piped up again.
“Everyone needs to settle down,” she said, looking back at the kitchen doors, “Because I’ve a feeling if we don’t, ole Critter Face is gonna have us all killed.” She tossed him a dish rag. “And Kam’s weird. I don’t know what to make of her. She should just stay in her room, drink, and rock her baby.”
Brak didn’t know what to make of any of it. He felt for Kam. He felt for all of them. He grabbed a dish and started rubbing. He could still feel Scorch’s fire in his belly. See the horrified faces of his friends while they spun in midair, screaming in silence. He snapped a dish in half.
“Brak!” Jublilee said, looking around. “What are you doing? Are you hungry? Don’t go berserk on me. Not now. Slat!”
His hand started to bleed.
Jubilee wrapped it up in a rag. Her eyes like saucers. “Settle down, Brak. Settle down.”
20
Creed bounced his shoulders and swords.
This is stupid! This is stupid! This is stupid! I’m going to die again!
He could feel every underling closing in on him. Their beating hearts. Gnashing teeth. Each and every one wanted to tear him to shreds. There was no hiding now.
The ornate bracers throbbed on his wrists. Vitality flowed through his veins like a rushing river. He could beat anyone. Anything. He was invincible. He’d felt invincible the last time too.
Control it, Creed. Control it!
He stood in the intersection, slowly turning with his blades. The underlings slowed. Chittered. Crept.
He could feel their apprehension. They knew him. Feared his steel. His speed. Death is feared by all things, even underlings. He scraped his blades along the bricks.
“Come on then, little fiends.”
The shroud throbbed a warning. Danger came from above. Underlings with small crossbows filed along the rooftops. Their triggers rocked the night.
Clatch-Zip! Clatch-Zip! Clatch-Zip! Clatch-Zip! Clatch-Zip! Clatch-Zip!
His swords sprang up.
Ting! Ting! Ting!
A net fell from the night. He swung.
He cut right through it.
“Bone!” You fiends were coming for me all along.”
He ran down the alley whence he came. The one that headed back to Castle Bloodhound.
A shot of steel lit up his back. Creed bore down on the throng of evil that waited. Metal met metal. Flesh met steel.
Slice! Slice! Stab! Cut!
Throats opened. Bellies were gutted.
Howls of anguish and anger filled the alley to the rooftops. The frenzied hoard trampled over one another. Bolts zinged through the air.
Creed kept swinging. Stabbing. Cutting. Parrying. A symphony of steel. He headed for the light ahead. The main road led to home. He could outrun them if he could just get away from them.
Faster Creed! Faster! Attack! Attack! Attack!
Underlings fell like bloody leaves at his feet. Dark blood slicked the stones. Throwing elbows and pommels, he fought like a hungry bear.
He sunk his blade into the last underling to bar his path, ripped it out, and sped ahead.
The underlings poured through the alleys after him like pack of jackals, all their cunning tactics gone. They wanted his blood. They wanted it bad. Creed had mown down dozens of them. It was personal.
He flew by one lantern on the street then another, yelling at the top of his lungs.
“HOUNDS! HOUNDS! HOUNDS!”
Castle Bloodhound was a hundred yards away. He glanced over his shoulder. The underlings were less than ten yards from his back, gaining. Twenty, maybe thirty of them.
“Little bastards are fast!”
He turned it on. Legs and lungs on fire. His right leg turned stiff as a board. A bolt protruded out of his thigh.
Poison!
Fifty yards away.
A sword licked across his back. With everything he had left, he howled like a hound.
“AaaaaaRoooooooooo!”
His vision dimmed.
Thirty yards away.
Open the door, blast it!
The gate swung open. A tide of dogs flooded out in small coats of armor and dashed straight for him. There must have been a hundred of them, maybe more. The hounds darted by Creed, jaws wide, and slammed into the underlings.
Creed stumbled and hit the ground, gasping for breath. Behind him, the dogs tore into the underlings in a frenzy. The attack dogs were big. Bullmastiffs and Rottweilers. Their jaws were iron clamps on underling arms and necks. That’s why no one messed with the Bloodhounds. Not the City Watch, soldiers, nor Royals. Their dogs were loyal, fearless, relentless unto death.
Painful yelps caught Creed’s ears. He crawled up on his hands and knees. The underling forces had rallied and now struck. One dog went down, then two.
“NO!”
Creed pushed himself over the road, swords scraping over the stone. Strong hands grabbed ahold of him and dragged him away. He screamed once more and the darkness came.
“Is he well?” Lord Grom said.
“As well as can be,” Haggie said. She dipped a towel in a strong-smelling substance and rubbed it on his chest. “Strange these wounds didn’t heal like the last ones.”
Creed sat in his bed, inspecting his stitches. They were sore and his stomach was queasy. Shifting in his bed, he groaned.
“Be still,” Haggie said, poking him with her crooked finger, “or you’ll tear those through.”
“I’m fine.” He looked at his grandfather, who was glaring at him. “For now.”
He looked away. Here it comes. He found the eyes of Lorda, who sat on the edge of the bed. There was a concerned look in them. She likes me some. She must. Corrin was in there too, leaning on the frame of his door with his hand tucked in his scabbard belt. He’d taken a beating days earlier but his steely gaze had returned.
“Fifteen,” Lord Grom said, glowering at him. He took a deep breath through his nose and exhaled.
“Dogs?” Creed said.
“Aye.” Grom snorted. “And two men as well.”
Creed’s shoulders slouched. The sickness in his belly swelled. It had been over a day since they dragged him inside. A jar full of leeches sat on the table by his bed. Haggie had spent the entire time drawing the poison from him. Stitching over a dozen wounds and doctoring him with elixirs that kept the fever down. He rubbed his naked wrists. His eyes searched for the armament. He didn’t see it.
“Grandfather,” he said, “I can’t express—”
Lord Grom’s glare was like a hungry grizzly’s, his words hot as fire.
“Don’t say it!” He pounded his fist into his barrel chest. “Good men died, and many of our finest hounds, all because you want to play some kind of hero! I told you! I warned you! What were you thinking!”
Creed swallowed hard and pulled his covers up. He’d never felt smaller, nor more foolish. The last of all people you wanted to upset was his grandfather. It took much to do that.
“I’ll make it right,” Creed said, wincing.
“Oh, you can bring back the dead, can ye? Is that your secret from your little bag of tricks?” He held up the stitched-up leather sack and waved it in his face.
Slat! How did he find that?
“Can you stuff the dead in here and bring them back?” Grom roared. “You know I don’t care for this mysticism! You are a swordsman, Creed! A Bloodhound. You can only trust flesh and blood. You are loyal to us, and us alone, or you will be alone!” Grom spit through his beard. “Am I clear!”
“Certainly,” Creed said. He reached for the sack.
Grom snatched it away and turned his attention to Haggie.
“How well is he?”
She shrugged her fragile shoulders and offered a grin of crooked teeth.
“He’s tender but well enough.”
Lord Grom snorted through his nose.
“Get up! Come with me.” He eyed the room. “All of you but the hag. Take this.” He tossed her the sack. “Dispose of it.”
Pain shot through his back when he jerked up out of bed.
“What? No,” he argued. “That is mine and mine alone! It has nothing to do with this!”
Lord Grom struck him in the chest with his mallet-sized fist, knocking him back onto the bed.
“It has everything to do with this!” He headed for the door. “Now get up and come!”
Creed slipped out of bed with his head and shoulders drooping. Lorda fell in behind him and Corrin swung open the door. Lord Grom was the first one out.
“Hounds! Take us down!”
Two Bloodhound sentries in leather armor lead them through the castle. They passed the dining halls and kitchen and went through the kennels. Over a hundred dogs lay in there, curled up and silent. All of them were treated like people. Out of the kennels they went and through another courtyard and stopped where a stone wall greeted them with a pair of ancient doors.
He glanced back at Lorda. She was holding her nose and her face was downcast. He reached back and touched her hand. She squeezed his and let go, shaking her head. She wouldn’t look at him for some reason, not that she often did.
The wooden doors creaked when the guards pulled them open. Torchlight flickered within.
Lord Grom looked back at him and said, “Come.”
“Why?”
Lord Grom glared at him and said, “Don’t test me, Boy.”
Creed hadn’t been in this part of Castle Bloodhound since he was a boy. It was a dungeon of sorts. A place where his father said they kept the unfaithful. He had an uncle that he’d visited here once, but he’d never seen him again. He had no idea if his uncle lived or died.
Grom led them down dark stairs and the slime slick walls. The air was musty, dank and foul. Lorda started coughing.
Two more Bloodhound sentries greeted Lord Grom at the bottom of the steps and offered a salute. They were rawboned and gritty. Haggard looking in their leather armor, even for Bloodhounds. Their eyes locked on Lorda and enlarged. Creed stepped in front of them and glared.
“At ease,” Lord Grom said, treading deeper inside.
Two rows of three iron cages lined the block stone walls. All were empty save one. Someone lay huddled up in the corner in a pile of old blankets and rotting hay.
Creed wondered if that was his uncle.
Why’s he bringing me to see him? I don’t need this. I’m not a child prone to these scare tactics.
“I don’t see the point in this, Grandfather.”
Lord Grom stood by the open door of another cage. Inside were a stack of blankets, three buckets of water, and a large pile of fresh hay.
“You’ll get two good meals a day and all the water you need.”
Creed laughed. “What? Are you joking?”
“Inside, Creed,” Grom warned.
He stepped back. “I’m not going in there. Grandfather, I’ve made a mistake, but I don’t deserve this!”
“Get inside! Don’t make me tell you again!”
“You’re mad!”
“No, you’re mad! Your antics will get us all killed. I can’t risk that. You will learn your lesson.”
“And if I don’t!”
“Then you may never see the sunshine in Bone again.”
Lord Grom meant it. He felt it in his bones. He turned and ran right into the sentries. There were four. He punched the closest one in the belly. He shattered the nose of another. Something hit him in the back of the head like a hammer.
Down he went, getting pummeled all over. The sentries dragged him over to the cage and tossed him on the hay. Blinded by pain, he didn’t move. His face started to throb and the swelling began.
Lord Grom slammed the metal door shut.
Bang!
Creed lay there stunned. Dumbfounded.
Why? He wanted to say it but he didn’t. It didn’t matter. His grandfather had made his mind up and he wouldn’t change it.
“Your comrades will be well cared for, Creed. That is, assuming they don’t do anything foolish.” Lord Grom looked right at Corrin and Lorda. “If they do, they will surely be joining you.” He turned his attention back to Creed. “Think about who you are loyal to, Creed. The Bloodhounds are survivors. We’ll take service with whomever, whenever, and wherever we have to. This plague of the underlings will pass. I need you to think hard on this, Creed. Times change. People do too.”
Creed didn’t know which felt worse: the lumps on his head or what his Grandfather had said.
“Let’s go now,” Lord Grom said.
Corrin frowned at him with a shake of his head.
Lorda rushed over and pressed her face to the bars.
“I’m sorry, Creed. I’m sorry.” A tear was in her eyes. “I just wanted to protect you.”
Lord Grom grabbed her arm and peeled her away.
“Go, Woman! My patience is thin!”
One by one, all of them disappeared up the stairs and the heavy door creaked to a close. The small dungeon was silent. He’d never felt more alone.
How long will he keep me here? A day? Two?
The figure in the cell adjacent to him stirred. A haggard man with skinny bones crawled over to the bars.
“Heh, heh, heh,” the prisoner said in a scratchy voice, and then broke off into a coughing fit. “Don’t think you’re going anywhere … Eh! Lord Grom just wants them to think that … Eh! He feels threatened by you. Felt threatened by me, too … Eh! Enjoy the quiet and the rats. You’re here to stay. Long time … Eh. Long as me … Eh.”
21
Darleen woke to a bright beam of sunlight in her eyes.
“Dawn already,” she said, slinging her big legs over the edge of the bed. She stretched her arms, yawned and scratched her neck. “I think I need to smell some coffee brewing.” She swatted the goon in her bed. “Get up and make me some coffee, Dasan.”
“Mrrph?”
“You heard me.”
Darleen tossed her heavy nightgown to the floor, put on her trousers, and buttoned up her shirt. Walked around Kam’s apartment, which was now hers. The other goon was sprawled out on the sofa with drool in his mouth. She pinched his arm.
He jolted, whipping out his dagger, with blurry eyes looking all around.
“What! What! What!”
“Settle down, Ozark,” she said. “Get up and make me some coffee.”
The heavyset goon rolled off the sofa and shuffled into the apartment’s small kitchen. Darleen sat down on the sofa and kicked her feet up on the table. The morning suns filled the room with light, but it wasn’t in her eyes. She liked this spot. It was just perfect in the morning. She was really fond of the apartment. It was quaint. Comfortable. And better yet, she had plenty of help to keep it up. She’d worked hard all her life for others, and now they worked for her.
“This is the life,” she said, leaning her head back on the pillow.
“Did you say something?” Dasan said, making his way out of the bedroom, rubbing his hairy belly.
“I need coffee,” she said, “and put some of those leaves in it. My head’s full of slat.”
“Ozark says we’re out of coffee,” Dasan said when he reached the kitchen.
“I didn’t ask if we were out of coffee, did I?”
“Er … no, but—”
“I told you to make some coffee.”
“But how do I—”
She got up, stormed into the kitchen and grabbed a metal ladle. She cracked him in the head with it.
“You go get some more!”
Ozark chuckled.
She stormed over to him, brandishing the ladle.
He cringed, covering his face with his thick arms, saying, “Sorry, Darleen. It’s just funny he’s so stupid.”
“And you aren’t?”
He lowered his guard.
“Well, no, not like—”
She whacked him right between the eyes.
“Ow!”
Darleen was a big woman but they were bigger men, rugged and brainless, but she liked that about them. They were a shameless and entertaining pair that reminded her of some of the rowdy bumpkins back in Hohm, the City of Mist. And they were the only people that seemed to like her. She swatted the man on the arse with the ladle.
“Get your gear on. We’re going downstairs. I’m going to teach you two lards how to fetch coffee in case this ever happens again.”
In the kitchen, Dasan said with a long face, “I think that would be wise, Darleen.”
Shaking her thick head, she made her way to the door, picked up her boots and put them on. She took a deep breath into her heavy chest. I hope he’s not down there already. She’d been spending more time in the apartment since Kam’s collapse over something Master Sidebor had done. She didn’t understand it and she didn’t care to understand it either. She might not care for Kam so much, but she liked Sidebor even less. Scorch doesn’t need him. And I don’t want him.
She tied up her boots and slipped on her trapper’s vest that hung on a peg.
Sidebor had even run off all the followers Scorch had brought along. They’d been good help too. Needy, but hard working.
“We’re ready,” Dasan said, smiling.
Ozark and Dasan stood side by side in full leather armor that gave her stomach flutters. I sure like a man in armor. Stupid or not.
“Shame you don’t look that good naked,” she said, tapping her foot by the door.
“Oh,” said Ozark, the shorter heavier one. He opened up the door for her.
She pinched his cheek hard as she passed, and downstairs she went.
No one was at the bar and there was no sign of Sidebor either. Her throbbing head started to ease. Good. She could hear plates being stacked up in the back but the tavern floor was empty. The cleaning unfinished. A few patrons still lingered.
“Where is everybody?” she said. She pointed to the patrons and said to her goons. “Get them out of here. We don’t serve breakfast unless you pay for a room. And them’s been here all night. Now run them off.” She popped into the kitchen. Brak was there. Nobody else.
“Where is everybody?”
Brak had a stack of dishes squeezed between his paws that he shoved onto a high shelf. He looked at her and said, “The Markets.” He shuffled by and grabbed a shovel. Scoop by scoop, he filled the coal ovens.
“All of them?”
Brak didn’t stop shoveling.
“Joline says today’s annual Market Festival. She told them yesterday to be early for the best prices on all things. Merchants come from all around, she says.” He propped the shovel back in the corner. “They should be back soon.” He looked down on her.
His eyes were bright blue, drooping. She didn’t know what to make of Brak. He was big, bigger than Ozark and Dasan, quiet. Something smoldered inside him that left her uneasy.
“Can you make coffee?”
He nodded.
“Well, put some on and grab me a pound to take to my room,” she said. “And you better be getting some help down here. Those ovens need to be cooking.”
“I can start it,” Brak said. “No problem.”
“Just don’t you be eating all of it. I’ve heard that tummy of yers.”
She left the kitchen and bumped into Ozark.
“What?” she said.
“Uh, well, we got all them out, save one. He’s stubborn. Kinda mean looking.”
“What?” She shoved him aside. “Let me get a look at him.”
Dasan stood, thumbs hitched in his belt. “Alongside one of the tables in the back, near one of the fireplaces.” He had a nervous look in his eye.
Darleen strolled over with her hand drifting to her knife.
The man at the table was no slouch. Big knotty shoulders bulged under a sandy cloak. His face was hard and scarred. Square jawed. Blue eyes harder like iron. She didn’t recall seeing him before.
Darleen hitched her leg up on the chair and rested her elbow on her knee.
“You can come back later, Big Fella. The Roost is closed.”
“Grog, Ale, Coffee,” the man said in a hard voice. His eyes slid over to the hearth. “Fire.”
Dasan and Ozark looked at one another, then her. Small daggers were concealed in their fingers.
She made a pausing gesture with her hand.
“Listen, we get lots a new faces in here all the time. Some mannerly.” She shrugged. “Some not. We got an order to things around here. Come back later and I’ll serve you a pot myself.”
The man leaned back, hitched his tremendous arm over the back of the chair, and said, “Since when do they let ugly women serve anything in here?”
Ozark and Dasan’s eyes widened.
Darleen’s neck turned red.
“You better get out of here now if you don’t want to leave in pieces,” she warned.
“Is that so?” He unhooked his arm. “Where’s Kam, Otter Face?”
Darleen ripped her knife out.
“Kill him!”
Ozark and Dasan’s blades flashed through the air.
The man caught them by the wrists and jerked their heads together. In an instant, he was on his feet. He smashed Ozark’s face into the table. Doubled Ozark over with a sock in the gut.
The man snatched Dasan up in his arms like a child and slung him at Darleen. She dived. Dasan crashed through, knocking over tables and chairs. Darleen looked just in time to see Ozark get his teeth busted out. The big rangy man stormed over with brows buckled over angry eyes. She lunged with her knife. He swatted it out of her hand, grabbed her by the collar and lifted her to her tiptoes.
“Where’s—”
A big form crashed into the man, knocking him to the floor. It was Brak. The two men thrashed over the floor, knocking everything over.
Brak locked his elbow around the man’s neck and held him on the ground.
Darleen howled.
“Get him, Brak!”
The warrior snorted and twisted free. Darleen had never seen a man his size move so fast before. Brak’s fist crashed into the man’s face. The man snarled, scooped him up in his powerful arms and slammed Brak through the table. Pinned him down. Clasped his strong fingers around his throat and started to squeeze.
The stranger yelled.
“Where’s Kam!”
Brak’s eyes rolled up in his head, the whites showing clearly. He snarled in response.
22
Downcast, Georgio sauntered through the stables behind the Magi Roost with a bucket in each hand. Nothing seemed right. No one talked or laughed anymore. They were supposed to come back to the City of Three so things would be better, but they had only gotten worse.
He dropped the buckets, opened up a burlap sack of oats, and filled them up.
“What a life,” he groaned, picking them back up. He’d spent most of his natural lifetime working in the stables in Bone. Now he was doing it again, for less pay and more trouble. He made his rounds, stable after stable, back and forth, filling and refilling until he got to the last one. He swung the gate open while holding a bucket in one hand with the other handle in his mouth. He stepped inside and filled a small trough against the wall. There Quickster waited in silence. The grayish Quick Pony stood on all fours with his ears perked up.
“Well, look who’s up? Hungry are we?” he said, filling his hands with oats and feeding them to Quickster. He scratched Quickster’s ears. “You’re about the only one I can talk to these days and you don’t talk. You just eat and fart.”
Quickster headed for the trough and started eating.
Georgio grabbed a stool, sat down and rubbed Quickster’s shaggy belly. His own belly groaned.
“I’m so hungry I could eat a bucket full of oats—”
A sharp blade bit into his throat. Another arm held him fast. Georgio sat up straight as an arrow.
“Don’t move,” a voice whispered in his ear.
Georgio jabbed his elbow back with all his power.
“Gah!” the man said.
Georgio scrambled through the straw and grabbed a rake from the wall and turned. What he saw stunned him.
“Me?”
“Melegal,” the thief said, dusting the straw from his cloak. “Why did you feed Quickster last, Fatty? He should be first, not last. I knew you wouldn’t care for him. I ought to bust your fat arse.”
Georgio tossed the rake down. “You couldn’t do that if you tried. You can’t kill me, Melegal. I’m a healer.”
Melegal’s steely eyes were cold as ice.
“Is that so?”
Georgio wasn’t scared of Melegal anymore. He wasn’t much scared of anything except Scorch. He lifted his chin up. “Yes, and just so you know, Quickster gets double what the others get. He’s as fit as he’s ever been.”
“He shows more ribs than me,” Melegal said, swiping his cloak behind his back and petting Quickster’s nose. “I missed you, Boy.”
“Really?”
“Not you,” Melegal snapped back, “Quickster.”
Still, Georgio couldn’t have been happier to see the man. He walked up and tried to put his arms around him.
“What are you doing?” Melegal said, shoving him back.
“I just, well, I don’t know. I’m just glad you’re here is all.”
Melegal tucked his dimpled chin into his chest and gave Georgio a look. He extended his hand.
“Here, then.”
Surprised, Georgio grabbed it. A jolt like lightening shot through him. He fell to his knees with plate-sized eyes.
Melegal whispered in his ear saying, “Maybe I can’t kill you but I can always make you piss yourself.”
Georgio felt a damp warm spot in his trousers.
“Let’s go, Tinkle Trousers. I want to see what this Roost is all about. I’m thirsty.”
Georgio shut the gate and caught up to Melegal.
“Slow up.”
Melegal didn’t slow his stride.
“Just,” Georgio paused, “let me lead you in there. It’s not what it’s been lately, and it’s morning.”
“Since when do taverns have problems with business at first light?” Melegal said, rubbing the long scraggly hairs on his chin.
Georgio had never seen him so gruff and dusty before. Melegal’s sharp eyes were cracked with red. Small puffy grey sacks had appeared under them. His easy gait was stiff. Almost a limp.
Melegal swatted him in the head.
“Well, out with it, Georgio. What is the problem?”
“It’s just the people that run it aren’t very … uh … amiable?”
Melegal showed the slightest smile.
“I see. Let’s just go. I’m sure it won’t be a problem.” Melegal sucked his teeth and rolled his tongue under his split lip. “I’m not keen on any more trouble.”
Georgio led Melegal out of the barn and around the front. The streets were getting busy. Merchants called. Customers shoved and pushed. The time of Festival had begun. It was the best time of the year, except this year. This year things were different. He felt a little glimmer of hope inside him. If anyone could handle the likes of Darleen, it would be Melegal. Scorch and Sidebor were another matter entirely. If only Venir were here.
A brisk wind rattled The Magi Roost sign above the door. Melegal was looking at it. Magi had been scratched out. The skinny thief looked at him and said, “Trouble within, eh?”
“I think the trouble is only beginning.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I just have a feeling.”
Georgio shook his head and reached for the door. Stopped. He was dying to ask if Melegal knew anything about Venir. Just ask. He won’t bite. “Me, have you heard from—”
A clamor erupted inside. Darleen screamed. Wood cracked like mighty timbers.
Crash!
The frame of a huge man busted through the glass window pane and bounced off the street. Startled people screamed. The bearded man jumped to his feet. His blue eyes were wild with fury. He tore a hunk of glass out of his shoulder.
“Slat,” Melegal said.
Georgio gawped.
“Vee?”
Venir snarled and pounced right back through the window. Crashes and roars followed.
Georgio dashed through the front door. Melegal beat him through it.
The Magi Roost was in chaos.
Darleen stood on the bar stomping and screaming.
“Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!”
It would have been easier to stop a hurricane.
“Savages!” she wailed.
Brak’s white eyes were glazed over. His face berserk. He had Venir hoisted over his head.
“No Brak!”
Brak slammed Venir into the mantle over the fire place.
Venir slugged him in the face. Kicked him in the guts.
Brak slung Venir crashing through the tables and chairs.
Georgio started forward.
Melegal stayed him with his arm.
“Let this play out!”
Venir pounced like a tiger, barreling Brak over. They tumbled over the floor. Punching, snarling, kicking. Venir’s big fists struck like heavy stones. Brak flailed like a windstorm. The titans broke everything that wasn’t bolted to the floor. Venir lowered his shoulder. Charging like a mintaur, he screamed. He drove Brak through the support beam that held the balcony up. A mighty crack followed. The balcony buckled.
“Stop them, Georgio!” Darleen screamed. “They’re tearing my place apart!”
Georgio started again.
Melegal stayed him.
“One might kill the other,” Georgio said.
“Let them punch it out. It’ll be good for them,” Melegal said, sidestepping a flying chair.
Venir got Brak in a bear hug. His ape-like arms filled with purple veins. Brak screamed.
Georgio covered his ears.
Brak and Venir rocked and reeled. Brak grabbed Venir’s fingers and started peeling them away. Venir slammed him into the ground, busting the planks.
“NO!” Darleen yelled. She slung a bottle of wine that struck Venir in the head.
Brak pulled him to the ground and started wailing away.
“What in Bish is going on?” someone shouted. It was Billip. Eyes wide, Joline, Nikkel and Jubilee were with him. “We’ve got to get them apart!”
“I wouldn’t do that,” Melegal warned, taking a seat on a stool.
“No,” Billip said, “You wouldn’t. But I’m not going to stand here and watch them kill each other.”
Billip closed in. Brak rose from the floor, glaring at him. He snapped a leg off a table.
“Enough, Brak,” Billip said, backing away.
Brak turned his attention back to Venir. He brought the leg down with all his might.
Venir caught his wrists. Jammed his feet into his gut and launched him over his head. Brak crashed into the last support beam below the balcony. The entire thing crashed down.
Venir sprang to his feet, brandishing the table leg, brawny shoulders heaving up and down. His face was swollen. He spat a bloody tooth on the cracked floor.
The tavern fell silent.
Venir staggered through the piles of smashed tables toward the balcony. There was no sign of Brak. Venir cocked his head to the side.
Something moved in the rubble. The balcony started to rise. The wood in it popped and cracked. Brak heaved hundreds of pounds of busted wood and railing on his chest. His face was beet red, his short, mighty arms shaking. Roaring, he stretched groaning wood up toward the sky. His white eyes turned blue again.
“Get those beams under it,” Billip ordered. “Hurry!”
Georgio and Nikkel moved.
Brak’s arms shook like leaves. His eyes were locked on Venir’s.
They got one beam up. Then two.
“Brak! Brak!” Jubilee yelled. She snapped her fingers at him. “Are you back?”
He nodded and sagged to the ground, trembling.
Melegal walked over to Venir, slapped him on the back, and said, “Brute Father, meet Brute Son. That monster’s yours.”
Venir wiggled his jaw, stepped over to Brak and extended his hand. A moment of pride filled him.
“You punch like a mule kicks … Son.”
Brak took his hand in his.
Venir pulled him to his feet. They were almost eye to eye.
“Good to meet you too,” Brak said, rubbing the bruise on his jaw.
Georgio sighed. The inside of the tavern looked like it had exploded. Exhausted, he grabbed a chair off the floor and sat down. The chair collapsed underneath him.
Everyone laughed except Darleen. Her ears were red when she screamed.
“You’ll die for this! All of you! SCORCH!”
STRIDER
23
Fogle struggled in his bonds. His numb hands had been tied behind his back for hours. Boon was in the same predicament, but he didn’t appear to be nearly as agitated as he should be. He winked at Fogle.
“This is your idea of raising an army?” Fogle said with a sneer. “Getting captured? What are they, anyway?”
Boon shrugged and said, “Four-armed men with bug faces.”
“Do they have a name?”
“Why? You planning on sending them an invitation for coffee? Sssssh,” Boon said, “keep your voice down. They can be unpredictable at times.”
“I can’t imagine!” Fogle whispered.
They were in a village of very tall huts made from mud, stone and tall grasses. Fogle didn’t even notice them at first when they were marched right to them. The huts blended right into the landscape, not easily noticed until you were right on top of them. Fogle looked over one shoulder and another. Their captors were gone, leaving them alone in the sandy wind.
“I’m getting out of here. I’m not going to get eaten.” He squirmed in his seat, teetered over, and fell head first to the ground. He spat the dirt from his mouth.
Strong hands lifted him off the ground and set him on his feet.
“Gad!”
Fogle stepped on his robes and fell back again.
“Get away from me!”
“Fogle!” Boon warned.
A strange creature towered over him. Four arms. Two were crossed over its chest and the other two carried spears. It was built like a man, but had a face like a praying mantis. Its legs were the longest he’d ever seen on a biped, with two sets of knees.
It reached for Fogle, spears ready.
He kicked at it. Screamed.
“Get ahold of yourself!” Boon yelled.
The strider poked his shoulder with its spear. It hissed and clicked its mandibles.
Fogle bit his lip.
The creature grabbed him by the hair, pulled him up, and shoved him toward the village.
Another did the same with Boon. They marched them toward the largest hut in the center. It was the size of ten huts in one. Maybe more. Like a giant mushroom in a rocky forest. More striders appeared. Some carried baskets. Others knives. Small ones dashed all over like children, making clacking sounds. Fogle had never seen anything on two legs move so fast before. They ran like deer or horses.
A great canvas flap of leather hung at the hut’s opening. Two striders stood on either side with strange white markings on their arms. They looked more like statues. Hard. Stoic. Like bugs. A strange odor from within filled Fogle’s nostrils.
He glared back at Boon.
“Smells like they’re cooking something.”
Boon shook his head.
“Just hope it’s not us.”
Fogle wanted to scream.
The Outland is no place for wizards!
24
Creed sat with his back against the cold stone wall, staring at the ceiling. A tiny beam of light shone through a cracked tile in the ceiling. He suspected it was sunlight, or at least he hoped it was. A crack in Castle Bloodhound’s exterior wall. Two days had passed already. At least he thought it was two days. It felt like ten.
He grabbed a bucket of water and took a sip. At least it was fresh. The food, though not a banquet, held him over, but his stomach still rumbled.
Across from him, the old man with wiry hair sucked on a chicken bone.
“Delicious … Eh. Eh. Delicious.”
He sucked the grease off his fingers for the hundredth time. Creed still had no idea who the man was, but he didn’t figure him for his uncle. He didn’t care if it was. When the man wasn’t asleep or eating, he was staring at him like a buzzard stares at the weak and dying.
He set the bucket down and wiped his chin, trying to ignore the hollowness that filled him.
“You are a good fortune … Eh. Bring good eats. Good eats indeed … Eh.”
It was the first time the older man had spoken in over a day.
“Good eats I had … Eh. When they threw me in … Eh. Treated me like a family prisoner … Eh. Forgot, they did.” He sucked his fingers. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Then belched. “They forgot … Eh. The guards don’t care. Lord Grom will only care … Eh. Little while … Eh. Not forever.”
Creed banged his head on the stone wall. Grunted.
“Enjoy … Eh. While it lasts. Suck. Suck. Enjoy … Eh.”
“Eh!” Creed yelled. “Choke on a chicken bone, will you!”
The older prisoner froze for a long moment.
Katherine lay alone in Creed’s bed with a tear in her eye. She couldn’t remember the last time she ever cried. Maybe when she was a young girl. Maybe. Her son, Tonio was dead. Her husband, Lord Almen, had perished, and that didn’t include all the rest of her family that had been wiped out by the underlings. A tear slid down her cheek. She wiped it off on her silk gown and stared at the hardware in the bedroom corner. There were many swords of all sorts and some other pieces for combat too.
She slid out from under the sheets and walked over.
Creed’s swords and scabbard were propped against the wall. The bracers hung on the pommels. They were finely crafted, compared to the rest. Strange in design. She touched the shroud that lay crumpled there, an empty vessel. She picked it up and held it to her cheek. Smelling him on it, she sobbed.
She’d grown fond of Creed. Though rugged for a Royal, he was honest. Noble. At least he tried anyway. He was a tall man like Lord Almen, but softer in the eyes. She liked his boyish charm and wavy auburn hair. She’d gotten used to the attention he’d give her. She sniffed again.
I’m sorry, Creed. He’d been all she had. Now, he was gone. What have I done?
She’d told Lord Grom about the sack in confidence. Admitted she didn’t know what it was, but that it had something to do with the underlings, she thought. But she was smart enough to not give any of the pieces of the armament up. She’d kept that to herself. Lord Grom hadn’t inquired about it either.
There was a knock at the door.
She sucked in her breath.
Who at this hour?
The knock came again.
“Lorda Almen?”
It was Lord Grom.
No. Not now.
“Yes,” she said, making her way to the door. She took a breath and opened it.
Lord Grom filled the doorway. He had a blurry look in his eyes. Smelled like wine.
“Evening,” he said, eyeing her up and down, “I was just crossing back my way and thought I’d see how you were doing?”
She pinched the neck of her gown closed and offered a polite smile.
“I am well,” she said, “And how much longer until I will see Creed again? I so dearly want to visit him.”
Lord Grom’s hard face scowled.
“These are Bloodhound matters, Lorda,” he said politely, but with authority. “A few more days and all will be well.” He cleared his throat. “I just wanted to see if there was any other thing that I might be able to …” he swayed a little and ogled her “… help with?”
“Nothing at all,” she said, patting his arm and nudging him back into the hall. “Nothing at all. If I think of something, you’ll be the first to know. Good night, Lord Grom.”
“Er …”
She closed the door and locked it.
Please go! Please go! Please go!
A minute later, Lord Grom’s heavy steps started back down the hallway.
She let out a deep breath. I can’t keep this up much longer. He’ll get his paws on me yet. She headed back over to Creed’s armament and started digging for a dagger. She noticed something. The swords, bracers and shroud were gone.
“Sweet Mother of Bish!”
Haggie shuffled into her den, spry for an old woman with a hump in her back. She scratched a large mole on her neck and made her way alongside a large round table that stood on a single leg. The room was torch lit. Decorated in shelves, jars and cobwebs. A pair of yellow mangy dogs lay on the floor, gnawing on bones.
She hacked and spit on the floor. Licked her thin cracked lips with her grey tongue. She stretched out over the table and grabbed the stitched up leather sack. Sucked her teeth and licked her gums.
“More here than one sees,” she said, trying to dump it out. “One like me sees more.” She reached inside. It chilled the hairs on her arms. She pushed the bottom through the top and turned it inside out. Ran her fingers along the stitches. “Hmph.” It looked the same as before. “Not possible,” she said to her dogs. “But what isn’t possible in Bish?”
Haggie had seen and done plenty of strange things in her life, but the sack was the strangest of them all. It was completely ordinary. Completely extraordinary. Nearby, an oversized metal three legged pot stood on the floor. She tossed the sack in it and then soaked it with a flask of oil. She snatched a torch off the wall.
“Let’s see how the fire elements treat it.”
She set it on fire.
A whuff of smoke and fire went up, filling the room with dark smoke. She grabbed a lever on the wall and pulled it down. Above, part of the roof opened in her tower. She fanned the black smoke from for her face and coughed.
“Should have opened that first.” She cackled.
She grabbed some kindling from underneath a small stove and tossed it in. Added some lumps of coal as well. Dusted her fingers off on her raggedy robes. The orange blaze grew and the wood crackled. The dogs howled and woofed a little.
“What is it, boys?” she said, walking over and scratching their heads. They cringed. “Don’t like the smell, do you? Well, I don’t much like it either. It’ll go away.” She rubbed her back, basking in the fire glow on the wall. “Feels pretty good on the backside though.”
Whuff!
The orange glow went out. The warmth with it.
The dogs pinned their ears down and growled.
“What in …” she said, slowly turning. “Bone!”
All the flames were extinguished. Even the smoke in the air. Something stood in the pot. It was four feet tall. All muscle with hard ruddy knots on its skin. Three tiny horns on its head. A large eye took up most of its face, unblinking. Its leathery lips were curled.
“What have we here?” Haggie said with a cackle, getting closer. She never remembered being so excited before.
The imp folded its arms over its brawny chest. It squawked a little. Cocked its head.
“A guardian? An imp?” Haggie clapped her hands together. “Ah, this is going to be so exciting. So exciting!” She scurried to the shelves on the wall and grabbed some chalk. She drew a circle and mystic figures on the floor.
“Come, come,” she said.
The guardian of the sack hopped into the circle. Cocked its head back and forth like a bird.
Haggie summoned her magic. Power filled her. An incantation started and ended.
The guardian stood inside a glowing green circle. A little growl rattled in its throat.
“Ah, it’s alright, my pet. You are mine to keep now.” She stroked its head. Rubbed the knotty spines on its shoulders. “You are such a magnificent little creature. Ugly too.” She flashed her yellow teeth. “But ugly is the new beautiful.”
It showed a mouthful of short teeth colored like egg shells.
Haggie patted its head.
“Such a little charmer, aren’t you?”
It whacked her in the belly.
She doubled over.
It clocked her in the jaw.
Haggie saw large white spots and everything faded black.
The guardian stepped out of the glowing circle and took the mystic sack out of the cauldron. It opened the mouth of the sack and stuffed her inside like rags, then walked over to the dogs and rubbed both their heads. The dogs licked the guardian imp up and down, drawing a fierce little smile. It reached inside the sack and pulled out large ham bones and tossed them on the floor with a clatter. They barked, lay down and started to gnaw.
With a grunt, the imp tossed the sack over his knotty shoulder, scaled the wall like a monkey and disappeared through the window.
25
Venir sat on the sofa in Kam’s apartment. Baby Erin was nestled in his big arms. Sleeping. Silent.
“She’s so tiny,” he said. “Like a halfling.”
“She’s big for a girl. You’re just too big for a boy,” Kam said, offering a weak smile.
Venir grunted. The last few days had been the best he’d known since he left. Despite all the bruised and cracked bones, he felt better. Not his best by far, but better. It was Kam he worried about now. She looked gorgeous sitting in the rocker. The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. But her eyes were tired. Her demeanor dark.
“How does it feel to find out you’re a father?” She teetered forward in the rocker. “Of not only one, but two?”
“Well,” he said, shrugging his big shoulders. Erin stirred. “Easy now, little girl. Uh … well she’s far prettier and seems a little less temperamental.”
“You haven’t seen her hungry. She can be quite the handful. But you didn’t answer me.”
“Bish is full of surprises.” He offered a smile. “Brak and Erin are some of the better ones. I can say that.”
Kam went over to the window and stared outside. She was different. Unsure. Angry. Venir could feel it. It was also how he felt.
“I don’t have any plans, Kam, if that concerns you.”
She turned and huffed.
“Venir, I couldn’t be happier that you’re here, but given the circumstances, it might be best if you left again.”
“Will you quit saying that?”
“No,” Kam objected. “Darleen will—”
Venir let out a gusty laugh.
Erin’s eyes lit up and she giggled.
“Are you really worried about that oversized raccoon?” He got up and set Erin inside her cradle. “Hah! Melegal has a handle on her.”
Kam twinkled her fingers. The cradle rocked and started singing.
“No Venir! She’s not the problem. It’s Scorch. And Master Sidebor. They will come. And when they do,” she shook her head. “It’ll be the end of all of us.” Her chin dropped. “You finally came, but you couldn’t have come at a worse time.”
Venir covered her shoulders with her hands.
“Then perhaps we should make the most of our time together before that time comes?”
Her head snapped around at him.
He eyed the bed.
Her green eyes blazed. “Pig!”
“I’m no pig,” he said, holding down his voice. He’d wanted her from the moment he first saw her again, days ago. “I need you, Kam. I want you … now.”
She shoved him in the chest.
“Go try your charm on Critter Face. Get out of here, Venir!”
He stood his ground.
“You have not left my thoughts since the day I left.”
“And you have not left mine,” she said, twisting away from his clutches. “And that’s not a good thing!” She opened the door and beckoned him out. “Go!”
Venir headed for the door and went right out.
She slammed it behind him.
He caught it with his foot. “Sssssh … you’ll wake the baby.”
She shoved him back and quietly closed the door.
He heard her on the other side of the door, saying, “Men!”
“Wenches,” he said, heading for the stairs.
Melegal sat huddled in the corner alone at the Magi Roost. Despite the rough start, the tavern was more than palatable. The serving girls were pretty and friendly. The wine as good as it comes, not the cat piss he’d gotten used to in the Drunken Octopus.
He cleaned his last fingernail with a knife. Took a long sip of wine. Eyed a serving girl with swaggering hips and puffy red lips.
Looks better. Smells better. Must be better. Hmmm?
She made her way over to him with a warm smile on her face. Her blouse dangled open at the neck. Her eyes and nails were painted in soft colors and she smelled like freshly cut flowers.
“More wine?” she said, taking a seat. “Food or other delicacies?”
“Is that all you have to offer?”
“Now, now,” she said, patting his hand. “This isn’t that kind of tavern. I bet you’re from Bone, aren’t you?”
Melegal shrugged. “What gave it away?”
“Oh,” she said, twirling her hair, “you’re more direct down there. But, I like a man that’s straightforward.”
Melegal slid some coins across the table.
“And I like pretty girls that keep sweet wine coming.” He flashed a smile. “Bring me some stew as well.”
“Certainly,” she said, wiggling her hips out of the chair and walking away from the table.
With admiration, he watched her go. He held up his goblet.
To Haze. May your memory never fade so long as my loins can help it.
He shifted toward the fire. Tightened the cloak on his shoulders.
The Magi Roost was in good order now. All the broken furniture had been stitched together by a magic spells. Kam had done that, to the bewilderment of many. Beautiful and smart, a pressing advantage despite the missing hand. That was the eerie thing. The hand that drifted inside the oversized pickle jar. Who does such a thing? Melegal had gotten the entire story, thanks to Billip. It was disturbing, perhaps overblown. Let’s just see how it goes? If anyone draws trouble, it’ll be Venir. I’ve no quarrel with this Scorch or Sidebor.
Darleen stepped into his view. She rubbed her big chin and eyed him. Her goons that he’d come to know from earlier, Dasan and Ozark, accompanied her.
Lords, she’s like Sis and Frigdah in one. A Motley Girl ten times.
Ozark and Dasan took seats on either side of him. Their faces were busted and bruised. Darleen stood right in front of him, blocking his view.
“This is a scrawny one,” Darleen said, sucking her teeth, “and I can’t tell for sure if it’s a man or a woman.”
The goons chuckled.
“I’m not surprised,” Melegal said, “I don’t think giant vermin can discern that.”
“Oh ho!” Darleen said, slapping her knee. “He talks like a man. Let me ask you something, man-woman.”
“Ask away, uh, Darleen, isn’t it?”
“Yea.”
“Well, that is a pretty name, but something’s wrong with it.” He gave her a hard look.
She drew back and said, “What?”
“It’s just that the name and the face don’t match. I mean, I’m well-traveled and I’ve never met an orc named Darleen before. Perhaps you should try an orcen name. Durlith.” He rapped his fingers on the table. “That’s it, Durlith! Durlith … Yes, that fits your face like a gauntlet.”
Ozark and Dasan laughed.
Darleen shot them a look.
“Listen you!” She pointed right at Melegal. “Joke all you want, but when Scorch and Sidebor get here, I’m going to have them peel you apart from the inside out.”
“And if they don’t come?” Melegal said, checking his nails. “Then what will you do? Perhaps it is you who should go. After all, it is you who are not wanted.”
Darleen slammed her fists on the table. Her face and neck turned blood red.
Melegal eased back in his seat. She was big for a woman and her breath was bad. The whole lot of them smelled.
“You need to go! Your friends need to go with you!” she seethed. “It’s the only way Scorch will spare you. Consider this warning a kindness.”
“I didn’t realize livestock were capable of kindness.”
Dasan grabbed Melegal’s jerkin at the shoulder. Jerked him forward. “You better mind your manners,” Dasan said, drawing him in.
Melegal looked right into his eyes. “Let go.”
“Or what?” Dasan said with a jutting chin.
Melegal grabbed Dasan’s hand and wrenched his thumb.
Dasan howled, jumping up from the table.
Whisk!
Melegal slipped a dagger under Ozark’s fat neck.
Blood dripped onto Ozark’s armor.
“I can draw more or I can draw less.”
Wide eyed, Ozark pulled his fat hands away from the daggers in his belt.
“Are we finished here,” Melegal said, “Durlith?”
“Not even close,” she said, slowly turning away. “Let’s go!”
Ozark eased his greasy neck away. Dasan sneered and moved on.
How did this place get mixed up with that woman? Critters burrow. She’ll never go.
He adjusted the cap on his head. Perhaps I can convince her.
He focused on Darleen’s mind. Eyed her feet. His head began to tingle.
She fell face-first into a table. Screamed. Bounced up to her feet with wine and food all over her. She punched Dasan in the arm.
“Why did you trip me for?”
“I didn’t!”
She punched him again, looked around and scurried out of the room.
Melegal tucked his dagger inside his cloak with a smile.
The barmaid came back with a carafe of wine and a large clay bowl of stew. “That was something,” she said, pouring his wine. “Are you alright?”
“Never better.”
She had a worried look about her.
“Is something wrong?” he said.
“Did they hit you?”
“No. Why?”
“Your nose is bleeding.”
Melegal touched his finger under his nose. The blood on his fingertips was warm.
“It’s nothing,” he said. “Perhaps it’s this northern weather.” He slipped out a handkerchief and dabbed his nose with it. “There. Seem better?”
She nodded, reached over and rubbed his chin.
“You just whistle if you need me, Handsome.”
“I certainly will.”
His head started to ache.
26
“Underlings,” the strider chieftain said, gesturing with his two left arms. Up. Down. Out. “Many.” He jabbed his spear into the ground. Clicked his tiny sharp teeth. “Many. Many. Many.” He wore a headdress that hung over his head like a helmet with metal beads down to his neck. His chest was covered in plate mail that looked fit for a human. He was tall, taller than the rest.
Fogle had thought they were dead the moment they stepped inside the hut. Things couldn’t have been more contrary. Their bonds were cut and they were set down on high stools before the Chieftain, who stood, taller than all the others. With a wave of his hands, he’d cleared the room and said, “Welcome, Boon.”
“Yes,” Boon said, nodding, “there are many, many indeed, Tarcot. Beyond what I have seen before. You?”
Tarcot twinkled his fingers in the air. His speech was long and odd. “They move, a great black centipede of death. Destroyers. Reavers. Armored like men from within the high walls. They feed Bish much blood. Innocent blood.”
Fogle rubbed his wrists, eyeing the lone strider that stood like a statue before them. How does he speak? He has no tongue. No lips. Bugs cannot talk. He let out a little cough. The hut was filled with mist that spilled out of strange colorful urns that were scattered throughout the room. The mist felt like flower petals and the scent was uneasy, much unlike what he’d smelled before he entered.
“Any ideas, Tarcot? Your existence is vastly longer than mine,” Boon said.
Tarcot let out a long, low chuckle. “You want a fight, don’t you, Fiend Slayer? To see them skinned and burned.” He held his hard belly. “Ha. Ha.” He pointed to Fogle. “Your grandfather. He likes all kinds of ugly. Take staff and bring thunder from the skies, he did. Killed dozens at a time. He laugh. Thinks it’s funny. Hmph.” He crossed two arms over his chest. “I see no staff now, Fiend Slayer.”
Boon shrugged.
“It was just a stick with some magic in it, Tarcot,” Boon said in a serious tone. “We need to address this matter. Things are not right in this world. It’s different. Can you not feel it?”
Tarcot nodded. “I do.” He clapped his hands.
Fogle had listened to Boon talking about this before. The world changing. A shift. An imbalance. He didn’t feel it, but he did feel Boon’s concern. It was serious.
Two striders appeared from a concealed doorway behind Tarcot. They were tall, but not taller than the others. They wore cloth tunic dresses of many colors. They wore jewelry and had long eyelashes. There was something else different about them too. They had breasts. Round. Heavy. He thought of Cass. Kam. Fogle glanced at his grandfather.
Boon smiled, lifted his brow and said, “Makes me think of your grandmother.”
Another female strider entered with a large pewter tray loaded with strange foods and tall stone carafes. More entered the room in more revealing clothing.
“Ease, Boon. Ease,” Tarcot said. “Today we have peace before war, for war brings no peace.” He sat back on a large four-armed wooden chair. Pointed at Fogle. “Grandson, no never see dancers like this before.” He clapped.
The strings of instruments were strummed. A leather drum beat. The sounds of tiny cymbals chimed with the twenty fingers of the dancing strider women. They bounced. Strutted. Swayed. Heads bobbed back and forth. The rhythm and song took over like a fever. Fogle started to sweat. His heart pounded with the drums.
A strider woman slipped behind him and another behind Boon. Strong hands, four of them, seized his back and neck.
“What!”
The strider woman’s strong arms held him tight and she snickered in his ear.
“We are their guests, Grandson. Enjoy what they serve,” Boon said, eyes closing, neck drifting back.
Says you!
He pulled away, only to be pulled back. She made a strange sound of warning in his ear. Twenty fingers kneaded his muscles. Rubbed his temples, back and shoulders at the same time.
Oh Bish, this feels magnificent.
His head eased back between her breasts. The dancing girls came closer and closer. Their bug eyes and swaying hips became hypnotic. His mind raced one last time. What if it’s a trap? Twenty fingers convinced him otherwise. He thought of Cass. Her lithe frame. Supple body.
The under-Bish can have that Dragon lover! He pulled that dagger out of his heart and slunk back farther. Quit acting like a virgin, Fogle.
27
The cave ran deep below the Great Forest of Bish. Not hundreds of feet, but miles deep. There was no path. No life. No critters. No bugs. No worms. Just the soft glow of Trinos’s hands that led the Nameless Two one step after another through the gloom, winding and twisting through the catacombs. Not even dwarves or underlings had been in such a hole. That was the way she wanted it. The perfect place to hide.
“Not much farther,” she said, her voice echoing on the hard rock walls. She could feel her companions’ fatigue. Their doubt. Impatience. But they were loyal. Tough. Scarred by time and battle, but still human. An odd pair. Even for Bish. “My strength is with you.”
They’d been walking for hours, well over a day. Trinos could have gotten there faster without them, but she just might need them. She hadn’t needed anyone for … how long, it was almost impossible to say.
It felt good though. Getting away from the world above. Such turmoil. Such chaos. It was getting worse. She felt weaker. The world felt stronger. And it was her creation after all. And not in the way she wanted. Scorch the meddler had done more damage than she originally anticipated. And it didn’t seem that her equalizer, the mystic sack, was enough to handle it.
Or was the sack just having a problem finding a person that could handle that kind of power? Other steps would have to be taken. It was why she was here.
A glow appeared ahead. Radiant and changing colors. She could feel the rock pulsating around her. The Nameless Two were wide eyed. Their hands white knuckled on their swords. She lost her breath a little. The fine hairs on her arms pricked up.
“Come,” she said, moving toward the light.
She rounded the bend in the cave and there it was. A monstrous cavern hundreds of yards wide and deep. In the center, a gigantic orb of brilliant energy. Swirling. Throbbing like a mystic heart. A living moon of wondrous colors. It flared. Colorful lightning lived within. Bright spots but black spots too.
Trinos gasped.
The orb was smaller. Much so. Where the orb had once hung suspended on its own, it now was anchored to Bish. Spikes of earth and rock jabbed into it like spears, with energy coursing through them.
Bish was feeding off the orb like a leech feeds off its prey.
Trinos felt her stomach turn. The orb was where she and Scorch had stored their power when they came. Hidden from the world above for safe keeping. Without that power, they would be trapped on Bish. Forever. Or until they died. For the first time in eons, Trinos felt fear.
“Problematic, isn’t it?” a voice spoke.
The Nameless Two struck.
Stab! Stab!
Scorch stood in white robes, with an irritated look in his eyes. Two swords were buried in his chest to the hilts. “Enough already. Trinos, your over aggressive fleas no longer humor me.”
With a wave of his palm, the Nameless Two were flung away. They jumped to their feet.
Trinos stayed them with her hand. She turned and faced Scorch. “It seems we both share the same concern,” she said.
Scorch brushed his hand over his robes to repair the sword slits and then eyed the rocky shafts that penetrated the orb. “I did not foresee this,” he said.
“Neither did I,” Trinos agreed, “but I did want my world to be unpredictable …” She stretched out and touched one of the spikes in the orb. The power that coursed through the strand of rock was warm. Intoxicating. “It’s exceeded expectations.” She tilted her head and glanced past his shoulder. “Hmmm … I see you are not alone either. Strange company you keep, Scorch.”
A figure in dark robes hovered behind him. His eyes were like iron. There were others. Soldiers in black chain armor with many weapons. Underlings.
“They are your creation,” Scorch said, “are they not? And quite interesting. Entertaining. I like the way they think. I like the way you thought them out.”
“I didn’t create them to be your evil playmates.”
“Nonetheless, they are.”
Trinos drifted backward and stood in between the Nameless Two. She felt vulnerable. It bothered her much.
Bish was her creation!
And someone was taking it from her.
“Trinos,” Scorch started, politely. He locked his fingers behind his back and began to pace. “I’m thinking it might be best if I left. Perhaps you would care to join me? I long for the loneliness of the stars again.”
He sounded sincere. His smile was dashing. Convincing.
Trinos felt a chill. The thought of a cold life in space again didn’t enamor her. She liked Bish. Hard fought or not. The peaceful moments were worth fighting for. That’s what life was about.
Scorch came closer. “I can’t do this without you. Nor you me.” He held her face in his hands. “You are such a beautiful creature. Brilliant. Perhaps we can start our own world together. The greatest of all systems.”
Her flesh stirred. Goosebumps raised on her arms. His warm breath on her neck comforted her. She felt more alive than ever.
She rested her hand on his broad chest. Felt his hard muscles. Impressive. She looked up into his eyes. They were blue like newborn planets. Filled with life. But, a furnace of deceit was behind them. I can’t be this mortal. She narrowed her eyes, shoved him back.
“You don’t want to leave,” she said, clenching her fist. Be ready. “You just want the power.”
Scorch offered an innocent grin. “I want both. To come and go as I please, as you once did. We both can have both again.”
“I don’t want both,” Trinos said. “I want this.”
“Then help me harness the power so that I might leave.”
“That would only give you the power to destroy me. To destroy Bish. That is why one cannot leave without the other’s consent.” She poked him in the chest. “This never would have happened if you had never meddled with my world in the first place.”
“You could have just let it be. Left me alone. But you wanted an explanation.”
“You’re right,” Trinos said, turning away. “I should have left you to the Void.”
Scorch seized her wrists and jerked her to his chest. “You’ll certainly wish you had if you don’t succumb to this.”
“Unhand me!” she yelled.
The cavern shook. Shards of rock dropped from above, sizzling into the orb and splitting the hard ground.
He forced her toward the ledge. His blue eyes were infernos. “Do this, Trinos!”
“Never!”
The Nameless Two’s blades bit into Scorch.
The iron-eyed underling flung them aside with a wave of his hand.
The underling soldiers pounced on the fallen fighters.
Trinos’s feet shuffled on the ledge. Scorch had overpowered her with his surprise assault. His hands were vices on her wrists.
“Quit fighting,” he said, “You’ve no choice in the matter.” He looked over his shoulder at the underling with iron eyes. “Do it!”
The underling gestured with his glowing hands. She raised her guard, and gasped when Scorch muted it with his powers. She and Scorch were lifted from their feet and sailing toward the orb.
“Stop this madness!” she screamed in his face.
Into the orb they went with a dazzling flash.
Bish shook and trembled.
Master Sinway stood on the ledge with a smile on his face. He’d never imagined such power before. He stretched out his hand. Fingertips. It fed him. Just to harness it would give him all the strength he ever needed.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
He turned toward the skirmish.
The Nameless Two outmatched his Badoon soldiers, their blades as fast as they were sharp. They moved with speed beyond their powers. Sinway was certain the woman had something to do with that. Her powers were unfathomable as well.
And here I thought I was the most powerful in all the world. I am a gnat!
Mesmerized, he watched the orb. Scorch had promised him more power than he could imagine, but he could imagine quite a bit now. He leaned closer. Why should I wait for him to give it if I can take it for myself? He licked his lips.
He turned. The last Juegen soldier had fallen. The Nameless Two came straight for him, blades dripping with gore. Summoning his power and slinging them backward with a thought, he turned to face the orb once more. Thousands of years of life converged into his next thoughts.
“I want. I get.”
Into the orb he went.
28
It was late. The bustling in the Magi Roost was dwindling. Venir’s chair groaned when he rested his forearms on the table. The fire crackled behind him, warming his back. A blurry eye inspected the innards of his tankard.
“Ale!” Venir yelled.
“There’s plenty on the table,” Melegal said with a bargirl giggling on his lap. “Pour and be silent already.”
Venir grabbed one empty tankard after another and tossed them to the floor.
“Grog!”
“You finished all that was left,” Melegal said.
“I did?”
Melegal nodded. “But they’ve plenty of coffee left.”
Venir leaned back, chair groaning. He’d been drinking the better part of the day. Loosening his bones down to the marrow. Softening the aching in his muscles. He rubbed his face. Felt the sting of the shiner on it. Ran his fingers over his missing ear.
What else is there?
He rested his hands on the edge of the table. Eyed the black stubs of his fingers on one hand. It trembled. Flexed the five on the others.
“I’m surprised there’s this much left of me,” he whispered.
“Me too,” Melegal said, not looking at him.
Venir wasn’t sure if Melegal was talking to him or the buxom woman on his lap. His thoughts drifted to Kam. He didn’t know if she was mad at him or not. He rubbed his face. Yawned. Turned toward the fireplace and reflected several moments. Fight or die. He grabbed a metal poker and stirred the coals. I fought and should have died. I fight … things die. “Hmph.”
A strong hand slapped his shoulder. He turned. Billip stood behind him and took a seat. His forehead showed deep creases.
“Try to keep it a little lower, Venir,” Billip said, cracking his knuckles. He eyed the front door and balcony. “We haven’t had this much peace in days and I’m certain it won’t last. Let us all enjoy it if you can?”
Venir scooted back to the table.
“Why does everyone act like they’re dead already?”
“Because we probably are.”
“That doesn’t sound like your kind of talk, Billip.”
Billip rubbed is goatee and offered a grin.
“Well, if you insist on sitting around until Scorch arrives, my perspective will be plenty clear.”
Venir stretched his long arm across the table and grabbed a metal pitcher. He looked inside and tossed it to the floor.
“Will you stop doing that?” Billip said. “Have you lost both your brains and your manners? This isn’t one of Bone’s holes, Lout.”
Venir let out a rugged sigh and leaned back. “Does one man frighten you so, Billip? After all we’ve fought? All we survived.”
Billip grabbed his arm and squeezed it. “We need to leave while we have the opportunity. He’ll be back. Our lives depend on it.” He swallowed. “Talk to Kam. Tell her to leave this cursed place.”
“She won’t go, Billip. Not with any convincing. Certainly not mine.” He pulled his arm away. “And where would she go? Any of us? The underlings spread like weeds. Look at these people.” Over a dozen patrons remained. Smoking. Drinking. Having hushed conversations with one another. “They are scared slatless of the wilderness. There is nothing but death out there. Melegal and I barely made it here ourselves. The caravans are arriving in bits and pieces. You said so yourself.” He stood up. “No, I’ll take my chances with this Scorch and the other one for now.”
“Melegal,” Billip started, “are you hearing me?”
Melegal shrugged his narrow shoulders and said, looking at his girl, “My ears are reserved for her lips tonight. You should do the same.”
Venir rubbed Billip’s head, picked up the pitcher, and set it on the table. He patted the long hunting knife on his hip.
“We’ll be alright.”
It was going to take more than scary stories to run Venir off. He’d fought hard enough to get back. The Outlands. Underlings. The Under-Bish. Giants. Dragons. He’d survived them all. He couldn’t imagine anything worse than that.
Billip looked over his shoulder at him. “You don’t have that get up, Venir. Not that I think that’d be much help either.”
I escaped Outpost Thirty One without it, he wanted to say, but didn’t. He would have died without Slim. That much was certain.
“Billip,” Venir said, “I’m staying. You’ve no reason to stay if you don’t want.” He looked at Melegal. “You either.”
“Hah,” Melegal said, “I’m not staying on account of you. I’m staying on account of her.” He squeezed the barmaid’s knee. She giggled and slapped his shoulder. “And I’ve come as far as I want for today. I’m not going anywhere near those Outlands. Not after those … things!”
“What things?” the barmaid said. “I want to hear this.”
“You’ll hear when I say you can hear and not a moment sooner.” Melegal bounced her off his lap. “Now off with you. Take me to your abode. My limbs grow weary.” He wrapped his arms around her waist. “I need a woman’s touch to soothe them.”
Georgio, Brak, and Nikkel burst out of the kitchen and headed straight for Venir’s table and took a seat.
“What’s going on?” Georgio said. He had a toothpick in his mouth.
Brak burped.
Nikkel was all smiles, patting his belly.
Joline stormed out of the kitchen, her eyes locked on Billip. She hollered, “Keep them out of here! Giant urchins!” She pointed. “You’re going back to the market first morning!”
“Me?” Billip said. “Make them go!”
“You all go!”
She ducked back into the kitchen.
“Fine job, boys. Fine job!” Billip cursed.
“Aw, don’t worry, Billip. We’ll go.” Georgio said, yawning. “It’s nothing.”
“Taking you to the market? Any of you?” Billip said. “Last time, half the supplies didn’t make it back. I’d trust an orc sooner than you overgrown bed-wetters.”
Venir let out a gusty laugh. Everyone followed. He couldn’t remember the last time he laughed so hard. There used to be more laughter in his life but now there was hardly any. It didn’t use to be this way.
Brak’s swollen face had a big round smile.
Nikkel’s teeth shone white.
Georgio’s curly hair bounced on top of his head.
Even Melegal couldn’t hide the grin on his face.
“Vee!” Georgio said. “I want to hear what all you did. How many more underlings are dead?”
It was a moment. Venir’s heart stopped in his chest. The mutterings of people. The smell of food. The taste of ale. A smoky room. Embers crackling in your ears.
This was home.
Venir laid his heavy arms on the table. All eyes were on him. Even Melegal stayed his withdrawal. Brak leaned in the farthest of them all. Eyes wide. Filled with wonder. Curiosity.
“I’m not even sure where to start,” Venir said, looking down at the table. “It’s been so long … I’m not sure I have the tongue for it anymore.” He cleared his throat. Pushed back from the table. “Maybe tomorrow.”
Brak grabbed his hand and pulled him back. “Maybe there is no tomorrow.”
Their eyes locked. Venir shook his head and tried to pull away again. Brak held him fast.
“Tell us what happened to your fingers,” a sprite voice injected. “How’d they get cut off? It looks like an underling ate them.”
Venir saw a girl taking off an apron. She climbed up and sat cross-legged at the end of a table. It was Jubilee.
“Yeah,” Nikkel said. “I want to hear about the time you fought Farc too. I was there!”
“An imp ate them,” Venir said, holding out his hand. “The ugliest thing I ever saw, and I’ve seen a lot of ugly.”
“As ugly as Darleen?” Georgio said with laugh.
“Uglier.”
Everyone fell silent.
Before he realized it, Venir was talking. Telling. Arms flailed in the air. Stories rolled off his tongue like honey, one word after another. Every ache. Pain. Doubt. Regret. It fled. It went on for one hour. Then two.
Giants.
Dragons.
Imps.
Man-urchins.
Orcs.
Brigand Queens.
Mist.
Minotaurs.
Royals.
Ogres.
Wizards.
Oversized Insects.
Underlings.
Horror after horror. Fight after fight. Torment after torment.
He talked on and on from night till dawn. Every seat was filled when he suddenly felt compelled to stop. Took a breath and looked up. Kam was there, Erin in her arms, smiling the same as the first time he met her.
He smiled back and winked. “See, no blood this time. My stories don’t always hurt.”
The front door creaked open. Some of the sleepy faces at the table stirred.
Venir watched Kam’s green eyes grow wide. Erin fussed in her arms. Jubilee looked over her shoulder and gasped. All the young men’s faces went taut. Melegal looked at him and shrugged.
A man in dark robes entered the room with a hood over his head. Darleen, Ozark and Dasan came down the steps with triumphant looks in their eyes.
Billip whispered to Venir, “That’s Master Sidebor.”
The lights in the room grew dim. The air felt cold.
Venir’s hand fell to the knife on his hip. He eased it out. Eyed Melegal.
Jubilee hopped off the table and scurried out of sight.
Master Sidebor took her place and stood at the table’s end.
“It is my understanding that cooperation is no longer forthcoming from you,” he said, sliding the sleeves up his arms. He tapped his long black finger nail on the table. Tiny holes sizzled in the wood. “I think Scorch will be very unhappy to know that his warning was not heeded.”
“This Scorch is not welcome here,” Venir said, standing up, “and neither are you.”
Sidebor lifted his hooded head up. “Human, your mouth and your girth only give me more to torment … and I will enjoy it.”
Venir’s heart started thumping in his ears. This thing sounded like a man. Looked like a man. But something was different. Twisted. Wrong. He looked up at Kam. She was shaking her head. She started down the steps. Osark and Dasan barred her path.
“Get out of my way!” Kam demanded. “Sidebor! Leave them be! It’s me you want, not them. Let them go. I’ll stay.”
Sidebor chuckled. “Oh, it’s too late for that, I’m afraid,” he said, scratching patterns in the table. “Too late, much so. My patience is at an end. Scorch’s will be as well.”
Sidebor didn’t look so smug when the entire tavern shook.
Wood cracked and groaned. The floor buckled. Glass and pottery crashed to the floor.
“What in Bish was that?” Billip said, looking around, eyes wild. “I felt the entire world shake. I swear I did!”
Sidebor’s hood had fallen from his face. His ruby eyes flashed a startled look.
Venir’s blood turned red hot. His neck hairs rose. His veins pumped with fire.
Underling!
He launched himself—knife first—over the table.
29
Creed sat inside his cell with his head between his knees. His wounds burned. His head hurt. The cold damp air made him shiver. He coughed.
Bone! What have I done to myself!
He thought of the armament. Such power he’d had in his hands. He should have used it to dispatch Lord Grom. That’s what he should have done. He never imagined his grandfather would punish him so. And for fighting underlings, of all things. Defending his home. His city against evil.
It’s upside down.
He leaned his head against the wall and started rubbing the callouses on his hands. They were thick and white, like hide armor. Since he’d been a child he’d swung steel like a duck treads water. Now, he felt naked as a babe. Helpless. Defenseless. In his own home, of all places.
I’ve got to get it back!
He thought much about Lorda. Her teardrop face, cat eyes, and long silky air. She’d betrayed him, but in a good way. She actually cared. Wanted him alive and not dead. He always did have a way with older women. He allowed himself a smile and fantasized some more.
She likes me.
“The woman pretty. The woman pretty … Eh,” the other prisoner said. “Like a cat. Kit cat. Cat. Long since I see a woman.”
Creed put his head back down.
“Seen many women. Had wife. Children. Not pretty like that … Eh. Eh. No, not pretty like that.” He licked his overgrown mustache and gestured with his hands. “So round … Eh. Round. Curvy like flower vase … Eh.”
Creed still had no idea who the old man was and he didn’t care. He’d ruled out it being his uncle. Still, it bothered him that this stranger knew everyone in the castle. They were family in one way or another. Many of them. Hundreds. Some lived in and some lived out. But the Bloodhounds were thicker than thieves.
“Lord Grom takes what he likes … Eh. Likes her. No other reason why you here … Eh. Sad. True … Eh. Sad.”
It felt true. Every bit of it. It made him wonder how many other things had happened that he didn’t know. It made him curious. What had happened to his father and mother? All he was ever told was there was a misfortunate incident with the Royals. No one had ever spoken of it since.
“How long have you been here?” Creed said, opening up without even thinking. He wasn’t even sure if he’d said it at first.
“Never mind,” Creed said, dropping his head back between his knees.
“Gorgon.”
With his head still between his knees, Creed replied, “What?”
“My name … Eh. Gorgon. You should always introduce yourself … Eh. Gorgon is my name.”
Creed took a closer look at the man in the adjacent cell. He was skin and bone in tattered clothes. Unkempt and dirty. His hair was coarse black with streaks of grey, and it hung in his eyes. The name seemed familiar.
“Gorgon, huh?” Creed said. “So, how long have you been here?”
“Eh … years I suppose. Don’t know me, do you? Eh. Look harder.”
“There are many Bloodhounds that come and go. I’ve never known them all. Why should I know you?”
“I suppose I’m a little thinner … Eh. Since the last time you saw me … Eh. Last time you sat upon my knee … Eh, Creed?”
Creed lifted his head and took a closer look.
“You’re just making things up. And I don’t know a Gorgon.”
“Am I now?” Gorgon lifted his hair back, pressed his face to the bars. “Look closer at Gorgon.”
Creed peered into his eyes. They were round with dark circles. Pale green. Playful. Strong. His wrists that squeezed the bars were thick.
Gorgon started to mumble.
“Fire melts metal … Mold makes sword …”
Creed blinked and said, “… Steel separates blood from bones.” He gasped. “You’re the blacksmith?”
“Aye,” Gorgon said.
“Why are you here?” Creed asked.
Gorgon shrugged. “I’m not so sure I remember. It’s been so long … Eh. But, I know things. Too many.”
“Then why doesn’t Grom just kill you?”
“Because he can’t.”
“Because—”
The dungeon shook. Metal groaned. Rock debris felt from above. The ground beneath them heaved up and down. The gap of light Creed had grown fond of split wider.
Creed yelled, heart racing. “What was that?”
Gorgon lay in his cell, unmoving. A chunk of ceiling had fallen on him and his secrets.
30
Scorch squeezed. Probed. Dug.
Trinos twisted. Turned. Blocked.
Scorch was a ravenous dog hungry for power. Unrelenting. Vicious.
“You will not have it!”
“I WILL!”
Back and forth they went. Tugging and tumbling through the vast space of their power, buried in the center of Bish. A part of Trinos wanted to turn it over to him. Let him have it. Let it go. But his lies had revealed themselves. She could feel it. He wasn’t attached to this world like she was. He was in it for the amusement. He would destroy it. That might not have meant so much to her ages ago, but it was her world. If anyone was going to destroy it, it would be her. I’ll protect it! Trinos dug in.
She jammed her fingers inside his chest. Unleashed her power. Brilliant light exploded from her fingers. Scorch howled and spun away.
Hovering in the myriad of color, clutching his chest, Scorch’s handsome face turned ugly.
“You will not win this battle!”
Sharps of dark energy erupted from his hands.
Trinos caught it in her hands and flung it back.
“Bish is my world, Scorch, not yours!”
Balls of bright fire appeared in her hands. She slung one right after the other.
Voom! Voom! Voom!
Scorch flew head over heels. He swatted at the fires on his robes and patted them out.
“Give it up, Trinos,” he said, summoning great lances of fire. “You don’t have my experience. My knowledge. I’m more ancient than you. All of you. You know this is true.”
“A thousand days to my one matters not to me, Scorch. You will not have my creation! You shall die here just like the rest of us.”
She spread her fingers and arms, forming a bright radiant shield.
Lances of lightning flew from his hands, one right after the other.
Ssszram!
The first ricocheted.
The second cracked her barrier.
The third went straight through the shield and into her belly. Screaming, she drifted back with her jaw dropped. A lance stuck through one side and out the other, burning with dark mystic fires. How did he do that?
She raised her hand, sent a wave of energy forth, and howled. The lance inside burned with more ferocity. Scorch’s laughter echoed in her ears. He drifted toward her. His fingers, now tendrils, wrapped around her throat.
“Oh, ho, ho!” he said in a daunting voice. “Dear Trinos. You are one of those beings not so accustomed to fighting at all, aren’t you?”
Trinos tore at the tendrils around her neck. The grip was so strong, she couldn’t speak. The pain in her belly grew and throbbed. She was bleeding.
“You never considered that you might actually die here, did you?” Scorch said, lording over her. His eyes were glazed with power. “You thought yourself my equal. My superior, perhaps? I’ve never met such a one in the entire universe.”
Trinos felt the pressure inside her head building. The lance’s fire eroding her inner being.
“Perhaps you’ll be more willing to relinquish your power in exchange for your life.”
Gagging, Trinos fought to speak. She turned to thought instead.
You’ll have to kill me first, Scorch! I might die sooner, but you’ll eventually die with me!
Every particle of her body erupted in pain. Her mind exploded in painful lights.
“I can do this a very long time, Trinos. Turn the power over to me and I’ll let you go. You can finish your life on this world along with all the other insects. And I probably won’t notice you enough to squash you.”
No…
“Yes,” Scorch said, matter of factly. “And even if you do allow me to torture you to a degree where the minutes will feel like, oh say, a thousand years, I’ll most likely find a way to harness the power by then, and continue to punish you.”
Trinos fought the pain. Clutched at the tendrils. Held on.
Promise … Please …
“Out with it, Trinos. I’ll consider your wants.”
Leave the races be. Don’t wipe them out. They entertain me.
“Ah, well, I suppose I can leave them be, but they’ll still have their hands full contending with the underlings. Do we have an understanding?”
It was all Trinos could hope for. It bought her time. It bought Bish time as well.
Agreed.
The pain faded, but remained. The tendrils loosened around her neck. She connected herself to the orb. She felt Scorch tap in as well. His face filled with exhilaration.
“Ah, now that feels wonderful,” he said, preparing to draw their power from the orb. “Like a hot bath on a chilly day. Tis sad for you though, Trinos. There is only enough power for one to come and go it seems, not two.”
The lance inside her stomach brightened. She screamed. Her eyes weakened. Her nose dripped blood. Vision faded. He was killing her.
No, she moaned. Not like this. I’m sorry, Bish.
A black shadow dropped from above. A black sphere of power surrounded all of them. Another life force entered the game. The iron-eyed underling, Master Sinway.
“What madness is this?” Scorch yelled.
Master Sinway stood among them in robes like black shadows.
“This power will be mine as well,” the underling hissed.
“You shall have your reward when I finish, Sinway,” Scorch roared.
“I shall have my reward NOW!”
Sinway blasted Scorch in the chest with black energy, disconnecting him from the orb.
Trinos’s neck was freed. She stood on her knees, coughing.
Scorch attacked. Tendrils wrapped around Sinway’s neck and squeezed.
The underling’s eyes blasted fire into Scorch’s face. He held on. Squeezed harder. Harder.
“You are a fool, Sinway! You are undone!”
The entire orb shook and warbled. Trinos rose to her feet and grabbed the barbed lance of energy inside her. She closed her eyes, clenched her teeth, and ripped it out.
“GAH!”
Her mind filled with painful pulsations, but she lived.
Scorch’s back faced her. He had Sidebor covered in tendrils. The underling’s eyes blasted back one shot after another.
Scorch yelled with fury.
“You shall die, underling! Fool, you could have had everything!”
Huffing, Trinos summoned her anger. Her rage. She lowered the lance and filled it with her power. She shot through the air and rammed it into Scorch’s back.
She punched a hole in his torso from one side to the other.
Scorch arched backward. Mouth gaping. Eyes aghast. His tendrils faded on the underling’s neck. Slowly, he turned and faced Trinos.
“This will not stop me!”
Exhausted and bleeding, she shoved him away. “We’ll see.” She drifted toward the edge of the orb. It was sucking her in.
Scorch smiled and approached the orb after her.
Master Sinway blasted him in the back with his eyes again.
Can’t let Scorch have it!
Concentrating her hardest, Trinos summoned her last bit of power and burst away from the orb, out onto the rocky ledge. She felt the cold shaking ground on her face. She saw colors exploding inside the orb. Rocks tumbled and fell. She couldn’t move. Strong arms hoisted her up and carried her away, into the darkness.
Am I dying? Am I dead?
31
Ruby red eyes. Deep. Evil.
Venir’s neck hairs went stiff. His heart caught fire.
That’s an underling!
He pounced over the table, aiming his long hunting knife at Master Sidebor’s heart.
“Die!”
He barreled the underling over, knocking him hard to the ground. He sunk the knife deep into its chest. Piercing heart and bone.
Sidebor’s howl shattered glass. Rung Venir’s ears. He punched Sidebor in the face, silencing him. Sidebor squirmed. His glowing fingers dug into Venir’s arms.
Venir roared. His arms burned. His spine crackled. He jumped away and rolled across the floor. He swatted the flames on his arms. Hair and skin sizzled. The smell of burning flesh filled his nostrils.
Melegal tossed his cloak over his arms and patted out the flames.
Everyone else stood dumbfounded, watching Sidebor rise with Venir’s hunting knife buried inside his chest.
With one hand, Sidebor pulled the knife out and dropped it to the floor. His ruby eyes glared at Venir. “This body can’t be killed by just anything, but it can kill quite well.”
“You’re an underling,” Venir growled.
“No, I’m the underling.”
Venir tossed Melegal’s cloak aside. There was no such thing as an underling that couldn’t die. If it had a body, he could kill it. He’d take its head. Take its eyes. Burn it. He took a step forward and dropped to his knees.
Out of the corner of his eyes, Melegal watched Venir fall to the ground. The brawny warrior clutched at his chest and his face turned deep red and purple.
Sidebor held his hand out, squeezing a mystic heart within his palm. Squeezing harder. Venir roared and kicked on the floor.
Georgio and Brak charged.
Sidebor flung them through the air.
Their bodies were flung over the bar, followed by a crash. Nikkel and Billip leapt at Sidebor. Both sailed through the air into the staircase.
“Kill them,” Sidebor ordered Darleen, Ozark and Dasan. “I’ll handle this pair.”
Kam shuddered. Venir was dying. Erin wailing. Someone tugged at her arm.
“We must go,” Joline said.
Kam handed her the baby. “Take her.”
“But,” Joline pleaded.
“Do it!”
Joline took the baby and hurried up the stairs.
Kam turned her attention to Dasan and Ozark. Their swords were poised over the helpless backs of Billip and Nikkel.
She summoned her power and shoved the big goons away with her mystic force. Billip and Nikkel scrambled to their feet and sprang to attack.
“No you don’t,” Darleen said, rushing up the stairs and driving her into the steps. She grabbed Kam by the hair.
“I’ve had enough of your pretty face!”
She busted it on the stairs. Kam’s limbs went numb.
Georgio crawled from behind the bar on hands and knees. At the steps, Billip and Nikkel were fighting for their lives. Dasan and Ozark had them overpowered and pinned to the floor. The bigger men raised their fists and brought down one heavy blow after the other.
Georgio rushed Dasan, screaming. The big man whirled at the last second and plunged a dagger in his belly. Georgio screamed and staggered back. It felt like an entire sword was shoved through him.
“Wait a moment, Boy,” Dasan said, keeping Nikkel pinned down by the neck. “I need to kill this one first so I can watch you die next. Ha. Ha.”
Georgio grabbed the dagger in is belly and ripped it out.
Dasan’s eyes widened.
“That’s not possible.”
“Ha. Ha,” Georgio said, running over. He jumped on Dasan and rammed the dagger through his ribs.
Brak gathered himself and peeked over the bar.
Venir convulsed on the floor.
Kam was crashed into the stairs.
Everyone else who hadn’t fled was fighting for their lives.
Master Sidebor, though smaller, seemed ten feet tall. His entirety radiated power. Invincibility.
Do something, Brak!
He needed a weapon. Something. This body can’t be killed by just anything, Sidebor had said. His cudgel. But that was hidden in the stables.
“Psst!”
Brak turned.
Jubilee had snuk behind the bar. “Move your feet,” she said.
“Just scoot back! Hurry!” she whispered. Her tiny fingers dug between the cracks in the planks and started to lift. A large compartment lay down there. Something lay there, long and shiny.
“What is that?”
“A sword, Dummy!”
Melegal’s hands hung loose at his sides.
Venir lay on the floor clutching his chest, covered in clammy sweat and purple like a beet.
Master Sidebor, an underling in a man’s body, didn’t seem possible. Neither had a lot of things that happened over the past few weeks.
Venir finds trouble all over this place. I should have stayed in Bone.
He was sliding back toward the fireplace when Sidebor’s eyes locked on him.
“Where are you going? Sit!” A chair dragged itself across the floor and slammed behind his knees. “It’s your turn to die next.”
Underlings. Over the years, Melegal had taken pride in disagreeing with Venir. Mostly about trivial things, but on one thing in particular. Underlings. Venir found them to be the cause of most problems on Bish. Melegal found Venir to be the cause of most of the problems in his life. A memory of Haze flashed in his head. The City of Bone in siege and ruin. Underlings wreaking havoc inside Castle Almen and slitting every human throat. His eyes slid over to Venir. The man kicked tables and chairs. Bucked on the floor. They locked eyes. He saw Venir’s fire. His misery. I’ll let him be right, just this once.
He glanced at Sidebor. Casually took aim. Summoned the energy in his cap. Be still. Be still. Be still.
Master Sidebor gave him a curious look.
Melegal flexed his wrists.
Twing! Twing! Twing! Twing!
Be still! Be still! Be still!
Twing! Twing! Twing!
Darts filled Sidebor’s face and neck. The mystic heart in his grip faded. Shock overtook his face. Then his black brows buckled.
Blood dripped from Melegal’s mouth and onto his chest. His head was splitting.
Venir gasped for air and his eyes had gone wild. He shot across the floor and into Sidebor. He locked his hulking arms around Sidebor’s neck and heaved. Veins rose on his bulging arms like snakes. Sidebor’s feet kicked and scraped over the ground. His gray face went white and his tongue juttered in his mouth.
“I’m gonna rip your head off, underling!”
Darleen grabbed Kam by the hair and dragged her up the steps.
“That’s some pretty hair you have,” Darleen said, pulling out her knife. “I think I’ll take it for myself. Be more useful than your hand.”
“No,” Kam muttered through her busted lips. Her arms and legs were jelly. She saw spots in her eyes. “Get off me.”
“Say a goodbye, now,” Darleen said, sawing at her hair.
Kam took a wild swing.
Darleen rapped her head on the step.
Clonk.
“Quit squirming or I’ll kill you,” she said, raising the knife up.
Kam swung again.
“Fine,” Darleen said.
Down came the knife.
Kam flinched. The knife stuck in a meaty hand.
“What the?” Darleen said.
Georgio pulled the knife out of his hand and threw it down the steps. He held out his hand and the flesh began to mend.
Darleen gasped. “That’s not possible!” She stuffed her boot in Georgio’s chest and sent him sprawling down the steps.
Kam summoned all the power she had.
Darleen clutched at Kam.
A glimmering green snake of energy burst from the floor. In an instant, it had encircled Darleen. It squeezed. The woman’s eyes bulged from her head. All she could do was scream.
“Scorch!”
32
“Do you feel it now?” Boon said, kneeling on the ground, shaking his head. “Do you feel it now, Grandson?”
One minute they’d been trotting along on horseback, escorted by a dozen well-armed striders, and the next minute their horses had stopped, whined and nickered. They were miles outside the strider village, staring at an enormous series of cracks in the ground. They stretched out for hundreds of yards, maybe miles.
Fogle ran his sleeve across his dripping forehead. Avoided the glare of the suns. “I felt the entire world move, and then some.”
“Aye,” said Boon. Deep wrinkles showed in his forehead, “Aye, but is that all?”
“No,” Fogle said. “I felt something else flow in and out of me as well. Power. A great gale whooshed into my mind, through my entirety, and passed. What was that?”
“I can’t say,” Boon said, “but I can only assume it’s bad. This world’s changing, I fear. It’s changing for the bad. Becoming more unpredictable.”
“Shouldn’t we be used to that by now?”
“Ah … now that’s the spirit, Grandson. Indeed, that’s the spirit.” Boon swung himself up into his saddle. “And who knows, maybe this made things worse for the underlings as well.”
“Do you think the underlings had something to do with this?” Fogle asked.
“I can’t say. It was as if this world’s heart had a seizure.”
“You think this world has a heart? Like a man?”
“It travails. It must have something.” Boon motioned to the striders.
One that stood as tall as Boon sitting in the saddle came over to them. It carried a great spear in two of its four hands.
“To the Jungs,” Boon said.
It patted Boon on the back, walked away and rallied its men. Six of them took off running, their long, long legs moving fast as a horse’s. Maybe faster. Fogle could not tell.
“So, we continue to build this army?”
Boon stroked his mustache. “Certainly. The underlings won’t stop building theirs. Of course, if you like, Grandson, you can wait for us back at the huts.” He lifted his brows. “Plenty of eager company back there.”
Getting a four-handed rubdown by a bug-faced woman was one thing, but letting her be your concubine was another. Fogle had to draw the line somewhere. I’m not a druid, after all. Still, anything else would be preferable to long days in the blazing heat riding on a hard saddle.
“They liked you,” Boon added with a smile.
“You’re a strange old man,” Fogle replied, riding away. They did like me, but did I kinda like them? Ew! He’s rubbing off on me.
33
Sidebor squirmed in Venir’s arms.
“Someone get a blade!” Venir yelled. “Melegal, pluck this fiend’s eyes out while I hold him down.”
Sidebor’s neck hung to the side, but he fought on. Squirming like a snake.
“You cannot take this body!” his thin lips moaned.
Sidebor’s body started to glow.
Venir felt his skin ripple. His bones bend. He lost his grip, slipped off and held on to the floor, fighting to stand. No one stood that he could see. Only Sidebor, who pushed his head back into place with a crackle. His hands filled with red power, his palms facing Venir. Bright light surged out.
And then from across the room Venir heard something ridiculous.
“I am Zorth! The Everblade! Evil dies on my blade!”
Sidebor’s head left his shoulders and bounced off the floor. Black blood spurted from the neck.
Brak stood with a great sword shining like diamonds in his hands. His eyes were rolled up in his head and he spoke again. It was loud and eerie.
“I am Zorth! Destroyer of all evil! Vengeance on all things vile!” He eyed each and every one of them and marched through the door into the streets. “Evil must pay!”
Venir snatched Sidebor’s head off the floor and tossed it into the fireplace.
“Nooooo!” it yelled.
The fireplace lit up with a whuff and crackled with bright green flames.
Venir grabbed his hunting knife and pinned the body to the wooden planks.
“That should do it.”
He peered around the room. Everyone stood except Darleen and her goons.
Melegal held a rag over his nose, looking up at him, shaking his head.
“You are to underlings what flies are to a sow’s arse.”
“I suppose,” Venir said, trembling. His entirety ached and he looked for a chair.
Someone gasped. A silence covered the room.
Venir’s eyes drifted over to Kam and read her lips.
Scorch.
A tall blond man in tattered white robes stood at the bar with bright blue angry eyes.
Scorch shuffled over toward Venir, holding his belly. He eyed Sidebor’s corpse. “Who did this?”
“That’s my blade in its chest,” Venir replied.
Scorch looked Venir in the eye. “Do you know what a god is?”
“No. Do you know what a Venir is?”
“Huh,” Scorch said, wheezing. He looked around at everyone. “My, you people can’t be content, can you?” Scorch shuffled by Venir’s broad chest to the fireplace and reached inside. He pulled the flaming head and blew it out.
“Put that back,” Venir warned, drawing back his fist.
“No!” Scorch said. His voice shook the room.
Brak burst back inside the front door with the great sword held high. He made a bead for Scorch.
“I am Zorth! Avenger! Destroyer! All evil must die!”
Scorch sneered. “This fight is beneath me. But this won’t be forgotten.”
Brak closed in and swung the great blade in a mighty arc.
Blink!
The blade bit through the wooden planks and deep into the ground below.
Scorch was gone. Sidebor’s head too. Leaving only them, Darleen and her goons.
“Scorch! Don’t leave me! Please, don’t leave me!”
Epilogue
Venir stirred. Kam lay in bed beside him, snoring softly. He sat up on the edge of the bed and pulled the sheets back over her naked legs. He stretched his long limbs and got up. The last two weeks had been quiet. Almost peaceful. The Magi Roost was back to normal.
He made his way over to Erin’s cradle. The moonlight shone on her pretty round face, but her eyes were opened wide. She lay there silent, eyes moving back and forth. Venir gently rocked the cradle.
“You miss those bright spots your mother does,” he said. “I can’t do that. And she’s sleeping.”
Erin blinked and yawned.
Still she looked worried.
Venir rubbed her tiny head with his thumb.
He had two children now. One could handle himself, the other couldn’t.
It had taken half a day to wrest the Sword of Zorth from Brak’s hands, but it had happened. Much to the thanks of Kam and her family. Wizards mostly. They’d taken the sword to better hands. Venir found relief in it. He didn’t want his son consumed by such a thing.
Erin cooed and fidgeted.
Venir picked her up and held her in his arms.
“You’re safe, Little Girl.”
He walked over to the window and basked in the shadows of the moon’s glow. Scorch’s threat didn’t sit well with him. But did they ever? There was always danger, it seemed.
There isn’t any at the moment. Enjoy it.
He could feel the lively sounds of the tavern in his bare feet. Some people were having a good time again. He’d had more sleep than he ever remembered, and Kam had allowed him to rekindle things. Many times.
He still ached, but the tightness in his shoulders was still there too. He felt restless. Like a caged animal. A dog that needed turning loose to hunt.
Riders approached from the southern entrance to the City of Three on horseback. A score of them in armor. Bows crossed their backs. Armor jangled in the saddles. Their heads were weighted down with heavy helmets. Venir knew that look. That formation. They were survivors. Silent. Defeated.
He set Erin down in her cradle. Sat back on the ledge of the window. Opened his ears. Listened.
They were part of a small battalion that left days ago. Over two hundred men. This was all that was left of them. Bloody bandages hung from their limbs. Dead bodies were draped over saddles. Venir’s heart in his chest stirred watching them ride by. His eyes narrowed. Underlings! Their forces were growing.
Kam popped up in the bed, gasping. Eyes blinking.
“What was that sound?” she said.
Venir shrugged his shoulders.
“I didn’t hear anything.”
Something stirred somewhere in the apartment.
Clank.
Venir dashed out of the room. In front of the sofa something stirred. Venir took up his knife and said, “Out with you.” He peered in the darkness at a shadow that moved and was swallowed.
Kam rushed to his side.
Venir crept closer. Something lay on the table. A jolt went through him. A leather sack lay still. No, it can’t be. His fingers stretched for it. Rubbed the stitches. Why? He picked it up and reached inside. He felt lightning tickling his fingertips.
“What is it?” Kam said, coming closer.
He offered a savage smile.
“Brool.”
Book 2
Prologue
Underlings. A scourge upon the land …
Chapter 1
His legs churned. Lungs burned. Soaked in sweat, Georgio ran for his life, but the underlings were closing fast.
Too-wha! Too-wha! Too-wha!
Darts, needles, and sling stones whizzed by him, bouncing off his armor. Others struck, stinging his arms and legs. Georgio’s heavy feet thundered down the path, through the vine-heavy tree branches, and down into a gorge.
He could hear their chitters. Cackling threats. The sounds of spiders scurrying through branches. He could hear Melegal mocking him in his head.
Move faster, fat arse, faster!
Knees pumping, boot-shod feet splashing through the creek, jumping rocks and fallen logs, he crashed to the ground, bounced up, and ripped out his sword.
Underlings surrounded him. Malicious faces with bright gemstone eyes taunted him. Their small wiry-grey bodies were corded with muscle.
Sword gripped in two hands, Georgio spun a slow circle.
The underlings, a full squad of twelve, withdrew their jagged and arcane weapons: swords, daggers, axes and knives. They cut their weapons through the air. Graceful, quick strokes. They looked more effective at filleting people than killing them.
One darted in, sword licking out.
Georgio whirled and batted the blade away.
The underling sprang back, chittering and mocking. The others joined in, jabbing at his arms and legs, skipping away from the swings of his longsword.
“Come on, fiends! Scared to get too close?” he said, huffing for breath. Georgio might be strong, but he was exhausted. Running wasn’t his thing. He knew their goal was to wear him down, like jackals do a lion. “Come on!”
A green-eyed underling advanced, chopping at his legs.
Georgio’s longsword, the sword of Tonio, flashed and cut through its throat.
It gurgled to the ground.
“Chitter now, Underling!”
The remaining eleven underlings howled. Faces filled with fury, they converged.
Georgio swung left and right in broad, decapitating swings. He cut through armor. Sawed through bone. And paid for it.
Dark steel lanced his leg. Down he went to one knee. Sharp pain bit into his shoulder. A large needle bit into his arm.
“Curse you!”
Gathering his strength, he cut the legs out from under one of them and caught another in the arm.
An underling with braided hair pounced onto his arm and bit his wrist.
Georgio’s blade fell from his grip.
A rope slipped around his neck, snaring his throat and choking him. Georgio turned, grabbed the rope and jerked the underling to the ground. The cat-sized spiders shot webs at his feet. Georgio stomped down into green-black goo. He stomped with fever.
“Get off me!’
From the corner of his eye, he saw an underling’s sword poised for his belly. It drew its arms back to strike.
A great shadow rose up behind it. Dark lightning came down.
The ruby eyes of the underling widened, and then they separated, and its body fell in twain. Black blood went everywhere.
The other underlings froze. One remarked in surprise.
Its head popped off its shoulders.
The underlings abandoned Georgio and surged toward the big man in a frenzy.
The warrior’s axe whistled up and whistled down. Blood and underling pieces went hither and yon.
Gritting his teeth, heart pumping with new blood, Georgio lunged for his sword.
A spider rested on the hilt, spewing webbing in his face.
“Son of a Bish!”
He grabbed the spider by the back and smashed it into the ground, peeled the sticky webbing from his eyes, and screamed.
“I hate this stuff!”
Finally, he wrapped his hand around his sword’s hilt and got back to his feet.
Venir was covered in underlings.
A crossbow bolt rocketed through the trees and pinned an underling to a tree.
Twang!
Arrows ripped through the air. Feathery shafts erupted in the chests of two underlings.
Georgio half limped and half charged to aide Venir. He plunged his sword into an underling’s back, drawing forth a howl. The gorge filled with screams and fury. Seconds later, it was over. Only twisted limbs and dead underling flesh remained.
Covered in both red and black blood, Georgio was gasping for breath and grimacing in pain.
“Where were you guys?”
Billip emerged from the brush. He slid his arrows into his quiver, slung his bow over his back, and cracked his knuckles.
Nikkel came right after him with a wide smile on his face. He walked up to the underling hanging from the tree, and with his sinewy arm, he ripped his bolt out. He wiped the blood off with a rag and cranked the string back on Bolt Thrower again.
Georgio gawped at them.
“Well, where were you? I almost got killed, you know!” He looked up at Venir.
The man was a sight. Metal and skin were equally coated in underling gore. He slung his helmet off and jabbed Brool tip-first into the ground. His blue eyes were blazing.
“You were supposed to go right,” Venir said, poking him in the chest. “You went left. The wrong path. I was very specific about that. We all were. Don’t you know your right from your left yet? Slat! You could have gotten any of us killed.” Venir craned his neck around. “Where’s Brak?”
Billip and Nikkel each caught the other’s eye, then looked at Venir and shrugged.
“Well that’s just great! Just great!” he reached for his helmet.
Georgio swallowed hard and said, “Sorry, Vee.”
“Don’t apologize. Let’s go find him.” He snatched his axe out of the ground. “And his heart had better still be beating. Bone!”
Georgio, head down, started along behind Venir. An underling burst from underneath the pile of flesh and darted up the gorge.
“Get after him!” Venir said.
The underling leered at them, lips curled back over its sharp teeth. Its ruby eyes flashed. Its feet turned into a blur and whizzed up the path.
Georgio’s thoughts drifted to Lefty.
How do they do that?
“Blast my hide, underling magic!”
The underling almost cleared the gorge and faded into the woods. There was a flash.
Boom!
Something exploded in its path.
They all jogged up to see what happened.
Brak greeted them. He wore a buckskin jerkin and matching boots. He towered over all of them, near seven feet tall. He dragged the underling over the ground with one hand and had the glowing white cudgel, Spine Breaker, slung over his other shoulder.
Venir started laughing when Brak said, “I might be slow, but I deliver.”
A campfire crackled, its warm glow lighting the faces of all the weary men. It had been over a year since Venir returned to the Magi Roost, and they’d been back in the hunt ever since. He watched Brak skin a rabbit, gut it, run a stick though it, and set in on the spit with the others. Barely sixteen, the man-child was a stack of hard muscles.
“There should be bigger rabbits,” Georgio said, holding his groaning belly. “And trees should grow meat on them. And cheese.”
“And bread,” Brak frowned.
Brak’s sullen eyes glanced at Venir and then away. They’d gotten to know each other better, but it was odd. Venir felt guilt about the loss of his boy’s mother, Vorla. It angered him. He leaned his heavy shoulders back against the tree and glanced over at Nikkel. The thought of not seeing Mikkel again didn’t sit well either. The big man had always been there for him. Venir hadn’t been there for them, but that was Bish. That was Bone. It didn’t used to bother him so.
“You misfits get some rest,” Venir said. “I’ll take the first watch.”
“You always take the first watch, and end up staying up all night,” Georgio said, tearing off a piece of rabbit. “You get some rest. I’ll take first watch.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Venir said. He banged on Helm with his knuckle. “The two of us can handle it.”
Georgio shrugged.
“If you say so.”
A few minutes passed, and things began to settle. Above, the sky was clear. One moon was bloody, the other a bright light. An hour went by, and the young men were all fast asleep. No blankets. No pillows. No anything.
Billip slipped over and sat down beside Venir.
“They’ve adapted well,” the archer said, rubbing the hair on his chin. “Better than I’d given them credit for. They mind you. Well, I’m not sure if it’s you they mind, or that get-up you put on. I’m glad you’ve got it back, though. Takes me back to times when.”
“Aye,” Venir said. He rubbed his calloused hand up and down Brool’s hardwood handle. The moment he had reached into the sack those many months ago, its warmth had brought him back. The aches, pains, and doubts were gone. His worn-down self had been renewed. Oh, his fingers and ear were still missing. The black scars from this battle with the Vicious still burned from time to time. And the hitch in his step and aching shoulder weren’t gone. But he was 100% better. “Aye.”
“Don’t you think it’s time we headed back? It’s quite a bounty of skulls we’ve collected.” Billip popped his knuckles. “And I’m a bit tired of creek water. Not that I’m complaining.”
“I’m sure Joline misses you, too.”
Billip pulled his shoulders back and said with a grin, “And why wouldn’t she.” He huffed a quick laugh. “It’s not just that though. I worry. I worry about ‘you know who’ coming back. He said he would.”
Bish already had its problems. Dealing with the likes of Scorch only made it worse. Underling forces amassed all over. They pressed north now. They had become a menace south of the City of Three, but unlike at Bone, the leadership of Three had responded. Venir had responded as well. For over a year, he and his comrades had kept the underlings at bay. But how much longer could they hold it together. The royals were a dysfunctional mess. Venir wouldn’t deal with them or their armies. The way they ran things, it wouldn’t be long before they ran out of men, if they didn’t get their act together.
“We’ll head back tomorrow.”
Billip brightened.
Venir glanced over at the boys.
“I’m tired of hearing all those tummies rumbling. They’ve almost gotten us killed more than once.”
“Ha,” Billip said, “I know.” He patted Venir on the shoulder, moved over to his spot, and closed his eyes. “See you in the morning.”
Venir sat a little longer, staring into the fire. He didn’t want to go back to the City of Three. Not because of Kam. He missed her warm body at his side, her soft lips pressed against his. Her fiery moments, he could do without. Well, some of them. He smiled. Erin, his daughter, seemed to double in size every time he returned. He looked forward to that. Every time he went back, it became harder to leave. But the Outlands called to him. The winds whispered in his ears. Come back, Warrior. Come back. The Outlands was his mistress. He had to defend her.
As soon as Billip’s breath eased, Venir grabbed the armament and slipped into the darkness. The stark Outland horizon greeted him. The wind whistled by Brool’s blade, making a low eerie howl. He slung the shield over his shoulders and buckled Helm over his head. Venir’s senses came to life. An awakening. Underlings were out there. He knew he should stay close to the camp, but Helm’s hunger overtook him.
Let’s go hunting.
Chapter 2
Melegal strolled through the streets with Quickster in tow. The City of Three was an adjustment, but not a difficult one. Its pleasantries were far better than those in the City of Bone. There were more flowers and colorful banners dancing in the wind. The people spoke more often to one another, and there were many races: mostly men, but also dwarves, halflings, and the odd-looking mintaurs. There were some others of repute. Soldiers of fortune. Brigands. Mercenaries and thieves with half-orcs among them. Those were the ones Melegal enjoyed watching most.
They think they’re so clever.
Flipping Quickster’s reins over a post, Melegal watched a carriage rumble by. After a couple of minutes, he eased his way in between a pair of fruit stands and fingered the produce of the vines. The merchant haggled with a pair of elderly women over the price of gourds. They held no interest for him, but a rough-looking bunch of sell-swords did. They walked through the streets swinging their broad shoulders and giving the women heavy looks. They smiled, bowed their heads, and asked for directions. They’d been hard at it the past few days, pestering the locals.
Melegal took a pear in hand and began peeling it with a fine knife resting his narrow shoulder against the store post.
“Pardon me, ladies,” the storekeeper said, glaring at Melegal. He rolled up his sleeves and stormed over. “That’s not free.”
Melegal produced a small silver coin and stuffed it in the man’s meaty hand.
“Sorry,” he said, “but I could not contain myself. One for me and one for my pony.”
“Take it, and take it now, then,” the store keeper shot back, wiping his hands on his dark green apron. “And don’t be loitering. I’ve had enough of that. I’ll call the Watch.”
“Do I look like a loiterer to you?” Melegal said, brushing his hand down the front of his clothes. This Three garb was tighter than the loose-fitting clothes he was used to. He could still conceal things, but it was more difficult. The fabric was also more refined. Kam and Joline had insisted. It had taken some convincing, but he had finally accepted that the best way to maintain his anonymity was to look like everyone else.
“No, but you’re a stranger.”
“I’m a customer now, am I not?”
The old women in big hats started calling after the storekeeper. His shoulders sagged, but his head tilted up and back. Shaking his finger at Melegal, he said, “My customers shop here more than once. Feed your hairy mule and go.” He marched back to the ladies, with a forced smile on his face.
Melegal grabbed another red pear and walked over to give it to Quickster. He scratched Quickster’s ears.
“Can you believe he called you a mule?” He sneered at the storekeeper. “He looks more like a mule than you do. Fuzzy headed—”
Quickster nickered.
“You said it,” Melegal said. He leaned over Quickster’s saddle and continued peeling his pear, chewing up sliver after sliver. The sweet and succulent fruit was something he’d gotten accustomed to. The orchards in the City of Three were amazing. Great fields, miles of them, stretched into the lands beyond the Three Water Falls as far as the eye could see. Not only did it make for wonderful fruit, but excellent wine as well. “I think we’ll get a drink next. But first, we’ll see how this plays out.”
A woman in a dazzling dress walked by, staring at him.
“My pony requires special attention,” Melegal said, tipping his cap.
She turned her nose away and marched on.
“I might need to discontinue our conversations, Quickster,” he said, watching her walk away.
An image of Octopus formed in his head. He figured the blind eight-clawed cat would be fine, but he did miss its company. Getting reacquainted with Quickster over the past year had been good for him. Quickster, quiet and resilient, neither argued nor pestered. He just breathed, ate, dumped, and did what he was told. It made him a lot more tolerable than most people.
Melegal reached down and rubbed his pony’s shaggy black belly.
“You’re a true friend …” he noticed another woman—fishing through the fruits close by— staring at him. He tipped his cap. One that listens and doesn’t judge.
Not many had much appreciation for Quickster, nor for Melegal’s fondness for him. Quickster was a pony that looked more like a mule. He ran as fast as a horse, but looked slow. The shaggy grey-black gelding had lazy eyes and bent ears. His furriness made him look fat, which said ‘slow’ to most people. Melegal liked that deception about the creature.
In reality, Quickster was even faster than Chongo. He ate like a horse and kicked like a mule. The kick had gotten Melegal out of a jam or two. He chuckled and kept scratching Quickster’s ears.
Stupid Billip.
Years ago, when he and Venir first arrived in Two-Ten City, Melegal had needed a mount. Billip was the one who sold it to him, not realizing Quickster’s full value. Melegal hadn’t known a thing about ponies, either, but Billip hadn’t seemed interested in parting with any more horses, and Melegal hadn’t wanted to part with any more silver. The two of them haggled for over an hour, finally settling on twenty coins of silver. Billip departed the stables cracking his knuckles. He had chuckled until a few days later.
Bish is full of surprises. You were certainly one of them.
Melegal, Venir, Billip and Mikkel had taken on a small mission delivering rare spices to a smaller city leagues away. This was long before Venir had the armament. Underlings ambushed them. Quickster kicked one in the chest and trampled another. Outnumbered five to one, they fled, back toward Two Ten City. Melegal had never been on anything so fast before. Quickster and Melegal were the first ones back. The others caught up almost an hour later. The underlings never came beyond the edge of the city. Venir was furious they fled. But Billip was the angriest of all. His horse, a great brown, died from a wound tainted with underling poison. Quickster had the same wound as well, but nothing happened. Ever since then, Billip had been trying to take Quickster back, but no matter how much he offered, Melegal never parted with him.
“Alright, move along, will you?” the storekeeper said, sweeping his porch and eyeing him good.
Melegal tossed the pear core on the porch and said, “It was good, but there are better ones down the street.” He took Quickster by the reins and moved on, following a group of rough necked men in light arms and weapons. They had a woman hemmed in with their helpful comments. They reminded him of the thug named Jeb, back in the Drunken Octopus. He clenched his fists, and his slender face ached a little. He and Quickster rubbed past them.
“Watch where you’re going,” the tallest one said. He had a longsword strapped over his back and tattoos all over his bare arms and hands. The rest were about the same. Buckskin boots and tanned leather armor. Chains and jewelry about their greasy necks.
“Could any of you tell me where the nearest winery is?” Melegal said, eyeing them all, “I’ve a package to pick up and deliver, and I fear that I’m quite late.”
“I can show you,” the woman said in a nervous voice. Her eyes were pretty, her skin soft and light as her cotton knit clothing. She had a lithe frame like Haze. “It’s near.”
“That would be splendid.”
The men crowded around her, shoving themselves between him and her.
“It’s down there,” the tallest said. “Now get moving.”
“Down where?” Melegal said, looking around. “You didn’t show me anything. You just said, ‘Down there’. Down where?”
The thug came closer and leered down at Melegal. His voice was low and threatening.
“Down there,” he said, pointing down the street. “Now get moving.”
Melegal’s eyes scanned all directions.
“I don’t think ‘down there’ is a direction. Could you be more specific?”
The mercenary slipped a knife out of his belt and said through his yellow teeth, “Get going.”
“Oh,” Melegal said, aghast, “are you threatening me? Over simple directions. Well, we’ll see what the City Watch have to say about that.”
The man grabbed Melegal by the collar, lifted him up to his toes and said, “I am the City Watch.”
The man’s statement wasn’t outside of the realm of possibility. Many of the City Watch had been deployed, leaving the streets in the City of Three a bit more risky. Men such as this mercenary-type were preying on women whose husbands were out fighting or had been lost in the battles beyond.
“I see,” Melegal said, “I think I can find it on my own. Thank you.”
The man let go of his collar and said, “Get going then. You’re running late, aren’t you?”
Melegal nodded and caught the woman’s pleading look. He winked at her and followed it with a clicking sound. Quickster’s back hooves exploded into the mercenary’s chest. The big man sailed off his feet and into the others. Cries of alarm went up, and steel ripped out of leather. The woman ran one way. Melegal and Quickster darted another.
What in Bish am I doing?
Chapter 3
A ghost in the darkness, Venir felt free with the hot Outland air on his face. Liberated. He covered the gritty ground in long strides, distancing himself from the camp. Helm throbbed on his head. His enhanced senses pulsated, fingertips tingling with warmth as if he sat at a fire.
There are many. Always many.
There didn’t used to be so many.
Lathered in sweat, he slowed on a hillcrest that overlooked a deep valley and took a knee. Dozens of figures scurried in the darkness below. Through Helm, he could see them. Warm bodies and dark outlines. He could feel them. Smell them. It lingered in the air. Everywhere. He laid Brool down in the dirt beside him.
Soon, my friend. Soon.
Venir didn’t understand why, but Helm no longer felt like a boiling pot on his head when underlings neared. It beckoned. It drove him. But the madness that had consumed him before did not have the same hold on him. He could still feel Helm’s strength and power flowing through him. Its edge was far from gone, but now Venir was in control. Perhaps all he’d been through, all he’d survived without it, had made him stronger.
Maybe we both need each other.
Maybe.
Down there, the underlings were a regiment of scouts. Dozens of them. Well-armed and well armored. Hundreds of royal soldiers from the City of Three had fallen the past several months, trying to track the underlings down only to meet with fatal results. Venir had tried to warn them, tried to explain the underlings’ tactics to them, but the royals weren’t interested in listening.
Fools.
Venir eased his way down the hill toward a pair of underlings digging holes in the dirt. The digging sounds of their shovels stirred his blood. He hated that sound. Metal spades crunching into the dirt. He slipped and came to a stop. Rock debris tumbled down the hill.
The underlings stopped digging. Their heads snapped. They dropped their shovels, drew their blades, and ran his way. Their dark jewel eyes looked right through him, up down and beyond. They wore dark leather armor, and their wavy swords glinted red in the light of the moons. They stopped ten yards short of Venir, chittering softly back and forth. One pointed right at him with its sword.
Keep talking, fiends. My friend Brool has something to say to you, too.
Helm moaned. Urged him forward. His veins filled with fire. Brool throbbed in his palms, imploring him to strike. Venir choked his hatred down.
Go!
When I’m ready.
The nearest underling picked up a rock and tossed it up and down it its clawed hand. It chittered back to the other one that pointed right at Venir.
This pair is on to something.
Noted.
Venir never understood why the underlings couldn’t see him or how he appeared to them. He just knew that as long as he only slowly crept up on them, they never saw him coming until it was too late.
The underling chucked the rock.
Tink.
It bounced off Helm and landed on the ground with a plop.
The underlings’ eyes widened. They shuffled back. The one in front chittered an order to the other.
“Warn the others,” it said with a hiss.
What? Did I just understand what it said?
“Warn them about what?” the second one chittered. “That you can’t throw a rock?”
I swear they’re speaking Underling. And I understand it!
“Get moving,” the other one said. “It could be a ghost. They say the Outlands are spooked.”
“There is nothing there, Fool.”
“They say he’s returned.”
“Hah! That was never true. They say much to you, because you always believe them. That’s why we’re always digging.”
The first underling picked up another rock and tossed it to the second. “You throw it.”
The second sighed. “Throw it where?”
“Over there.” The first pointed. “The spot that hovers and moves like a mirage in the air.”
The second cocked its arm back and hurled away.
Venir slowly slid from its path, and the rock skipped off the ground behind him.
“Did you see that?” the first one said. “The shadow moves.”
“No, I didn’t see anything. Just your mouth moving. You need to shut it and start digging so we can eat tonight.” The second underling grabbed its shovel and jumped back into the hole.
There were many that had been dug, and they’d be filled with dead men later, legs up. A warning. Even worse, they had also started leaving heads on sticks.
The first underling squinted his emerald eyes in the dark, chittered, and sauntered a little closer.
Perfect.
Brool flashed through the night.
Slice.
An arc of black blood followed. The underling’s head popped from its shoulders and rolled into the hole.
“Ack!” the second underling said, jumping out of the hole.
From behind, Venir locked his fingers around its neck and squeezed. Its arms flailed. Feet kicked at the dirt. He lifted it up off the ground and held it tight until it kicked no more.
After rearranging both underling corpses in the hole, shoulders first, Venir grunted and grabbed the shovel. One shovelful at a time, he filled the hole. He stuck the severed underling head on a stake beside it.
Two more down.
Thousands more to go.
So be it.
Like a panther, he headed deeper into the valley, where the other underling hunters and scouts kept camp. They were a lighter force, trained to hunt royal scouts and lead them off the trail. It had become embarrassing, how they manipulated the royal armies. The royals weren’t slouches, either.
They should be foreseeing more of the underlings’ tricks by now.
All they seem to be doing is diving into graves.
A mass of warm bodies huddled together in the brush, chittering among one another. Their voices were low and boastful.
“The royals send us free meals.”
“All their soldiers march to fight a war that we have already won.”
“Royals love baubles and treasure more than they love people. They trade wine for their dead.”
“Bone has fallen. All the others will fall as well. The City of Three will be next.”
Venir’s knuckles whitened on Brool’s handle. Their words stung with the truth. He crept deeper into their midst and started counting their gray-skinned bodies.
Thirty.
His head ached. Sweat burned his eyes. His temper rose.
Helm beckoned action.
Attack. Attack. Attack.
Under different circumstances, Venir had fought more underlings than this. And survived. Could he handle this many now? He’d yet to test himself. Push the limits. Give himself over to the wanton desires of himself amplified by Helm.
Not now. Not now.
He’d given them enough to think about for one day. His friends needed him. Any more action on his behalf would endanger them. He crept out of the thicket and made his way up the hill.
Helm hummed in anger on his head.
At the top of the hill, he unbuckled the chin strap and took Helm off. The night breeze soothed his mind and cooled his ears.
We’ll be back.
He stuffed Helm into the mystic sack, which he slung over his oversized shoulder. He jogged back toward camp with the wind at his back. He gasped when he got there.
The campfire was out, and all his friends were gone.
He strapped Helm back on.
“Bish!”
Chapter 4
Melegal hopped on Quickster’s back and trotted through the alleys, leaving his pursuers far behind. He’d gotten plenty familiar with the layout of the City of Three and its odd dimensions. The City of Bone’s streets ran straight, while the City of Three’s curved like a bow, bending like waves in many directions.
Quickster’s steel-shod hooves clopped over the stones, echoing through the alleys. Hearing his pursuers shouting out, Melegal nudged Quickster into a narrow pass that traversed through the main streets, doubling back to where he had come from. A city block down, he saw a crowd gathered in the street around the man whose chest Quickster had kicked in. He wasn’t moving.
Good.
He led Quickster into the alley across the street, listening to people crying for the City Watch.
I’m sure they won’t be too concerned what happened to that thug.
He and Quickster clopped by some children who played with sticks in the alley. They pressed themselves along the wall and out of his way, heads down, eyes cast aside. That was one thing about the City of Three. The streets were cleaner. The children as well. Families stuck closer together. Bone was a place where the desperate lost themselves. Three was a place where you could build something.
Enjoy it while it lasts.
The City of Three was a marvel now riddled with despair. The people had a haughty nature about them, but of late they seemed humbled. He’d enjoyed seeing the wizards and mages that walked around in grand robes, some of which floated about like underlings, but they had been recluse for quite some time. Now, they’d begun to wander into the Magi Roost here and there. He’d been told it used to be full of them.
Perhaps I should go back there. It’s been a while.
Over the past several weeks, he’d kept to himself. Trying to find his place. He’d lived out on the streets, sleeping with Quickster in the stables, mostly, but spending short nights with women he met from time to time. Their perfume and exotic natures were sublime, and with so many men gone into the service, there were plenty of them available. Lonely. Eager. Needy.
War has intangible advantages to a man like me. Heh. Heh.
He thought about those roughnecks that assailed the woman in the streets earlier.
I’m not like them … Am I?
He shook his head.
Certainly not. I bathe. And have a much more charming manner.
Through the streets they went. He dabbled in his craft. Dickered and shopped a little, buying nothing. Chatted with some of the folks. The residents of Three were a different ilk. Mannerly. He spent time adapting to their ways and customs.
In the shade of a grocer’s storefront, a bear of a man jostled a pair of women.
“Pardon me,” the man said. His voice was gruff and soft. He tipped his cap. A smaller man lifted a purse from one woman as quick as a flick of the finger. “It won’t happen again,” the big rogue smiled and moved on.
Well done.
The thieves in the City of Three were more subtle and polite with their robberies. The thugs in Bone would stab and run. Corner you in an alley and beat the snot out of you. Kill, in most cases. Three took some getting used to, but Melegal liked it. It was more akin to his sly ways. He’d been watching the local thieves for months. Learning their ways. They burgled when homes were empty during the day, leaving no blood or screams behind. If things didn’t go their way, and a chase followed, they darted through the streets and disappeared somewhere way down below.
The Nest.
All the rogues reported to The Nest. He’d inquired of Kam about it, only to get a hot stare. Joline stayed mum about it, too. No one would speak of it. It was a dark segment that was accepted but not talked about. He eyed the towers in the sky. Much like the wizard towers.
I swear those things are watching me.
“You’re very perceptive,” a voice said. A woman he hadn’t noticed earlier was standing by his side.
“Excuse me,” Melegal said. “Are you speaking to me?”
“Yes,” she said. Her hand reached under Quickster’s belly and started rubbing it. “He’s a different kind of mule.”
“Pony,” Melegal said.
“If you say so.” She smiled. “They’re all of a kind, you know. Some breeds are just different than others, but the same, nonetheless.”
Where did she come from?
“The Towers,” she said. “Well, one of them. Pretty, aren’t they?” she said, looking up. “Do you have a favorite?”
Melegal took Quickster by the reins and pulled him away. The muscles tightened in his neck.
“Why are you talking to me?”
She shrugged her narrow shoulders. She was pleasant looking. Shorter than Melegal, but taller than most women, wearing pale green robes. Nothing garish like the magi he’d seen, but the stitching was refined. Her eyes were cool and grey. Her lips were a painted a light shade of purple.
Her pretty eyes locked on his.
“I find you curious. You aren’t like the others.”
“What others?” Melegal said, looking about. There were people all around, but they took no notice of them speaking. He felt like he wasn’t there at all.
“The other newcomers. Like the men you chased that woman away from earlier. That was a nice thing you did.” She eyed him up and down. “You’ve done well, blending in with the others. But that made you stand out to us.” She glanced at his cap. “That and other things.”
Melegal’s blood stirred. He prided himself on his secrets, yet this woman seemed to know everything about him that he wanted to hide. So it seemed. He was privy to magi and their mind tricks, but the amount this young woman knew was downright frightening.
“Well,” he said, nodding politely and taking off his cap. “It’s been nice talking to you.”
“Nice talking to you too,” she said. She had a lost look on her pretty face. “But I wasn’t finished talking to you yet.”
“Some conversations are best saved for later. Enjoy your day, now.”
One step later, his world changed. He stood high above the ground, overlooking the entire city. His guts writhed like snakes, and his mind screamed.
I’m in a wizard tower!
His head snapped around.
Slat! Quickster isn’t with me.
Chapter 5
“Are you sure you know where you’re going, Billip?” Georgio asked.
It was hours before dawn, and the clouds blotted out the light of the moon, leaving the harsh landscape pitch black.
“Come on, and keep your voice down,” Billip said. “There are creatures that crawl over the dirt other than us, you know.”
Georgio moaned, yawned, and rubbed his eyes.
“Why are we doing this?”
Billip stopped and turned.
“Because that metal-headed friend of yours fled into the night leaving no watch and no protection. If I hadn’t woken up, chances are our legs would be sticking dead out of the ground by now.”
“Ah,” Georgio said, “Vee’s close. You know that. He always is. You just like fussing.”
“Shaddup,” Billip said, marching ahead. “If you want to wait for him, you go right ahead. But I’m going. Time to teach that lout a lesson.” He turned back toward Georgio. “And this isn’t my first time in the Outlands, you know, you curly headed baby.” He turned and regained his stride, cracking his knuckles.
Venir had been on good behavior, not running off so much. Billip had warned him about that, and now he was fuming. He was easygoing to a point, but not when the slightest error could lead to his death. Or that of his friends.
Booted feet crunched over the ground behind. Brak and Nikkel had fallen in step, leaving Georgio standing back in the darkness scratching his head.
“Well,” Billip said back to them, “at least three of us have good sense.” They made it another thirty yards before Georgio jogged after them huffing for breath. Billip kept going. Keen eyes, long adjusted to the night, scanning ahead. He stopped and pointed.
“Brak, eyes right. Georgio, left, and Nikkel, you take the rear. Stop me if you see anything coming. Understand?”
“Yes,” Brak said.
The other two nodded.
Leagues away from the City of Three, Billip was confident he knew where he was going. But the landscape could change. Day and night became shorter or longer in no predictable pattern on Bish. And not having Venir or Mikkel around made him uneasy. The young men were formidable, but not seasoned. They wouldn’t pick up on things that his well-trained eye spotted from decades of hunting. The slightest misjudgment could be fatal.
I’m not coming back to the Outland so soon again. Blast Venir.
There were other elements in the Outlands to be wary of that weren’t underlings. There were jackals almost as big as ponies that hunted in packs, not to mention the countless brigands who feasted on the pilgrimages that came north from the southern cities. There was said to be ogres among them. Billip had more than his fill of them in Two-Ten City. And Venir had shared stories about the arachnamen.
Spiders mixed with men. Too much. At least ogres can’t sneak up on you.
A stiff wind tore at the edges of their cloaks, and gritty sand obscured his sight.
Great!
Behind him, the young men covered their faces with arms and cloaks. He could barely make out Georgio.
“Stay close,” he said, shouting back. Billip stormed ahead, constantly looking back over his shoulder.
Wind storms like this often passed quickly, but some lasted hours. It was one of the reasons he preferred the southern forest and jungles. The trees offered shelter, along with all the hills and valleys. The Outlands offered little shelter from the harsh elements of the bitter world. Head down, he pushed through the wind.
It’ll break. Keep going. It’ll break.
“Billip,” Georgio yelled. “We need to stop. I can’t see a thing.”
The archer slowed, allowing the others to catch up with him.
“We’ll live. Just stay bunched together and follow me. And pull your cowl over your head, stupid! Come on!”
He forged ahead through the storm.
I hate the Outlands.
A jangle of metal caught his ears. Hollow. Distant. Lost in the wind. He kept going and heard the jangle again. He swore he heard a horse nicker.
“Did you hear that?” he said, turning to the young men.
Each of them shook their heads no.
Billip pressed onward, stopping when he heard the jangle again. He unslung his bow and nocked a feathered shaft. He heard Nikkel hoist his heavy crossbow to his shoulder and Georgio’s sword scrape out of its sheath.
“I heard that,” Brak said, stepping alongside Billip, holding the white ash cudgel at his side.
Billip squinted into the windy darkness. Something blocked their path ahead. A wall of warriors on horses towered over them. The cloaked riders fanned out and hemmed them in. Their faces were shrouded. Hooves clopped over the dirt. Their great horses nickered and neighed. Long spears pointed toward their chests. In seconds, they were surrounded.
A giant form rode forward on a horse bigger than any Billip had ever seen. His saddle creaked when he leaned forward and rested his forearms on his horse’s neck. The wind came to a stop.
The scents of urine and manure drifted into Billip’s nose.
Ogres!
The great figure on the horse spoke.
“What have we here? They’re too big to be underlings.” It sniffed the air. “Smells like humans. I hate humans. Kill them and grab their gear.”
Chapter 6
Creed rested his aching shoulders against the steel bars of his prison cellar. In the next cell over, a man urinated in the corner. Creed didn’t notice the smell anymore. Muck. Filth. Rotting hay. The foreboding silence. The stink of filth and death. He was miserable and far from used to it, but getting there.
The man in the cell to his other side grumbled and lay down on his bed of hay. Creed didn’t know him. All the man did was whistle occasionally. He couldn’t speak, because his tongue was gone. There were others too. Waiting for execution, but none of them could speak. The guards wouldn’t speak or even look at him.
Why do they keep me alive? Just to torment me?
He ran his fingers through his long ratty beard. He hadn’t spoken to anyone since Gorgon the blacksmith had been crushed by the falling ceiling. That man had known many things and had been about to reveal them. Screams had come and gone as quickly as the earthquake came and went.
Creed made a tiny mark on the wall with a small piece of stone he’d found. He counted the passing of the days and nights thanks to a crack of daylight in the wall. He’d marked four hundred and thirteen days since he’d last spoken. He coughed, hacked, and spat. The foul dungeon air had gotten to him.
A tongueless urchin slid a plate of rotting food into his cell. A pair of rats scurried up and nibbled at it.
Creed pushed off his shoulders and leaned forward. His mouth watered.
One cell over, the shabby man rolled off his bed of hay and stretched his arm through the bars toward the rats.
“You better back off,” Creed said, crawling toward the rats on his knees.
The man ignored him and pressed his face harder into the bars. His eyes were wild with hunger.
Creed pounced.
The rats scurried.
He grabbed the man’s finger and bit it.
The tongueless man wailed a loud abnormal sound and tried to pull free. Creed’s teeth crunched down on the man’s finger. The man let out a throaty scream.
My rats!
Creed’s jaws clenched. The man slammed himself into the bars, trying to pull free.
A key turned in the tumbler of the lock that led to the dungeon cellars. A rattle of keys rung in his ears. His jaws unlocked, and the other prisoner jerked his fingers through the bars with a sharp gasp, clutching his hand.
A pair of Bloodhound soldiers came down. They wore chainmail, and the belts around their waists held swords.
Creed’s heart jumped into his throat. His stare froze on their hard faces. Their gait was determined, but their slumped shoulders made them look uneasy. Something wasn’t right about them. The Bloodhounds were normally hardy and verbose. The last few trips down here, they’d been quiet and uncomfortable. Their swagger was gone. Stiffness remained. They marched by Creed and stopped at the other cage.
The tongueless man’s eyes widened in horror and filled with water when they unlocked the cage. The man wrapped his arms around the bars and held on for his life. The bigger bloodhound grabbed him by the legs and grunted a heave. The prisoner held fast.
“Don’t be stupid,” the other Bloodhound said under his breath. “There’s a smarter way to go about this.” He snaked a dagger out of his belt and jacked the screaming man upside the head with the pommel. The prisoner sagged to the ground and lay there, limp as a rag. The solider slid the dagger back inside the sheath and said to the other. “You’re embarrassing. Maybe it’s you who should be executed.”
The bigger man blanched.
The harsh words were music to Creed’s ears. A voice. Someone to be heard and spoken to.
“Tell me about above,” Creed said. His voice was dry, and his words barely audible. He pulled himself up onto his scrawny legs and pressed his face to the bars. “Anything. Just tell me something about the world above.”
The guards scooped the fallen prisoner up by his arms, dragged him out of the cell, and slammed the metal door shut with a bang. They headed for the stair with not so much as a glance his way.
“Please,” Creed said with desperation. He stretched his arm out of the cell. “Tell me something. Anything. I am Creed. You must know me!”
They didn’t say a word, just kept on walking up the stairs, one footfall at a time.
“Tell me. Tell me something. Does the Lorda live?”
The bigger man was last, and his head nodded forward before he disappeared through the archway.
Creed heard the lock clank shut, the keys rattle, and nothing anymore.
Does she live? Is she still here?
Lorda Almen’s memory was all he had left. He stumbled back against the stone wall and slunk to the ground. Was that Bloodhound’s nod an answer to his question, or was it just his imagination?
I’m going crazy, but I must hang onto something.
His thoughts were accompanied by a long fit of coughing.
Corrin made his way through Castle Bloodhound with a dog padding along his side. It was a short-haired shepherd, calico colored, its back taller than his knees. He made his way down into the empty galley and rummaged through the cupboards.
“I’d be fed better if I ate from the kennels,” he said, looking at the big dog. He scratched its ears. “At least one of us is treated like people.” He sat down at the plank-board table, tore apart a small loaf of rye bread, and bit into it. “Mm … tougher than jerky.” He tossed a hunk to the dog. “Enjoy.”
The past year had been one of the hardest of his life. Lord Grom had spared him but made it clear his status in the castle was fragile. He laid low. Made a few comrades and started spending time with the hounds. Caring for the dogs was the best way to avoid unwanted attention and turn yourself into an asset, so long as you didn’t mistreat them. Corrin had fared well for the time being.
I’m sure Lord Grom will kill me like the others someday.
The grizzly Lord of the Bloodhounds had become ruthless and aggressive with his own kindred. By tradition, The Bloodhounds were a tightknit family, like royals. Today, however, the slightest criticism toward Lord Grom led to swift discipline, which was often deadly. Corrin recalled the man whose neck had been stretched from a noose earlier this morning. His bare feet had twitched for many seconds before he died.
Like a fish out of water.
Seeing men die didn’t bother Corrin. He’d been a murderer for hire before he met Trinos. Something changed in him after that.
I wonder where she is. I wouldn’t mind seeing her again.
He drummed his fingers on the table and wondered about Creed. There’d been no word about him, and any mention of his name could lead to death. Corrin had no idea why Grom worried about Creed. It seemed no one did. It was some sort of secret. And any suspicious behavior got you sent out an on a mission. At night. Fodder for the underlings, who roamed the streets like common people now. It seemed the royals of Bone had given up the fight entirely. They were all holed-up in their castles.
It’s despicable.
None of the men who left ever returned. Corrin had spent time glimpsing into the streets from the taller spires of the castles. He could hear the underling chitterings and musings. Screams in the night. Taking pleasure with the living and the dead. There was some odd agreement of some sort, between royal and underling. It seemed the battle had been won before it even started.
What has happed to my miserable city?
He was tossing the rest of the bread on the floor when a woman entered the room. She wore thick robes and was small and portly, but she didn’t carry herself like a servant girl. Her captivating eyes met his.
Corrin stood up.
It was Lorda Almen, of all people. Her black hair was cropped above the neck. Her lithe figure was gone, now plump, almost heavy. Her wide hips swung when she walked, and her fuller breasts were well-displayed under her clingy robe. Her face was round, eyes tired, but she was still beautiful. Her face had a dark welt on it.
“What happened there?”
“I asked Lord Grom if I could see Creed again,” she said, reaching down and petting his dog, exposing a generous look at her heavy breasts. She eyed Corrin. “He doesn’t like that.”
Corrin swallowed. Bish, she’s beautiful. Even with all the added pounds. He felt like he hadn’t lain with a woman for an eternity. Lorda’s scented skin and heavy buxom form aroused the man inside him.
“Do you still share his bed?”
“It’s either that or death.” She came closer.
“At least you’re eating well,” Corrin said with a little shrug. “That’s not such a terrible thing.”
“Lord Grom likes his women a little plumper, ‘like piglets and harlots,’ he says. The wine does it to you. It helps me get through the nights.
“I see,” Corrin said, feeling a little bad.
“How are you doing? You look well.”
“I’ve not bent sent on a suicide mission yet, but I figure any day now.” He tried to turn away, but he couldn’t stop looking at her. There was something about her. “Might I ask what brings you here?” He looked around. “Isn’t it a bit dangerous?”
“Every day is dangerous. I tire of it.”
She slipped in behind him and draped her arms around his neck, pressing her pillowy breasts into his back.
Corrin’s eyes closed. Magnificent.
She whispered softly in his ear. Her words shocked him.
“I need you to either kill Lord Grom or teach me how.”
Chapter 7
Fogle Boon. At one time, he’d been one of the most brilliant minds in the City of Three. Now his life was an epic catastrophe.
“Are you sulking again?” Boon said with a large green snake draped over his shoulders. It was dead. “Quit thinking about that city. There are plenty of things out here to satisfy your ego.”
Perched on a rock, Fogle dug in the dirt with a stick, feeling more rover than wizard. It was time to go back home. Raising an army or not.
“I’m going back.”
Boon slung the snake off his shoulders and into the dirt. His grandfather strutted around like a man of thirty. His tanned skin, sinewy arms, and sandals portrayed him as a man half his age, despite his short white hair. A man of the elements. Wild as an Outland hare.
“Going back where?”
“You know where.”
“No, I don’t,” Boon said. He removed a thumb knife from his light-blue robes and began skinning the snake, sucking his teeth. “This is good for cooking. You’ll see. Get a fire going.”
You get a fire going!
He almost sighed but didn’t. It was daytime. The suns were hot. Sweat dripped down his back. He twirled his index finger and muttered soft words. Sticks from yards around slid into a pile. Fogle blurted a mystic word.
Incataz!
The sticks burst into flame.
“Don’t be so lazy,” Boon said.
“You don’t be lazy. You should have done it yourself.”
“Just accept what we have to do, Fogle,” Boon said. He cut the snakeskin into sheets, wrapped the snake meat into them, bundled them up, and tossed several packets on the fire. Eyeing the fire, he licked his lips. “Green snake meat is good. You’ll see. It’ll put a smile on your face, even though that scruffy beard might hide it. Boons are more dapper. I thought we taught you better.”
“What do you mean, ‘accept what we have to do’? Don’t you mean what you have to do?”
“We’ll go back soon.” Boon lay back with his arms behind his head and rested beneath the suns. “Let’s just finish this mission. We need greater allies.”
“This mission’s taken more than a year. It might take more years, at the rate it’s going.”
“Not that mission. The mission we’re currently on. Don’t you pay attention?”
“What other mission?”
Boon didn’t reply. The old wizard began to snore softly.
Fogle chucked his stick away. Hate it when he does this. Hate it when he does anything. It had all started with the striders. Four armed, long-legged men with bug faces. Their war drums were beating now. The jungs were gathering their clans as well. The sun-browned, course-haired nomads with devilish beards had joined in. Boon had been very effective in convincing them the underlings were a threat to everyone on Bish.
Let’s see what Inky is up to. He closed his eyes and made the connection with his ebony hawk, which was a constant companion to the winds in the sky. Fly over the army. Fogle swore he could feel the wind rushing past his ears. When he flew with Inky, the gorges in the ground didn’t seem so deep and the mountains were not so high. The experience was exhilarating, being able to see mile after mile through the great ebony hawk’s eyes.
Don’t land, just circle.
He could see movement across the harsh landscape. Men were clustered here and there, and on the plains a small army formed: jungs, striders, men, and dwarves. Different patches of people from all over the north. Woodsmen, farmers, and soldiers from small cities. Dozens of them had become hundreds, and hundreds had become over a thousand. It was a force. But forming an army was one thing. Keeping them together was another. Boon had been appointed leader, to keep the order while he, Fogle, and sometimes others recruited.
Hardly enough to march against the underlings.
He and his ebony hawk-familiar had been keeping tabs on the underlings, who had armies of thousands spaced all over the northern Outlands, devouring everything in their path. Boon had acted swiftly and avoided them so far, but a growing army couldn’t stay hidden forever. Fogle couldn’t figure out if the underlings didn’t know about them or if they just didn’t consider them a threat.
They won’t ignore us forever. Keep scouting, Inky.
He allowed himself to enjoy the flight a little longer, then broke the connection. He and Inky had gotten so close, that his familiar could warn him of any danger. And yet, he didn’t sleep much better at night because of it. There was always something worrying him. Either something was cackling in the wind, or the quiet was just too quiet.
What did he mean by ‘we need greater allies’? What kind of allies does he have in mind?
There was something about the way the old man said it. It didn’t sound like he was talking about people. But what else? If Fogle had his pick, he’d like to see some Blood Rangers among them. He missed Mood and Eethum. Maybe Boon was talking about the wizards in the City of Three? Maybe there were other races he’d yet to see. All of the races that gathered and counseled didn’t have any good to say about the royals. The ruling class of Bish had let them down. No assistance. No encouraging words. Fogle never thought he’d see the day when men bowed to underlings, but apparently in Bone it had been happening.
They say it’s always been bad, but never this bad. Even Grandfather says so.
He reached over, grabbed his rucksack, and removed his spellbook. It fit in the palm of his hand. He opened and closed it from the middle. One. Two. Three. The spell book became bigger each time until it covered his lap. He leafed through all the pages, stopping on one or another to meditate. It took almost an hour.
I can only hope one of these comes in handy. Every time I memorize one thing, I find I should have learned another. It’s a good thing I have powers that work without the pages. But these spells are something.
He ran his finger over the text of a spell his grandfather Boon had written, called Raw Bones. The wizardship was fascinating.
It’s not my style, but why not? They’d do the same to me.
Boon popped up into sitting position and rubbed his eyes.
“Alright, I’m ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“To finish the mission,” Boon said, standing up.
“Which is?”
“Getting more allies. We need the giants.”
Chapter 8
“Wait!” Billip warned the oversized brigand on the oversized horse, stretching the bowstring back along his cheek. “You might want to reconsider that. I’m an outstanding shot with this thing.”
The large figure’s chuckle was like a rumble of thunder. He pulled back the shroud that covered his head. The moon-shaped face of an ogre rested on great shoulders, and his skin was dark and gray.
“Go ahead; take your best shot, Archer.”
The arrow skipped off the ogre’s skull. His body was like a stone statue.
Billip loaded another arrow and fired.
It skipped off the ogre’s cheek.
“Your little sticks can’t hurt me. Nothing can. I am Gondoon Stoneskin.” He stepped off his horse and advanced. He was much taller and broader than Brak. Two men in one. All ogre. “After I break your necks, I’ll feast on the hearts in your chests.”
Billip’s blood raced. He’d never seen such a creature before. He had led his friends to their deaths.
Should have stayed in bed.
“Why don’t we just give you our gear?” Billip said, shouldering his bow. “There’s no need for bloodshed, Gondoon.”
“As I said, I hate humans.” He nodded to his men. They dropped their hoods, exposing their faces. Ugly, ruddy-skinned and coarse-haired, it was a brood of orcs, full-blooded orcs. They practically worshiped ogres, back in Two-Ten City. Were enthralled by them. “Tell the others to lower their weapons, and we might give you a quick death.”
Billip cracked his knuckles.
Buy time. Buy time.
“We don’t die easily, and we aren’t that good to eat.” He made a quick scan of the surrounding area. “And there are more of us than what you see.”
Gondoon snorted the air and peered around.
“I don’t think so. Kill th—”
Nikkel’s crossbow bolt rocketed through the air into the ogre’s gaping mouth. Its neck recoiled back, and it roared a horrible sound. It ripped the bolt from its mouth and shouted a bloody order.
“Kill them!”
The brigand orcs converged.
Nikkel fired, dropped Bolt Thrower, and sidestepped a jabbing spear. He unloosed his father’s club, Skull Basher, from its sling and brought it around full force.
Hard wood filled with metal studs shattered the orc brigand’s arms. Nikkel whirled in time to catch two orcs charging at him. He twisted away from one jabbing spear, but the other spear clipped his shoulder. Nikkel’s sinewy arms rose up, and the club came down.
Whack!
The orc’s skull cracked like porcelain.
He swung and missed the other one.
The orc tripped him with its spear and jumped on top of him, pinning him to the ground with its greater weight. It wrapped both hands around his neck and squeezed.
Georgio caught a spear in the leg. With his sword, he hacked into the spear shaft, cutting it in half. He reversed his swing and cut the orc’s neck out.
The next orc advanced, snarling and ramming a spearhead at his chest.
Georgio sheared through the shaft.
The orc’s eyes widened, and its hairy hand went for its dagger.
Georgio swung again, severing its arm from the wrist.
It cried out, waving its arm and spraying blood everywhere, including Georgio’s eyes.
“Idiot orc!” he said, dashing the blood from his eyes. He swung wildly at the orcs that crowded in. “Get back!”
Jab!
A spear tore through one side of Georgio’s flesh and out the other.
“Aaaaaaaah!” he cried out and sagged to his knees.
The orc brigands kept coming.
Nikkel’s crossbow fired, and Brak swung. The white cudgel exploded into the nearest brigand’s chest. Brak felt its chest cave under his blow and watched it sag to the ground. He stepped into the path of the next one that made a bead for Billip.
The big orc took a poke at him.
Brak snatched the spear by the shaft and jerked it from the orc’s hands.
It slugged him in the jaw.
Brak slugged it back in the face.
The orc shook its ugly face, bared its teeth, jumped, and grabbed his legs.
“Skewer him!” the orc yelled toward the others.
The skirmish had exploded around them. Every man and orc for himself. It seemed the orcs went after the smaller men first, avoiding the tall brute with the large ash cudgel.
Brak reached down, picked the orc up, and drove it down on its head.
Its neck cracked on impact, and its body went limp.
Huffing for breath, Brak searched for his comrades. Nikkel was buried in a throng of orcen meat. Georgio was blanched like a skewered pig. And the stone ogre Gondoon was squeezing Billip like a child in its arms. They locked eyes. Billip screamed, but his words made no sound.
“Do something, Brak!” Georgio yelled.
Brak surged into the action. In three great strides, he flanked Gondoon’s rear and swung Spine Breaker into his back. Bright white light exploded.
Scrakk!
The ogre’s arms loosened around Billip, and the archer kicked free.
Gondoon staggered forward and onto a knee.
“Hold him off,” Billip said, picking up his bow. “I’ll help the others.”
Brak reared the white ash cudgel back, barring Gondoon’s path to the fracas. The ogre straightened his back and leered down at him with angry yellow eyes.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Gondoon said, cracking his head from side to side. “Now I’m going to rip the beating heart from your chest. The weaponless ogre hunkered down and rested his knuckles on the ground. He was unlike anything Brak had ever seen before, almost eight feet tall and maybe six-hundred pounds. Brak felt small by comparison. Gondoon rubbed one of his shoulders. “Not sure what you hit me with, but I felt it.” He eyed the softly glowing cudgel gripped in Brak’s hands. “Magic tools are for women. Are you a woman or a warrior?”
Brak dropped the cudgel to the ground, raised his fists and gritted his teeth.
“I’m a warrior.”
Gondoon rose up to his full height, towering over Brak, and said, “No, you’re a dead warrior.”
“Nikkel!” Billip yelled. The young man was underneath a vicious assault of orcs. He whipped a shaft out of his quiver and took a point-blank shot.
Thwack!
The arrow punched through the orc’s skull, putting a third eye in its head. Billip ripped out another shaft and fired into the mass of tangled bodies.
An orc brigand lurched up with an arrow through the neck, leaving one orc, which tangled with Nikkel. The pair writhed on the ground. The bigger foe wailed on Nikkel with hammer-like blows. Billip went for another arrow. The orc lurched up, holding a dagger that had been driven into its gut.
Nikkel shoved the dying orc off him and ripped his dagger free. His dark skin was coated with blood. He wiped the blood from his eyes and picked up Skull Basher. Up and down it went, finishing off the orc. “Bone, those things stink.”
Georgio shouted at them.
“A little help please!”
With a spear jutting through his side, the curly-headed warrior swung his sword like a wild man, keeping the orcs at bay.
Billip’s arrow buried itself in one orc’s chest.
Nikkel charged another, going in swinging hard.
Bones broke. Living flesh screamed. Arrows whizzed through the night. In seconds, the remaining orcs had fallen. The ground soaked up their blood.
“Pull this thing out of me,” Georgio said, grimacing. He glared at Nikkel. “Do it now!”
Nikkel wrapped his hands around the bloody shaft.
“Are you ready?”
“Stop smiling! Yes I’m ready!”
“I’m not smiling,” Nikkel said. “On two.”
“One …
Yank!
Georgio fell backward screaming.
Billip and Nikkel looked at each other.
Billip shrugged, saying, “He’ll be fine.”
That’s when someone else started screaming. It was Brak.
Fists up like mighty hammers, Gondoon Stoneskin came straight at Brak and attacked. His punches were fast and heavy.
Pow! Pow! Whop! Pow!
Brak covered up. His arms and shoulders absorbed the heavy force, but every bone was shaken. He struck back. Busted the ogre in the nose.
Nose bleeding, it smiled back. Half of its teeth were missing.
“You picked a bad night to start a fight, Man.” Gondoon lowered his shoulders, closed in, and threw everything at him.
Brak blocked, punched, and dodged.
Gondoon hammered, hammered, and hammered.
Brak’s teeth clattered. His chest rattled. His knees wobbled and hit the dirt. Bleeding and reeling, he fought his way back to his feet.
Gondoon snorted.
“Big and tough for a man. Small and weak to an ogre.”
Brak was dazed. His vision clouded.
Gondoon walloped him in the gut, lifting him from his feet.
Brak collapsed on the ground, face first in the dirt.
“Stupid man can’t hurt Gondoon. No man can hurt an ogre.” He spat on Brak. Grabbed him by the hair and pulled him up to his knees. “First I break your back, and then I rip it out.” He hoisted Brak high over his head with his arms. “Enjoy the view. It’s your last one.”
Brak’s head cleared just in time to see the frightened looks on his friends’ faces.
Billip fired an arrow that skipped off the ogre’s forearm.
“Help!” Brak yelled.
Gondoon brought him down on his knee with ram-like force.
Brak couldn’t feel a thing.
“Flank him!” Billip ordered.
He, Georgio, and Nikkel fanned out, weapons ready.
The ogre laughed at them, pumping his arms over his head and saying, “I can break backs all night, little people.”
Billip’s blood charged. Brak lay on the ground in a crumpled heap, unmoving. The ogre lorded over him with a triumphant look on his horrible face. The beast was a man-killer. He’d dealt with them plenty in Two-Ten City. Cruel. Cunning. He’d watched Venir battle two part-ogres in the Pit, but never a full-blooded one. He’d never heard of one with stone-like skin either.
“Steady, men,” he said to the others. Nikkel’s pale eyes shone bright in the night. Georgio clutched at his belly with one hand and held his shaking sword in a bloody grip.
Gondoon stared over them. He grunted and said, “You’ve killed all my orcs.” His eyes narrowed under his protruding brow. “Those were good orcs.”
“There’s no such thing,” Billip said. He drew another arrow and nocked it. The arrow head’s tip had a soft blue hue. “Let’s see how that stony skin handles this.”
The ogre’s eyes widened. His massive forearms shielded his face.
Billip stretched the string along his cheek and aimed for its belly. Crying out “Ack!” he loosed the shaft, missing the ogre. A spear had pierced his thigh from an orc gasping its last breath. Billip fell to the ground in blinding pain. He pulled the spear out and screamed.
“Biiiiiiiish!”
Georgio charged. Still reeling from the spear, he made a halfhearted swing.
The ogre blocked the blow with its forearm and roared.
Tonio’s sword sliced through its stone skin to the bone.
Gondoon reared back. “What kind of steel is that!”
Nikkel rushed in with Spine Breaker in his hands.
The ogre lunged.
Nikkel was quicker. The mystic cudgel of Leezir the Slerg exploded into the ogre’s back.
It roared.
Georgio thrusted.
His blade sank deep into the ogre’s leg.
Gondoon made an angry sound. Spit frothed on his lips.
Nikkel and Georgio readied their weapons to strike again.
The seasoned ogre struck. His long arms lashed out and locked on each of their wrists. “Now I have you!” As if they were children, he slammed them headfirst into each other.
Georgio saw spots, groaned, rose up again and started swinging like a wild man.
The ogre limped away toward his great horse, climbed on, and rode into the night and out of sight.
Georgio fell back down, huffing for breath.
“Why did he run?” he said, helping up Nikkel.
The young black man shrugged and smiled.
“Don’t know, but I’m glad he did.”
“You hurting him be the cause, I’d say,” Billip said. He sat on the ground with Brak’s head in his lap. “Ogres are cowards like that, but we’re fortunate to live. Well, the three of us are, that is. Brak lives, but his back is broken.”
Venir arrived on the gory scene hours later. His blood was rushing. Dead orc bodies soaked the ground with blood. His friends were crafting a stretcher. Brak lay on the ground, unmoving. His heart stopped in his chest. He rushed over.
“What happened? Who did this?”
Billip glared at him.
“You left us. An ogre ambushed us. That’s what happened.”
“I can track him.”
“And abandon us again, along with your injured son? Why don’t you just kill us, already.”
Stone-faced, Venir kneeled by his son. “Be still,” he said, placing Helm on Brak’s head.
Help him, he urged.
All the men kneeled around the fallen warrior.
Several minutes passed before Venir removed Helm from his son’s head and shook his own. Looking into Brak’s horrified eyes, he could barely form words.
“I’m sorry.”
Chapter 9
Melegal’s fingertips tingled. It wasn’t the height of the great ivory tower that bothered him. It was the fact that he had no idea how to get down from there.
I could jump to my death if need be. I wonder if I would bounce.
He could see everything for miles. Maybe a league. The Three Falls, the grand vineyards, the complete outline of the city. The people looked like ants, the horses and carriages like beetles. There were high towers in the City of Bone that he’d climbed before, but nothing quite like this. He walked along the great stretch of window. The tiles were like black glass beneath his feet.
Is that pure onyx?
He pulled his jerkin tight around his chest and walked the perimeter of the tower. It was round, maybe a hundred feet in diameter. The furnishings were sparse, but fanciful. The sofas were tanned leather, a deep red and lake blue in color. Cabinets made from something that was not wood. Hard. Shiny. Smooth. Dark velvety curtains that hung without rods. Fires burned and warmed the room without fireplaces or chimneys. A huge, soft, green rug with intricate patterns and designs was beneath it all. There were no doors, just one continuous window that encircled the entire room. Melegal’s spine knotted.
What does the little witch want with me?
Melegal’s eyes darted all over the room. His heartbeat quickened. An avenue for escape avoided him. And he’d heard plenty about the wizards, their powers and their towers. From the sky, the locals said, they can see everything and do anything. Still, Melegal hadn’t seen much of anything from them. Not until today. He gazed back out the window. The strange fires crackled and popped behind his back. Sweet soothing scents were in the air.
I could get used to this. The city always has some kind of stink I could do without.
“Would you like a glass of wine?” a soft voice said.
It was her, the woman he’d chatted with in the street. He turned on his heel to face her. She’d changed clothes. A low-cut belt strung with green silken sashes sometimes covered her sensuous hips and legs, except when she moved, which was often. And she wore a high dark bodice that just covered her breasts. A diamond sparkled in the exposed button of her midriff. Her grey eyes were engaging and playful. She combed her fingers through her cinnamon-colored hair, which rested over one shoulder. She looked young and enchanting, but there was something more mature about the way she carried herself.
Ah, the bewitching women of this city. You never know what you’re getting until you wake up the next morning.
“Certainly,” Melegal said, removing his cap. “I can only imagine it’s as exquisite as this tower.”
She allowed herself a smile and opened one of the nearby cabinets. It was alabaster, trimmed in gold. Inside were crystal carafes of many different sorts of wine. She poured a plum-colored one into a crystal glass, walked over with her eyes locked on his, and handed it to him.
“Drink,” she said. “I’d be interested to hear your thoughts on it.”
He took the glass and sniffed the bouquet. Took a small sip.
Gentle. Full. A little sweet. Exquisite.
“It’s divine,” he said, taking another sip.
She strolled over to the couch, took a seat near a hovering fire, and said, “That’s interesting, because it’s the worst wine we have.”
“Oh,” Melegal said, eyeing the glass, “well, I’ve never deserved the best. Seems you’re a good judge of character.”
She giggled and patted the cushion beside her.
“I’m only jesting. Now sit with me. Let the fire warm you.”
“Not without a proper introduction,” he said. It was best to assume she was a royal, and he knew their customs all too well. He made a gentle bow and swooped his hat behind his back. “I am Melegal of Bone.” He slipped his cap back on his head.
She nodded and said, “I am Jaen of Three. Now come and share more wine with me. There is business to talk about.”
Jayne. I like the sound of that name.
He smiled and said, “It seems my time is yours.”
She took a sip. “For the moment. And please, don’t worry about your pet. It’s fine.”
“Its name is Quickster.”
“No matter, Melegal. You’ll be reunited soon enough, but first, I imagine you wonder why I have brought you into this tower?”
He nodded, being careful to guard his thoughts.
“The royals in this city are different. We live in towers instead of castles, and we refer to ourselves as wizards or magi, because that is what we are. Every tower is led by a grand wizard. Magic is our passion. Our namesake. And we like our privacy.” She took another sip and set the wine glass down on the table. “And I’d be lying if I said it didn’t have an impact on the people that live below.”
“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t agree.” He cleared his throat. “It’s certainly had an impact on me. So ….” He tapped his bony fingers on the wine glass. “What do you want with me?
Slowly sweeping her hair from one shoulder to the other, she crossed her legs in a very sensual manner and smiled.
Don’t think. Don’t think. Eyes on eyes, not on thighs.
Her lips were as pretty as the smile they made. Her eyes were watching his.
Melegal, still uncertain if she could read his mind or not, found it almost impossible to think of nothing. He was trying to be smart. Patient. To let her spill her thoughts, not him spill his.
“You are interesting,” she said. “And that’s why you’re here. We’ve been watching you for some time.”
“We?”
“We watch everything we can. This is the Tower of Watchers, as they say in the streets below. Have you not heard that?”
“I have. But they call them all that. That and by their royal names. In all truth, there is little talk about it. I believe the underlings receive more attention.”
“And what are your thoughts on the underlings?” she said. “Do you think they pose a dire threat?”
Only a fool wouldn’t think so. My, you are beautiful. Everything from your arse to your eyes. Will you remove your clothes so I may ravish you, one kiss at a time?
Jaen’s eyes engaged him, but her expression did not change.
Good. She can’t read my mind. I don’t think.
“Underlings have always been a threat. Certainly that doesn’t escape your eyes and ears in your lofty tower,” he said. He finished off his wine.
She poured him another.
I could talk and drink all day. “Why ask me?”
“Melegal,” she said, “why were you not overwhelmed when you were transported from the streets to this tower? I’m very curious about that.”
“Bish is full of many surprises. Many I’ve encountered before.”
She leaned forward.
“Really.”
“That’s powerful magic you’ve experienced. And you sit here unfazed by it.”
He took a long swallow of wine. His limbs and tongue loosened. He felt a little giddy. His eyes glanced up and down her body.
This wine is incredible. It goes well with your breasts. Lips. Hips. He blinked. Straighten up, Melegal. He set the glass down. Maybe too incredible. Get on track.
“You were about to tell me why I was here?”
“Was I?” she said, leaning back. “Well, I suppose I was. But not until I’m ready.”
Melegal lay back in the soft leather of the couch and said, “Very well.” He closed his eyes. He felt so comfortable. Loose.
“I should have warned you about the wine,” she said. “It’s very strong.”
“Delicious,” Melegal said, yawning. “Intoxicating.”
She put his wine goblet to his lips and said, “Go ahead. Finish it. Enjoy. Rest.”
Every syllable she said was persuasive. Convincing.
He took the goblet from her hand and spilled it down her chest.
She gasped and jumped up from the sofa.
He giggled.
“Why did you do that? You’re not some clumsy oaf,” she said, grabbing a cloth napkin and wiping herself off.
“You’re going to have to take that off now,” he said, “or it will stain.”
What is wrong with me? He blinked his eyes and shook his head. I’m not normally this ornery. Am I?
She stormed over to the cabinet and grabbed another carafe of wine, poured it into another goblet, and brought it to him. It was white. Shades lighter than apple juice.
“Drink this,” she said.
“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea after that last glass I had.”
She stuck it in his face.
“Drink.”
He took it and drank. His mind sharpened, and he regained his focus. The intoxicating effects of the red wine were gone. He sat up straight and said, “What was that all about?”
“A test.”
“Really?” he said, rubbing his finger over his chin. “Did I pass?”
She shrugged and said, “You did well enough.”
He eyed her and said, “You magi are truly an odd lot. I suppose you’re just going to leave this encounter at that?”
“No, you’ve earned a few answers.” She resumed her seat beside him. “Wine makes one susceptible to suggestion. That plum stuff makes you very susceptible. Most start to guzzle it down. Even when I urged you, you didn’t. Instead, you defended yourself. Set it down. Poured it on me.” She dabbed her chest. The stains faded away. “Impressive.”
“I feel I owe you an apology.” He started to set the white wine down on the table.
“Finish it,” she said. “It’s truly good for your health.”
He hesitated.
“I promise,” she reassured him.
Wine and women. Can’t trust one or the other, but you can have a good time with both.
He took another sip. It was more than pleasant.
“Seems I need to spend more time at the wineries.” He took another swallow. “I could do this all day, but I’ve a feeling you don’t want me hanging around here forever.” He leaned back into his sofa. “But I could get used to it.”
“I’m looking for a go-between,” she said, placing the napkin down on the table. “A runner of sorts.”
“An errand boy?”
“You might call it that. A glorified one, of course. Many benefits come with the job.”
It was an interesting proposition, but it was still employment with royals, and he’d been through more than enough of that already. Unfortunately, he was curious.
“Why me?”
“As I say, we keep watch on things, and many things have been happening at the Magi Roost. We’re glad things have calmed down. But the fact that you outlasted the threat is intriguing. You’re a survivor. Not many could survive a threat like that.”
Well, I’m not so sure I’ve survived anything. It’s only a matter of time before he comes back.
Scorch was part of the reason Melegal avoided the Magi Roost. The all-powerful being had left the impression that he’d be back, and that when he did return, things would be ugly. Billip, Brak, Georgio and Nikkel’s story of roasting like logs in mid-air still haunted him. The vision was still ingrained in his mind, just as his memory of snatching the eyes of the underling Sidebor from a fire like pieces of toast was still clear. And even the memory of Scorch’s voice held a power that shook Melegal to his core.
“Sounds like a dangerous occupation,” he said. “Perhaps you need someone more formidable.”
“No, it’s you I need,” she said, touching his knee. “Subtle. Private. Cunning. Being an outsider is helpful. You see things others have forgotten about seeing.”
“I thought you saw everything. And that your eyes were everywhere.”
“We let the people believe what they want to believe.” Her voice was soft. Persuasive. “And I believe in you.”
He finished his wine and got back on his feet.
“Not interested.” He set the wine glass down. “Now, can you show me out of here?”
“What? I haven’t even told you what the job is. Or how much it pays.”
“I’ve worked with royals before. You’re all the same. I’d just as soon keep my distance from you.” He offered a thin smile. “But I appreciate getting a look inside this tower. And at you as well. I’ll not forget it.”
Jaen produced a small silk purse and poured it out on the table. Its contents glittered and sparkled. Gold, silver, and gems. Melegal’s mouth watered.
That’s a lot of money. At least to me it is. But to her it’s probably nothing. I’m not nothing. I’m The Rat.
“This is payment, not to you, but to one of our associates. He has a package for us. All you have to do is drop off the payment, pick up the package, and bring it back to us.” She toyed with the treasure. “And when you get back, you’ll receive a treasure such as this for yourself.”
Who is us? He eyed the treasure on the table. It was a small fortune.
“When do you need this delivered?” he asked.
“Now,” Jaen said.
“I’m not one to rush into things, so I’ll have to pass.” He looked around. The room seemed to be closing in. “Can you lead me out of here now?”
Jaen sighed, shook her head, rose to her feet, sauntered over and wrapped her arm around his. Her soft skin and pleasant curves loosened his rigid resolve. Her lips brushed against his ear.
“Do this for me, Melegal, please? I know your services are worth more than gold. But I need a man of your talents whom I can trust. An outsider with know-how.”
“You can’t trust me,” he said. He tried to pull away, but his boots were frozen to the floor. He tried more honesty, saying, “And I’m sure I can’t trust you. I’ve been told many times since I’ve arrived, ‘Never make a deal with a mage. They’ll skewer you.’”
She released his arm, stepped away, scooped the treasure back into the bag, and dangled it in front of him.
“Then we won’t make a deal.” Her painted eyes narrowed. “We’ll just call it blackmail.”
“Blackmail? Why blackmail?”
“You adore your pony, ah, Quickster, is it? You are so fond of it. Well, make our delivery, pick up our package, and you can have your pony back.”
“What? And what about that gold?”
“The gold is off the table,” she said, putting the silk bag in his hand. She patted his cheek. “Now all you’ll get is another ride on your donkey. You should have taken the deal I offered you to begin with.” She scowled. “It was far better than you deserved.”
Melegal squeezed the silk purse in his fist. His eyes narrowed. Dozens of profanities raced through his mind. So did another word: IDIOT! He stuffed the purse inside his jerkin.
“Tell me what I must do.”
Chapter 10
Kam stood at the bottom of the stairs in the Magi Roost, watching Erin crawl up. Her heart pumped. She clutched her hand over her breast. Erin slipped down a step, and Kam lunged forward.
“Give her a chance,” Joline ordered from the top of the steps. She shook a shiny rattle in her hand. “She’ll make it.”
Kam pulled her outstretched arm back, dug her nails into her palm, and bit her lip.
Erin pulled herself up one stair, then another, eyes fixed on the rattle.
Joline kneeled down and said, “Come on, Pretty Girl. You’ve almost made it.”
Kam’s temples pulsated. After all she’d been through, watching her daughter grow day by day was almost a horrific thing. Any time you took your eye off the little girl, she would move. She climbed out of her crib. Through doors. Tumbled down the steps and fell asleep hidden behind the bar. Kam had almost killed everyone the day that happened. Even Joline.
Erin made it to the last step at the top and stretched her tiny hand up toward the rattle. A little bracelet was on her wrist, trimmed in tiny gemstones. Kam, with some help, had made it for her. It couldn’t be removed, and it made finding her easy. The little girl pushed her belly onto the last step, and Joline handed her the rattle. Erin stuck it straight in her mouth.
“See?” the salt and peppered woman said, placing her hands on her hips, “I told you she would do just fine.”
Kam marched up the stairs and picked up her baby. She kissed her on the forehead and smiled.
“Of course she did. But don’t you ever let her take the stairs without me being here.”
“Kam, she’s already been up and down these stairs several times. She crawls like a little spider.”
“Don’t say that!”
Joline blanched.
“Sorry, poor choice of words. I meant more like a squirrel.”
“My child is not a rodent! Nor an arachnid!”
“Bish!” Joline said, storming down the stairs. “When did you get so sensitive?”
“How dare y—”
Joline shoved her way through the kitchen doors and disappeared. Seconds later, Jubilee came out, wiping her hands on her apron. The young royal girl had lost her boyish demeanor and begun to blossom into an attractive young woman. She was tall, her tawny hair longer and well-groomed.
“What did you say to her now?” Jubilee said, removing her apron. “Let me guess. She tried to say something nice, and you took it the wrong way and lashed out at her.”
“Uh,” Kam huffed, “I did no such thing. She called Erin a spider and said she’s like a rodent.”
Jubilee crossed her arms over her chest and said, “And I guess it was in a mean way. Because we all know how terrible and ruthless Joline is. So you snapped at her.”
Kam raised a brow and said, “You had better watch yourself, little woman—”
“Oh stop it. You just need Venir’s loins thrust between your legs.”
“Jubilee!”
The girl laughed and walked away. A few of the nearby patrons were laughing too, but avoiding Kam’s angry gaze. She huffed through her teeth. “Little witch.” Her eyes watered and became puffy. She sat down on the steps, rocking her toddler, who was still chewing on the rattle.
“I swear I don’t know what is wrong with me,” she said to Erin. “I used to be such a strong woman. At least I think I was. I swear all these ignorant men have made me weak.”
Everything had been upside down since Venir came back into her life. Along with all his friends, trouble seemed to follow him from one extreme to the other. Gillem Longfingers and Palos the Prince of thieves, not to mention Thorn and Diller. All of whom had plotted to kidnap Erin. Then came Scorch, Darleen, and Sidebor. They’d taken over the Magi Roost, only to see it almost destroyed. But Kam had survived. So had Erin. All Kam had lost was her hand.
I’d like to cut off all their hands.
She brushed her red locks from her eyes and surveyed the tavern. All the candles in the chandeliers were lit. Stony fireplaces blazed throughout the room. Voices chatted openly with one another, and her serving girls smiled once more. Best of all, the mages had returned in their gaudy hats, strangely styled beards, and decorative robes. Pipe smoke drifted through the air like fine mist, and the smell of many tobaccos was almost pleasant. It all left a cozy feeling in the room. It gave her a glad feeling inside.
Perhaps I am too sensitive. I swear I didn’t use to be.
The dwarves were back. Gruff and hard drinking. Halflings drifted between the tables. Women squealed and giggled. Men laughed and guffawed. She used to adore all these things, but it all seemed so temporary now. Scorch would be back; she could feel it. Could feel him and Sidebor all the way to her bones.
“Are you getting sleepy, Little One?” she said to Erin, who yawned and stretched out her little arms. “I think it’s nap time.” She started to call for Joline. Her best friend often put Erin down for her naps while Kam worked the tavern. “Oops, forgot she’s mad at me. I guess I get the pleasure of putting you to sleep, but don’t be difficult and take an hour to start dreaming.”
She started toward her room just as the front tavern door opened and some glum-faced figures entered. Hard men whose faces and cloaks were covered with dirt and dust. Metal rattled from their hips. Her eyes found theirs. She stopped. It was Billip and Nikkel and no one else. Nikkel’s broad smile was gone. Oh my! Jubilee ran up to greet them. They spoke words Kam could not hear except one.
“No!” Jubilee said, dashing out the door.
Kam rushed down the stairs and greeted them face to face.
“What’s happened?” she said, heart pumping behind her breast. “Is everyone alright?”
Neither spoke right away.
She grabbed Billip by the collar of his cloak.
“Is everyone still alive? Where’s Georgio? Where’s Venir? Brak?”
Billip’s head was down when he said, “They live, but you had better come with me.”
She choked a gasp.
Joline came out of the kitchen tying an apron around her waist, and her eyes met Billip’s. He met her halfway and hugged her. She sobbed, hugging him back.
“Where are they?” Kam said to Nikkel. “Where did Jubilee go?”
“Come with me,” Nikkel said sheepishly. “They’re in the stables.”
Kam turned to Joline and started to hand Erin to her.
“Will you?”
“Certainly,” Joline said, taking the little girl in her arms. “Do what you must do.”
Kam followed Nikkel to the barn. Inside one of the stalls, all the others were gathered. Venir and Georgio were kneeled down on the straw-covered floor. Their faces were caked with dried blood and grit. Jubilee was on both knees, sobbing over Brak. The tall man lay flat on his back on a bed of straw, still as a corpse. Tears had washed away some of the grit on his big face. His eyes started to water again.
Jubilee rubbed his head and whispered in his ear.
Kam came closer and asked, “What happened to him?”
Venir—still holding one of Brak’s hands in his—said, “His back is broken.”
How? That was the first question that came to Kam’s mind. But did it matter? No good news came from the Outlands. But at least Brak was still alive.
“Can’t the people here heal it?” Georgio asked her. “I remember when Lefty had the desert flu. They made him better.”
“I’ve never heard of healing such a thing. Mending wounds and curing sickness maybe, but a broken back … I don’t know about that.” She felt horrible saying it. Brak’s eyes watered more. “Can he move his arms?”
Venir slowly shook his head.
Kam could feel her sorrow turn to anger. Her face flushed red. She was more than outspoken when it came to leading the young men into danger. Though he looked like a seasoned warrior, Brak was still no older than Georgio and Nikkel. They weren’t ready for this world.
“Venir,” she said, through her teeth. “A word with you.”
The big warrior patted Brak on the chest and said, “I’ll be back.”
Kam led him far away from the others.
“What did I tell you?” She slammed her fist into his chest. “What did I tell you!”
Venir sighed. He tried to grab her hand, but she twisted away.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Kam,” he said, “I told them not to come. They insisted. They aren’t boys. They’re men. They don’t want to stand and wash dishes.”
“Don’t give me that, Venir!”
He patted the air with his hands.
“Keep it down if you don’t want them to hear.”
She poked him in the chest.
“I’ll speak as loudly as I want.
“All right,” Venir agreed. His made a puzzled look. “How do they handle situations like this here? Is Brak safe?”
“What? What do you mean, safe?”
“Cripples are frowned upon where I come from.”
“We don’t kill people in need. We care for them, even if it is extreme. No surprise you haven’t noticed. This isn’t Bone, you lout!”
Kam’s green eyes flashed. Her hand charged up with fire, and she struck him square in the chest.
Venir flew off his feet and skipped off the ground. His eyes were wide and glossy. He put his fist on the ground and pushed himself back up to his feet. His nostrils flared, and his brows buckled.
“Don’t do that again.”
“I’ll do whatever I want.” She poked at his chest. “This is my barn. My tavern. Go stay somewhere else. I want you out!”
Chapter 11
“Keep digging!”
The voice was gruff. Always. Mean. Friendless. Lefty sneered and dug in. He’d been digging for more than two hours straight. There was no sun in the foggy lands of Hohm, but sweat ran down his cheeks and back. It ached. His fingers cramped.
“I’ve had about enough of this,” he said under his breath.
“What was that?” the wart-nosed dwarf said. “I didn’t say you could talk.”
Lefty stopped, drew his forearm across his brow, looked up out of the hole, and said, “Almost finished. Plenty deep enough, isn’t it?”
The dwarf lorded over the top of the hole with his stony hands on his hips. Broad-faced with a large hawkish nose, he wore buckskins, and dwarven hatchets hung from his belt. It was Hoknar, Gully’s brother. He spat black juice in the hole and said, “For a halfling, maybe. You digging your own grave? Humph. Now make it big enough for the both of you.”
“What?” Lefty exclaimed. “This hole’s big enough for two of you and three of me.” Lefty threw the shovel down. “You dig it!”
Hoknar slung his hatchet at him.
Lefty slid to the side, but the metal grazed his shoulder.
“Ow,” he said, bleeding. “I can’t dig with one arm.”
“Dig!” Hoknar said, brandishing another hatchet. “Next time, I swear I won’t miss.”
Lefty snatched up the shovel.
“Fine!”
“Throw me up my hatchet,” the dwarf said, spitting in the hole again.
“Gladly.” Lefty snatched the weapon up. “Are you ready?”
Hoknar’s eyes widened in his saucer-like sockets.
Lefty flung it up.
Hoknar snatched it out of the air.
“Keep digging, Halfling.”
Lefty stabbed the spade into the dirt and slung dirt over his shoulder.
“My name’s Lefty,” he said softly, but Hoknar had already walked away. “My name’s Lefty, but only friends know my name, and I don’t have any.” He rubbed the blond scruff on his chin. “I don’t deserve any.”
He dug non-stop two more hours and threw the shovel out. He climbed out after it. Hoknar sat nearby on a rock with his broad back to him. Lefty picked up the shovel and crept forward. Hoknar turned his head a little.
“Whatcha doing, Halfling?”
Getting ready to drive this spade into that bald spot on your skull.
“I’m finished.”
“Is that so?” Hoknar said, turning away again. “I don’t recall saying you were finished.”
If Lefty waited for Hoknar to tell him when he was finished, he’d be digging until tomorrow. Maybe longer. He had learned that the hard way, when the dwarf first put him to work. Had stitched their buckskin boots for three days straight.
“You said to dig a hole big enough for me and him,” he said, looking at the corpse on the ground. It was a man. A merchant, judging by his clothes. Dead, thanks to a hatchet buried in his back. Lefty had witnessed the entire thing. The dwarves had slowed the merchant down and started a conversation, and then Hoknar had killed him with a look of satisfaction.
“Drag the body in the hole and let’s see if it fits,” Hoknar said, rising up. “And if it doesn’t, you can pull it out and start digging again.”
Lefty looked at the corpse on the ground. Its pudgy face, meaty wrists, and bulging belly. It wasn’t a short fellow either, but a big man.
“I can’t move it.”
Lefty was the size of a child. Maybe sixty pounds.
Hoknar grabbed him by his blond locks, pulled him up to his toes, and leered at him.
“You’ll do as I say.”
Lefty swallowed. He wanted to pinch his nose, but held back. Wart-nose’s breath was just as bad as an orc’s, and you never got used to it.
“It’s impossible. You know that, Hoknar,” he said. Be stubborn! They respect strength of will. “You do it.”
Hoknar picked him clear up off his feet.
“You’ll do it,” he said through the chestnut braids in his beard. “Or you’ll die.”
“So be it then,” Lefty said, “I’ve had enough of this. Kill me now then.”
“You’ll die in the Gruell.” Hoknar slung him to the ground. “Now put him in the hole.”
“It’s impossible!” Lefty said, balling up his fist.
Hoknar threw a hatchet into the ground between his feet and said, “No it isn’t. Get on with it.”
Lefty gawped.
He can’t mean …
“Hurry up. I’m hungry.”
Lefty picked up the hatchet, walked over to the body, and stared into the glassy dead eyes. He raised the blade over his head.
Sorry, but I don’t want to die in the Gruell.
Chapter 12
The Warfield. The hottest spot on Bish. Fierce heat. Scalding hate. Men clashed against underlings and their evil beasts. Bish drank their blood, black and red. Their bones and limbs fed the sand.
It started with over five hundred royal riders, galloping like a storm with piercing lances pointed down. A forest of green and golden banners waving in the air. The blinding sun glinting off polished plate mail and full plate armor.
The underlings, over a thousand of them, met the charge. Teeth gnashing. Nostrils flaring. A wave of dark bodies and razor-sharp steel, bracing themselves for the oncoming assault. Most were on their feet. Many rode spiders. A volley of bolts and javelins flung through the air.
They met with an ear-splitting crash.
Lances impaled underlings like rotten fruit. Heavy swords clove through skull and bone. Steeds trampled underlings and spiders under thundering hooves. Shrieks and clamor filled the air. Underlings tore men from their horses. Spiders sucked on horses’ necks.
Men swung claymores. Underlings fell in half.
Juegen underling soldiers’ blades slid through steel and into flesh.
Carnage.
Death.
The shadows of vultures that circled above.
The men, larger and stronger, mowed the underlings down like sickles mowed wheat at harvest. But the battle wore on. An hour. Two. The fight went on. Laborious. Merciless. The blood-splattered armor of the royals slowed them. Their efforts became sluggish. Futile. Men swung their swords and battle axes one last time and fell down in the dusty grime. Underlings ripped off their helmets. Tore out their throats.
The last man in full plate armor faced the last group of underlings. A surge of knotty black bodies converged with sharp weapons raised. His claymore cut through two of them, and then more than a dozen lethal strikes sealed his fate.
Trinos sighed.
It was the second battle in a month where the royals were defeated. She wanted to help, but dared not. The men of this world had to decide their own fate. They needed to send more soldiers. Not hide them in the cities and castles. But at least some fought the plague that was overcoming the land. There was still honor in some men. Bish just needed more to come forward.
To either side of her, the Nameless Two waited. Silent and sandaled, robes waving in the wind, swords slid between the belts on their hips.
“Go,” she said.
Out of the great hilltop they went, onto the battle-bloodied sands below.
She remained on the crag, watching everything. The small mountain was special. It had power that allowed one to see all over the Warfield. But with her powers, Trinos could see beyond that from here anyway. She could see all over most of the world, and she was looking for someone. That someone was Scorch.
She rubbed her chest. He’d almost killed her. She was haunted by the memory of him draining the power from her with that mystic lance. She had survived because an underling named Master Sinway had stepped in. The underling wanted the power for himself, the same as Scorch did. Its lust for power was unequaled in the world. The Nameless Two had dragged Trinos out of the great hole in the ground. It had taken her months to heal, and she was still far from herself.
Bish leeched off her power, and Scorch’s. Neither he nor she was going anywhere now. They were stranded. And though still all-powerful by comparison to everyone else in the world, for the first time in eons she was certain she was no longer infinite. Instead, she was almost mortal. Perhaps she was mortal.
Can I die? In the world that I created?
It was one concern. Scorch and the underlings were another. Scorch was a meddler. A destroyer. The underlings were ravenous for power. Domination. They both needed stopping, but she no longer had that kind of power. Bish was consuming what was left of her power, fueling the world with it. And ever since Scorch started interfering, the world was out of balance, and she had no idea if she or her equalizer could fix it.
She closed her pretty eyes, spread-out her fingers, and focused on the rock beneath her feet. A trickle of glowing energy rose from the ground and into her fingers, filling her with power. Strength. It went on for only seconds, then stopped. Her eyes opened, and she chewed on her lip. Bish had cut her off.
It’s a living and breathing rock. Even more surprising than I made it out to be.
She had created Bish for her own entertainment. Now she was part of that entertainment, only … she could feel everything that everyone else felt. Pain. Sorrow. Suffering. Goodness, kindness, and gentleness were overwhelmed. Her dog-eat-dog creation was devouring itself.
Was I mad when I created this mess?
She clenched her fists.
If I am going to stay here, I can do without Scorch. This world isn’t big enough for the both of us.
She turned her attention to the next battle that was about to unfold. The Nameless Two faced the underling survivors.
Scorch needs to die.
Pain. Life. Ched still experienced both. The royal knight lay prone, staring over the Warfield’s blood-splatted dirt and into the horizon. Bodies lay in heaps. Friends and foes. Blood oozed from gaping wounds. He lay prone, unable to move, with a spear jammed through his back. The surviving underlings chortled in victory, scurrying through the masses of death.
I still live, you bastards!
Blood dripped over his eye. Something else caught his gaze. It was cutting the underlings’ chortling short. Two figures in sandy robes approached, stirring the dust with sandaled feet. Bright steel hung on their hips.
The underlings fanned out and chittered orders back and forth. The ghost-like figures didn’t slow. They drew their long swords, exposing bright razor edges.
The Nameless Two?
Ched had heard the legends about them. Shades that showed up after the slaughter and finished the suffering off.
The Nameless Two spread out.
The underling forces split apart and hemmed their assailants in. Shoulders slumped, some limped, while others made angry hisses. They attacked.
Steel flashed in the wink of an eye, and the first underling fell over and died.
The underling soldiers cried out and surged.
The Nameless Two spun and parried. Countered with blinding speed.
Slice. Slice. Slice. Slice.
Underlings lost arms and hands. Black blood spurted from ruptured necks.
Stab. Stab.
Black hearts were punched. They pumped no more.
The underlings were quick and fast.
The Nameless Two were quicker and faster. Impossibly so.
Steel clashed. Skin Flayed. Muscle was severed from bone.
Ched stirred and reached for his sword. Bloodstained gauntleted fingers stretched out. Life still flowed through them.
Kill them! Kill them all, you ghostly fiends!
Exhausted, bloody, narrow chests heaving, the underlings faulted back.
The Nameless Two pressed.
Steel sheered through steel into one underling’s neck. The screaming face of the black fiend caught a mouthful of fist in its teeth. A pommel came down, cracking its head. A sword pierced its back. Underlings scrambled, fell, and died in a hurricane of steel. Only one was left. Flanked by the Nameless Two. A juegen underling soldier covered in blood-splattered plate armor. Dark steel whirled in both hands.
The Nameless Two closed in.
Ched coughed up blood.
The juegen struck one full in the chest. With its other blade, it parried the strike of the other. Metal rang off metal with a clang.
One of the Nameless Two countered with quick strikes, while the other sagged to his knees, swords skipping off an underling’s armor.
The underling let out a triumphant chitter, ripped its sword from the downed Nameless One’s chest, and squared off to attack the standing.
The remaining Nameless One was smaller than the fallen other. Lither. Not as formidable. But steel licked out like a metal snake tongue.
The dazzling fencers danced back and forth. Sparks and bits of steel flew in the air.
The juegen clipped through robes. Pounded at parrying wrists with hammer-like blows.
The Nameless One flailed back. A decapitating blow skipped of the hardened armor of a raised shoulder. It went on for another minute. The underling struck with slow heavy blows. The Nameless One sidestepped and batted the next blow away. The juegen struck again and again, missed and stumbled.
The Nameless One swatted the flat of its blade off the back of his metal-covered head.
The juegen gathered itself and swung again.
The Nameless One struck back.
Bang! Bang!
The underling’s swords fell from its grasp. It dropped to its knees and ripped off its helmet. Its eyes shone blood red. It chittered a curse and bowed its head.
Body and head fell to the ground, spilling black blood until it died.
Ched wanted to cheer but mustered only a bloody cough. He watched the Nameless One rise and remove the other Nameless One’s hood, revealing patches of hair, a scarred and burnt face.
A man and woman.
Ched coughed again.
The burning eyes of the Nameless Two met his startled gaze. On sandaled feet, they came right at him.
They come to give me mercy.
Vultures dropped from the sky, gathered around, and started pecking at the surrounding flesh. The Nameless Two stood over him, looking at one another. Their faces were more dead than living. Their flesh mostly skin over bones. They raised their blades together and gazed back down at him.
Mercy.
Chapter 13
“That was incredible,” the man said, panting. He reached for his clothes at the end of the bed and looked back at her. “Really incredible.” He licked his mustache and gazed over her generous curves. “I don’t normally say things like this, but thank you.”
Trodd was a well-knit man, lean-hipped and muscular with a short rugged beard covering his face. He slid his cotton shirt on and a coat of mail over it. Pulled on his trousers and buckled his belt. He was one of Lord Grom’s finest. Captain of his guard. He picked up his sword belt, slung it over his shoulder, and took a deep breath.
“Not a word of this,” he said, looking into Lorda Almen’s eyes, then drifting to her splendid breasts. “My fate depends on it.”
Curled up on the blankets, she smiled.
“You have nothing to worry about, young lord. Your talents are appreciated as well.” She prowled over the bed on hands and knees. He met her at the footboard. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed her body into his, and sucked on his neck. “You’ll be missed.”
There were footsteps outside of Lorda’s room. Trodd’s eyes widened, and he eased her back.
“I had best go. Lord Grom may return any hour.” He gave her a fierce kiss. “I never thought there’d be a woman worth risking my neck for.” He stuffed his feet into his boots and listened at the door. He opened it and winked. “See you soon.”
“Not soon enough,” she said, blowing a kiss at him.
Three days later, Lorda Almen stood alongside Lord Grom. He had his hairy arm wrapped around her waist. They stood on a stone balcony overlooking the courtyard, where a ceremony had just taken place. Captain Trodd was in the wind and rain, hanging by a rope around his neck.
“He was a good Bloodhound,” Lord Grom said in his gruff voice. “But he never should have laid his paws on my Lorda.” He tipped her delicate chin up so that her beautiful blue eyes met his. “I’m sorry for that.”
Lorda squeezed his hand and said, “Thank you for seeing justice done. Sometimes your hounds act like animals when you’re not around.”
“I know,” he said, reaching down and squeezing her rear end. “Come. Show me how thankful you are.”
“Certainly, Lord Grom.” You bearded pig. She followed Lord Grom off the rain-soaked balcony and took a quick glance at Captain Trodd’s boots swaying in the winds. He wasn’t so bad. But it took more than a few tussles to get everything I wanted. Most importantly, Creed lives.
Creed hacked and coughed. Kicked at the straw on the ground. He wrapped his arms around his shoulders and curled up into a ball. Sweat beaded his forehead, and his skin was pale and clammy. Fever. Chills. Anguish. He had the fever. It was often fatal.
Above, water dripped through the cracks of the slime-covered walls. It always did when it rained, and it had been raining for days, it seemed. The crack that normally shed daylight after dawn remained dark and dreary all the time. The wetness and the damp raggedy clothes he wore chilled him to the bone.
“Guards,” he managed to say with a croak. “Guards.”
Flickering torches were the only answer. Drops of water extinguished two of the four that illuminated the room, leaving the small dungeon darker than it had ever been before. It was lonely. No cells were filled with dying life but his. He fought through another fit of coughing.
“Guards!”
I have to get out of here!
I’m going to die in here …
Kill Lord Grom. Ridiculous.
Corrin worked a brush over one of the large dogs in the kennel. It was one of Creed’s, a short-haired shepherd, black, brown and white-patched, with a long snout and high pointy ears. A fine dog. Voracious protector.
“Does that feel good, Manx?”
The dog stood tall and rigid. His head jerked from side to side a little. Corrin had seen Manx tear the throats out of two underlings. He was every bit as formidable a hound as he looked to be. It had taken Corrin months to get close enough to pet him.
“You know he’s alive, don’t you?” he said, brushing the dog’s back. “I wish I had your instincts, but I can’t be so certain.”
The dog whimpered a little and scratched at the floor.
Corrin turned his gaze toward the kennel entrance. His hand felt for the dagger on his hip. Two bloodhounds in leather armor entered, wearing belts and hanging metal. Both of the scruffy hard-faced men leered at him. They rounded up their dogs out of the cages, put on their harnesses and leashes, and left him with a disapproving gaze.
Good riddance.
Corrin knew both of them, but not well. He was still an outsider and not much of a talker. His presence was accepted, but that was about it. He was unprotected without Creed. And no one dared talk about that man. It seemed everyone knew something bad was going on, but they’d learned to live with it. And now Lorda wanted him, or her, to kill Lord Grom.
Not sure if I’d be doing the Bloodhounds a favor or not. I’m certain not all hate him. But I know they all fear him.
Killing Lord Grom wouldn’t be easy, and Corrin had killed many men. The older well-knit man had been a petty assassin for years. He’d killed for as little as a bottle of wine worth only a small sack of coins before. He never minded killing people. He always figured no one really wanted to live in this horrible city. And now Bone was worse than ever.
But Trinos had changed Corrin. The moment he saw her face, another purpose had renewed him.
He grabbed Manx’s leash.
“Do you want to go for a walk? You don’t get out much.”
Manx pawed his leg. Corrin put the leash on, and outside into the courtyard they went, into the drizzling rain.
“Ah, it’s good to get some fresh air,” he said. He glanced down at Manx. “No offense, but your kennels stink of slat and piss. My nose is sensitive, you know. But I’m getting used to it, and that might be a really sad thing.”
They made their way around the inner circle of the courtyard. No one was out. None of them ever were. The odd royal family kept to themselves, and all the meetings Lord Grom held were very private. Corrin hadn’t even made it within twenty feet of the door where they were held. The dogs watched and guarded it. And that was what made killing Lord Grom so difficult. The hounds.
Never had to kill a man surrounded by a hundred of his loyal hounds. Killing a man surrounded by underlings would be far easier. Nothing is more loyal than a hound.
It was one of the reasons Corrin spent so much time in the kennels. He needed to learn about the dogs. All of the Bloodhounds were born with hounds at their sides. They ate, slept and slat with them. Corrin never had a pet. Most people in Bone didn’t. The royals rode horses. Some folk kept cats for mousing, but that was about it. He eyed the platform where Captain Trodd was recently hung. The noose gently swayed in the wind. He rubbed his neck.
Probably a better way to die than being chewed to death by a pack of dogs.
He kept walking. Thinking about the challenge of killing Lord Grom kept him entertained. There were two ways that he’d killed men: a blade, and poison. Well, one time he had used a garrote on a greasy fat-necked merchant who refused to dicker with him.
Poison’s out. It’s expensive, and I can’t get into the city. And it will be impossible to cut the man without a dozen hounds tearing me to pieces. Lorda is pretty, but she’s not worth dying for. Well, Trodd must have felt differently, the fool.
The dogs posed other threats as well. They could sense things that were about to happen, alerting Grom of danger. The paranoid man wouldn’t hesitate to kill you if he thought for one moment you weren’t on his side.
There’s got to be a way where he dies and I live.
The rain started to come down harder.
“Let’s go back in.”
Back inside the kennels, Manx and Corrin both shook off the rain. A Bloodhound appeared in the opposite doorway. With a twisted grin on his face, he said, “Corrin, Lord Grom wants to see you. Now.”
How the man said it didn’t sit well.
Chapter 14
Hard rain bounced off Venir’s blond head and broad shoulders. He’d wandered the streets of Three for hours. Fresh blood dripped from his knuckles. He brought a jug of ale to his lips and drank. It was emptied. He slung it down the street. It was followed by a crash and cries of alarm. City Watchmen appeared down the road. People were pointing his way. He turned down the next alley.
The City of Three was far different from Bone. You could walk the streets at night without risk of being robbed. The people in Three had a quieter way of going about things. And the City Watch, though formidable, weren’t thugs. However, Kam had warned him their jails were far more secure. Three had more responsible people.
At the end of the alley, a group of figures cut him off.
City Watch!
He turned, only to see some at the other end of the alley as well. There were no bad districts to hide you in the City of Three. All corners of the city were taken care of, even when forces were thin due to the war. And Venir had drawn crowds when he busted up a few things over the past few hours. The locals had had enough of him.
Just ahead, a heavyset bald man staggered out of a doorway and bumped into him. Venir glared down at him. The man hiccupped and lumbered away. Venir ducked into the same doorway. Smoke, sweat, and the smell of cheap perfume greeted him. A big-chested woman in a revealing short dress wrapped her arm around his. A tall shirtless one-eyed man stood with his muscular arms crossed over his chest. A fine curved sword was strapped to his hip.
“My, what have we here?” the woman said, licking her lips. “Such a rugged character. Come in, sit down, and I’ll get you a drink.” She tapped her hands on his purse. “But it will cost you.”
Venir snapped the purse off his belt and tossed it to the one-eyed man.
“Trouble follows. Can you get rid of them?”
“What kind?” the one-eyed man said, pushing himself off the wall.
“The City Watch kind.”
The man flashed a silver-toothed smile and said, “No problem.”
The woman led him in and sat down beside him at the bar. She draped her sensuous leg over his and said, “You gave him all your money. How are you going to buy me a drink now?”
He tickled her knee.
She squeaked.
“I thought you dragged me in here to buy me a drink?”
She stiffened a little and narrowed her eyes at him.
“I thought you were avoiding trouble, but you’re about neck-deep into more of it.”
He showed some teeth and stuffed a gold coin in her palm.
Her eyes lit up.
“Buy us whatever you want.”
She glimpsed at his bloody hand and said, “What happened?”
“I didn’t like the way the walls were looking at me.”
“I’ll get a bandage,” she said, getting up from her stool. She rubbed his shoulder. “And some of the good stuff in the rear galley. She winked and walked away.
Venir enjoyed the sway of her generous hips until she disappeared.
Kam would kill me.
He scanned the room. The candles offered little light. They sat on some tables and hung from the walls. Through the smoke, he could see gruff faces: men, dwarves, mintaurs. Some part-orcs were among them. A surly lot, using coarse language and harsh voices. The tension between his shoulder blades eased.
This is more like it. Wish I’d found this place months ago. I should have known. Every city has its dark places.
Venir knew little about the City of Three, just that it was composed of three segments: the ground for the commoners, the royal wizard towers above, and the dark catacombs below, about which Kam would say nothing. Most of his time had always been spent in the Magi Roost, and he had never stayed long before. There had always been something he couldn’t see that bothered him about the City of Three. It was as if someone was always watching him.
The brown-haired woman returned with a damp rag and a dark glass bottle with a cork in it. The glass bottle was crafted in a way he’d never seen before. The barkeep poured its contents into two small glasses while she nursed his hands with the rag.
“My name’s Silia. You can call me Sil if you like.” She handed him a glass. “And you are?”
“Venir,” he said, smiling. “And I think Silia is a pretty name. It goes well with you.”
She smiled and said, “Drink, and let’s see how well things go.”
Venir gulped it down in one swallow.
“You aren’t supposed to do that!” She slapped his chest. “You’re supposed to taste it.”
“I did.” He could feel it burning down his throat. A mixture similar to wine but with the syrupiness of grog. A sweet bite of nectar in it. “How about another? What is it?”
“Port,” she said. “We call it Netherland Port, and it’s pretty hard to come by, so don’t waste it.”
He snatched the bottle from the bar and gulped a few swallows down.
“Easy with that!” Silia said, grabbing the bottle.
His eyes widened. He set down the bottle and eyed it. Now that he took the time to look at them, the curves and the markings on the black glass deeply disturbed him.
“Netherland Port, you say?”
“Where does it come from?” he said, pushing the bottle away.
Silia shrugged. “Don’t know. Don’t care.” She leaned forward. “Of course, the guild provides it, so we don’t ask questions. They sell. We buy. It’s improved our business.”
Venir noticed several bottles of port on the table. There was something odd about those bottles, as well.
He tickled her knee again.
“I’m more of an ale and grog man.” He handed her the bottle. “It’s all yours. Nice meeting you, Silia.”
Startled, she said, “But, I don’t want you to go.”
He patted her on the rump and said, “It’s been a long life. I need some time to myself.”
“I can get someone else,” she said, frowning.
“I prefer you, but I need to be—”
“I know, alone.” She smiled a little. “Just let me know, Venir. I’ll be close.”
He nodded, turned away, leaned back, and rested his arms on the bar. He was worried about Brak, mad at Kam, and uneasy with everything else.
He spread his fingers out on the bar.
Chok!
Someone stuck a dagger in between them, saying “You’re not wanted here.”
Chapter 15
“This isn’t my way,” Fogle said, dashing the sweat from his brow. He and the strider chief, Tarcot, lay on their bellies in a thicket. It had been hours. No more than a few hundred yards away was the underling army’s camp. “Not my way at all.”
Tarcot put one of his four hands on Fogle’s shoulder. His bug face wasn’t readable, but where there might be lips looked to be a smile.
“This is war. A good war. Expect to do unordinary things. Extraordinary things. If you want to live.” He made a buzzing sound. “Or die.”
“Seems all we talk about is dying these days. When can we start living again?”
Tarcot pointed.
“As soon as we kill all of them.”
“Seems you’ve spent too much time with my grandfather.”
Tarcot made small circles with all four of his hands.
“He’s loopy. I like him.”
Fogle had to admit one thing: crazy hadn’t gotten them killed so far.
“Excuse me,” he said, closing his eyes. With a little concentration, he saw through the eyes of Inky. The great bird circled high above, keeping an eye on anything that approached their vicinity. The underlings didn’t prowl to far from camp, and they had shown little concern for any threats the past few months. They had the numbers and upper hand on things. He opened his eyes.
“What did you see?” Tarcot said, tilting his head in quick jerks from side to side.
“Just underlings. None near, but not far enough.”
“Good,” Tarcot said, squeezing Fogle’s shoulder. The strider looked behind him. “Do you know what the plan is?”
Fogle shook his head. Boon hadn’t told him. He’d just taken the spellbook and asked that the two of them make sure there were no interruptions. That had been at dusk. Now it was well past noon. Fogle spent his time remembering what he could about the spells inside the book. There were hundreds. Some took seconds to memorize, others minutes or even hours, but he couldn’t recall any that could possibly take this long. That wild wizard is probably trying to memorize them all. Fogle didn’t like being kept in the dark. He didn’t like being without his spellbook much either. He felt naked without it.
Can’t be that much longer. He glanced behind him. Unless he got lost again.
“Perhaps I should go check on him,” Tarcot said, “if it will make you feel better.”
“Uh,” he said, looking around, his heart skipping a little, “let’s both go.”
Both crawled backward through the brush beyond the tree-line and rose up. They turned and saw Boon sitting cross-legged in a clearing, chomping on nuts.
“I wondered when you two would show up.” Boon said, twitching his mustache.
Fogle and Tarcot looked at each other, then back at Boon.
“You were supposed to show up, not us.”
“Was I?” Boon lifted his bushy brows and shrugged. “I suppose I was. But I knew you would eventually find something amiss, Grandson. Not many spells take so many hours.”
Fogle clenched his jaws. There was always some kind of little test that he failed. I knew this!
“And which spell did you cast?” Fogle asked, looking around nervously.
“You’ll know soon enough,” Boon said, looking up into the sky. “But in the meantime, I have another plan.”
“Are you going to fill us in, or are you going to run off with my spellbook again?”
Boon patted the heavy leather tome that lay by his side and said, “Now it’s your turn to use it, and you had better be quick. My spell could go into effect at any time.”
Thoom…
The ground shook, and everyone’s eyes widened. Fogle leered at his grandfather and said, “Did you do that?”
Boon jumped to his feet, tossing him the spellbook.
“Read, and be quick about it.”
“Read what?”
Boon opened it up and started thumbing through the pages. His grubby finger rested on a particular page.
“This one. I don’t have it in me,” he said, excited.
Boon poked the pages. “Hurry!” He turned to Tarcot. “Come with me!” He and Tarcot darted toward the brush.
“Wait! Where are you going?” Fogle said, his heart racing. He didn’t like being alone.
They were gone, and something monstrous was coming closer.
Thoom …
“Where do we go? What do we do, Wizard?” Tarcot said. He put his four hands on the ground. “What have you done?”
Boon stood tall, eyes open, arms dangling at his sides. He breathed heavily. The spells he had cast had left him weary. He fought for concentration. Finally, Inky’s vision merged with his. Little over a mile away, a large figure strode over the hardscape, and it wasn’t alone. He lost the connection, and his knees buckled.
Tarcot held him up by the shoulders.
“What is it, Wispy One?”
Boon blinked, and his neck rolled side to side.
“Trouble. Big trouble.”
“A giant?”
Fogle mustered his strength and staggered away from Tarcot, shaking his head.
“Several giants,” he said.
“They come to kill underlings?” Tarcot asked.
“No, they come for me.”
“You? Why you? Why you so crazy in your head?”
Tarcot grabbed his arms and shook him.
“What do you do? What do you do?”
Boon swallowed. He had spent the last several hours using a summoning spell, hoping to see one giant, but not many. How did this happen? But of late, some spells had more power and others, not as much.
“I’m the bait,” he said to Tarcot. “I’m leading them into the underling camp. So they can fight it out.”
“That is good then.”
“No, that is bad. The underlings were supposed to win. I’m not sure they can now.”
“This plan make no sense,” Tarcot said. “Giants will crush them and then crush us.”
He eyed Tarcot.
“Well, we still have to do our part, and I’m ready for that.”
“What part is that?”
“We have to go to the underling camp,” he said.
Tarcot waved his hands.
“No, no, no.”
Thoom … Thoom …
“There is no time left. Now be still, so I can cast another spell on us.”
“Tarcot does not like your magic use so much.”
“It’s a protection spell,” Boon said, “of sorts.”
Tarcot cocked his bug head.
“No, it’s something else.”
“A disguise spell then,” Boon said.
“What kind?”
“Well, we can’t go into an underling camp if we don’t look like underlings.”
Tarcot poked him.
“You turn into underling. You go into camp.”
Thoom! Thoom!
“Alright then. I’ll do it to myself then. Just be still.” He held his hands out, closed his eyes, and mumbled some words. Power surged up through his feet and flowed into his body. He opened his eyes, and Tarcot stood before him with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Nothing happened,” the strider said.
“Is that so?” Boon said, looking back at the underling that Tarcot had become. He smiled. “Take a look at yourself.”
Tarcot stretched his arms out and jumped.
“You did this!”
“Aye, now stand back.” He muttered more words, transforming himself. He was now an underling as well. “Time to pay the underlings a visit.”
Tarcot shook his head. His eyes were pale yellow gemstones. His four arms were now two. He continued to study himself and shake his head. “Wispy One is bad fortune. Likes to try and get killed.”
Boon led. A straight jog for the underling camp. He’d be the beacon to the giants, and they wouldn’t stop looking until they found him. The idea had been to lead the giants into the hive of underlings and let them kill the giants. At some point, more giants would look for their brethren and discover them fallen to the underlings, inciting a nasty feud. But if the giants won the battle, they’d still come after Boon. And if they caught him, they would drag him back to the Under-Bish.
At fifty yards from the camp, underlings on the backs of large sand spiders closed in. They chittered sharp commands from glowering faces. Spears pointed at Boon and Tarcot from all directions. Boon didn’t respond. And that’s when he made a stark realization. They might die before the giants even got there.
I can’t speak Underling.
Chapter 16
“Don’t worry, Brak. I’ll look after you,” Jubilee said. She fed him a hot bowl of stew. “Until they get you fixed. After that, you’re back on your own.”
He took a mouthful and chewed slowly. He was in Kam’s room, where Venir usually stayed, propped up on the couch and looking out the window. He felt empty inside. Foolish. Fighting ogres was foolish, especially without a weapon. He’d paid for it.
Jubilee fed him another mouthful. Cleaned up his chin with the spoon.
“Thanks,” he said.
He could still see the ogre, Gondoon, lording over him, triumphant. He’d never seen an ogre before, but he’d heard stories about them from Billip and Venir. But this ogre wasn’t some ordinary ogre, either. Billip made that much clear. ‘Never saw an ogre where steel skips off skin’. And like a fool, Brak had tried to go toe to toe with it. Billip said he was lucky he wasn’t in pieces. Venir was just furious.
“Do you want another bowl?” Jubilee said, wiping his mouth and smiling.
Brak shook his head. At least that part moved.
“What are you smiling for? You don’t smile much,” he asked Jubilee.
“Because I’m usually tricky and spiteful?”
“Well, yes,” he said, shrugging.
Jubilee gasped.
“Brak, you just moved your shoulders.”
“Yes,” she said, “do it again.”
He tried. Nothing happened.
Sadness washed away the thrill.
“Are you sure you saw that?”
She nodded and patted his shoulders with her little hands.
“Well, it will happen.” She looked him in the eye. “You know why I smile now when I normally don’t? Because I’m just glad you came back alive.” She pinched his cheeks. “And when you get back on your feet, I’ll be mean to you again. I’ll be back. I’m going to fix you more stew.”
“I don’t want more,” he said, turning his head and watching her go.
“You don’t have a choice.”
He grunted a small laugh and heard the door close behind her as she left, leaving him in the quiet and all alone. Kam’s apartment was nice. He hadn’t spent much time in anything nice before. There were curtains and rugs. The smell of the room was always good, and things were always in a nice order. Kam had really surprised him when she said he could stay there and that she’d find him some help. He always figured she didn’t like him, being Venir’s bastard son and all. He wondered if his mother Vorla and Kam would have gotten along. They had similar qualities.
Probably kill each other.
He looked down at his legs. One was cocked out of place to one side. He concentrated. Tried to move it. His eyes watered, and his neck swelled up. He didn’t want Jubilee to see him cry again. But she understood. She saw him for who he was: not a man, but an oversized boy. A tear rolled down his cheek. He must have cried more than most do in Bish. His mother dying almost killed him. Being starved half to death had been even worse. Now this.
Stop crying. You’re too big for this.
He sniffed and snorted. His father’s angry face bothered him. Venir and Billip had argued with each other the entire miserable trek back. It wasn’t a pleasant thing. Each one seemed to be blaming the other. At least Venir had spent some time with him. They had talked as Venir walked by his side while the horses towed him …
“I’m sorry about your mother, Brak.” Venir said. A deep frown creased his battle-riddled face. “But Vorla was a good woman to me. And our time was … well, memorable. Did she ever tell you how we met?”
Brak said, “No.”
“Do you want me to?”
“All right then. As it goes, long before I became this blood-mad axe-wielding slayer, I was a soldier of sorts. Young and full of as much bull as you could cram into a minotaur—”
“What’s a minotaur?”
“Uh, well, a very large man with horns. Like the ram-faced mintaurs in the City of Three.”
“I see,” Brak said.
“I was what is often called a sword-for-hire, or sell sword. Some call it a mercenary. I’d joined up with a group I met south in the tent city. They called themselves the Steel Picket, which was a fairly renowned organization of its kind. A bunch of sell swords like me and your mother.”
“She was a fighter,” Brak said.
“A good one. Better than me at the time. Back then, I wielded a blade like an orcen pick. I was pretty young, not seasoned, and your mother a bit older and wiser than me. She’d been with the Steel Picket a few years already. She made quite an impression the first time I saw her. Short sandy hair, well-formed and attractive in a bodice of chain and leather armor. She told me to gawk at some of the other ladies, but there weren’t any.” He laughed. “We got to talking after that and stayed pretty close from then on.”
“It was my first journey of the kind. Scouting and protecting the caravan train from brigands and any other strange things this world had to throw at them.”
“Underlings?” Brak asked.
“They weren’t very troublesome back then,” Venir said, slapping a mosquito on his neck. “We fought mostly orcs, kobolds, gnolls, ogres, snakes, giant vultures, and some other strange monsters. We traveled back and forth, between the north and the south. We were together for more than a year. Lost a lot of good men, but never a single caravan. It made a better man out of me, and so did your mother.” His face became distant after that. “I lost track of Vorla after that.”
“What happened?” Brak said.
Venir shrugged.
“I was just getting started, wanted to move on to other things. We argued a bit. It got fierce. She slung words as sharp as swords, and I slung some back. She didn’t want me to go, I guess, but she didn’t say that. She called me some names and stormed away. I left then. Never even said ‘so long.’”
Venir put his hand on Brak’s chest. “Now I know why she was so mad.”
… It hadn’t been a long conversation, but it meant the world to Brak. He mattered to Venir. His mother had mattered, too. But he couldn’t help but wonder how things would have turned out if Venir had stuck around.
The apartment door opened. He tried to reach for the tears on his face, but nothing moved.
“You could have at least waited until my tears dried up, Jubilee.”
“It will all be right,” Kam said, taking a seat at the table in front of him. Her face was beautiful, but tired. She held a steaming bowl of stew in her hand and set it down to wipe his tears away with her sleeve. “You’re going to have to be tougher from now on, Brak. The road to healing’s never easy. No more tears.”
“I can’t help it.”
“Then I can’t help you,” she said, taking his chin and looking directly in his eye. “Understand?”
“I’m not a harsh person, Brak. Well, maybe some. But if you cry, I cry. If I cry, Joline cries. Then the girls cry.” She shook her head. “It’s horrible seeing all those crying faces. Just awful, and Joline’s the worst.”
Brak laughed a bit and said, “I know.”
“Tears are for when men come back dead. Be glad you live. There are no friends to entertain you in the grave.”
Kam stuffed some stew in his mouth and rubbed his head.
“I could kill Venir.”
“It’s not his fault. It’s that ogre’s fault. It broke my back,” Brak said, chewing a mouthful. “And I let my guard down.”
She tussled the straw hairs on his head.
“You’re a good boy, Brak. I hate to see this happen to you, but I don’t know that you’ll ever walk again.” She sighed. “You have to be ready for that.”
It was hard to hear. He squeezed his eyes shut.
No more tears. No more tears.
Chapter 17
“Twenty pieces!” Billip said, fuming. “That’s less than half what you paid the last time!” He grabbed the leather sack off the work table. “I can get more in the market.”
“That’s illegal,” the sergeant said. He was a royal soldier. A little soft in the belly, but ordinary. “You can only sell to us, or you get nothing at all.”
Billip looked back at Georgio and Nikkel. Their brows were buckled, and their arms crossed over their chests. They didn’t just go into the Outlands to hunt underlings because they hated them, but also because it paid well. Or it had, until now. They both slowly shook their heads.
“You’ll give us sixty pieces. Gold. One for every eye!” Billip said, banging his finger on the counter.
“Twenty,” the man said, his elongated face frowning. He scratched the thin long hairs on his flaky head. “Not a coin more.”
They were less than a mile from the City of Three’s main border, at a small royal outpost. A small tent city. Lots of soldiers and horses. It was the same one they’d been doing business with the entire year. Same long-faced soldier too. They stood inside a large tent with little more inside than a long table, a few chairs, and a dozen crates of supplies. Three soldiers in chainmail with swords belted on their hips had escorted them in and were still there, hands drifting on and off their hilts.
Billip leaned forward on the table.
“Listen, Cappy, we’ve been doing this quite some time. You hired us, remember? What is with all these changes?”
Cappy leaned forward to look down on Billip and said, “There’s been a change in management. They don’t think it’s fair that our soldiers don’t get the same payment you rogue hunters do.”
“Is that so? Well then, why don’t your soldiers leave the outpost? I bet you’d kill a lot more underlings and probably put a quick end to these wars.” He pushed Cappy back with his finger. The other soldiers inched forward. “It’s pretty risky to hunt underlings when you don’t have an outpost over you. Why don’t you try it sometime, Cappy?”
Cappy stayed the bristling guard with his hand.
“Listen, Billip, just between you and me, because we’ve been doing business for a time?”
Billip nodded.
Cappy said, “They don’t want to use hunters anymore. They want men like you to join the ranks.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Ha!” Billip said. “You chase shadows out there, the few who deign to leave this outpost at all. We’ve seen what’s going on. We’ve offered to scout for you, yet you’ll have none of it. Men, good ones, fall into one death trap after the other. And there’s more of us than them.” He rapped his fist on the table. “The royals should be glad of what we do. At least it’s proof some underlings can die.” He rattled the bag of underling eyes. “As for these, we’ll burn them. That’s what should be done anyway.” He turned and walked away.
“Stop!” Cappy said.
Billip turned.
“I can go as high as twenty five,” Cappy said. He gave a quick nod to his men, who blocked the tent exit. “I suggest you take it.”
Something tickled Billip’s spine.
“Give me forty. That’s half what you used to pay, and you’ll never have to see us again.”
Cappy rubbed his saggy chin and nodded a little. He set a small chest on the table and opened it up. He counted out thirty gold coins and dropped them into a small pouch. He tossed it to Billip.
“Take it,” Cappy said, “and consider that a favor.”
Billip slung his sack of gemstone underling eyes into Cappy’s chest.
“So be it.”
“What did you do that for, Billip? That’s not enough!” Georgio cried.
“Be silent,” Billip said. He shoved Georgio and Nikkel past the guards, through the exit, and didn’t stop until they arrived where the horses waited.
“What’s the hurry?” Georgio said.
“Just get on your horse and be quiet,” Billip told him. The hairs on his neck were bristling. He glanced back at Cappy’s tent. The glum sergeant and his men were leering at him.
“What’s going on?” Nikkel asked. “Aren’t we staying a bit like we always do?”
“Bish, no.” He hopped into the saddle. “Let’s go.”
While we still can.
Chapter 18
Venir glowered at the dagger stuck between the span of his fingers. The shining steel brushed the edge of his skin but did not make him bleed. Slowly, he turned. Melegal’s slim-faced dour expression greeted him. His eyes were tired, his movements a little sluggish for some reason.
“I’m already missing two fingers,” he said, “What’s a couple more?”
Still frowning, Melegal took the stool beside him. He plucked his dagger from the bar, and it disappeared in his clothes.
“How did you find me here?”
Venir’s stool groaned when he leaned back.
“I’m not looking for you. I’m avoiding—”
“Responsibility,” Melegal said.
“No.”
“Kam?”
“No, I was just out for a walk and happened into this place.” He took a drink. “No surprise there are rats in here.”
Melegal’s steely eyes narrowed.
“It’s good to see you too.” Melegal drummed his slender fingers on the bar. “I see you bought the robust strumpet a bottle. It’s about time you bought me one as well. Or did you want to be left alone so you could pout.”
“Watch what you say, Me,” Venir warned. “I’m in no dandy mood today.”
“You haven’t been in quite some time.”
“And you have?”
“I never am.”
“Ha.”
Venir dropped a coin on the bar.
“My palate’s finer than that,” Melegal said, lifting a brow. “And I know underling eyes go for more than that. How’s business been the past few months?”
Venir dropped another coin on the bar, and the bartender swept it away.
Melegal pointed to a bottle near the top of the rack and said, “The gold crest will do.” He eyed Venir’s squat bottle of grog. “Must have been a really bad day. Did Kam make you sleep in the stables again?”
Melegal’s barbs didn’t bother Venir. If anything, they made him feel better. He missed his oldest friend’s presence and cold-natured understanding. And it seemed like it had been forever since the pair of them spent time exchanging barbs with one another. He took a long swig and drew his forearm across his mouth.
“You do belong in the stables,” Melegal said.
Venir huffed and spent the next several minutes drinking and explaining to Melegal everything that had happened since he returned.
“A pity for Brak,” Melegal said, removing his cap and holding it to his chest. “I’ve been through some things with that oversized lad.” He scratched his head. “I think you’d have been pretty proud of him the day he skewered that underling to the ceiling with a sword. Cut from the same stone, the two of you are.” He eyed Venir’s pack. “Did you try … you know?”
“Sorry,” Melegal said, watching the barkeep pour his wine. “Maybe Kam will think of something.
About then, the one-eyed man covering the door walked over, said, “They’re gone,” and sauntered back. Venir nodded. Some others entered, and a couple left. Melegal fanned smoke from his face. In the back and darkest corner, hefty men and women made haughty giggles.
“It’s not the Octopus, but it will do,” Venir said, taking a sip. “Is there a name for this place? I didn’t notice a sign.”
“The Serpent Pit.”
“Does it have rooms?” Venir asked. He didn’t see any stairs.
“I think not.”
“A basement, perhaps?”
“What am I, an innkeeper?” Melegal snapped.
“My, a little touchy, aren’t you?” Venir looked at Melegal’s belly. “Carrying all that weight around is making your skinny butt grumpy. You look like you lost Quickster.”
Melegal’s smooth forehead creased. Venir felt a tingle in his arms.
“You did lose him.”
“I didn’t lose him,” Melegal said, clenching his fist. “He was taken.”
“By who?”
Melegal’s smooth expressionless face was riddled in notable creases. Nothing ever rattled the sly man. Sleek. Confident. Now there was a restlessness about him. It had first become apparent on the trip back, but it had passed after their encounter with Scorch. Now it was back.
“Well?” Venir said, leaning forward. He reached for his bottle.
Melegal stayed his arm. Keeping his voice low, he said, “At least in Bone, you knew everyone was an arsehole. Here, it’s hard to tell who the arsehole is. I’ve got trouble.”
“Royals, I believe. Wizards, here.”
“I suppose that’s my fault.”
Melegal shrugged his narrow shoulders and said, “Well, I can’t blame you this time.”
“So how’d this come about?”
“It seems this time they are just interested in me.”
“Good.”
“I might need some help.” His grey eyes flashed. “Do you have it?”
“Have what?”
Melegal lifted his brows.
“Serious?” Venir patted his backpack. “I don’t go anywhere without it anymore. Why?”
“I may need some help.”
Jaw muscles clenched and lower back tightened, Melegal choked down his pride.
Can’t believe I’m asking the lout for help.
Venir’s rugged expression didn’t change. Hard and scarred, he offered a single word.
“Sure.”
Melegal’s wiry muscles eased. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t felt relief when Venir walked into the Serpent Pit. He’d been expecting someone else, but he had no idea who. Jaen hadn’t given him a description. She had just said to start here and wait. Two days ago.
“What kind of trouble?” Venir added.
Still keeping his voice down, Melegal told him everything as the two gazed into the room. The skirmish in the streets. The meeting with Jaen. The trip to the tower. Jaen’s acknowledgement of watchers. The pick-up and delivery he’d been charged with.
Venir soaked it all in, nodding and grunting.
“We should tell Kam,” Venir suggested.
“Did you not hear me say that I was supposed to come straight here? Any diversion, and I’d never see Quickster again?” Melegal whispered.
Venir pointed to his missing ear.
“You can hear fine through that hole,” Melegal hissed, “Just not near as good as me.” He eyed the lout. “And since when do you make excuses?”
Venir shrugged his big shoulders.
He seems bigger than ever. Some of the fires in his sullen eyes are lit again. The hunter is back. And that’s just what I need.
“Melegal, do you think it’s worth it?” Venir said softly.
“Getting Quickster back? Of course it is.”
“I’m certain you don’t want to go through something like you did back in Bone with Lord Almen.” Venir propped his elbows on the bar and leaned back so he could whisper near Melegal’s ear without looking like he was. “You and I both know royals are not to be trusted. And we don’t encounter many that aren’t troublemakers. And truth be told, we don’t know much about this city. And Kam’s pretty prickly whenever I ask her what happened the last time I was gone.”
Melegal’s thoughts drifted to Lorda Almen. She was just as demanding as she was dangerous, yet he’d risked his neck for her anyway. Then there was the other one, Rayal. A fine piece of porcelain and nobility. Untainted by the royals’ hard edge.
I wonder if they live.
“It’s an errand. A test,” he said softly. “It will gain me knowledge of this city and its underworld.” He finished his glass and poured another. “In this case, I’m just as curious as I am greedy.”
“But you said Jaen wasn’t going to pay.”
“Ah,” said Melegal, pointing at Venir, “selective hearing, eh?”
Venir watched walk by an attractive golden-blonde strumpet in a violet gossamer gown that revealed almost everything.
“Sometimes my mind wanders,” he said. He watched as she waved goodbye, took a seat on a chestnut bearded dwarf’s lap, and combed her fingers through his beard. “It wanders to many things.” He turned to Melegal. “You were saying?”
Melegal eased forward.
“I was saying, if it were Chongo, would you not do the same?”
Venir’s stern face darkened, and he grunted a nod.
A woman walked up to Melegal and whispered in his ear. Jaen. Her hair, nails, lips and silk dress were midnight black. Frail and pale, she sneered at Venir and walked away.
“Your suitor suits you,” Venir said. “Do you have time to play?”
Melegal eased out of his chair, tied his jerkin, and said, “This is it. I’ve been summoned.”
“To where?” Venir said, getting out of his chair.
“The basement, she says.” He turned and followed the ghoulish little woman, Venir a giant shadow behind him. Around the end of the bar, a curtain concealed a narrow entrance he hadn’t noticed before. That’s strange. How’d I miss that? The corridor was long and sloping. A small torch lit one end and the other. She opened another doorway and passed through. Melegal ran his fingers along the wall. Dark oak. Absorbs the sound of many things. He could hear Venir breathing behind him and stopped at the door. He tilted his head. “Ready?”
“Aye.”
He went through. A host of men and women in a semicircle greeted him. The room was dim and otherwise empty. Rogues. An assorted lot: men, a dwarf, a halfling and a half-orc. Weapons concealed on some but not others. Their clothes were that of anybody: tradesman, merchant, watchman, or wine-seller. A few were roughnecked and so attired. But Melegal saw right through their veiled dishonesty.
A chill went through his bones.
Venir’s gone.
He felt his own presence alone. He kept his eyes locked on the rogues, fighting the urge to turn back to his friend. There was no point in that now.
Suck it up.
Underling Rider
Chapter 19
I must know at least one word in underling.
He glanced at Tarcot. The strider-turned-underling had a blank look in his eyes, and blades pointed at his chest. Boon started sucking for air, pointing his underling fingers back over his shoulder.
The underling soldier shoved him to the ground and chittered in his face. A spear point dug into his legs. He bit his tongue. Little fiends are a cautious bunch.
The underlings shoved Tarcot to his hands and knees. They chittered back and forth at one another in suspicious tones. The lead underling screamed in Boon’s face, its face angry and its red eyes narrowed.
Boon gasped and held up one finger. Buy time.
The underling drew a wavy dagger from its belt and slit his cheek. It chittered again.
Is my disguise so horrible? We should have walked right into camp as men. It might have been better. At least I wouldn’t be expected to speak Underling.
Boon kept gasping and pointing.
Tarcot started playing along, clutching at his throat and kicking.
Good. Make them think we can’t speak until they let go.
The underlings made curious sounds and spoke back and forth to one another.
The leader reached down, grabbed Boon by the hair, and jerked his neck back. Barking a command, it dug the blade tip into his shoulder.
Boon gasped and wriggled.
The underling held him tight.
Early in his life, Boon had taken ‘communicating in Underling’ off the table, telling himself the chittering language was nearly impossible for men to learn anyway. He regretted that now.
The underlings’ heads snapped up. Glittering eyes scanned the horizon.
Finally! Boon gathered his knees under him as the underlings stepped toward the sound, heads cocking to one side.
Thoom… Thoom… Thoom…
Three giants appeared, great arms swinging. As tall as trees they came. Bald and bearded. Each carried a crude weapon in hand. Their thunderous steps created a dust storm.
The lead underling glanced back at Boon.
Holding his throat and waving his arm toward the giants, he gathered his feet beneath him, rose up, and started running toward the underling camp, grimacing. Well, he half ran, half limped. Held one hand over the bloody hole the underling had poked into his thigh.
Tarcot came right after.
The underling soldiers sped by, leaving dust in Boon and Tarcot’s wake. He winked at Tarcot.
“You’re crazy,” Tarcot said with his underling face, shaking his head.
After the underlings they went, getting closer and closer to camp. There were grey tents in neat rows, and the wicked faces of the underlings started popping out, hundreds of them. He’d never been so close to so many before without killing any. Dread mixed with anger.
I’m tempted to take out as many as I can and say, ‘To Bish with the plan.’
He pushed through the gawking faces of the underlings and settled in behind them. Tarcot stood by his side, eyes scanning around. In moments, they were shoulder to shoulder with underlings, and his skin started to crawl.
The giants came. Their footsteps heavy and determined. Eyes bigger than men’s heads peering at them. The giants were grizzly men. Heavy limbed. Hairy. Precious metal adorned their wrists and fingers. Bones and colorful stones swayed and jangled on their necks. One grabbed a tree, ripped it out of the ground, and slung it toward the camp.
Some underlings scrambled from its path. Others watched. The tree crashed through a series of tents. Someone in dark metal armor started chittering orders. They dispersed in a cohesive unit. Many shouted into holes in the ground. Sand spiders the size of ponies scurried out. In seconds, hundreds of grey and furry black-clawed underlings gathered on the backs of spiders, forming ranks between the giants and the camp.
Boon’s heart thundered in his chest. He licked his lips.
Oh, this is going to be something.
A sharp whistle sounded. The underling riders surged forward on their eight-legged mounts, gliding over the sand.
The stride of the giants didn’t break. Their tree-trunk arms were already swinging. Underlings and spiders were flung through the air by the dozens. Crude clubs and axes bludgeoned with devastating impact. Streams of black blood and underling guts were slung through the air.
Boon laughed.
A passing underling turned, its citrine eyes narrowing on him. It chittered and pointed toward the fracas.
Boon and Tarcot remained still.
It shouted. Other underlings surrounded them. Suddenly, their eyes widened and their faces showed first dismay, and then rage. He heard Tarcot say, “Boon, we are undone.”
Boon glanced at his hands and Tarcot’s face. The disguise spell was gone. They were themselves among an army of underlings.
Fogle—Hurry!
Fogle sat cross-legged on the ground in a knot of concentration. He’d blocked out everything. The thundering footsteps. The shaking ground. The fear of a wandering underling slitting his throat as he read. His wide eyes followed his fingers as they traced the lettering on the spellbook pages. His lips chanted at incredible speeds. The final sound of his last word filled with power, and at last his body felt engorged with power. He snapped the spellbook shut and panted for breath.
He jumped to his feet. Feeling the urgency in Boon’s thought, he rushed through the brush toward the underling camp. What a sight. Underlings on spiders. Giants pulverizing them. The ground shaking under heavy blows. He had no idea where Boon was. He summoned Inky. Connected the ebony hawk’s vision with his.
In seconds, he found Boon and Tarcot. Surrounded by a throng of underlings with weapons poised at their necks and backs.
He channeled his energy. Brought forth words of power and cast his spell. A black door opened up right behind Fogle. Where it led, he wasn’t sure. He followed Inky’s eyes. The other door hung in the camp twenty paces away from Boon and Tarcot. Underlings converged on it.
They’ll never make it in there! We’ve only got seconds.
Fogle charged his hands with power and jumped through.
Hemmed in by a cluster of underlings, Boon’s eyes made a frantic search for the dimension door.
Has he even cast it? He moves like an old fool.
The underlings held them at bay with their blades. Others produced coils and grabbed their wrists.
Tarcot jerked away. A javelin lanced the back of his arm.
Boon whispered and summoned power into his hands.
“Down, Tarcot!”
The strider flattened on the dirt.
Boon blasted arcs of energy from this hands.
Sssraz!
The throng of underlings skipped over the dirt.
“Eat sand, fiends!” he said, sending another bright arc into them.
Tarcot snatched up two javelins and hurled them into the underlings, drawing painful cries from their lips. The surprise ended. Another wave of angry underlings rushed in.
Where is that door!
Fogle stepped through the other side of the dimension door with his hands blazing.
Sssraz! Sssraz!
The arc of energy knocked a path through the throng. The blast sizzled the fur on their bodies. The air filled with painful screams.
“Boon!” he yelled. “Boon!”
There was dust and surging underlings everywhere.
A figure appeared through the mist at a high rate of speed: Tarcot, carrying Boon in two of his four arms. A squad of underlings was right on his heels.
Fogle waved Tarcot on and stepped to the side. He found a safe angle and sent another blast into the underlings.
Tarcot dashed through the black door. Fogle jumped right in after. Instantly, they emerged back outside their camp a few hundred yards from the scene.
“Close the door, Grandson!” Boon yelled.
Three underlings appeared through the door, bright eyes narrowed and wary. The door closed behind them, cutting a forth underling in half.
Tarcot dropped Boon in the dirt and stepped in their path. He spread his four arms out and spread his fingers wide.
Boon stood with his hands on his knees, catching his breath. Sweat dripped from his head. He fought to summon any power he had left.
The underlings attacked.
The tall and rangy strider struck like a cat. Tarcot wrenched a javelin from one underling and a hand axe from another. With his lower arms, he fended off a jabbing sword and twisted it away as well. Bigger and stronger, Tarcot used his weight and strength to bear down on the wrestling underlings. His low hands choked one. He rammed the javelin through another one’s chest, and the third he stepped on and chopped into.
Blood flew, and the strangled underling gasped its last breath. Tarcot flung its corpse to the ground. The strider stepped over and helped Boon to his feet.
“Wispy wizard like to dance with death. Another close one. Hah.”
Boon stepped by Tarcot and watched the battle at the camp.
“I’m not so sure we’re out of this one.” He looked back at Fogle. “Come, and well done, Grandson.”
A battle raged in the distance. The giants were covered in spiders and underlings, like dogs being attacked by a swarm of rats. The valley filled with black blood and death. Weapons of destruction and giant footsteps shook the ground. Underlings were snatched up like rodents. Hurled. Flung. Smashed. Stomped. Spider goo and underling guts squished between giant toes. Fogle could see every bit of it through Inky’s eyes. And every time he watched an underling die, it felt good.
“You’re feeling it now,” Boon said, “aren’t you?”
“They won’t last another hour,” Fogle said. “But if you summoned the giants, then won’t they come after us?”
“Not if they’re dead,” Boon said. “My plan was to summon one giant. The underlings could have handled one. But three? That’s unlikely.”
Fogle shook his head.
“You want the underlings to win? Why?”
“So the underlings will start a war with the giants. The giants won’t take their losses so well.”
It was crazy, bringing the giants to this side of Bish, and yet it made sense. Fogle could live with that for now.
“What happens when the giants win? Won’t they come after us? Kill us?”
“Or take us to the Under-Bish,” Boon said, wiping the cut on his cheek.
“Will they give up the chase?” Fogle said.
“Not likely,” Boon said, intently watching the battle.
“Shouldn’t we try to hide, then? Or cast a spell to send them back? Or … something?”
Boon stayed Fogle with his hand.
Sinkholes opened up in a circle around the battleground. They started small, the size of a horse, and grew. Underling mages appeared in the camp above the sky. Their fingertips glowed with red-hot light. Giants, underlings, and spiders alike were all sinking into the sand. The giants roared. Their arms flailed. Knee deep. Waist deep. Shoulder deep. They sank until they were buried to the neck. The surviving underlings feasted on them.
“We need to go,” Boon said. He rushed over and grabbed the spellbook. “And don’t you ever leave this unattended again.” He thumbed through the pages.
“What are you doing?” Fogle said.
“They know we’re here, Grandson.” His brow furrowed. “I didn’t think any magi were with them. They’ll be on us any moment now.”
“What can I do?” Fogle said.
“Keep an eye out with your familiar while I read.”
Fogle made the connection.
A host of underlings crossed the ground, coming their way. Half a dozen underling magi floated above and behind them. A swarm of spiders came with them. Their hums awakened his ears.
“Those bugs eat the flesh from your bones,” Tarcot said. “You feel every bit of it.”
Fogle’s skin became clammy. His stomach knotted. He didn’t have much left in him. No useful spell in mind. All he could say was, “Hurry, Grandfather, hurry.”
Chapter 20
He stood, listless, staring into the current with his arms folded behind his back. His toes dug into the watery sand, and his robes dipped in the waters, which were warm and stagnant. Not refreshing. They smelled a little foul. Sulfuric. He bent over, dipped his hands in the water, and drank. The taste was vile. Bitter. He swallowed the murk, straightened his back, and waited.
Few creatures could drink the waters of the Current without a dire effect. Cave trolls. Some strange fish, creepers … and underlings. Underling palates enjoyed both foul and pleasant. His stomach gurgled. He rubbed it until it stopped.
He cupped his hands together, filled them again, and drank another mouthful. No effect.
Very good.
He sloshed out of the water onto the bank. The caves were illumined by the green and orange glows of cave bug gel. There were furnishings and decorations. Tables. Vials. Racks and shelves. A network of caves. Some with iron bars and rotten bones. Robes dragging over the sand, he stood and gazed into a long and pewter-trimmed mirror. Black hair to his shoulders. His grey skin with a velvety sheen of hair. His fingernails were black dagger tips, and his teeth more flat than filed. He pulled the skin down from one deep ruby eye and then the other. He sucked his teeth.
“Are you pleased, Sidebor?” a strong voice said.
He closed his eyes and listened to the harmony of the crickets and birds chirping. His feet lifted from the ground, and he glided toward the figure lounging on the couch.
“It’s almost as good as the body I left. Just not two thousand years old.” He opened his eyes and drifted around the room. “But it will do.” His fingers tapped on a huge glass jar with a pickled dwarf’s head. “Such a strange underling that rescued me. An outcast, of all things.”
Scorch stretched his perfectly knit frame over the soft velvety sofa and yawned. He sat up and adjusted the underling-crafted robes that adorned him. Still light-headed and fair, his finely chiseled features were enhanced by the dark garments. He stretched out his arms again and yawned.
“Good. I’m glad you are pleased.”
Sidebor had spent the past year without a body. Scorch had been cautious. Traveled the world. Watching. Hiding. Picking through thoughts. Probing. The almighty Scorch had been shaken. Frustrated. Disheveled for quite some time. Though omnipotent, Scorch behaved like a mortal. Hoarding his power. Waiting for the right time to strike. At what, Sidebor did not know.
“I am pleased. I’d be more pleased if I had an inkling of what you expect me to do with it. I’m indebted, to an extent.”
“Not loyal to a fault,” Scorch said. He reached into a jar full of pickles. Grabbed a hunk of man cheeses off a plate and ate them. He washed it down with a wine called jig. “Did I ever tell you about Morley? Morley Sickle?”
“No,” Sidebor said, guarding his thoughts. It hadn’t taken him long to realize how privy Scorch was to them. That annoyed him to no end. “And I don’t care about him. What I want to know is when we will leave this lair.”
“Do you want fresh air?” Scorch said, grabbing another pickle.
“I want the Underland back.”
Scorch bounced the pickle off his chin.
“Hmmm … is that all you want?”
“It’s a start.” He approached Scorch and poured a glass of jig. “Let us go there. Let me take Master Sinway out. The entire Underland kingdom will be ours.”
Scorch’s blue eyes narrowed.
“It will be mine, Sidebor.” His eyes flashed.
Sidebor bounced off the cave ceiling and plummeted to the ground.
“And a portion to those who are loyal,” Scorch said, picking Sidebor’s face up out of the dirt. “And if I’m to let you regain all your power, I need to be convinced of your loyalty, else I cast your eyes back into the fires.”
Sidebor gathered himself off the ground and dusted off his robes. He’d never sworn loyalty to anyone before, but many had sworn loyalty to him. Loyalty was another word for lies. The wicked never kept their oaths.
“My word is my loyalty,” he said.
“Good,” Scorch said, offering a smile. “And so, as they often said in worlds gone by, ‘It’s time to get busy.’”
Master Sinway bathed. The silky waters of the bath were warm, the bodies of the underling women wet and nubile. Their delicate hands eased the tension in his shoulders. Their perfumes enhanced his senses.
“Ah …” he said, nuzzling his head back between the breasts of another beautiful underling woman. All their hair was white, and long. The sheer garments of pink, lime, and azure clung to their bodies. They were the most splendid and beautiful creatures in all the world, until they became pregnant. Sinway blotted centuries of that from his memory. “Excellent.”
The world of Bish was strengthening. Becoming more and more powerful. He felt it. He experienced it. Tasted it. His battle with Scorch had been a moment of colossal survival. The stranger from another world, a place of unlimited power, had almost died. Sinway had almost taken it. He stiffened.
“Relax, Great One,” a woman whispered in his ear. “Relax. We shall fulfill all your needs. Subdue all your fears.”
The underling women called shallas were born seductresses by craft, each and every one an enchantress in her own right. They wrote scrolls, made potions. Created strange makeup and perfumes. Their soft hands were delicate and deadly. The words from their lips soothing and invigorating. They’d brought Sinway much comfort the past few months. He petted one’s hand.
“The Great One is pleased? No? Yes?” she said, batting her golden eyes.
“Silence,” he said, “silence.”
Sinway wasn’t settled. The war above was in good hands. The royals in all the major cities in a greedy collapse. One house after another fell under the spell. Barge after barge whooshed through the Current, loaded with hoards of treasure. Sinway didn’t see the harm in releasing the contents of his vault. I’ll take it all back anyway. In all of his centuries, he’d never seen men so easily bought. They hated each other. Never negotiated. Never dickered. They would kill each other first. It couldn’t have always been that easy, else the underlings would have been bribing the royals all along. What was different? Scorch? Bish? He had to understand what happened. It ate at him.
He rose from the waters. Two shallas dried him. Another draped him in his robes.
“Master, be at—”
He backhanded her across the cheek so hard she died.
“I said silence.”
In deep thought, he glided away.
Chapter 21
On Melegal’s heels, Venir passed through the entryway. The fine hairs on his neck flared. His stomach nodded. He staggered through a curtain. Blinked the dizziness from his eyes.
What in Bish just happened?
He stood inside the bar, just outside the curtain they’d passed through. The creepy little woman draped in black stood in front of him with her skinny arms crossed over her chest. Her hands moved like little spiders, kneading her narrowed shoulders.
“Come,” she said, gliding closer. “Sit, wait on your friend, and live.” She looked over his great shoulder. “Or go back through the curtain and die. The bosses are very careful. The slightest threat to them can be fatal.”
The creepy woman’s words were captivating. Convincing. Venir’s instincts still fired. There was a strange stench in this place. He glared down at her. Her cool expression remained.
“Your stool awaits,” she gestured. She wrapped her slender arm around his and walked him over. “The wait shouldn’t be long. I’ll buy you a drink.”
Venir leaned back and propped his elbow on the bar so he could face the room.
“No thanks.”
The raucous behavior in the Snake Pit did little to calm his battle heat. Sweaty bodies caroused with one another. Throaty chuckles were hurled. Women cackled with screeching laugher. Rank sweat intermingled with cheap perfume. A dwarf and mintaur clocked heads in a corner.
It was the kind of setting Venir normally eased into, but not now. Too many curious eyes drifted toward his great frame, and his fingers itched to hold a weapon. Or at least a shield.
The woman perched herself on the stool next to him and drank from the goblet of port the bartender set down for her. She kept her haunting eyes on him.
“Where are you from, Outlander?”
Another pair of men glided in behind her. Big and rugged. Earrings and scars. Sword belts buckled to their hips.
“I said, ‘Where are you from, Outlander?’”
Venir focused on the crowd. The tone had changed.
“She asked you a question,” said one of the toughs behind her.
Venir ignored him.
Another pair of toughs hemmed in on the other side of him. They didn’t have size, but they had numbers. One of them said to the toughs on the other side of Venir, “Did you say something?”
“I said that this light-haired lout needs to speak to our little Jasper when she speaks to him.” He pushed himself from the bar and rested his meaty fists on his wide hips. “We treat women right in this place.”
Venir’s skin bristled. His already hot blood charged. The entire room nonchalantly focused on him and the surrounding group. He rose to his full height and almost stepped on the speaking man’s toes. The man gulped.
“Are you challenging me?” Venir looked down into his eyes.
“We’ve customs, Stranger. You had best respect them.”
Knives and daggers whisked from sheaths. Murderous stares made his back tingle. Keen blades poised to strike like poisoned fangs among the rancor.
“Are you challenging me … or not?”
The roughneck’s hands fell to his blades. His bearded lip twitched. He glanced at the woman, Jasper, and back at Venir.
“Make it easy and just answer the woman’s question.”
Venir felt the pressing crowd of men, the rank sweat of their bodies building up with tension. He eased closer to the bearded tough and narrowed his blazing eyes.
“Answer my question. Challenge or not … Coward.”
Superior numbers. Unknown circumstances. These are a few of my least favorite things.
Melegal stood facing a semicircle of assorted rogues, cut purses and back stabbers. No matter where in Bish he was, he always knew his kind. And they had the drop on him. Facing one or two was never a problem, so long as he had his cap. Three or more might be.
“I’m not sure about this one,” said a portly halfling garishly clothed as a merchant. “He appears more hapless than the last. And we know what happened to him.”
“Agreed,” said a half orc, eyeing Melegal up and down. He was hairy, barrel-chested, and naked from the waist up. A belt of knives decorated his hips, and his face was a chin-jutted scowl. “Worthless and puny as a tit mouse.” He spat.
A leather-jerkined dwarf with black bushy brows grunted. Another man in a high-perched hat scoffed under his breath. The others eyed him in their own silent fashion, and the room fell quiet. Melegal heard only their easy breathing and the groan under the boards of the half-orc’s feet. It reminded him of a bit of Two-Ten City, but without all the extra stink.
And I thought this was going to be a pleasant place. He made a quick scan of their faces. Now, who is in charge? He tucked his hand inside his trousers. Showed a wry smile.
“He doesn’t seem nervous for one so close to death,” the man in the high hat said. “Not a drop of sweat on him, unlike the others.”
“Perhaps he’s too stupid to fear what most likely is coming,” the halfling said. “But no one’s too stupid to feel the pain that comes before death. Even orcs feel that.”
The comment drew some chuckles, even from the half-orc.
That’s when another man spoke up. Standing like a crane, his words came with ease. “Jaen sends the strangest envoys. Hapless, the lot of them.” He scratched the stubble on his chin. “Knowing full well we make sport of killing what we don’t like. Doesn’t look like there be much sport of this one. I’m surprised he ever found the tavern on his own.” Another man whispered in his ear. His eyebrows perched. “Oh, you had an escort. He’s probably already dead as well.”
Melegal couldn’t help it.
He huffed a laugh.
“You find your escort’s death amusing?” the high-hatted one said. “I find amusement in that. Perhaps we shall bury this sickly man alive, with his large escort’s corpse on top of him.”
“Agreed.”
“I’d rather see him bleed.”
“Aye. A contest fighting old women, perhaps.”
“Hahahaha…”
Melegal finished his assessment, noting everything from the tops of their heads to the tips of their boots. Small blades were concealed in the rummage of their clothes. Their manners and tongues were polished. Voices strong and confident. Bellies full and paunchy. Quiet sorts that lifted treasure with ginger ease.
Amateurs.
Wouldn’t last ten minutes in Bone.
Not the lot of them together.
I should have moved here a long time ago.
“I’m here to pick up a delivery,” Melegal said. He pulled out the sack Jaen had given him. “And here is Jaen’s payment.”
“He speaks in our midst?” the half orc said, uncrossing his arms. “Without being addressed. An insult!” He whisked out two blades. They flashed between his fingers. “I might as well kill you now.”
“Can we stop with this childish banter?” Melegal said. “It’s been a long day, and I need to move along.” He jingled the sack. “Payment for package.” He winked at the half-orc. “And then I’ll be moving along.”
A growl rose in the half-orc’s throat. The hairs around his iron neck started to rise. His chest heaved.
Melegal remained still. His eyes scanned the others. The pack of rogues weren’t as adept as he, but they still might be dangerous, and he was no brawler.
But he wasn’t going to be treated like a stooge, either.
“Where’s the package?” he said, allowing a gentle bend in his knees. “My patience thins.”
“That’s it!” the half-orc said. His beady green eyes flared. His knotty muscles bulged in his arms. “I’m killing him. Jaen can send another. A woman would be better.” He charged in, daggers wide, poised for striking.
Melegal darted between the half-orc’s arms and punched a thumb-knife into his throat.
“Urk!”
Melegal twisted and escaped the half-orc’s lunging blades, which clattered off the floor.
Clutching at the blood gurgling from its throat, the half-orc fell face-first onto its own daggers.
Melegal made a show of checking his fingers. There wasn’t a drop of blood on them. However, just in case actual danger lurked somewhere in the room, he didn’t risk retrieving his thumb-knife.
The rest of the rogues’ eyes widened a little. Fingers fumbled for hidden weapons.
“Well done,” the man in the high hat said.
“Aye,” grunted the dwarf.
“Besting that knife-wielding beast was no easy feat,” said the man who looked most like a commoner among them. “But you still have no right to stand among us.”
“I don’t want to stand with you. I just want to do Jaen’s business and leave.” The muscles in his jaws clenched. “I’ve waited long enough. I want to do this now.”
“Easy,” another man said. “We don’t even have your name.”
“And I don’t care to know yours.” He rattled the sack again. “Now, let’s finish this.”
“You need to come with us, then,” the man in the high hat said.
The group formed a single-file line headed toward a door in the back. Melegal stepped over the half-orc corpse and followed along, muscles knotting between his shoulders. Inside the door they went, three ahead of him and three behind. The passage was narrow, and dank with moldy wood. It bent and bent and bent before it opened up into another tavern-like room, similar in layout to the one above. He could hear the faint scuffle of footsteps and scooting chairs above.
Wonders never cease.
Two figures sulked in the shadows of the orange fire that burned beneath the stone mantle. One was big and heavy. Clothes like drapes. The other hooded and ghostly. They shared a bottle of Netherland Port on the table. There was an open chair between them.
The rogues sallied among the stools on the dusty bar, leaving Melegal standing alone. The immense man at the table groaned when he turned. Solemn eyes on his, the heavy man waved him over.
Melegal’s skin itched.
I don’t like this.
He took the seat. Rested Jaen’s purse and his palms on the table.
“You’ve brass, for a narrow man. I think it’s what we need,” the man said, dabbing the sweat on his head and on his thin mustache. “Most don’t make it this far. The last didn’t. And it seems you killed the one before him. A loss, but we’re hardly stricken.” He cleared his throat and drummed his gaudily ringed fingers on the table. “Now, your name is?”
“Melegal.”
There wasn’t much point in avoiding the conversation now. He was pinned in. No visible escape route.
“And you hail from?”
The man cocked an eyebrow.
“Part of the exodus, I assume.”
“I fell from favor with my employer,” Melegal said.
“Interesting.” The man hefted the bottle. “Port?”
Melegal nodded. The syrupy liquid glug-glugged from the bottle. He hoisted his glass and sipped. The hooded man hadn’t moved a muscle.
“I am called Zoc. The main in-between. You’ll transact with me and them. We do all sorts of odd trades with the towers. It keeps the city running smoothly. And with the war, things are running a little differently.” He cleared his saggy throat. “Many crafts and many commodities are needed. Where they come from is no one’s business but our own.”
“I see,” Melegal said, taking another sip.
“And,” Zoc continued, wiping his greasy neck, “there will be times when you deal with others. You need to be alright with that.”
“I’m well-trodden.”
“Good,” Zoc said. “I’d like to introduce you to another associate. This is Urku, a new ally of mine.”
Urku reached for his hood, revealing sharp black nails on fuzzy grey hands.
Chapter 22
“Ward them off, Grandson!” Boon said. “I need time. Cover!”
“What are you going to do?” Fogle said, eyeing the onslaught of underlings coming their way, both over land and in the sky. The underlings would be upon them in a minute. At least four magi and a hundred warriors, accompanied by spiders.
I can’t hold that many.
“Tarcot,” Boon said, “come with me.” He started through the shrubbery. “Get me all the time you can get, Fogle.”
“Wait! Where are you going? How long will this take?”
Boon and Tarcot were gone, leaving only the rustling leaves behind them. Fogle clenched his fists in the air.
“Great!”
I shouldn’t be surprised. He never fills me in on anything.
All on its own, Fogle’s mind raced to calculate the odds while every moment the underlings swarmed closer. An angry horde getting bigger. Bigger.
But he was better prepared these days. More offensive in his tactics. His ways.
You have power. Spells. Slow them down, Fogle.
He summoned his power. A bright green missile the size of his finger appeared, hovering above his palm. He brought forth another and flung them down the hillside.
Shring! Shring!
The bolts streaked over the landscape like bright green arrows and pierced through the underlings in the front of the wedge, sizzling body after body. A dozen underlings collapsed on the ground. A clamor of startled chitters rang out, a second, two more. The horde surged forward again. Faster this time. Right over the bodies.
That was futile.
Less than a hundred yards away, the hands of the underling magi flared. Streaks of red-hot light shot up the hillside.
Fogle formed a mystic blue shield of energy and dug his feet into the ground.
The foreign energy hit him with hammer-like force, knocking his feet from the ground. Cracking his shield. Singing his hair.
He staggered up, shield high on his shoulder.
Scrazzz!
Another wave of bolts knocked him over. Crackled and disintegrated his shield. Numbed his shoulder and arm.
He spat blood and dirt from his mouth and crawled over to the rim, peeking over.
Great Bish!
The underling foot soldiers scrambled up the hill less than fifty yards away. He could see their gleaming gemstone eyes. The grey of their sharp teeth. The hands of the magi glowing with power inside their robes.
He glanced over his shoulder. No Boon. No Tarcot. He eyed all the fiendish faces.
He snarled. His temper swelled.
Me versus them… He summoned every ounce of power he had left and rose from the ground. So be it! Mystic bands encircled his arms in bright swirling colors.
Twenty-five yards away, the underlings rushed up the hill.
Fogle unleashed all his rage. His hatred for evil. His revulsion at the menace.
A fire storm of energy burst from his hands, engulfing the wave of underlings in mystic fire.
Screeches and clamors rose. Dark bodies burned, careening down the hillside, slowing the advance.
Arms still charged, Fogle blasted everything he had into them and fell to his knees, his smoking fingers extinguished. Panting for breath, he clutched his chest. When he looked up again, he was surrounded by glittering gemstone eyes. A dozen edged weapons poked at his back and neck. Figures shadowing him from above, robes billowing in the wind.
“Time’s up,” he sputtered.
The hands of the underling magi charged white with hot power.
Fogle lifted his chin.
“Give it all you can, fiends!”
The ground opened beneath him. Blackness sucked him in.
Chapter 23
The roughneck with the blue-black beard’s cheeks flushed.
“Coward?” he snorted at Venir, grinding his teeth. “Coward is the last thing you’ll say.” He pulled two daggers from concealed sheaths.
Venir slapped the tough hard in the face, spinning him to the ground.
The gathered crowd gasped, then gawked in silence, watching the tough shake his head. He started up again.
Venir stood and watched, fire pumping through his arms.
The burly man’s ale-addled brain hadn’t registered what was going on. Drunken courage and humiliation glossed over his eyes. Unable to comprehend the ultimate warrior who faced him, the man took a knee, wiped his chin, and snatched his daggers up off the filthy floor. His scowl turned into a snarl, and a command followed.
Venir’s temper unhitched. His long hunting knife snaked out and gutted the closest man behind him. His mighty frame burst into motion. A tiger among jackals.
Sock!
He crushed a man’s jaw.
Snatch.
Caught one by the beard and slung him into two others.
People scrambled from his fury.
Women screamed.
Venir laughed. It was an angry laugh. How dare they challenge him. He snatched up a chair and spun like a mill. Knife slashing any man who got close.
“Come on, Children of the Towers! Let’s see what kind of fight you have in you!”
Smash!
He brought the chair down on the blue-bearded roughneck’s head.
The burly man fell limp on the blood-slicked floor. Two more toughs charged, swords in hand.
Blood spurted from the first swordsman’s wrist.
Venir ducked under the other’s cut and swept the man’s legs out from under him with his arm. When the man’s head cracked on the planks, his sword fell from his grasp. Venir snatched it up and stood tall, snarling at the crowd with two weapons in his hands.
“I’m going to kill every one of you men if you don’t get the Bish out of here!”
Men of all sorts rushed for the door, avoiding his eyes. Only a few stayed, hard-faced and grim, leering and brandishing weapons.
“It’s a fine day to meet your grave.”
Venir started forward.
A woman’s hands locked on his wrists. It was Jasper.
“Enough,” she said. “You’ve proven enough here, Outlander. These men deserve to live.”
Venir stared down at her and said, “Says who?”
Her black lips formed a playful smile.
“Me.”
A jolt went through him, standing every hair on end. Edged metal clattered on the planks. He sagged, but regained himself. Snatching Jasper by the wrist, bending it behind her back, and jerking her up on her toes in one fluid motion, he sneered at her and said, “That tickled, Wench.”
“Slat! You still stand!” she exclaimed, eyes wide. “That should have put you down. Impossible!”
He slung her into the men across the room. Spat the taste of metal from his mouth. The spell she had cast was similar to one Kam had used on him half a dozen times before. But it was nothing compared to underling bolts. His mind raced.
Not sure if they want me dead or not.
And what about Melegal? Are they trying to kill him, too?
The large and lanky one-eyed bouncer from the front door stepped from the shadows. Almost as tall and broad as Venir, he glided into the room with pantherish ease. Shirtless and coated in oily muscles. A straight pair of fine blades adorned his large and calloused hands.
“I’ll dance with you, Outlander,” he said, lifting his chin. “Everyone, spread out.”
Venir faced the man off and said, “It’s your life to waste.”
The one-eyed swordsman spun his swords with his wrists and started to circle.
Venir had cut his battle teeth using swords to thwart the pathetic attacks of royal brats. The heavy blade was like an old friend in his hand, but he would have felt better holding Brool, or at least Mood’s dwarven axes. This blade was a crude piece of steel compared to the fine-forged steel in the other’s palms. The smooth gait of the man left him a little uneasy. The man moved with the grace of a true swordsman.
Suddenly, the man in the eye-patch weaved his swords in a flash of spinning metal and lunged. Venir swatted away the steel tongues.
The man jumped back.
“Kill him, Patch!” a tough yelled.
“All in due time,” Patch bragged. He spoke with a silky accent. “Just seeing what this stranger is made of. If he’s more than the heavy coat of brawn he wears.”
Venir couldn’t imagine a one-eyed swordsman lasting very long. But the savvy fighter did have an edge in length of blades. Not to mention a home court of rogues at his call. Venir lunged in and skipped back.
A blade licked out at his throat.
He banged away another that stabbed at his leg.
Patch kept his blades up and waggled his neck a bit.
“I’ve not seen many big men that are so quick. Always thought I was one of a kind.”
Patch lunged and stabbed his blades.
Venir’s arms snapped up and batted them away. All four blades started to sing.
Clang. Bang.
Clang. Clang. Swish. Bang.
Swish. Clang. Bang. Bang.
Patch pressed.
Venir defended. His footing slipped in blood.
Patch’s sword dug into his shoulder, making Venir’s blood drip to the floor. The raucous crowd roared. Chair legs made a racket on the floor.
“Score one for me,” Patch said, bare chest heaving a little. “Only a matter of time now. Of course, you could yield. Leave as peaceably as we met.”
“You’re a fool, Patch,” Venir said, snarling.
“Oh?” Patch smiled. “And why is—”
Venir sprang like a wild tiger. Brought his sword down with zero finesse but with all of his strength.
Because you fight by the rules of honor, yet you taunt below the belt.
Patch caught the strike with crossed swords. Steel rang off steel. But the impact drove Patch’s arms down. Shock filled the man’s face.
Now that downward motion made it easier, Venir struck harder. Again. And again.
At the same time, Venir’s long knife licked a wound into Patch’s belly. Another across his chest.
The bewildered swordsman fought for his life, bringing his arms up on guard slower and slower each time.
“Nothing to say, One-eye!” Venir said.
Patch’s sword clattered to the floor.
So fell the other.
Heavy for breath and broken out in rivers of sweat, Patch dropped to his knees. He held his arms out wide and cried. “Yield. I yield, you fearsome beast!”
Venir’s hunting knife took the tips of his fingers off.
“That’s for making me angry.”
He pummeled Patch’s head with the flat of his sword. The man dropped cold.
“That’s for running your mouth.”
Venir scanned the room.
“Anybody else care to dance?”
Fear-filled, the remaining few fighting men exited the room.
Blood hot as fire, Venir slung the sword across the room and sheathed his grandfather’s knife. Only Jasper and the bartender remained inside with him.
“Take me to my friend,” Venir said, approaching the woman. “Now.”
She held her palms up and backed away, saying, “He’ll be fine. Just wait.”
Underlings!
Venir’s Outland instincts fired, from fingertip to toenail. He was hearing the cry of Melegal’s voice in his head. How, he didn’t know.
He unslung his pack.
“Jasper, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll tell me where he is. Now.” He pointed to the bloodstained floor. “You’ve seen what I can do.”
“Are you going to kill a woman?” she said, curious.
“No,” he said, pulling out the sack, “but I’ll kill every man who has anything to do with her.”
The bartender darted out from behind the door and disappeared through the front door. When Venir turned back around, Jasper was gone.
Chapter 24
The underling’s hands locked onto Melegal’s elbows and held him fast. Black nails dug into his arms.
Slat that was fast! Any lower, and he would have triggered my bracers.
Urku’s grip was cold iron. His citrine eyes like yellow fires.
Melegal remained still as a stone. Skin recoiling. He had seen plenty of underlings over the years, and they always disturbed him. Their bright eyes never slept. Always, there was a dark spark of life in them that remained even after death.
Uneasy inside, Melegal remained cool on the outside.
“Zoc,” he said to the meaty man at the table, “is this what I’m here for? To hold hands with underlings?” He sucked his teeth. “I’ve delivered. Now what do I need to pick up?”
Zoc had started to speak when his fat neck twisted upward. Dust fell from the rafters above, in unison with some heavy thump thumps. The pack of rogues also eyed the roof above, eyes narrowing, chins up with curiosity. The thick dark oak groaned a little.
Melegal snapped his fingers in front of Zoc’s face.
“We’re still transacting, if you please.” His eyes drifted back to the underling. “And if you don’t mind, I think your fuzzy comrade can let go of me.”
“Uh …” Zoc started. “Yes-yes well … I have no control over Urku. He’ll let you be when he wants to let you be.” He cleared his throat. “But it seems you’re handling it quite well. Seems you’re better acquainted with underlings than most.”
“You could say that.”
Urku slid his hand away. Chittered a little laughter.
Melegal so hated the natural scowls on their evil faces. A sneer made up of hard lines. The natural edge to their teeth was another disturbing thing, and the sight of the hairy spiders they’d ride on. Vermin on vermin.
“So, to continue,” Zoc said, taking his eyes away from the ceiling, where the soft thumps and scuffles had stopped, “it is imperative you have no reservation whom you do business with. There are those that remain loyal to their own kind and don’t find dealing with underlings beneficial.” He dabbed his brow. “You seem comfortable.”
“I am.” Not! What in Bish is going on!
Melegal had long-ago realized there were some who consorted with underlings. He knew Lord Almen had, and Jarla. But now one sat in a room with men, dwarves, and halflings. That was unheard of. In every city he’d been to, he’d heard tales of men that died rather than dicker with underlings. The world had changed in what seemed to be less than a day.
But Quickster.
He avoided Urku-the-underling’s hard stare and addressed Zoc.
“I don’t care. If it’s the job, then it’s the job.” He eyed the sack of coins on the table. “Be it one underling or twenty.”
“That’s good, very good,” Zoc said, “because the underlings have much to offer the upper world. Especially in times of war.” He shoved the sack back to Melegal. “This is yours.”
Melegal stretched his bony hand over it and said, “I’m taking nothing back? No goods, no nothing?”
Zoc leaned back on his groaning chair and clasped his hands over his belly.
“You’ve passed the test, Fearless One. I even think Urku likes you.”
The underling flashed a crude grin. Made a sharp twitter.
“And that’s a good thing,” Zoc said, “because if he likes you, so will his brothers.”
Two more underlings flanked Melegal’s narrow shoulders. The fine hairs on his neck stood up. He glanced at one and then the other. Shirtless, they had many rings in their ears, brandings and marking in their skin. Belts hefted blades around their hard bellies. Eyes like bloodstones.
“Just two more of our many associates you’ll become acquainted with. Ha!” Zoc said, slapping the table. “You’ll be sharing port with them before long.”
“And that’s it? I can go and await the next order?”
“Just remember, breaking with this trade won’t end well. Our eyes and ears are everywhere.”
“I know,” Melegal said, pushing his chair back from the table. So glad this is almost over. Get out of Three. Get out of Three. Get out of Three! He stood. “Who’s showing me out? What happened to that little black-haired morsel?”
Jasper emerged from nowhere. Whispered in Zoc’s ear, eyeing Melegal.
The merchant-thief’s eyes brightened. “Hold,” he said, holding up his hand.
The underlings seized Melegal.
Zoc said, “It seems your friend has stirred much—”
The hollow chopping sound came from the ceiling above. Everyone looked and stayed looking.
A glimmer of light winked through a hole above.
A large piece of the dark oak-wood floor fell through, leaving a gaping hole.
“What in the world of Bish is going on!” Zoc jumped up and exclaimed.
A dark hulk dropped through the ceiling, holding a massive axe. Angry eyes gleamed out the eyelets of the dark metal helmet.
The underlings chittered in rage.
“Your allies are about to become dog food,” Melegal said.
Jasper stood in stark silence. Here again was the man she’d seen make quick work of the men above. He was something else. A destroyer in dark metal armor.
The underlings screeched. Rage filled their faces.
Her fingernails dug into Zoc’s meaty arm.
In two great strides, the man in the spiked helmet crossed the room and struck. The great blade sang with a sharp howl in the air. The yellow-eyed head of the underling Urku flew through the air, leaving a trail of black blood behind it. The second underling darted in, stabbed. A savage chop split its body in half.
Jasper gasped. She’d never seen black blood.
The third underling, the one that held Melegal, howled and hopped, plucking at the darts in its toes. Melegal skewered its back in a lightning-quick lunge. The underling slipped dead from his blade.
So fast. So fast. So fast. Her lips trembled. Her jaw sagged. She couldn’t even summon a protective spell. Who in Bish are these men?
That’s when the other rogues closed in. All short weapons. No armor.
Two men fell at once. Top Hat and Catcher were their names. Humans bleeding to death. Eyes wide with horror and desperation.
The other two men caught darts in their throats. Desperate fingers clutched at their necks. The war axe finished them off in two strokes of lightning.
The halfling ran.
Darts filled his legs, and he crashed to the floor.
The dwarf tried to bowl the helmed warrior over.
The attempt was fatal.
Only one rogue escaped: the halfling, full of darts but crawling on the floor. All the underlings were dead, which left only Jasper and Zoc, standing in horror. So much blood in so little time.
The wiry thief yelled at the gore-dripping slayer.
“You idiot! My bargaining was done!”
The man in the helmet scanned the room. Face eerie. Voice smoky.
“There are more.”
“I don’t want more. I want to leave,” Melegal said, straightening his cap. “I’m going.” He turned his head to Zoc. “Are we finished here?”
Zoc nodded his sweat-covered face. Swallowed hard.
“I just hope your comrade is finished here.”
The tip of Venir’s axe appeared underneath Zoc’s chin. He said, “How do I get to them?”
Zoc swallowed again. Blinking rapidly. Jasper backed away. Heart thundering.
“Who?” Zoc said.
Venir pushed the spike a little harder. The heavy man blanched.
“I wouldn’t play games with him,” Melegal said to Zoc. “He really has issues with underlings.” He pointed at Jasper. “You. Lead me out of here. Not that I couldn’t find my way, but I wouldn’t be caught leaving this snake pit without a decent-looking woman on my arm.”
Jasper perked up. She was drawn to the man’s smooth words.
“Which way to them?” Venir growled at Zoc.
Blood dripped down Zoc’s chin. He pointed toward the dark curtains that hung to the right side of the cold stone fireplace.
Venir jerked back his blade and nodded at Melegal. In a few steps, he vanished behind the curtain.
Zoc exhaled and mopped the sweat from his eyes. He scanned the horrific surroundings.
“How did this happen? He killed almost everybody.”
“Simple. You did something stupid,” Melegal said. He stuck out his elbow. Jasper took it.
“Oh,” Zoc said, rubbing his head. “The underlings will be furious with what your friend did. But he shouldn’t be a problem for long. Not where he goes. Not even my best fighting men dare venture down there.”
“Who?” Melegal said, looking at the dead. “Those guys?”
“Let’s go,” Jasper said, pulling on Melegal’s arm.
He followed her lead.
Zoc said one last thing.
“There’s more than underlings below. Other terrible things.”
“And I’m sure my friend can’t wait to meet them.”
Chapter 25
Fogle’s stomach sank. Wind rushed by his ears.
Where am I!
He clawed and twisted in the air, listening to the rapid rustling of his robes. The wind tore at his eyes, but he could see the bright sky surrounding him.
Splash!
He heard the sound. Submersion followed. The entirety of his body juttered. Water rushed into his lungs, and though he flailed like a wild man, he was sinking. Breathless, frantic and disoriented.
A strong arm grabbed him by the collar and hauled him up toward the glaring suns. He emerged, gasping for air.
“Can’t you swim, Grandson?”
Fogle coughed and hacked, treading water, but his robes felt like heavy armor. He smoothed his soaked hair back over his head. A creature swam by, calico and hairy, its tail gliding its small frame through the water. An Otter Cat.
“Come on,” Boon said in his ear. “Let’s get you to shore.”
He could feel his grandfather’s strong arms take hold of him, and the man’s legs churning in the waters below.
“You need to help some,” Boon gasped. “You weigh a ton.”
Fogle tried. His exhausted limbs were noodles. He kicked all he could, but nothing was left in him. He’d hurled everything at the underlings, but he lived. They made it to the shoreline. The sandy shores washed up over his robes. He squeezed the soft sands beneath his fingers.
Ah! I made it. But where exactly did I make it to?
He started coughing again.
Boon’s firm hand patted his back.
“Its fine now, Grandson. Just fine.”
Fogle barely heard him over the torrential sound of water crashing into water. He looked beyond. People splashed. Otter cats were everywhere. Others gawked and stared at the strider, Tarcot, emerging. And beyond all that was something else. His eyes lit up like flares.
“The Three Great Falls?”
“Aye,” Boon said. “This was the safest place to land on short notice.”
Fogle’s head whipped around. He forced his tired body to his feet.
“Can it be?”
Towers. Dozens. Spires bright and brilliant jutting like giant jeweled fingertips stretching into the sky-blue air.
“Tell me this is real, Grandfather.”
“It is,” Boon said. “It is.”
“Why here?” He asked. Not that he cared, but because he was curious. Of all the times Boon had surprised him, this was the biggest one of all.
“It must have raced through my thoughts at the last second.” Boon rose up and stood at his side, peering at the towers. “It’s a sight I’ve longed to see as well, it seems, somewhere deep inside me. It’s good to be home again. I’d almost given up on it.”
“Me too,” Fogle said. “Me too.”
Chapter 26
“You can release my arm now,” Melegal said to Jasper.
They’d crossed a few streets. Melegal’s temper festered with every step.
“It’s fine,” she said. “Quite nice, actually.”
He shoved her into the next alley and pinned her to a wall, with his forearm on her throat.
“Listen, Jasper, I want to know more about the goings on with things. And I want to know now. How many underlings are in this city?”
Her stark white cheeks turned rosy. The dark violet shadow on her eyelids fluttered. Her fingers tickled at his belly.
“Ah!”
He withdrew his arm and watched her stand there, coughing. She was a young woman, but full-grown despite her girlish frame. Her dark silk dress accented her sensuous curves. Her perfume drew him into her darkness.
“I don’t know that much,” she said, rubbing her throat.
“You know plenty,” Melegal said. “Do you think I’ve never dallied with a deceitful wench before? I’ve known women that spun lies like fine tapestries, and I still have my head for it. Now tell me, what kind of fools dicker with underlings?”
“Don’t rise so high, Melegal,” she said, fixing her midnight hair. “Underlings are just people.”
“Don’t be a fool, Girl.”
Her eyes bore into him like daggers. Her fingertips sparked. She struck.
Melegal sent her into the wall. The fires in her eyes and fingers went out.
“Listen, Girl. Consider this lesson a life saver. The underlings will have your throat torn out one day. They’ll take every tower to the ground. We are at war with them to kill them, not to make merry with them. They’re evil. And evil has no friends.”
Jasper leaned back against the wall, eyes wide and blinking. Perhaps he’d take some of his aggravations out on her. His nails dug into his hands. Everything had been under control until Venir barged in. Now, the man was gone. Hunting underlings in a city that didn’t have underlings. Quickster was gone. His life once again was out of his control.
He extended his hand to Jasper.
She glared at him.
“Take it.”
She didn’t move.
“I said ‘Take it’!”
She reached out, and he pulled her up to her feet.
He looked in her eyes and nodded.
“Don’t ever slap me again,” she said.
“You call that a slap?” he laughed. “Just don’t make chummy underling talk then.”
“Fine,” she said, glancing around. “Now what?”
Melegal led her back into the street and said, “I have no idea.”
“Are you worried about your friend?”
“Him?” Melegal said, shrugging. “He’ll be all right.”
He had better be all right, because I’m not going after him.
“Let’s go spend some of this gold.” They took two more steps, and the world changed. He was on his hands and knees, spitting bile on the floor. His head felt like hammer had hit it. When he looked up, there was Jaen, lording over him with an angry look on her face.
“What have you done!”
Running his free hand along the wall, Venir followed the stairs down. He could sense them. Feel them. Smell them. The decay-like scent of underlings. The creatures that took as much joy in death as they did in life. He hated them. So through the blackness he went, head throbbing. Heart pounding. Veins charging.
He must have gone more than fifty feet down when he bottomed out on a plank platform. Through Helm, he could make out the outlines of walls and a door, cracked open. He eased it inward with one hand, Brool ready in the other.
What’s this?
Stairs and catwalks traversed a large open cavern lit by smokeless green-and-yellow torches. Glowing rocks above traced the ceiling. The dampness of water in the air cooled his face. He crept forward like a white ape and hunkered down on the next platform. Bodies were in motion below.
There was a lake of sorts. Or a river, he couldn’t tell which. A series of small docks along the sandy shore. Crates. Small barges. A company of men carrying crates over the planks and stacking them up in neat rows. Other men cracking open the wooden boxes with pry bars and taking turns sampling the goods.
Netherland Port.
A screeching chatter arose, freezing the stern-faced rogues. A pack of underlings emerged from the shadows of the docks. One of them snatched the bottle from the men and stuffed it back inside the box.
Venir’s blood ran hot. Helm urged him onward. His knuckles whitened on Brool’s handle.
Not yet, he told himself. Not yet.
He slunk back a little farther into the shadows and held his position. He removed Helm from his head. His breathing eased.
What in bloody Bish are they doing!
Venir never thought he’d see the day when men bartered openly with underlings. The fiends had corrupted the City of Bone and now penetrated the City of Three’s underworld. It seemed they were buying the royals off. Poisoning the streets. Weakening the structure from within. Someone had to be responsible for all of this madness. Someone high up had given in.
I need to find out who’s doing all of this and put an end to them.
He stared at Helm. The eyelets were like a reflection staring right back at him. Hot. Angry. He ran his thumb along the brassy edges of the metal eyelets.
I see no reason why we can’t put an end to the ones down there right now.
He started to put Helm on and stopped. How many times had he rushed into the thick of things and paid for it? How many others had suffered because he let Helm lead?
From the shadows, he glared down at the underlings. Could he tolerate them long enough to try and find more help? He watched the underlings order the rogues around, strutting along in their dark armor. There weren’t that many.
He could see Helm looking back at him, saying, Take them.
But Venir was older now.
Time to be wiser.
He observed a little longer.
The men labored back and forth, unloading one barge after the other. There were barrels. Boxes. Sacks with the clinking of coins. The rattle of precious stones. A hoard of treasures fit only for royals.
Venir’s thoughts raced. Every city had its thieves and dirty dealings. Were the rogues behind it? The wizard-royals? Perhaps Kam would have insight to these questions. If only she would talk to him now. His thoughts drifted to Brak. Which was more important: killing underlings, or seeing his wounded son?
Time to go. He looked at Helm. No more today. He readied the sack and stuffed Helm inside.
The soft sound of sobbing echoed from the cavern below.
What was that?
Another barge eased its way through the waters on the other side of the docks. Dozens of half-naked women and children were huddled in the center. The sobbing and crying became louder as they found the cold glittering stares of the underlings. Desperate pleas and cries for mercy came forth. The rogues silenced them with hard strokes of the lash and dragged them kicking and screaming from one barge to another.
Venir drew forth the shield from the sack and buckled on Helm.
“Aw, Bish no.”
Chapter 27
The Gruell. It wasn’t so much a prison but a series of cages and pits lined up along a carved-out hillside. Each wrought with filth and decay. Bugs and vermin scurried about, gnawing at what was left of oncealive things.
The wart-nosed dwarves had strange ways of dealing with people from the city of Holm. The Gruell was one of those ways. Kidnappers they were. Smugglers. Thieves. They never hesitated to seize a prosperous opportunity.
Lefty stood over the rim of a pit, looking down within. A man’s body rotted there, fine clothes in tatters. Skin eaten away by bugs and vermin. He sighed. The man’s family either didn’t have the ransom the dwarves wanted or they didn’t care. So the man had died. Had taken his last breath months ago. Lefty wiped a tear from his eye. He’d forgotten about the man in all his troubles.
“Get that hole cleaned out yet?” Hoknar said, shoving Lefty and almost knocking him into the pit. He spat inside. “People don’t care so much about one another as you’d think.” He grunted. “They didn’t even dicker. Now get down there and clean out that hole.”
Lefty nodded, tied a rope to a nearby cage, and lowered himself into the hole, coughing. The stench was suffocating. He wandered into the cave, tied the rope around the body, and climbed out. Hand over hand, he hauled it up. Everything made it up but the head.
Hoknar scratched the warts on his nose and said, “Get back down in there, stupid.”
Rubbing his aching shoulders, Lefty sighed.
“Now!”
He’d started to untie the rope from the dead body when Hoknar walked over, laid his hand on his shoulder, and stopped him.
“I’ll get that. You hop in there and toss up that head. I’ll toss the rope in. Time’s pressing.”
“But…”
Lefty slouched and walked over to the pit with his shackles rattling around his ankles. Now, he hated the shackles more than anything. At first, he had thought he deserved them. But now, he had made up his mind to try and get away. And they’d worn his ankles raw.
Gazing into the pit, he sighed. It was twelve feet down. He could handle that. Getting out was another problem. Hoknar probably wouldn’t help at all. He glanced back and saw Hoknar combing his fingers through his beard and shooing him onward.
He jumped in, landing noisily when the chains rattled, and picked the gory head up. He tossed it out of the hole and waited. Nothing happened. All he could see was the dark rocky cave ceiling above. Bugs scurrying into holes below.
“Hoknar!” he yelled.
No answer.
“Hoknar! You’ve given me much to do. The sooner you let me out of here, the better.” He swallowed hard. “Hoknar, please?”
He sighed.
He’s gone. I know he’s gone. He always does this to me.
It was either jump in the hole when told, or be beaten. And Lefty was starting to get the feeling that Hoknar might be growing tired of him. That this latest trip into a pit might be his last. The wart-nosed clans had started to wear out their welcome in Hohm City. The royals had begun to show an interest in them, and Lefty saw signs that said they might be moving on. A handful had ventured into the city and never made it back.
The Gruell was getting dim. Lefty’s legs ached, and his belly groaned. He kicked at the bugs crawling over his toes. It had only been a few hours, but that was nothing for a dwarf. Every minute, Lefty wondered whether or not he should try to climb out. He could see himself cresting the rim, only to find Hoknar staring right at him. He’d be put in a grimy cage or a covered pit for days. Some nights, Hoknar left a yellowish rooster that crowed all the time.
“Hoknar!” he yelled. “Hoknar, please!”
Silence and biting bugs were his only company. He’d had enough of the company that he kept. He’d punished himself enough. He had to escape the next chance he got, but if they caught him, he’d be dead.
I can do this.
The wart-nosed dwarves were a curious bunch. They had a way of finding things. Creatures. People. They set traps and surprises. Anything they put a mark on, they found again. And there were at least twenty of them sulking in the misty woodland. He could see them that didn’t want to be seen. Always on the lookout for their hideout. Maybe more keeping an eye on things. If Lefty slipped out, there was no clear right direction to go.
I can’t do this.
He clutched at the hairs on his head.
Don’t be a child. Get ahold of yourself. It was Melegal’s voice he heard. He took a breath and eased his mind, blowing out one mental candle at a time. Listen. Learn.
Confined in the pit, he focused on the sounds above. A breeze rustled the dirt. Distant birds ca-cawed. But no sound of a dwarf grumbling or picking.
Here goes.
He dug his tiny fingers into soft dirt. The dirt would break away under a heavier man, and normally a wooden grid cover sealed the hole. Lefty climbed with a spider’s ease, one tiny handhold at a time. He could have done that at any time, but why, when it would be fatal. Cresting the rim, he peered outward. Hoknar’s hollowed eyes were glaring into his.
“Ya be a fool!” the dwarf said, rising to his feet, axe in hand.
Lefty pulled himself out of the hole and stood on his legs.
“A dead fool!” Hoknar yelled, “if you don’t get back into that hole!”
“No!” Lefty said.
“What!” Hoknar said, charging forward, nostrils flaring. The dwarf breathed steamy smelling breath into Lefty’s face. “I’ll tell you one more time.”
Lefty kept his eyes locked on Hoknar’s. There was a thing about the wart-nosed dwarves. Their hollow eyes blinked slower than most. He started a count. One bishandbone, two bishandbone …
“Do as I say, Halfling.”
…three bishandbone…
Hoknar blinked.
Quick as a cat, Lefty blew a handful of dust into Hoknar’s face and darted to the side.
Always have a plan. Good or bad, it’s better than nothing.
Hoknar bulled up and took a vicious swing with his axe.
His next swing was wild.
“What have you—”
Hoknar coughed. Sputtered. His wide eyes froze, and his joints locked up. In a moment, he stood like a bearded hot-faced statue.
Lefty rubbed powdery hands on Hoknar’s forehead. Dusted the rest onto the dirt. It was the same powder the dwarves used to kidnap their victims. A mystic concoction abused by the dwarves. Lefty had stolen a spoonful of it months ago and preserved it ever since.
Lefty wrenched the axe from Hoknar’s frozen grip. He looked up into the ugly dwarf’s eyes. He could see the angry life in them.
“I hate you, Hoknar,” he said. “No one as cruel as you should live.” He swung the axe back and forward into Hoknar’s head, wrenched it free, and shoved him into the hole. “I just wish I had enough powder so I could kill the whole lot of you.”
He started chopping at his chains.
“Ho, Hoknar!” another dwarf yelled. “Where are you?”
Bish no!
Without a second thought, chains rattling on his ankles, he vanished into the misty woods.
Please don’t let them find me. Please don’t let them find me.
Chapter 28
Melegal rose to his feet, keeping his steely eyes on Jaen. Her fists were on her hips, and her lips were puckered.
“What do you mean, ‘What have you done?’ I’ve done what I was told.”
She brushed his comment off and glared at the darkly dressed woman lying green on the floor, “Who’s this?”
“That’s Jasper. An acquaintance from the arrangement you made.” He rubbed his fingertips into his temples. “Why did you transport both of us?”
“Because I can. And I need answers to my questions.” Jaen held out her hand. “The sack of coins, please.”
Melegal eased it out of his jerkin and placed it in her palm.
“I guess I’ll get no payment after all.” He plunked down on the sofa.
“What are you doing?” Jaen said.
“Giving my jelly legs a rest. How did you get us here?”
She rattled the sack of coins and jewels she had and said, “This isn’t money. It’s magic. But you would not understand if I tried to explain.” She sat down beside him and glanced at Jasper. “Do you like her?”
“I like most women, so long as they don’t talk too much.” He cleared his throat. “You shouldn’t be jealous.”
“Jealous?” Jaen perked up. “Ha! Magi are above such trivial things.”
“Well that’s good, because I’ve take a fancy to Jasper’s charms.”
Jaen turned her chin over her shoulder and said to him, “I don’t care.”
“Yet your cheeks redden somewhat.” He smiled. “I’m flattered.”
“Ha! Don’t overestimate yourself, Envoy. You’re just a commoner to me.”
“So the wine we shared had no meaning,” Melegal said, locking his fingers behind his head and leaning back. “Even though you picked me, out of all the rogues in the city?”
“Tell me what happened,” she said, being matter-of-fact.
“Do I get my Quickster back?”
“Of course. Your ass means nothing to me, but the fact that it means something to you is quite sad.”
Melegal nodded. Though he still wondered why the amiable sweet-faced woman had become so frosty. Her personality had made quite a switch. He wondered if Jaen was even the same woman.
“Well, I think you already know the answer to that, or you wouldn’t have jerked us up here so fast.” He jerked his locked hands over his head and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
Jaen flinched.
Melegal said, “Say, how about we discuss this over some wine?”
Her painted eyes narrowed.
Melegal leaned back and said, “Alright, then tell me what you know. I know you know something. How, I don’t know.”
Jaen poured the pouch of gems and jewels out on the table. She picked up a small amethyst and held it to her ear. It matched her earring. She plucked it out and tossed it to Melegal. “Hold it to your ear,” she said.
He did so.
“Listen,” she said, pursing her soft lips. She started blowing on the amethyst she held and whispering as well. “You never know who’s listening.”
He heard it perfectly.
“I’ll be,” he said, setting the earring down. His thoughts were haunted. He’d had no idea the magi could do such things. It sent a shiver through him. “So you heard everything?”
“But fear not. These are rare things.” At a wave of her hand, the earring glided through the air and reattached itself to her earlobe. “We don’t have many at our disposal.”
So you say.
“And we have to be careful who we deal with,” she continued. “Keep tabs on their dealings.”
Melegal eyed the treasure on the table.
“Are they all magic?”
“Not all.” Jaen twirled her finger. The coins and gems scratched over the table and back into the pouch. “But enough of them.” She placed her hands on her exposed knees. “Now, seeing how you survived your first test, are you still interested in being an envoy for us?”
“What, dicker with underlings? You do realize that won’t end well.”
“Everything was going fine until your comrade spoiled things.” She sighed. “A shame, because he could have been useful. A bit too brazen for our likes.”
“You lured him there?” Melegal said.
“Where?”
“That snake pit you sent me to.” He started feeling a little foolish. “You were testing him too?” His nostrils flared a little, and his easy breathing increased. “How long have you been watching us?”
“Long enough,” she said. “Long enough to understand that the pair of you have a great understanding of underlings. We thought it might be useful.”
Melegal raised his voice.
“Who in Bish is ‘we’?” He scanned the room. “I don’t see anyone else.”
Jasper rose to her knees, coughing and rubbing her head.
“What is going on?” She blinked and rubbed her eyes. “Where am I?”
Jaen sneered and flicked a mystic spark at Jasper. The golden sparkles showered the young woman, drawing a long yawn and stretch of her arms. She collapsed on the floor.
Melegal’s fingertips tingled. Power came too easily from this woman.
“Let’s get back on course,” Jaen said. “Shall we?”
Melegal nodded.
What other course do I have?
“Melegal, we want you to keep an eye on things. Most that we’ve dealt with cannot handle exposure to the underlings.”
Well there is a reason for that! I can only assume they like the thought of having their throats intact.
“We need someone who can watch, observe, deal, and report back to us,” she said. “The underlings have much to offer from their underworld. We can learn more about them this way. Understand their nature and their ways. And when the time comes, we will, if need be, put them away.”
“More likely, they will put you away.”
She cocked her head.
“I don’t take your meaning.”
“I think the world is fully aware what a menace they are. They run roughshod through the south. Now they’ve penetrated here, and you are trying to build some sort of nurturing relationship with them.”
“We need to understand our enemies if we hope to defeat them,” she said.
Madness! No one in their right mind would ever want to get within ten feet of an underling if they could help it. Underlings hated all the races. The race of men took dire exception to them. It had always been that way, but now that had changed.
“So you are going to do business with them below, even though they are sending your soldiers home dead, mutilated, humiliated? Have you not seen what they do? I thought you had eyes and ears everywhere?”
“Blood is often spilled before there is peace.”
Melegal shot up off the sofa.
“Peace!” His voice rang in the chamber, surprising him.
Jaen’s grey eyes grew wide. She raised her hands.
“Mind yourself, Rogue.”
What am I, Venir? Settle down, Melegal. This is not your polished way.
Perhaps not, but the underlings were a problem. A vermin. An infestation. Over the past several months, he’d given serious thought about what Venir said. The warrior wasn’t the cause of their problems. The underlings were. Always pressing. Striking. Killing. Not to mention the meddlesome royals.
“Sorry,” he said, straightening his clothes. “But I want no part of this.”
“It pays well. Offers security and safety,” Jaen said, coming closer, her voice more soothing. “You will help us spy on them. You don’t need to concern yourself with anything other than that.” She touched his shoulder and rubbed it. “We need a man with your resolve. Someone strong that can handle it. Deal. Observe. Report. We offer much protection.”
Her eyes and voice drew him in. His stick body softened. He wanted to help her. See more of her. He wanted to know who we was. After all, the tower could hold an awful lot of people. Maybe I should play along. Slip out of sight later.
But he backed away and said, “No.”
“Don’t you want your precious pony back?”
“Yes, but not at that price. I might be sordid, but I have some dignity. That’s more than I can say for you and the rest of your ilk.”
“What?” she said, unable to contain her dismay.
“I’ve done plenty of bad things. I’ve stolen, lied and murdered. But at befriending underlings, I draw the line.”
“You are a fool,” Jaen said.
“Not nearly as foolish as you. I know enough about underlings to say with certainty that if you practice this strategy,” he said, pointing at her chest, “then you’re going to die.”
“Get out!”
Melegal looked around and said, “It shames me to say so, but I don’t know how.”
She whirled on him. The entire room shook. A blast of air cut through the room, lifting him from his feet and hurling him out the window. He saw Jasper right above him and turned to look down. The street rushed up to greet him. His whole life flashed before his eyes.
Nooooooooooooooo!
Chapter 29
Venir glided down to the water level, head and shoulders low. He eased his way onto one of the docks and waited behind some crates.
Helm pulsed on his head, urging him forward, onward.
He kept his rising temper in check. Listened.
He could hear the men and underlings chatting back and forth with one another. The tongues of the underlings spoke perfectly in the common tongue. Undiscernible from an ordinary man. But under their own breath, the underlings spoke back and forth to one another, the Underling words harsh. Mocking. Dangerous. Helm deciphered it all. Their wicked voices were clear in his mind.
Foolish humans.
Doomed sluggards.
We take their women, their children, for booze and baubles.
These men will be the first to die when we strike.
Soon every city in Bish will be ours.
They laughed under their breaths, watching the rogues throw their backs into moving merchandise along the planks.
Men are fools. We are wise as serpents. They win the war for us.
Venir crept closer. He eyed the barge. Women and children quivered. A bloody lash in the hand of a brutish thug kept them silent. The underlings continued to gloat from the planks on the deck.
I must stop this.
His sweating fingers squeezed Brool’s handle, making a squeaking sound. His breath became heavy. He needed to get the drop on the underlings. Make it quick. The rogues, he could handle later. He left his shield. Slipped into the water. And under the dock he went. Soft sand squished under his boots. The gentle tide ripped over his jaw. He kept going until he stood beneath the underlings, watching their feet rustle over the planks.
Let’s give ‘subtle but deadly’ a chance.
With Brool’s axe tip, he pecked away at the blankets under the underlings’ feet.
Peck. Peck. Peck … Peck. Peck. Peck …
The underlings peered down at the cracks, saying, “What is it?” Not a single wicked expression showed worry. Concern was drowned by confidence. They resumed their positions and renewed talk among themselves.
He tapped away some more.
The underlings stopped their chatter. One drew a blade and bent over, gazing into the cracks. It slid its blade between the gaps.
Venir eased out of the way. Readied his axe.
Peck. Peck. Peck…Peck. Peck. Peck…
“Kill that bird,” one of the underlings joked. “It will be good practice until we slaughter these dopes.”
The underling scraped its short blade along the seams.
Venir could see the dark blue gemstone eyes. He rammed Brool’s tip between the planks.
He punctured its grey matter through the eye socket.
Venir’s iron-thewed arms pumped with fury. Brool’s spike lanced through the planks and into underling feet like a hot knife through butter.
Jab! Jab! Jab! Jab! Jab!
The underlings howled and screamed, their shrieks filled with terror.
Venir glided back through the waters, watching their black blood drip through the planks.
A clamor on the dock arose, and swords beat at the water. Venir pulled himself up on the edge of the dock where he’d started, hidden from the fervor. He picked up his shield and spied from behind the crate. Underlings sprawled out over the planks, holding their feet. Two didn’t move. They just bled.
Suddenly, the situation took a turn. The underlings helped their fallen away from the busted blanks, farther up the dock toward the shore. They argued with the rogues.
“You betray us!” an underling said, sliding out a pair of steels. “Are you so foolish?”
A tough came forward. A roughhewn man wearing only a jerkin and breeches. He pointed back and said, “We don’t swim in these foul waters. That could have been anything. Don’t blame your misfortune on us.”
The other roughneck, the one guarding the women and children with a lash, came forward. He had a nervous look as he passed through the underlings. As he passed their speaker, the stroke of death came quick. The underling disemboweled the man.
“That’s one. We’ve two dead,” the underling said to the rogue foreman. “We’ll have two more of your kind to make it even.”
The gawping man’s voice trembled with anger. He ripped out his sword. All his men followed.
“Come and get us yourself, Red-Eye!”
In an instant, a skirmish broke out.
Helm urged him into the battle.
He had something else in mind.
Let all those murdering kidnappers kill each other.
Back into the dark waters he went, wading toward the barge that held the women and children. Their eyes were glued on the battle. Venir tapped the shoulder of one that huddled in the back. She squeaked when she saw him. He stayed her with his hand.
“I’m here to help,” he said.
Her fragile features blinked repeatedly. She was young. They all were.
“You see those stairs?” Venir said, pointing to the catwalks and stairs where he had entered.
“Then follow me if you don’t want to wind up in the Underland. Tell them to stay still while we cross the water. I’ll do the rest.”
He unhitched the barge and slowly led it backward through the waters. The clamor of battle was a full fervor, but the crates and barrels blocked his vision. He eased the barge on the sandy shore at the end of the docks and helped the women and children out.
“No sudden moves,” he growled. “Do you hear me? Slow, low and easy. Don’t even look their way.”
Most nodded. Others couldn’t hide their horrified looks, but like most on Bish, they were survivors. They’d fight for one breath more.
Forward he went, with the flock of fugitives right on his heels. The stairs going upward were near. He glanced at the battle on the docks. The men were sliced open like fruit. An underling was buried under the weight of a flurry of knives. Venir wanted nothing more than to jump right in, even if it meant aiding the despicable men. But the battle was almost over, and once it ended, the underlings would notice the barge had moved.
“Get up there,” he told the fugitives, shoving them up the stairs. “Move quickly now for the door, and don’t look back.”
The throng of women jammed the stairs. One busted her knee and cried out.
Several underlings turned with blood dripping from their blades.
“Get them!” an underling chittered.
Venir twisted his neck over his shoulder and said, “Run!” He turned back, gritted his teeth, and advanced on the underlings.
There were six underlings left. The closer they came, the slower they moved, until the dark figures hemmed him in. They gawked at him. Heads cocking. A murmuring chitter started among them.
Venir rose to his full height. A great man of burnishing metal. His bloodlust started to boil over. But one word they said still registered.
“The Darkslayer.”
He cut Brool through the air. A whistle of death followed. The sound the underlings referred to as the ‘last call.’”
“Which one of you vermin wants the honor of dying first?” Venir sneered.
They chortled and pounced.
Venir’s mighty arms swung a black arc of lightning, sheering through the guts and bones of the first underling.
Blades ricocheted off his shield.
He spun, left and right, hammering away.
Chop!
Clavicles and black chain mail merged with a bloody howl.
Churk!
Brool’s tip lanced an underling’s throat.
Venir could sense their movements, even without Helm. One ran for the caves. Another sprinted around him, chasing after the screaming women.
He bashed the closest underling with his shield, knocking it off the stairs. Then he whipped around and hurled Brool like a spear. Straight and true it went, into the chasing underling’s hip. It toppled back down the stairs.
Slit!
An underling cut through his boot and into the back of his heel. He toppled off the stairs with a crash.
The ruby-eyed underling screeched and hurled its body on top of his. It clawed at his neck. Jabbed a blade at his ribs.
Venir swatted it in the jaw with the back of his fist and rolled on top of it. He wrenched its blade from its hand and pinned it down by the neck. His iron grip clamped down on the creature’s throat and squeezed.
Its eyes bulged out like red lanterns. Its black tongue juttered.
Venir put all his weight on it.
It was done. Heaving for breath, he forced himself up to his feet. Looking down at his blood-soaked boot, he grimaced. He scanned the shoreline and docks. Nothing moved. The rogues were dead, lying in heaps of butchered flesh. He could still feel the underlings’ presence though, but he couldn’t see a one of them. Limping, he shuffled toward the stairs, reaching down to pick up Brool. The gory weapon had a bloody glimmer.
“Well done,” he said to it. Above, there was no sign of the women or children. Nothing moved faster than fear and desperation. Even in the feeblest kind. He slung his shield over his hulking shoulders and hopped up the stairs one by one, his bloody boot heel staining every step he took. The door to freedom looked a mile away at the rate he was going.
“Move or die.”
He made it up to the catwalks and lumbered forward.
A blood-curdling clamor rose. A thunderous bellow from the mouth of a monster.
Venir peered into the caves beyond the rippling waters. A hulk of humanoid flesh came swiftly through the water like an angry child. Its blubbery arms were long and rangy. Its head that of an ugly mannish beast. A row of hard knots went down its back and shoulders. It was a full twenty feet of troll. Its oversized fists busted the docks to splinters. Under a skull as thick as stone, its beady eyes locked on Venir’s. It let out another blaring below and renewed its charge.
Venir gritted his teeth, blood racing with new life, and scurried for the door. It was too far.
The troll ripped into the stairs and tore the posts asunder. Massive beams snapped like kindling. Stairs and railing were tossed like hay. Its monstrous hands—each big enough to crush a man—shredded through planks like wheat.
Venir, thirty feet high, felt the entire structure buckle and give. The troll, staring at him, roared again. Feeling the catwalks teeter beneath his feet, Venir roared back. He took a glance toward the door.
Too far.
Glaring at the troll that shook the post beneath him, he gripped Brool like a spear and leaped.
Fight or die.
Sitting at her vanity and staring into the mirror, Lorda Almen ran a brush through her hair. Tears ran down her once-delicate cheeks. A bruise shaded her eye. A blemish showed here and there, and one of her teeth was broken. She sobbed.
A snort startled her, took her breath. On her bed, Creed’s bed, Lord Grom snored like a grizzly. She’d just spent the better part of the evening fulfilling his wants. His depraved needs.
Lord Almen had never defiled her. Never humiliated her. He had cared for her. Respected her. A high-born knight compared to this animal.
She missed Creed. She needed Creed. Something about the young man could make things right in her world. Lord Grom feared him for some reason she had yet to discover. But her freedom and the freedom of all the Bloodhounds hinged on that one man. And she was surprised Lord Grom had not killed him. But she felt that time was short.
She eyed Creed’s weapons that leaned in the corner nearby. On cat’s feet, she made her way over, stopped and spied over her shoulder. Lord Grom snorted and rolled away from her.
I’ve got to end this. To Bish with what happens.
She eased a dagger, a fine poniard, from the scabbard of one belt.
A dog growled behind her shoulders, its throat a rumbling thunder. She eased the poniard back inside its sheath and slowly turned. The dog was bigger than her. Long-haired and shaggy. Grey, much like Lord Grom. She sighed, made her way back to the vanity, and started to sit down.
Lord Grom stirred.
“What’s going on over there?” he said, rolling over and blinking his bloodshot eyes.
“Nothing. I just think your hound is hungry,” she said, brushing her hair.
Lord Grom stretched his heavy arms, yawning and saying, “That makes two of us, but I’m feeling more spry than hungry at the moment.” He patted the bed. “Come, Catherine. Do what you did for me earlier, once more.”
Standing and letting her pink robes slide down her plump figure, she forced a smile.
“My pleasure, Lord Grom,” she said, easing her way over. She slowly crawled up on the bed. “Certainly,” you bearded pig!
Suddenly, life was better. The streets felt like gold beneath Fogle’s feet. He was happy. Happy as a swine in a mud hole. Side by side, he walked with Boon, practically swinging his arms. Behind him, Tarcot followed. The four-armed bug-faced warrior drew many stares, but little gawking. There had been striders in the City of Three before, just not many.
“I didn’t know you could do that,” Boon said to him.
“Do what?”
“That,” Boon said, pointing to his lips. “You can smile. And it’s not half bad. You could draw women like bees to honey, smiling like that.”
Fogle clamped his lips and shook his head. He hated it when his grandfather said things like that. It made him uneasy. It made him think of Cass. He couldn’t help but wonder if that woman was still keeping house with a dragon, of all things.
“Ah,” Boon said, looking at him, then looking away, “I see you’re saving it. Good idea.” He chuckled. “You don’t want to overuse it.”
Does his tongue ever cease?
Fogle marched ahead, nodding greetings at the people he passed, oblivious to his tattered condition. He’d had an aversion to people before, but now he was glad to see them, despite their dour expressions. It felt like it had been forever since he’d been home. Never before had he experienced the feeling he felt now, being in the midst of people. The Outlands offered little human company other than his grandfather. He almost wanted to hug them all.
“Look!” Tarcot said, laying two hands on their shoulders and pointing skyward with the other two. “What is that?”
Two figures were falling from one of the great towers.
“Great Bish,” Fogle said, “it’s people.”
Those who fell were halfway down, headed for certain death. A burst of energy surged inside his head. He stretched his thoughts out and caught them with his mind. Less than a foot from the street, they stopped. Fogle, Boon and Tarcot ran for them.
“I’ll be,” Boon exclaimed.
It was Venir’s friend, the rogue, Melegal. His normally pale face was ghost white. Sweat beaded his brow. A woman Fogle didn’t recognize was with him. He lowered them.
The thief kissed the cobblestones, locked his eyes on him and said, “Did you just stop my untimely death?”
Fogle nodded.
“I don’t often say this, but thank you.”
Fogle nodded and stretched out his hand.
Melegal reached for it, but jerked his hand back, staring at Tarcot.
“Ugh … what is that?”
“A strider named Tarcot,” Fogle said.
“And he’s with you?”
He nodded and said, “He’s the one that spied you plunging to your death. You might want to thank him too.”
“No,” Melegal said, “one thank-you is enough for a lifetime. Does he drink?”
“Heavily.”
“I’ll work something out then.”
Boon stirred the woman on the ground. She started to wake up. Eyeing the tower,
he said to Melegal, “What in Bish were you doing up there?”
“Delivering flowers,” the thief sneered.
“Well,” Boon said, “I take it they didn’t like the arrangement. I’m surprised you’re still of sound mind and body. Those are dreadful people up there, you fool.”
Melegal smoothed his cap over the side of his head and said, “Everyone’s dreadful in one way or another. And I didn’t have any choice in the matter.”
“Seems about right,” Fogle said. “Is the Magi Roost in good order? How is Kam?” He swallowed.
“Huh,” Melegal said. “Let’s go see. It’s been awhile.”
Boon helped the woman to her feet. Her eyes were wide and blinking.
“Hello,” he said, “I’m Boon. And who might you be?”
“J-Jasper,” she said, looking up at the tower and shaking her head.
“Well Jasper,” Boon continued, smiling and leading her down the street, “You are a pretty little thing. Has anyone ever told you that?”
Aiming for the troll’s skull, Venir plunged headlong toward it.
It swatted.
Venir drove Brool’s spike clean through its hand, drawing forth a shrieking howl.
It slung Venir to the ground, flattening him on his back.
He lost his grip on his axe and lost his breath.
The monster stomped forward.
Venir rolled away from the foot and flattened on his belly as a fist came down.
The troll busted its knuckles on his shield, clattering Venir’s teeth. It reared back and wailed, shaking its hand.
Venir scanned for Brool. The great weapon lay behind the troll.
He rolled onto a knee and unslung his shield.
The troll pounced and hammered away at him.
Venir felt the jarring impact in every bone. His body trembled under the monster’s power. His iron muscles had never taken a tougher beating. The towering troll rose its fists over its head and prepared to bring them down again with monstrous fierceness, bellowing a sub-human roar.
Venir slung his shield inside its mouth, busting its teeth and wedging itself inside its jaws.
Urk!
It flayed like a maddened animal.
After hopping through the danger to snatch up Brool, Venir swung the great blade with ram-like force into the troll’s tree-trunk leg.
SLICE!
The razor-sharp edge passed clean through.
The monster toppled, screeched, and fell.
Thoom!
With lion-like ferocity, Venir pounced into attack.
Hack! Hack!
Chop! Chop!
Hack! Hack! Chop!
Chunks of troll went everywhere, coating the blood-mad warrior. Venir climbed over its back, all pain gone, and delivered several pulverizing blows to its skull.
The troll’s body shuddered, convulsed, and went slack.
Chest heaving and body coated in troll blood and guts, Venir half fell from the monster’s back to the sandy ground below. His head was still ringing. He spied the last underling he’d seen fleeing.
Helm’s urgings eased.
Gulping in a mouthful of air, he shuddered and moaned.
They’ll be back. A hundred next time. Better get moving.
The stairs and catwalks leading out were a pile of scrap wood. The cave wall surface was too sheer to climb.
Spitting blood, he limped over and jerked his shield from the troll’s mouth.
“Ugly as an underling’s mother,” he said, heading for the dock. He looked down at his blood-soaked boot. It was bad, but he lived … still. He was making his way down the planks when something inside one of the half-open crates caught his eye. He tore the lid clear off and looked inside. It was filled with small leather purses. He pulled the drawstrings back and poured the contents into his hands.
“Bish!” he exclaimed.
Gold coins glittered in his palms, along with a few precious stones. He had stuffed half a dozen purses into his pack when he felt Helm throb again. He grabbed another, limp-scurried onto the barge, and pushed it free with the guiding rod. He put his shoulders into it, pushing harder. Faster. Away from the dock. Away from the slaughter. Down the dark river he went, in search of a way out from the subterranean world with one thought in mind.
I’d better live long enough to spend this gold.
Book 3
Kam polished the waxy black surface of the bar and sniffled.
How many of his miscreants must I tolerate?
She rubbed harder, digging her teeth into her lip. Her stomach was queasy. She grabbed a goblet, filled it with Muckle Sap, eyed the glass, and sighed.
“Are you drinking again?” a peppy voice said from behind her.
Kam’s shoulders tightened. “Are you being a nosy little pest again, Jubilee?”
The tawny-headed girl hopped her butt up onto the bar with a spry look on her face. “Joline told me to keep an eye on you. She worries you’ll become a lush.”
“A lush!”
Jubilee shrugged. “Well, something like that.”
“Joline didn’t call me a lush,” Kam said, knocking back her drink. “Now get. Bus those tables over there.”
“It’ll keep,” Jubilee said. “Nikkel’s got it.”
Kam’s cheeks flushed. “You little—”
“You miss him, don’t you?” Jubilee cut in.
“The big man, Vee. You kicked him out, he hasn’t come back, and now you regret it.” Jubilee’s feet dangled over the bar, swinging back and forth. “I can read you, Kam. Your insides are all over your face. Try smiling once in a while, like me. See?” She grinned, showing that a tooth in the back was missing.
Kam let out a brief giggle.
“That’s good! Feel a bit better, don’t you?”
“I think it’s the Muckle Sap that does that.”
Jubilee picked up the bottle and set it on the other side of her.
“Do you mind?”
“You’re on the job,” Jubilee said. There were plenty of people around, but it was quiet. It was often quiet on dreary days.
“It’s a bar,” Kam said, snapping the rag at Jubilee. “Now get. Get!”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“About Venir?” Kam swallowed a lump in her throat. It even hurt to say his name. He’d crashed back into her life, and she’d run him off. Why had she done that? “So I miss him,” she said, “but I hate him too.” She squeezed the rag. “And I’m not sure which is more.”
“Women really are messed up,” Jubilee said. “We let too many things bother us, while it seems that men don’t let anything bother them at all.” Her eyes found Nikkel’s, and she looked away.
Kam let out a smile. “Oh, so I see you have man problems. What did he do?”
“I caught him talking to Shirl so close that their lips almost touched. He’s a pig.” Jubilee looked Kam in the eye and added, excited, “Can you fire her?”
“I could, but I don’t think that would put an end to his flirtations. He’s got much of his father in him, and he’s at that age.”
Jubilee stuck her chest out and said, “I’m of age.”
“No,” Kam started, and then abandoned the idea. I’m tending to enough children that are not my own. “Let’s have this chat some other time, Jubilee.”
“All right,” the girl sighed, “Is Venir older than you, or are you older than him? I can’t tell how old he is on account of all the scars.”
“I have no idea.”
Jubilee bobbed her head.
They both fell silent.
Kam couldn’t shrug off the sense of dread inside her. Something felt horribly wrong about Venir being gone, horribly wrong everywhere, and her stomach was always queasy. Something caught her eye on the stairs.
Georgio was dragging Brak down from the balcony. He stopped at the edge of the stairs.
Kam gasped.
Jubilee’s head jerked around. “Georgio!” She jumped off the bar and raced up the stairs.
Kam rushed right behind her. “Have you any sense of decency?” Kam said. She took a knee alongside Brak.
“I’m all right, Kam,” the giant young man said.
“Let go of him, you idiot!” Jubilee kicked Georgio in the shin.
“Ow!” Georgio said. “He told me to. He needs to get out every once in a while, you know.”
Jubilee grabbed Georgio’s arm and bit down into it.
“Bone! Jubilee! Quit it!” He let go of Brak’s arms. Brak’s head clopped off the wooden floor.
“See what you did?” Jubilee said, shoving Georgio away.
“Me! You did that, Jubilee!”
Jubilee scooped Brak’s head up and into her lap and looked into his eyes.
It touched Kam, and she said, “Are you all right, Brak? Really?”
“I just wanted some air, was all.”
“Well, it’s raining.”
“Sounds nice to me.”
Brak’s face seemed pleasant. Almost serene. If there was one thing Kam did like about the young ones, it was that they stuck together, despite their differences.
“What were you going to do?” Jubilee said, shooting Georgio a look, “drag him down the stairs?”
Georgio shrugged and said, “He didn’t want me carrying him down the steps in my arms, said that would be weird.”
Kam giggled.
Jubilee did too. “I suppose it would,” Jubilee said. She hugged Brak’s big head. “Soon, you’ll be carrying me up and down these stairs again, Brak. I swear it.”
“Thanks, Jubilee.”
Kam brushed the mop of Brak’s blond hair from his eyes. “How about a trip in a wagon?”
“Anything outside would be great,” he said, “so long as it isn’t any trouble.”
Kam glanced up and down Brak’s mighty frame. His thick skin hid all his heavy muscle.
“Nikkel!” Kam yelled out over the balcony rail. “Get up here.”
“Oh, don’t bother him,” Jubilee said, “he’s probably busy kissing Shirl.”
“Good for him,” Georgio said.
“Shut it, Georgio!”
“You jealous little priss,” he said, chuckling. “You like Nikkel.”
“I am not jealous. I’m a Royal, you know,” she said, checking her carefully manicured nails. “Some barmaid can’t compete with me.”
“Sure. Royal,” Georgio said, rolling his eyes. “Last of the Slergs.”
“I’m going to stab you in the throat when you sleep, Georgio.”
Georgio gulped.
“Jubilee!” Kam exclaimed. “That’s enough.”
Nikkel appeared at the bottom of the stairs with a broad smile on his face. “Yes, Kam!” the young black man said.
“‘Yes, Kam’” Jubilee mocked under her breath.
“Come up here and help Georgio take Brak to the stables.”
Nikkel bounded up the stairs, taking four at a time.
“Sure thing,” he said. He looked at Jubilee. “I like your nails. Very pretty.”
Jubilee’s face lit up like the sky. “Oh, these.”
“Yuck,” Brak said. “Can we get moving, please?”
Georgio took him under the arms while Nikkel hoisted up his legs, “Up you go!” Nikkel said, and down the stairs they went.
“Bone, Brak,” Nikkel said, “You’re even heavier than you look.” He cocked his head back over his shoulder toward Kam. “Not that I can’t handle it.”
Jubilee, still standing at the top of the stairs, glared up at Kam. “I’ve got to go.” She stormed down the hall.
Kam held her head and sighed. My head’s splitting already.
Georgio and Nikkel, with Brak in tow, made their way behind the bar and disappeared through the door of the kitchen, toward the stables. She felt guilty for not having thought of taking Brak outside earlier, but so many things were uncertain. People murmured about the wars in the south, and they were all becoming irritated. One man, a traveling sage of sorts, had even been making a long, eloquent case for the underlings—until Billip caught wind of it and tossed him out on his ear.
Trouble. Trouble. Trouble. It’s just as bad without Venir as with him.
A group of figures bustled out the front door. Another group entered.
I had better get back to work.
As she started down the stairs, her stomach buckled. She moaned, reached for the railing with her missing hand, and teetered face-first down the stairs. She had rolled halfway to the bottom when she stopped, lying sprawled out on the steps, gasping in pain.
Wincing, she tried to force her way up but could barely move.
What is wrong with me?
From out of nowhere, a pair of strong arms seized her and jerked her to her feet.
Melegal made his way through the Magi Roost with his new friend Jasper gliding in behind him. He pulled out a chair in the back, askew from one of the fireplaces.
“Have a seat,” he said.
Jasper, dark and pouty, glanced around and eased her lithe frame into the chair.
Melegal joined her, taking a chair with its back to the wall.
“I’ve heard of this place,” she said, eyes darting around. “Was always curious, but I’ve never been here. Funny I wind up here now. With you, no less.”
The tavern was more than half full, and many of the races were represented. The mages in refined robes talked in low voices, while the others boasted. A dwarf and mintaur butted heads and toasted tall tankards of ale. A pretty gal with hair as white as fine silk played a dark cherry flute while another strummed a harp.
Melegal felt his shoulders ease.
“Wine, Melegal?” a buxom barmaid said, sauntering up to the table with a lavish look to her clothes.
“The best, Cherry,” he said, winking.
“Anything to eat?”
“Stew will be fine.”
“And you?” Cherry said to Jasper.
“The same, but no meat in the stew.”
Cherry nodded, smiled back at Melegal, and headed off.
His gaze left Cherry’s hips and found Jasper’s hard eyes.
“Fond of that, are you?”
He leaned forward on his elbows. “More than of stew without meat. So strange, seeing people who don’t eat meat. But if you must know, I’m most fond of those high-boned cheeks.”
“It’s a mage thing,” Jasper said, “you wouldn’t understand.”
“Can’t say I care to, either.”
Melegal eased back in his seat and drew the aroma of the Roost inside his nostrils.
Ah …There was sanctuary here, at least more so than at most places. His mind had been racing since Jaen hurled him out that window, sending him plummeting a thousand feet, which would have meant his sure death if Fogle hadn’t happened by.
At least in Bone they don’t have such ludicrous towers.
He thought about Jaen. The mage’s supine figure was a gorgeous sight—and her power was terrifying. It was something he needed to wrap his head around.
Best you leave that alone. His face drew up again. Still, I need Quickster back.
Jasper scooted her chair toward him. “I don’t like my back exposed either,” she said. “I was cut several times when I was younger.”
He lifted his brows. Don’t get too friendly. Probably just another spy of Jaen’s. Guilds. Guilds. Bish, I hate these guilds. At least she has nice qualities about her.
A tall figure ducked inside the front door of the tavern, towering over everyone in the room. Tarcot the strider. His bug eyes found Melegal’s.
No. No. Don’t come back here. No!
There were audible gasps as Tarcot made a bead straight for them. He stopped at the edge of the table and nodded, insect eyes blinking. Spears filled one pair of hands. The others pulled out a chair. He sat down, blocking Melegal’s view.
“By all means, have a seat. I’m so used to dining with bugs in my face.”
“Bugs?” Tarcot said, cocking his head. “What do you mean, bugs?”
“It’s a compliment,” Melegal said, “for a bug.”
Cherry returned with a platter of food, a wine carafe, and goblets. Her expression remained unfazed.
“Something for your comrade?” she said, running her hands up and down Tarcot’s shoulders and sinewy arms. “Impressive. I hear a strider can really sweep a woman from her feet. Tall and oddly handsome.”
What?
“I like this person,” Tarcot said, grabbing the carafe with two hands and chugging it down. “I like this drink as well.” He rapped all four fists on the table, startling folks. “More.”
Cherry looked at Melegal.
He shrugged and said, “Why not?”
“It smells nice in here for an indoor atmosphere. Not at all like a swine hole,” Tarcot said. He picked up Melegal’s stew bowl and sniffed it. “Mmmm…” He scarfed it down. “Enjoyable.”
Great. But at least he isn’t eating bugs off the floor.
“Tarcot, did you see your friends the wizards over there? I think they’re looking for you.”
The strider’s head turned almost halfway around, cocked to the side, and turned back. “Boon Destroyer is busy with ample lady. We’ll reunite soon enough. Now I spend time with new comrades. We eat. We drink. Talk of dark times surrounding this odd city.”
Melegal shifted in his chair and focused his eyes on Kam. Something was wrong about her.
Dark times, indeed.
Her back and elbows ached. Embarrassed, she reached for the banister, trying to twist from the hands that held her tight.
“Are you all right?” a strong and well-mannered voice said.
“I’m fine,” she said, jerking away. Head down, she was continuing down the stairs, holding her stomach, when she bumped into another man. “Excuse me, if you don’t mind.”
“Certainly, fetching lady,” the man said with a nod. He was older, polished in speech as well. He stepped aside.
She’d had plenty of suitors over the years, and she didn’t need another one. She stepped over his robes. Blasted men! Leave me alone.
The man on the stairs called after her.
She stopped in her tracks. His voice was suddenly familiar. Slowly, she turned.
The man’s green wizard’s garb was familiar. The long brown hair and bearded face not so much, but with a shock, she recognized his large oval head and burning eyes.
“Fogle?”
An older man in tattered robes stepped out in front of her. He was tanned and strong, with short white hair and a thick white mustache. He winked. “And Boon, his notorious grandfather.” He bowed, but his eyes never left her chest. “At your service, Kam.”
Kam sidestepped Boon and rushed into Fogle’s arms. Her heart was bursting in her chest, and tears flowed down her face, dripping off her chin. She felt his hand petting her hair and squeezed him tight. She hardly knew the man, but she’d missed him. Worried about him.
“I’m sorry,” she said, breaking off her embrace. “I really didn’t think I’d see you again.”
“Nor I you,” he said, wiping tears from her eyes with his thumbs.
The wizard had changed. His features were hard, weathered, and handsome. There was an adventurous air about him.
She was at a loss for words.
“And how are you doing?” he said, breaking the odd silence.
She brushed back her hair with the stump of her hand, saying, “Oh I’m wonderful.”
“Kam!” Fogle said with widening eyes. “What in Bish happened? Was it underlings?”
“I’ll explain later,” she said. “Uh … let me get you something to eat. You look exhausted.” She turned and faced his grandfather. “And you are also called Boon?”
“Aye, I am, Kam. And I must say, you are more splendid than Fogle described.”
She blushed. The older man had a twinkle in his eye, but he was built like a man half his age.
“Are you spoken for?”
“Grandfather!” Fogle said.
“You have to be up front about these things.” Seeing Kam’s telltale blush, Boon twirled around, eyeing the surroundings. His eyes fixed on Cherry. “Why in Bish did I ever leave this city?” he mumbled and sauntered the barmaid’s way.
“I apologize, Kam,” Fogle said, “but I don’t think he’s seen a woman in decades. Certainly not one as captivating as you, I’m certain.”
“Fogle,” she said, taking a breath. Her cheeks became rosy. It was the best she’d felt in weeks. She took him by the arm, sat him down at the bar, and plopped right down beside him. “Tell me everything, Fogle. I want to hear it all.”
“I’d be happy to, but what about you and your spill on the stairs?”
As if on cue, Joline came over then with an ice pack for Kam’s head.
Kam smiled at Joline, and then looked intently back at Fogle. “You first.”
Fogle couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth to Kam. He’d never been able to talk to women in such a confident manner before, at least not from a friendly perspective.
Am I being charming?
He started talking, but without going into too much detail. His lips were saying one thing, but his mind was thinking another. Kam looked more amazing than she ever had. Her legs were perfect through her silky dress, and her bosom was more ample then he remembered. Even the short boots on her feet caught his attention. Everything about her stirred his blood. The curls in her auburn hair, pleasant perfume, the way her head tilted and nodded. His blood churned, and all his aches and pains drifted away.
She squeezed his forearm. “Did you say a dragon? A black dragon?”
“It would fill this bar,” he said. He left out the part about Cass the Druid and the impromptu loss of his virginity and their strange relationship. Maybe I’ll share that story some other time, if she asks. “So would Barton, as a matter of fact—and there are giants twice as big as he is.”
“I …” she started, tossing her hair, “I don’t know what to say. I’m just so glad you survived all of this.” Her face turned a little green, and she hunched on her stool.
“Are you well, Kam?” he said, steadying her.
She fanned herself, saying, “Woo, I think it’s all the excitement. You have me all riled up, Fogle.” She smiled. “I’m fine. Just a queasiness that comes and goes. Please continue.”
Joline filled some goblets with wine, and Fogle took a drink. Ah. It had been too long since he had had anything refined.
“Food!” Kam said. “I bet you need food!”
“Well, it has been a long time since I had any of your wonderful stew.”
She snapped her fingers, and Shirl hustled back into the kitchen.
“You’ll wait no longer. Now tickle my ears some more,” she said, smiling.
Fogle rambled on and on, leaving out the parts that involved Venir.
Trinos sat on a tree stump that had been carved into a seat within the Great Bish Forest. Her arms and legs were roots and twisted vines that dug into the ground. Her body melded into the landscape of the land and was now composed of bark and leaves. Only her beautiful face showed, bright eyes glowing with life. On either side of her, the Nameless Two stood guard, waiting hour after hour.
Where are you, Scorch?
Bish would know. The world knew everything. One just had to be able to talk to it, and why shouldn’t she be able to talk to the world that she had created?
Tell me where he is, child.
There had been nothing more powerful in the world than herself and Scorch, but things had changed. Bish had soaked up their remaining power, and the pair were trapped on this world. Scorch would have wrested the power from her but for the interference of an underling named Sinway, who had butted in.
She dug her limbs deeper into the ground. She could feel blood seeping into the world. Wars being waged. The struggle of all her creation. It had all gotten worse when she arrived, and it wasn’t so entertaining anymore. She had to put a stop to the meddler. Put an end to Scorch.
She remained steady in her mission, through wind and rain. She’d been trying to find her adversary ever since her last encounter with him, when she had regained her strength. She had discovered many things: the underlings’ plans, the fall of the Royals, the panic of the races. She’d even located her little band of heroes. But there was no sign of Scorch.
He hides … from me? Interesting.
Plugged in, she could scan faces and search memories to some degree. She picked away, much the same as a miner digs for gold, exploring all over her fascinating little world. Leaves fell from the trees and landed on her face. Her glowing eyes faded to a pleasant amber sheen. Her arms and legs uprooted from the ground, and her tree husk of a body reformed into that of a stunning woman. She sat on the tree stump with a whimsical look on her face.
Ah … I think I have an idea. I should have thought of this before.
She stretched out her elegant arms and began tracing circles in the air. She summoned her power and cast a spell she’d been made aware of. She didn’t need words or scrolls to read from as others did, but what had been effortless did take effort now, and it bothered her. She paused in mid-circle.
Will I have to write things down to remember them?
Her brow furrowed.
Perish the thought, Trinos!
She dropped her hands down along her sides.
Enough of this flamboyance!
She unleashed her powers with her mind. A jagged line formed in front of her, a mystic rift in the sky. Four talons gripped the tapestry and stepped outside. The creature hovered in the air with black wings beating. A single orb of an eye blinked in the center of its horned head. Its body was small, scaly, and muscular. A long, forked tongue licked out of its mouth as it spoke.
“Master? Er … Mistress … er … I am Eep.” He blinked. “At your service to command.”
Trinos could feel the hatred in the little terror she had summoned. This creature of magic had been turned into a dark and twisted thing. She touched the side of his cheek, and his mouth dropped open.
“You serve me now, Eep.”
“Yes! Yes!” He nodded, and his big eye brightened. “Anything, Mistress.”
She shared an image inside his head.
“Sic ’em, Eep.”
A barge glided down the Current with two figures on board. Scorch’s white robes carried a soft glow that gave off the faintest illumination. He sat on a bench with a large jar of pickles on one side and a bottle of underling port on the other. The only sound was his crunching.
“Care for one?” he said to Master Sidebor. “It’s a long trek, as I understand it.”
“You could have teleported us there,” Sidebor replied. He stood near the rear of the barge with his arms folded over his robes. “If you wanted to save time. But I’m in no rush to execute this plan of yours.”
“Are you toying with me, Underling?”
“What do you mean?”
“You have powers great enough to transport us there as well, and you are far more excited about this plan than I am.”
“Power always excites me. Seeing my home, my kingdom does as well. But I let patience preserve my powers.”
“Do you think you will kill him immediately?” Scorch said, reaching into the jar and grabbing another pickle. “Or will you torment him, as he did you?”
Sidebor recoiled a bit. He hated how Scorch could peck through his head. But the pair had shared much in the past few months, and he’d picked up on a few things about Scorch as well.
“It will be obliteration,” Sidebor said, “and nothing short of it. The fool never should have preserved my eyes. I had my own loyal forces, particularly Oran. If I had his eyes, I’d wish to restore him as well.”
“Well then,” Scorch said, a bit cheerfully, “it seems the eyes have it. Get it?”
Sidebor shook his head. Scorch often said things that didn’t make any sense at all.
Onward they went, through the darkness, gliding over the murky black water below. Sidebor felt nothing short of exhilaration within. He lived again. He even had a new underling body that Scorch had provided, and it was an excellent fit—tall for an underling, and strong. His previous body, the one Sinway destroyed, had been weary, and that had cost him. He had lost everything in a battle deep in the world that had lasted for days.
I’ll have my vengeance. I’ll take his world, Sidebor thought.
“Things will go much better if you have some pickles.”
“Will you drop it?”
“Some port, then,” Scorch said, shaking the bottle. “It’s still a bit of a journey that has only just started.”
Sidebor remained still and didn’t say another word.
The Nameless Two
“How’s the view back there?” Nikkel said to Brak.
Nikkel rode a pony that pulled the cart that held Brak’s large frame. Other than a few stares, he was doing fine, and he enjoyed the soft rain drizzling on his face.
“It’s much better than staring at the ceiling.”
His blue eyes drifted from one set of clouds to the other. Some were dark blots, others grey and wispy. He was used to seeing the sun-glazed heat rising from the streets, but that had changed. Times were darker. Including the weather.
“Let’s head to the falls,” Georgio said, walking behind the cart and facing Brak.
“There won’t be any girls out on a day like this,” Nikkel replied. “And besides, Kam will have at us if we are gone too long with Brak.”
“So?” Georgio said. “We’re going to get in trouble one way or the other.”
“I say we go to the falls,” Brak said. “I’d like to see them.”
“Really?” Georgio said.
Brak shrugged. “There’s not much that she can do if I insist you take me. I have to admit, I don’t miss all the chores, and walking all the time always did make my feet ache.”
“Hah!” Georgio said, laughing.
Nikkel joined in too. “You’re something else, Brak.” He reached in the cart and rubbed Brak’s shoulder. “Sure. Your way it is, then! I think this is a good idea.”
The cart rumbled over the cobblestones, jostling Brak’s limp body, but he didn’t mind. At the moment, he felt a great deal of his inner tensions easing. So, propped up the best his friends could manage, he was taking in all the sights when his belly groaned. He sniffed. Roasting meat and hot biscuits lingered in the air.
“Georgio?”
“I know, Brak. I’m already going.”
He nodded, and his eyes popped open. Did I just do that? He nodded again. A thrill went through him. He was trying not to think about it, to accept his condition, but it wasn’t easy when he had these moments. Sometimes, he swore he could feel his fingers and toes. In his dreams, he walked again, but that wasn’t very often. Most of the dark dreams were gone.
A little girl in a white bonnet carrying a fistful of flowers walked over to his cart and said, “Can I have a ride?”
“Uh,” Brak said, staring at the girl, “well…”
She hopped up on back of the cart and started toying with the hay. “Where are we going?” she said in a sweet little voice.
“To the falls,” Brak said.
“Are you going swimming?”
“No,” Brak said, “I can’t swim … right now.”
“Huh,” the little girl said, kicking her legs up and down. “I can’t swim either. My hands and feet are so small that I can’t paddle.” She held them up. “See?”
“Er … yes.”
“Whoa,” she said, looking down at his hands. She grabbed one and lifted it up. It fell back down again. She picked it back up. “This is the biggest hand I’ve ever seen. Are you a giant?”
She looked at him. “A small giant maybe? Like the ones in the park?”
“Uh … Nikkel? Do you mind?”
“Who’s Nikkel?” she said.
“Never mind, uh, listen, do you think you can go away now?”
“I can, but I don’t want to. I want to go for a ride first and then I’ll go.”
Brak rolled his eyes. It wasn’t that the girl was unpleasant or anything, but he wasn’t very comfortable around people. Especially in his condition.
“Who’s your friend?” Georgio said, holding a handkerchief of food. He dumped it into the wagon.
“I don’t know. She wants to go for a ride, she says.”
“Yes,” the girl turned and nodded. “A ride, please.”
“Tell you what,” Georgio said. “Feed him, and I’ll take you for a ride. One lap around the plaza. A deal?”
“Georgio, no!” Brak moaned.
“Sure!” she crawled into the back and set herself up beside Brak. She grabbed a biscuit and shoved it at his mouth.
Brak kept his lips sealed.
“Oh, let me feed you. I like this game.”
Brak could hear Georgio and Nikkel giggling, and the cart started moving. “I’m gonna kill you guy—ulp!”
The girl stuffed the biscuit in his mouth, and he started to chew. The lap around the plaza was the longest of his life, and she talked the entire time. As soon as they finished the lap, the little girl hopped off.
“Thanks,” she said, smiling and waving.
Brak smiled back.
Thunk!
A crossbow bolt struck her in the head, toppling her over. A cry of alarm went up, and the plaza exploded into chaos. A pointing man cried out a warning. “Underlings!”
Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!
His bolt-riddled body spilled on the ground.
Brak gasped for breath.
Red death came swiftly, from a surge of hacking blades. A squad of gemstone-eyed underlings made a bee line right for them. A wave of underling warriors tore through the plaza, cutting down every person in their path. Screams of terror exploded, gurgled, and died.
“Get Brak out of here, Nikkel!” Georgio yelled. He barred the path of the oncoming underlings and ripped out his sword. “Now!”
A bolt rocketed into Georgio’s leg, spinning him back.
“Dirty underlings!” Georgio screamed. He ripped the bolt out and charged into the fray, colliding with the throng, driving his blade into the fiends. His other fist popped one in the face.
“Ee-yah!” Nikkel shouted, snapping the reins.
“No, Nikkel, no!” Brak yelled. “We have to help Georgio!”
“No, I have to get you to safety!”
The sky lit up, and lightning cracked down. The cart exploded beneath Brak, sending shards of wood and splinters everywhere and toppling him out.
Brak lay face to the ground. He could smell smoke and hear fire and slaughter. And most striking of all, the little girl’s bonnet smoldered by his head as death and chaos cackled around him.
Brak let out a moan of helpless anger.
Lefty huffed through the foliage, mile after mile, league after league, never looking back one single time. The wart-nosed dwarves would track him, but they’d never catch up. Or so he hoped. His big feet splashed through a creek, and he collapsed on the other side, gasping for breath. Panting. His small fingers dug into the wet dirt, and his little chest was heaving.
Please be freedom. Please be freedom!
He collapsed on his back and tried to blink away the ugly image of Hoknar’s wart-filled face from his mind. He hated those dwarves. They were cruel.
So glad he’s dead.
Then he remembered them bragging how thick their skulls were.
He’d better be dead.
He gathered his legs under him, sat down, and dusted the grime from his fingers.
Where do I go?
He’d avoided the roads that led to and from Hohm City, opting to stay in marsh and mist. The fog left a dampness all over him that he’d gotten used to, but all the squawking and burbling sounds disturbed him. He glanced over his shoulder. A mosquito bigger than his hand sucked on his neck.
“Blood-sucking fiends. Is there nothing on Bish that doesn’t want blood?”
He crossed his right foot over his other knee. A long gash burned along the bottom, and a thorn was lodged deep in the muscle. He plucked it out, wincing. His feet were tougher then hide leather, but they weren’t made of steel. He was vulnerable. He began plucking burning needles from his arms and legs.
“Why is life such an agony?”
He got up and began a renewed trek through the woods. His legs ached in a manner he’d never experienced before, and his feet throbbed and burned. He half limped and half walked. The rush of the flight now gone, his blood had simmered down.
“Is this how the old feel?” he sobbed. “I’m beyond my years already.”
He plucked a stick from the ground and put his weight on it.
Small and ghostly, he wove through the moss that hung from the tree branches. He yawned from time to time, and his eyes became heavy.
Keep going. I must find the sunlight. Keep going.
He walked another half day until the fog became dim and blackness overtook the marsh. The rattle of lizard necks echoed in the eerie jungle.
I can’t travel in this.
He scurried up a tree and nestled himself among the branches.
Please don’t let one of those monstrous snakes consume me. He huddled in closer. Oh, no one listens. If I die before I wake, well, I just hope it’s quick and painless. A moment later, his heavy eyelids closed, and he did not stir again until something stirred beneath him.
Lefty’s eyes snapped open.
Creepy sounds tickled his ears. It was daylight now, and the fog was a pale yellow. Lefty gently stirred in the branches, and dew dripped off his face.
Thank goodness I still breathe.
Soft footsteps crunched over the mossy ground below, and he bent his neck toward the sound. A figure scurried across the marsh floor, and footsteps waded through the shallow water nearby. He shimmied down for a closer look, tearing the dewy webbing away as he climbed down. Nearing the bottom, he froze, and his heart thundered in his chest.
Underlings stood below him, chittering in low voices. Their hair was coarse, black, braided, and greasy. Armored in leather and other dark hides, they carried jagged spears and swords. One, wearing a narrow metal helmet and carrying a javelin, rode by on the back of a spider. Lefty’s belly twisted inside.
Go! Go! Find those dwarves and kill them! Not me!
He slipped and caught himself. Dew droplets pelted the underlings, whose necks snapped up.
Please don’t see me! Please don’t see me!
The underlings chittered back and forth, and one began climbing up his tree.
Why me? Why me?
A sharp whistle cut through the air.
The underling climber froze just on the other side of Lefty. He could feel its breath on his fingers.
Churt! Churt!
The underling groaned and made his way back down the tree, joining the rest. In a rush, they quickly departed.
Bish, that was close!
Lefty waited several minutes, and then, with trembling hands and fingers, he made his way down the tree. He guessed there were at least a dozen underlings in the party.
Where there’s one, there’s twenty. Bone!
Body stiff, he picked his way through the marsh again with his eyes and ears wide open.
I bet an underling army waits on the other side of this fog. That would be my fate. Ha! A well-deserved one.
As he ambled by another willow tree, his senses caught fire. He tried to spring away, but it was too late. A pair of strong hands seized him and pushed him to the ground.
Georgio’s blade sheared an underling’s head from its shoulders.
Black blood spurted from the clean cut, and it wobbled to the ground.
“Who’s next?!” Georgio said, waggling his sword. “Come on, roaches!”
Through the corner of his eye, he caught a pair of underlings trying to tear a screaming woman in half. He charged, screaming in rage, “RAWR!”
The underlings dropped the woman to the ground and drew their jagged blades. Their dark well-knit figures wore vests of chain mail. They flanked Georgio, chittering back and forth. The first smaller figure moved inside, sword striking at Georgio’s thigh.
He parried.
He countered with his own cut.
The underling ducked underneath the swing, and the second underling jabbed its blade into Georgio’s same thigh.
“Argh!” Two handed, Georgio took wide, arcing swings back and forth.
The underlings spat at him, their chitters a mockery. Quick, confident, and sure handed, they darted in.
Georgio swung hard.
The underlings jumped back, and Georgio spun off balance. The underling blades found a home in his back.
His eyes lit up, and he cried out. Eyes watering, Georgio swung on against the pain.
The underlings were skilled soldiers, better than many he’d fought. Swordsmen. Seasoned. Sinister.
Slice! Clip! Rip!
“What happened?” Nikkel groaned. Blood dripped from his head, and he lay sprawled out on the cobblestones, numb and confused.
Fire roared from plaza storefronts. People ran screaming. Bolts, darts, and javelins cut through their bodies. Underlings chopped down every person that breathed.
Fighting the numbness in his head and shoulders, Nikkel crawled toward the shattered and burning cart. The pony was dead, and his club lay beside its hooves. On hands and knees, he crawled over the road and wrapped his hands around Skull Basher.
Something is going to pay.
A shadow passed through the air. Nikkel’s head snapped up. An underling in dark robes hovered there, sending shards of fire into the people. A man and woman erupted into flame, clothes burning and smoking. Underling soldiers cut them down where they stood.
A guttural moan caught his ear. A man’s large foot lay underneath the burning cart.
“Brak!” Nikkel sprang into action.
An underling cut him off. Its ruby eyes fixed on him. Its black lips taunted him. Sharp steel wove around its body.
“Challenge accepted,” Nikkel replied. He twirled the club once, stepped forward, and brought the weapon down with all his fury. The heavy weapon smashed the underling’s blades down and cracked the fiend’s skull. “YES!”
Too-wah! Too-wah! Too-wah!
Into Nikkel’s neck and face zinged darts that burned like fire.
Nikkel whirled on his three new aggressors. Two had blowpipes in hand, and the third’s handheld crossbow lowered on his chest. Nikkel turned his shoulder toward them.
Clatch-zip!
The bolt zipped into the meat of his arm.
“Blasted fiends! Come! Fight me!” he said, rushing straight for them.
The underlings dropped their ranged weapons and went for their swords.
Using his one good arm, Nikkel bashed in the nearest underling’s face. Quick as a cat, he spun and attacked the next underling. Skull Basher clobbered its narrowed chest with a nasty smacking sound. He faced off with the last, feeling woozy. “You poisoned me!”
The underling raised its sword and chittered.
Furious, Nikkel swayed, teetered, and toppled backward in front of the cart. All of his limbs were numb.
No! It can’t happen this way! No!
The underling glowered over him and lowered its sword on his neck, taking aim. It chittered and spat on his face. Raising the saw-toothed blade, it hissed a fatal warning.
A loud, angry moan erupted underneath the burning cart.
Oh no! Brak!
The underling cocked its head, staring at the cart that stirred.
Suddenly, the cart toppled over and Brak emerged. His blue eyes were glazed over and full of berserk fury. He picked up what was left of the flaming cart and hurled it into the shocked underling.
Yes!
Brak glowered down at Nikkel. His nostrils flared. His broad chest heaved, every fiber of his being now a monstrosity. He picked up Nikkel’s club and raised it over his head with bloodlust in his eye.
No! Don’t kill me!
A bolt of lightning smacked Brak square in the chest, knocking him from his feet. Nikkel saw the underling mage hovering above.
Oh no. Where did Brak go?
A moment later, Brak reappeared with the cart wheel in his hands. He hurled it upward. The wheel struck the mage full in the chest with a bone-crunching smack.
Yes, Brak! Yes!
Brak found the club, and with the power and speed of berserker rage, he launched out of sight and into the fray.
Nikkel could hear the screaming, but it wasn’t just people, it was underlings as well.
Kill ’em, Brak!
Mind no longer his own, Brak waded into the blood-slicked streets.
Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack!
The first underling to cross him became a pile of leather armor and goo.
With speed impossible for his size, Brak hurled himself into a squad of dark bodies. He smashed heads together, shattering skulls. His fists were bone-crunching mallets, the club Skull Basher a weapon of doom.
“RAWR!”
From underneath the pile of bodies, an underling scrambled and tried to scurry away. Brak snatched it up by the boots and slammed it with a sickening smack face first into the ground.
Too-wah! Too-wah!
His neck snapped around, and his eyes located the aggressor at his back. In two giant strides, he closed the gap, grabbed the hair on the underling’s head, and shoved the blowgun down its throat. He shoved the dying underling to the ground and stomped it with his feet.
Movement flickered. Two underling blades flashed nearby.
Brak picked the corpse up from the ground and launched it into the two assaulting figures. One by one he hewed them down with his sword in bone splintering chops.
Clatch-Zip! Clatch-Zip!
Bolts zinged into his back.
He reached behind himself and ripped them out. He found the assailants and bore down on them.
Underlings were fast, but not fast enough.
Brak pounced on one, crushed its body beneath his great weight, and drove the bolts into its eye sockets.
The second underling rushed in with a sword, chopping straight at Brak’s belly.
His hand lashed out, catching the underling by the wrist and jerking it to the ground.
Whop! Whop! Whop!
Brak punched its face in.
He let out a blood-curdling howl and tracked down every dark fiend his battle-fueled eyes could find and killed them all. One by one.
Georgio ran his sword through his final attacker. The underling twitched on the end of his blade and slid off with a hiss. Heart racing, Georgio eyed the plaza-turned-slaughterhouse. Dozens of people were dead. A dozen underlings were dead, too.
Splattered in blood, Brak lumbered through the ranks of the dead in a daze with shafts protruding from his body and gashes scoring his flesh. The oversized young man collapsed on the ground.
Georgio rushed to his aid. “Brak,” Georgio said, rolling his friend onto his side. He plucked a pair of darts out of his back and laid him down. Brak’s face was smeared in blood, yet he still breathed. “Can you hear me?”
Brak shook violently, let out a throaty growl, and fell silent.
Georgio’s head filled with questions. How did Brak walk? Where did the underlings come from? And where was …
“Nikkel!” he called out. “Nikkel!”
Through the smoke, he located his friend lying on the ground, blinking his eyes. Georgio plucked darts from him.
“Hold on. These things take time to wear off.” He wiped the sweat from his eyes. “Did you see Brak?”
Nikkel blinked once.
“He survived. We all did,” Georgio said, looking around. The dead were everywhere, and the lamentations of the survivors began. “Too bad for all of them. Now that the underlings have started, they’ll never stop.”
Lefty’s struggles were muted by the iron grip that held him fast.
Figures!
“Keep it shut, halflin’, if you don’t want a nasty lump on yer head.”
The bear of a man hugged Lefty tight to his chest, and his meaty hand engulfed Lefty’s entire face.
“Did you hear me?” a deep voice said.
Lefty mumbled the best he could.
Yes! Yes! Yes!
The man hooked his hands underneath Lefty’s armpits and held him out like a toddler.
“Mood?” Lefty said, cocking his head.
The dwarf with the blood-red beard streaked in white shook him and said, “What do you know of the king of the dwarves?” He gave him another rough jostle. “What, fair-headed one? What?”
“Stop shaking me,” Lefty blustered.
Still holding him tight to the chest, the big dwarf’s arms steadied. He was big and broad, the same as Mood, a bit smaller, heavier, and older. His face, weathered and tanned, had more wrinkles, too. He wore buckskin leather dyed in deep red and green, similar to what Mood wore. And there were two heavy swords, more like machetes, strapped to his hips.
“Are you a Blood Ranger?” Lefty asked, swallowing.
“I am,” the dwarf said, cocking an eyebrow. “You seem to have particular knowledge of such things. Tell me more about it, halflin’, else I shake yer guts out.”
“He’s a friend. Er, was a friend. I don’t know. It’s been a long time since I last saw him,” Lefty said. He became dejected. “And Chongo.”
The dwarf’s brows lifted.
“Ye know the King and the pooch?” He grunted. “Now that’s somethin’.”
“Uh … I’m Lefty. Will you put me down now?”
The dwarf dropped him and started to wander off.
“Excuse me,” Lefty said, catching up. “Where are you going?”
“To kill those underlings. I’ve been tracking them for weeks. Dirty fiends are sprouting up like hair on an ogre’s back.”
“Can you get me out of here first?”
The dwarf turned on him. “What did you say your name was?”
“Lefty. Lefty Lightfoot. And what is your name?”
“Pall.”
“Pall?”
“That’s it.”
“What do you say, Pall? Can you get me out of here?”
Pall shook his bearded head. “It’s not safe out there for the likes of you. I think you are better off in here.”
“I want to leave,” he pleaded. “The wart-nosed dwarves are hunting me.”
“Wart-nosed, you say?” Pall said, rubbing his chin. “Why are they hunting you?”
“It’s a long story, but I was their prisoner, and I escaped.”
“Wart-nosed bad,” Pall said, scanning the murk.
Lefty could see a hint of blue in his eyes.
“Bad, bad, dwarves.” He started marching off again.
“Wait,” Lefty said, “where are you going?”
“To kill them.”
“Kill who?”
“The wart-noses. We don’t tolerate that brood.”
“What about the underlings?”
“Er, well,” Pall shrugged his heavy shoulders, “I’ll kill them too.” Pall set back into his stride.
Lefty cut him off.
“Will you move before I stomp you into the swamp?”
“Please, Pall, take me out of here.” Lefty’s voice cracked. “Mood always looked after me, and you should too.”
Pall took a knee. “Listen. I’ll kill them, and then I’ll take care of you.” He rested his hands on Lefty’s shoulders. “It’s the best I’m willing to do. Come, wait, or go on your own.”
“But there are so many, and there is only one of you.”
Pall slipped a hand axe out of his belt and handed it to Lefty.
“Come,” Pall said, “Now the odds are better.”
Shoulders slouched, Lefty followed along.
Will I ever embrace the madness?
The City of Three reeled. Doors and windows were boarded up and the streets abandoned. And not long after that, the bickering began.
Why did the underlings attack?
Who made them mad?
That was one side of it.
We need to flush them out!
Kill the black-haired vermin!
That was the other.
All the people sitting at the table inside the Magi Roost preferred the latter. The Magi Roost was closed.
Boon, usually cheerful, had the most serious look about him that Melegal had ever seen.
Billip leaned over the table, cracking his knuckles and stroking his black goatee.
Fogle’s eyes drifted through the room, searching for Kam.
Men have no shame, especially wizards. Heh, and thieves, Melegal thought.
Georgio and Nikkel shared a pot of coffee. A week ago, they had returned banged up and coated in dried blood, having carried Brak a mile through the streets. Their lips had been wild with stories about underlings attacking and Brak going berserk and walking again.
Now the mannish teen sat beside Georgio, who kept having to prop him up. Brak’s left arm lifted a shaky spoon of stew to his lips, but that was all he was good for. Georgio had dragged him inside with holes and cuts all over him. Kam and Joline had spent hours stitching him up. It had been a rough night, but Brak lived.
He should be dead, yet he lives, much like his father. But quieter, thank goodness.
Melegal rubbed his eyes. They’d been talking about the underlings for days. It seemed half the city wanted to flee. Maybe a quarter wanted to fight. The bloody assault on the City of Three had been something never seen before that anyone could remember. He took a sip from his goblet.
“Melegal,” Boon said, “you are an observant man. Do you have any insight to share on this?”
He lifted his thin grey brows, parted his lips, and said, “No.”
I’ll let you fools start the work. For the moment, I’m only out for myself.
“Oh, come off it, Me,” Georgio said, glaring at him. “You have something. You always do. Quit being a puckered arse!”
“Stop fuming, child!”
Georgio started up out of his chair. “Fuming!”
“Don’t be so excitable,” Tarcot said from the opposite end of the table. “You have too many loose tempers in your ranks. Striders don’t argue. They plan. Plot. Avenge.”
“Well said, Tarcot,” Boon added. “And I agree.”
Billip yawned. “So what are we going to do? The Royals have declared martial law and have forbidden any action. We seek, we strike, we get put in shackles.”
“It’s as if they are protecting the underlings,” Nikkel added. He rapped his fist on the table. “I say: if we aren’t going to fight them, then I’m going back to Two-Ten City. They don’t put up with this sort of slat down there.”
“I don’t think there is still a down there,” Billip added. “Though I wish there was.”
Indecision. Such a strange place to be in. At least the big oaf never had this problem.
Even Melegal was uncertain what to do. Going outside only brought hassle by the City Watch and soldiers. Staying inside was always the same company. All the barmaids had stayed home. There was no place to go. No place safer than where he was. And then there was Jaen and the tower she’d tossed him from. He had no desire to be transported there again. Yet he felt eyes were watching. And ears were listening, perhaps.
Mages know too much. Share too little. He eyed Boon. I bet he knows much more than he lets on. He took a sip. Well, I do too.
Melegal remained tight lipped about his dealings with Jaen and Venir in the Snake Pit. It being him, no one asked him questions. They understood his dour demeanor. Georgio was the only one who knew him well enough to pick his brain, and the oversized boy wasn’t smart, just nosy. And Jasper, a mystic sneak herself, kept to herself. So far.
This wouldn’t be so bad if I had Quickster.
He tilted his head back and sighed. Nothing tasted good right now. Not the wine. Nor the food. And the company was becoming stale. Most interesting of all, no one spoke of Venir. He didn’t understand exactly why, but it seemed everyone had become accustomed to Venir’s comings and goings. Even Georgio didn’t mention him.
“I think it’s time I turned in,” Fogle said, yawning. “We can resume our fruitless discussion on the morrow.” He scooted out of his seat.
“Good idea, Grandson,” Boon said. “You’ll need good rest for tomorrow’s journey.”
“What journey?”
All eyes fell on the two magi.
“We must return to the Outland. There is a war to be fought, and we have an army to tend.” Boon shifted in his chair toward Fogle. “Did your titillated mind forget about that?”
Fogle’s face darkened. “No! But I’ll be going nowhere anytime soon.”
“There is nothing for you here.”
“Nothing for you, maybe! Sorry if I don’t embrace your insane obsession with underlings, but I think I had best stay here and defend my home.”
“So be it,” Boon said, turning away. “Nestle all you want, the result will still be the same. A true champion of Three would take the fight to them. Eh … and I’ll be needing my spellbook.”
“Your spellbook? No no no,” Fogle said, wagging his finger. “It’s mine by right.”
“Do you plan on reading it to the ladies? Letting them rub your shoulders while you study it late at night? Pah!”
Melegal tapped his fingertips together. Interesting. That old man is not so bad.
Tarcot stood up. “I’m ready to depart as well. Now is better than later.”
Boon had spent much time talking about the army that was being raised: jungs and giants, allegedly. Striders and pitchfork-wielding farmers. It seemed plenty of people wanted to fight, except for the Royals.
“Agreed, Tarcot,” Boon said. “And as much as I’ve enjoyed my stay, I’m ready to get back at it. I’m a Boon.” He glanced at Fogle, eyes intent. “This is what I do.”
Fogle turned away.
“Anyone care to join us?” Boon added.
Billip spoke up. “I’ll go.”
“Billip,” Georgio said, surprised, “really? You can’t go.”
“If I’m going to fight those fiends, I had best fight with a group that’s leaving the City of Three.” He cracked his knuckles. “I’d probably get arrested here for doing it.”
“I’m going too,” Nikkel said.
“What’s gotten into you?” Georgio said.
“I want to fight. Fight in an army. My father did all the time, and I’ve always wanted to.”
“Pickings are slim to none out there,” Georgio said. “Remember the trip up here?”
“I know, but that was only because you and Brak ate all the food. Seeing how you won’t be with us,” Nikkel said, glancing at Brak. “I think we’ll fare much better.”
“But …” Georgio started, then his chin dipped to his chest.
Brak swung his good arm over and hit him in the head. “You go, Georgio. I’ll make do. I’ll walk on one arm if I have to.”
“I’ll watch Brak,” Jubilee piped in. She’d peeked in from around the other side of the fireplace. “And what I can’t help with, Joline and Kam will.” She glared at Nikkel. “Even though I think going is a stupid thing.”
Oh, they grow up so fast, don’t they? Melegal tilted the goblet to his lips. When he set it down again, all eyes were on him. “You know I’m not going.” He refilled his goblet and raised it high. “I’ll keep you in mind from time to time.”
“May I join you?” Fogle said to Melegal.
Hunkered behind the warmth of the crackling fireplace, Melegal scooted a chair over with his foot. “Sure.”
It had been several days since Boon, Tarcot, Billip, Georgio, and Nikkel had left, and their departure had been ugly. Kam’s voice had shaken the candles out of the chandeliers, and Joline had blubbered for two days. Even Melegal had felt a little water stir in his gaze.
Fogle drew up his robes and took a seat with a sigh. He was cleaned up now, new dark-green robes with intricate designs. His hair was cut short, and the rugged beard was gone. His expression was deep, his eyes penetrating.
“Should I feel guilty?”
“Huh,” Melegal laughed. “For preferring life over death? I don’t think so.”
“Hmmm…”
“Here’s some advice: don’t let guilt kill you.”
Melegal shrugged his narrow shoulders. “You know, I don’t think it’s not going that bothers you.” He glanced at the bar, where Kam and Jubilee were working. “I think the reason you stayed here is what makes you feel so guilty.”
Fogle swallowed.
Melegal nodded. “Women are beautiful and dangerous things.”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Fogle said, glancing toward Kam. Their eyes met with twin smiles and slid away at the same time.
“You do know he’ll return,” Melegal said. “He always does. He’s like a fungus that keeps growing back on your foot.” He took a gulp. “Not that I would know.”
“I know,” Fogle said, “and I like him, but … may I?” He gestured to the pitcher of wine.
Melegal filled another goblet and slid it over.
Fogle gulped it down. “As I was saying … well, never mind.”
“You were going to say that you like him, but you hope he doesn’t come back.”
Fogle’s eyes widened on his scholarly head.
“Don’t feel bad,” Melegal continued. “I’ve felt that way plenty of times before.”
“You’ve known him long.”
“Since we were children, and if I had more friends like him, then I wouldn’t have any enemies.”
“Why’s that?”
Melegal laughed. “They’d kill them. That’s the kind of loyal friend he is when he’s around, and I’d say he’s pretty loyal to old Fire-top over there, too. And let’s not forget his daughter.”
“Slat,” Boon said, sagging down. “She’s not even mentioned him, though.”
“And you haven’t either, I’ve noticed.”
Fogle laughed until tears rolled from his eyes.
Melegal refilled his goblet.
Fogle drank it down. “Am I a dog?”
“No, you are a mangy cur.”
“Well, how come I feel so much better?”
“Because you’ve accepted the truth—and you’re drinking some pretty strong wine.”
Chatting back and forth, they shared another goblet.
Fogle opened up some more. “I tried to kill him once, in a mind grumble.” He pointed toward the bloodstain on the floor. “See that spot?”
“I heard about it.”
“Well, you’ve never heard this.” Fogle leaned forward. “He strolled in here, brawny and brazen, and Kam melted all over him. Jealousy enflamed me.”
Melegal raised his eyebrows.
Fogle nodded. “For years, I’d tried to garner her attention. Impress her with my mind, my powers. She was drawn to none of it. Then, this gigantic oaf comes in, Titanic—and full of slat.”
Melegal laughed.
Fogle filled the thief’s goblet. “Kam was enthralled by his boasts and empty words, and she wasn’t the only one, either. The crowd, my crowd—all of whom had challenged me and been defeated—took note of him as well.” He straightened up in his chair. “So I chose to make an example of him. A mistake that nearly cost me my life.” He eyed Melegal. “I’m a wicked arse, aren’t I?”
“No, just an arse, like all the rest of us.”
“Kam is not his kind,” Fogle said. “She’s my kind.” He shook his head. “And she notices me now, the way she didn’t back then. Why is that?”
“Women like men who have been in dangerous places, is all I can say. Gives them a thrill, somehow.”
“Do you feel that way about women who have been in dangerous places?”
Melegal shrugged his brows and said, “Do you?”
The front doors slammed open, and Quickster stepped into full view.
“What in Bish?” Melegal said.
Fogle turned his shoulder.
Joline screamed.
“Get that beast out of here!” Kam yelled from behind the bar. Her expression froze a moment before another word came forth. “You!”
Melegal was already on the move when Jaen stepped into full view. Her eyes were locked on Kam’s before they slid over to Melegal. She wore a dark red bodice, and a ruby gleamed in her exposed navel. Her long, cinnamon-colored hair was straightened.
“I brought your ass back,” Jaen said, shrugging and shaking her head. “I’m surprised you survived. Shocked, actually. But when I received word of it, well, I found myself a bit relieved. You are charming company.”
Melegal took Quickster by the reins, checked his teeth, and rubbed him behind the ears. Then he said to Jaen, “Even though I hoped to never see you again, I must admit, you are as enchanting as ever. I guess we are calling things even.” He gestured to Joline, who sighed heavily and took Quickster out to the stables.
“Ha!” Jaen replied, checking her nails. “I didn’t come here bearing a gift. I have greater business in mind, business which requires your attention.” She turned her focus to Kam. “And your attention as well, half sister.”
“I’ll have none of you, witch. Now get out of here.”
Jaen didn’t look impressed. “Oh, Kam, will we ever get along?” She strolled through the tavern, eyeing everything. “My, what a quaint spot this is.” She stopped in front of a fireplace, tossed in a log, and dusted her hands off. “Rugged. It suits you, Kam. You always were a bit of an Outland girl, just like your mother.”
“Don’t you speak of my mother, Jaen. At least I’m no spawn of a whore!”
“Oh, please,” Jaen said, rolling her eyes. “Your father, my father, my mother, your mother, pfft, who cares? So long as I get what is mine.” Jaen noticed Fogle sitting at the table. “Oh my,” she gasped, “is that Fogle Boon?”
Fogle broke out into a smile the likes of which Melegal had never seen. He stood up, pulled his shoulders back, and made a polite bow. “It is good to see you Jaen, eh.” His eyes drifted to Kam. “But I had no idea either of you had a sister.”
“Kam is much older than me,” Jaen replied. “Much.” She draped her hands on his shoulders and rubbed them. “You have changed, Fogle. There is something more mannish and rugged in that face and in those eyes.” Her voice became a purr. “I like it.”
Fogle pulled out a chair and said, “Please, have a seat.”
“Ah, well, I’m glad to see not all ground dwellers have lost their manners.”
Kam stormed over. Her green eyes were wild, and her face was filled with fury.
“Get OUT, Jaen! I won’t tell you again.”
Melegal covered his smile with his slender hand, thinking, Perhaps I do like dangerous women. He touched the thin film of sweat on his head. Yep. And I never sweat, other than … He caught a twinkle in Fogle’s eyes as well, and he saw that the wizard’s lips could not hold back a smile.
“Please, Kam, let me catch up with my old friend Fogle.” Jaen rested her hand on Fogle’s arm. “And while I’m doing that, you can get us some wine, because we are going to have a very long and important chat.” She winked at Fogle. “And you can stay too,” she said to Melegal. “I like a man with some bumps and bruises.”
Kam balled up her fist. “I’m warning you, Jaen.”
“Oh, please, what are you going to do,” Jaen said, sneering at her, “choke me with one hand?”
Kam punched her in the face.
Jaen crashed to the floor, but she bounced up in an instant and wiped the blood from her mouth. Her hands charged with deep red energy.
“You’ll pay for that.”
Kam’s one hand flared with green fire.
“Make me pay, witch!”
Cough. Cough. Hack.
“Water,” Creed pleaded with a cracked voice, “water.”
He lay on the floor of his cell with his face pressed against the cold metal bars, burning with fever. A bucket was knocked over by his feet. The slop they fed him was being devoured by rats. Perspiration dripped from his face.
“Water.”
Images haunted his mind: the tongueless man’s garbled cackle, the blacksmith from his youth who had been crushed by the falling ceiling. What was his name?
Lorda Almen’s sensuous curves came and went.
Underlings attacked in his dreams, stabbing him over and over again.
He went back and forth from ice cold to burning hot, tossing and turning. The days felt like years. Rats nipped at his flesh when he slept.
I’ve got to get out of here. I can’t die in here. I can’t.
His body convulsed and contorted.
Cough. Cough. Cough. Hack. Hack. Hack.
Corrin stood inside one of the turrets of Castle Bloodhound, eyeing the streets. From up here, he could see bloodhound sentries patrolling the upper wall. It was nighttime. The streets were dead. The only souls who ventured out at night were the City Watch and Royal Soldiers. Underlings ruled the streets at night.
It’s never good to see those fiends.
Down in the courtyard, a corpse swayed by the neck on a noose in the gentle breeze. Lord Grom was now swift to discipline his ranks. The man hanging had dared to question the overbearing man—and had died for it.
Better him than me, but that’s what he gets for listening to Lorda. She’s a more effective murderer than I am. Never gets her hands dirty.
Small blade in hand, he whittled a block of wood. At his feet, Creed’s dog Manx’s shaggy body lay still. Corrin had managed to befriend the brown-coated beast as well as some others in the kennels. He’d even gotten chummy with more of the bloodhounds. Now they trusted him to watch over some posts.
Blend in and survive.
He whittled down more on the block of wood. It was the half-finished figurine of a dog. He’d learned to whittle from his father when he was a boy but hadn’t fooled with it at all in the years gone by. Now it helped pass the time. It gave him clarity on how to murder Lord Grom.
If I could leave, then I could score some poison.
He and Creed had snuck out plenty of times before, but now that Bone was overrun by underlings, it was too risky. Everyone kept a close eye on everybody. The small castle was a prison, guarded by hundreds of dogs.
He stuck the dagger in the window ledge and leaned forward, squinting. His stomach dropped.
Dozens of underlings, some on foot, others on spiders, walked down the street, dragging the dead bodies of citizens behind them. Their glittering eyes and mocking chitters irritated his ears.
Manx got up and stuck his large head out into the wind. Bared his teeth and growled.
Sic ’em! I wish.
They weren’t the only ones watching, either. Corrin could see several other bloodhounds watching. Their dogs’ ears were perched. Daggers slipped from scabbards. Leather gauntlets balled up into fists. The bloodhounds were a hard lot. Loyal to death. Rugged. They didn’t like what was happening to their city any more than Corrin did.
The sound of a ballista caught his ear. Another group cranked back the strings of their crossbows. The tension in the air was as tight as those strings.
The underlings sauntered by. Small, lithe forms in dark armor. Dark blades hung from their backs and belts. They glared up with fiendish looks on their faces. One strode in front of the bloodhounds’ front gate and took a piss on it.
The bloodhounds began to murmur. Armor started to rustle.
Corrin’s jaws tightened.
Let loose, by Bone! Let loose!
Several bloodhounds took aim.
“Don’t you dare,” a heavy voice spoke out. Lord Grom’s large form lumbered down the top of the wall. “Lower your weapons. Sheath those blades. Don’t fall prey to their provocations.”
Reluctantly, the bloodhounds did as he said. Steel slammed into sheaths.
Lord Grom’s hulking visage glared over the wall. The standoff had stopped as quickly as it started, and the underlings walked on by, still dragging the bodies behind them. Lord Grom addressed his men.
“Our time will come. Until then, no signs of aggression.”
“Pardon, Lord Grom,” one bloodhound spoke up, “but the Royals do nothing while others are slaughtered in the streets. We can’t just stand by and wah—urk!”
Lord Grom drove a blade into the man’s belly.
Corrin stiffened.
He is loony!
Lord Grom’s heavy stare scanned the towers and turrets.
Corrin stepped back into the shadows.
But I don’t want him mad at me.
Lorda Almen dabbed some perfume on her neck. She sat in front of her vanity, wearing a revealing turquoise robe made of silk. She could see Lord Grom’s reflection in the mirror. He lay on her bed, naked and belly down, eyes closed. Three huge dogs lay alongside the bed.
Hairy pig bastard.
She took a sharp hair pin and stared at it a moment.
It would fit perfectly, jammed into his earhole.
“Catherine,” he said, “I’m ready, and feeling a little impatient, too.”
She began pinning her hair up. “The wait is always worth it. Is it not?” She rose from her chair with her robes half open.
Lord Grom’s eyes opened up and took their fill of her breasts. “Mmmm,” he moaned, “You win, but can you be quick about it? It’s been a hard day.”
She climbed on the bed, straddled his hairy back, and rubbed the thick muscles in his neck. The older man was a pack of hard muscle underneath that layer of fat.
“What was so hard about your day?” she asked.
He moaned again and turned his head, cracking his neck and glancing up at her before he closed his eyes again.
“I had to gut another one of my soldiers. That’s two this week.”
“Ah,” she said, smiling. Perfect. “And was he out of line?”
“He wanted action. I can feel they all do. But this is not the bloodhounds’ fight.”
She dug her thumbs deep into his back. “My, you are tight. Well, you can’t let your men get unhitched, Grom,” she said. “The underlings will slaughter all of us. I’ve told you that you are right. This is the Royals’ fight and not ours, er, yours.”
“Ours, Catherine,” he said. “Ours, my dear.”
“You are sweet,” she said. Pig. “What you do is the same as it was in my family and in my husband’s family. If one steps over the line, questioning your authority, the punishment must be swift.”
“I could throw them in the dungeons,” he suggested.
“Death is more merciful. Its message is swift, powerful.”
“I suppose you’re right,” he said, trying to flip over.
“Ah ah ah,” Lorda said, forcing him back down. “Let me work that tension out first. You’re going to need to be loose for what I’m going to put you through.”
Lord Grom cackled. “You are special, Catherine. There is no doubt about that.”
You had better believe I am, you horny old fool. Mother was right—Bish rest her soul: the older men get, the easier they are to manipulate.
She lowered her breasts onto his back, hugged him, and said, “Now tell me more of your troubles, and I’ll make those troubles go away.”
Kam’s arm flashed up in a mystic shield of green.
Jaen hurled a bolt of energy straight at her.
Sazz! Zing!
She deflected it and summoned her own lance of energy.
“Stop it!” Fogle said, jumping between them.
Kam let the bolt fly.
Fogle leapt out of the way, crashing through the tables.
Her bolt ricocheted off Jaen’s shield.
Her half sister licked the blood from her lips. “Old and slow as always, Kam. Temperamental as ever.” Small shield glowing on her wrist, Jaen beckoned Kam on. “Come on, then. Attack me, mother hen.”
Kam’s nostrils flared. She hated Jaen, the spawn of one of her father’s sordid affairs. “You sleazy conniver!” Kam shouted. “Get your arse out of my tavern!” Her auburn hair stood on end, and her entire body crackled with energy. She let her fury fly. A whoosh of energy erupted from her arms and blasted straight for Jaen’s chest.
Jaen produced a metal orb that sucked the energy up. “Ha!” Jaen said. “I came prepared for your tantrum.”
Kam, exhausted, staggered back on her feet and fell into some chairs. Her magic wasn’t up to par with what it should have been. She’d just cleaned out all the energy she had left.
Fogle tried to help her up.
She shot him a look. “Get off me!”
Jaw dropping, he tried to speak.
“Back off, Fogle,” she warned. She pushed herself off the floor and climbed into a chair, eyeing Jaen. “Get out.”
“After this reunion? I think not,” Jaen said. “And they wouldn’t let me leave if I tried.”
“Who?” Kam said, turning her head around.
Big in frame, two men in plate mail stood at the front door. They bore the burning three-eyed tree insignia of her family.
“What is this?”
“Oh,” Jaen said, “there’s more.”
A tall, fit man in refined clothing of the highest order entered. He was older, with a head of thick brown hair and pale green eyes. His movements were graceful and his cheekbones high.
Two more soldiers fell in behind him.
Kam gaped, heart jumping. Why is he here?
“Hello, Kam,” he said in a soft but firm tone. “It’s been a long time. And I must say, you are just as pretty as ever.”
Kam swallowed the lump in her throat, eyes flitting to Fogle and Melegal before falling back on the man. “You need to get out of here too.”
“I didn’t come all this way just to turn around and leave.”
“I didn’t either,” Jaen said.
Kam tossed her head back and started laughing.
Every eye in the room widened. Some faces filled with concern, others curiosity. Even the stone-faced Melegal’s.
“Kam,” Joline said, appearing at her side, “are you all right?”
Kam slapped her knee. “Oh, I’m great. Absolutely wonderful!”
“Maybe you should go lie down,” Joline suggested.
“At a time like this?” Kam slapped Joline on the rump. “Perish the thought! Muckle Sap for everyone. I can’t wait to hear what the father of that bastard Palos wants!”
Joline gasped. “That’s Palzor? King of the—”
Palzor’s index finger shot up. “There are certain titles I don’t care for, lovely lady.” He flashed a smile, and his hands fell on the pommels at his hips. “And many have died for uttering it. Palzor the Merchant King will suffice.”
“Certainly,” Joline said with a bow.
Kam shoved a chair toward him with her foot.
Ripping out their swords, the soldiers jumped forward.
“Easy,” Palzor said. “That was just a crude courtesy.” He picked the chair up, set it down beside Kam, and took a seat. “So, I now sit face to face with the fetching woman who turned my son into a babbling fool.”
“He had worse than that coming,” she said with a sneer. “Much worse.”
“Don’t we all?” Palzor said. “Including me and you? All of us here, I’d say.”
“He kidnapped my daughter. He violated me.” She glanced at the door.
“He’s not coming,” Palzor said. “My poor son has no idea where he is. And I’ve tried some things. How you did what you did to him is beyond me. But many strange things have been going on of late.” He glanced at her handless arm. “We’ve all suffered in one way or another.”
“What do you want, Palzor?”
“Some wine, perhaps.” He set a small stack of coins on the table. “I hear there is a good stash here … for ground dwellers.”
“Pah!” Kam said. “Everything tastes better here than up in those vile towers.”
“It’s so dusty,” Jaen said, running her manicured finger over the table, “but I can see you are well acquainted with the grime.”
“Joline,” Kam said, “would you be so kind? It seems these intruders aren’t going anywhere.” To Jaen she added, “Oh, and would you like to try some of our food?”
“I’d rather not,” Jaen said.
“Please, I’ve heard good things about your delicacies.” Palzor’s eyes glided over Kam’s body as he licked his teeth. “I’m sure it will be divine.”
“All right, Palzor, now that the food’s been ordered, start talking.”
Looking at Jaen, the King of the Thieves’ Guild turned briefly toward Melegal. “Him?”
Without looking, Jaen nodded. “Have a seat, scarecrow. You’re a part of this too.”
“I don’t see—”
One of the soldiers pushed him forward, almost knocking him to the floor.
Frowning, Melegal took a seat and folded his arms over his chest.
“Anyone else you want to add to the party?” Kam said.
Jaen nodded at Fogle.
Palzor cocked his head at her.
“He can be useful,” Jaen said.
“If you say so,” Palzor said. “Pull up a chair, then.”
Fogle dragged one over beside Melegal, and the pair of men now sat across from the two women.
Still standing, Palzor focused his conversation on Kam. “It seems your companion is causing us trouble.”
Kam’s eyes slid over to Fogle.
“Not him,” Palzor said, laughing. “My, you are a seductress, aren’t you?”
“I don’t take your meaning, you—”
Palzor lifted his index finger. “Don’t trifle with me. I’m not concerned about your liaisons.”
Joline returned and set a serving tray with two bottles of wine and several goblets on the table. She had a nervous look in her eye. “I’ll be back with the food.”
Kam said, “I don’t take your meaning, Palzor.”
“He’s talking about your baby’s father,” Jaen said. “Or are you uncertain who that is?”
Feeling her cheeks turn red, Kam snatched a bottle of wine off the table and swung for Jaen’s head.
Melegal caught Kam’s wrist and twisted the bottle from her hand without spilling a drop.
Palzor started laughing. “Fast and sleek,” he said to Jaen, who was covering her face. “I like him.”
“Don’t touch me again,” Kam said.
Melegal poured the wine, one goblet at a time. “I won’t have to if you let him finish. Maybe you don’t care, but I’m curious what he has to say about Venir.”
Kam slumped back in her chair.
Finally, some cooperation … but for how long? Melegal thought.
Palzor, King of the Thieves, was in his midst. The man was as refined as a Royal in Bone. His clothing and jewelry were exquisite. The man reminded Melegal of a more polite version of Royal Lord Almen. Every expression, every movement, was graceful.
“It’s always nice to be in the company of level-headed minds. Women,” Palzor said, “are so emotional.”
Kam slammed her fist on the table. “Just get on with it! My patience thins!”
Palzor shrugged Melegal and Fogle’s way. Then he clasped his jeweled fingers together behind him and began to pace.
“All right, then. Recently, the underling forces have become agitated. They blindside citizens all over the city. They create disruption. Chaos.” Palzor’s eyes narrowed. “Everything was fine up until a week ago…” His eyes fell on Melegal. “…when someone got a little carried away.”
“Are you referring to me?” Melegal said. “I don’t have anything to do with this mess. I told Jaen only a fool would do business with them. What happens is on you, not me. Dealing with underlings? That is—”
Palzor held up his jeweled hand. “Let me stop you—Melegal, is it?”
The thief nodded.
“You’ve made your whiny observations perfectly clear: you don’t want to dicker with underlings. However, it’s your brawny friend who I’m concerned about. He has been mucking things up with the underlings ever since you left him down there.”
“What?” Kam said, looking at Melegal. “You never mentioned that you saw Venir.”
Melegal narrowed his eyes on hers. “You didn’t ask.”
She blanched. “I’d expect you’d be more forthcoming with such information.”
“And I’d expect you’d show more concern. But not a word.”
“Neither a word from you!”
Fogle stuck his hand out. “I think we are all guilty, but Venir comes and goes as he pleases. I think we are all accustomed to that by now.”
Melegal agreed. There wasn’t much of a reason to worry about Venir. There was no point in it. Melegal addressed them all.
“Let me clear the air. I ran across Venir in a place called the Snake Pit, where I was by divine appointment.” He glanced at Jaen. “It seems the Royals are bartering with underlings these days. They needed a courier of sorts, so I was whisked into her tower and the return of Quickster was brokered.”
“You barter with underlings!” Kam said. “And my father knows of this?”
“They all know,” Jaen said with a shrug. “And things were fine until your friend spoiled it.”
“Ha!” Melegal said, slapping the table. “You mean to tell me that the underlings require you to rid them of the menace, Venir? Ha!”
Fogle laughed at his side, and even Kam’s flustered look cracked a smile.
“This isn’t a light matter,” Palzor said. “Citizens die in the streets because of him.”
“Because of him?” Kam said, standing up. “Oh no no no! Citizens are dying because of you! Because of them! They are underlings, you fools!”
A dagger snaked out of Palzor’s sleeve and appeared under Kam’s neck.
Melegal’s hand slid inside his tunic. That was fast!
“I warned you about the insults,” Palzor said, pressing his blade against Kam’s neck. Her eyes widened. “Seal your lips, else I seal them forever.”
“If,” Kam said, regaining her composure, “you don’t want to hear what I have to say, then you shouldn’t have come into my tavern.”
“Perhaps we need to take a breath,” Fogle suggested.
In a blink, Palzor sheathed his blade. “A breath it is, but careful, all of you. Your breath lies in my hands, and as I said, I won’t hesitate to kill you. Especially when I am insulted for trying to do us all a favor.”
Kam started to stir, took a breath, and thought better of it.
“How so?” Melegal asked.
“Your comrade, this Venir, the underlings want him dead.”
“That’s nothing new,” Melegal added.
“Well, your formidable friend can be an ally to us. We need you to go down below the city and pull him out of there. Talk some sense into him.”
“You have The Nest.” Kam said. “Why don’t you have your ilk do it?”
“My ilk can offer aid below, but the guild operates a bit differently these days, now that my son is no longer in charge.” He eyed Kam. “They are a bit more independent.”
“So,” Fogle said, “you want us to save the underlings from Venir.”
“I want to save this city,” Palzor said. “For every underling he takes, they take scores of our citizens. You’ve seen it. Heard it. Someone has to talk some sense into the man.”
“I think someone needs to talk some sense into you,” Fogle said.
“These matters are—”
“Beyond my understanding?” Fogle interrupted. “Are you joking? I’m a mage of the highest order. I’m well versed in all the rat-and-maze games you play. If anyone is being insulting, it is you.”
Palzor’s lips curled. “I could have you wiped out with—”
“A whisper?” Fogle said, cocking his head. “I could wipe you out with a thought.”
Palzor huffed.
Fogle leaned forward with a formidable look on his face. “I was top of the class in all my schools. I even bested some of my teachers. However, I learned nothing from them compared to what I learned out there, fighting underlings.”
Palzor blinked.
Fogle’s face became a sneer. “And I faced the best underlings. Masters of their craft. Those fools in the towers pale in comparison. And now in their arrogance and foolish ways, they find themselves in too deep with something more dark and fierce than they ever imagined. And you come here to blame us?”
Palzor’s eyes flashed. “You think too highly of yourself, Fogle.”
“No, I know my limits. It is you and the Royals who do not know yours, and now the underlings have you by the nuggets.”
The air became ripe with tension.
Good show, Fogle. Good show. Melegal had to admit, the mage did have some grit to him. And it was clear in the eyes of the women that they could see Fogle’s grit.
“Well then,” Palzor said, “it seems I’ve found the perfect man for the job.”
“How so?” Fogle said.
“Jaen,” Palzor said, cocking his head. “Tell them.”
Smiling, she pulled back her shoulders and started to speak.
Melegal caught a flash of movement from the corner of his eye. Senses dulled by wine, he couldn’t move in time. His fingers stretched out toward a large pellet Palzor had dropped on the table, but not before he saw it exploding into a smoky yellow mist.
Kam collapsed on the table face first.
Melegal’s vision faded and obscured. His sharp mind turned sleepy, but he could hear Palzor’s soft laughter.
In the subterranean world below the City of Three, a small group of underlings stood watch on the shore of the underground river. With a torch burning at each corner, a small barge drifted through one of the tunnels.
“Look,” one underling said, tapping another’s shoulder.
The other underling twisted around.
They all had dark-red gemstone eyes, wore dark mail, and had dark swords belted to their hips. Their hair was long and coarse, pulled back in braids. They were Badoon warriors. Man hunters. Extremely deadly.
“Be ready,” one said, slipping his sword with its jagged edge from the scabbard.
Weapons bared, the underlings returned their gaze to the barge drifting in the water. The craft, big enough for a dozen men, drifted along the slow current of the dark river. The heads of the torches were huge, casting off rank yellow-orange flames.
“What is it that burns so foul?” one said, cocking his head, watching the barge glide by.
An underling shoved another one toward the water. “Fetch it.”
It paused.
“Go!” the underling ordered. “Fear is death.”
“I have no fear,” the underling said, wading into the water with his sword ready. He stopped and glanced back.
“Fear is for humans,” the Badoon leader said.
Chest deep in the water, the underling pressed on until he stood alongside the craft. He grabbed a rope and towed the small barge up onto the shore as far is it would go. “No fear!” he said to the leader and let out an angry chitter.
The underlings surrounded the craft and closed in.
“Look,” one hissed, pointing toward one of the torches.
It wasn’t a torch at all, but a burning underling skull.
They all chittered, looking back and forth at each other and sliding back away from the barge.
“Cowards! Do underlings fear the dark now?” The leader stormed forward, hopped onto the deck of the barge, and spat into the water. He turned and looked down inside the craft. Flies buzzed all over underling corpses. He let out a sharp chitter and staggered back.
At least a dozen underlings lay dead in a pile if caked blood and flesh. Bodies were split open. Arms and legs missing. The eyes were cut out of some.
The underling commander’s jaws clenched, and his fist became tight on his sword. “Get up here!” he yelled, frothing from the mouth.
Underlings had been popping up dead, and rumors among them were running wild. Talk of The Darkslayer had been renewed.
One by one, the underlings climbed onto the barge and gawped.
“We have been betrayed, brethren,” one said, “by the world of men above.”
One of the underlings pointed to a corpse slashed through the chest with his rib cage opened.
“That’s the cut of an axe.”
The leader cut through the dead and swatted the soldier across the cheek. “Do not speak of fables.” His wiry muscles flexed. “The Darkslayer is dead.”
“The Darkslayer never was,” said another.
“You,” the leader pointed, “stand watch.” He pointed to the underling that doubted and said, “You, unload the corpses.”
“We should take them. Show them to the others. They will want to know of this.”
“They will know,” he said. “And for every underling that dies, a score of theirs will die. We must make ready a proper burial.”
Something twitched in the pile of death.
“One lives!”
“Quick! Fish him out!”
The underlings set down their blades and began lifting bodies from the pile.
“Hurry!” one hissed.
They stopped and gazed at a greasy, hulking mess of bloodstained flesh at the bottom.
“What is this?” the commander said, leaning in closer.
Eyelids snapped open, revealing burning blue eyes. A knife blade uncoiled from beneath the dead flesh and struck.
The Badoon commander’s hands clutched at his oozing bowels as he sank to his knees.
A large, primal form exploded into action, wearing a spiked metal helmet on his head. His blade lashed out again.
Blood gurgled from the second underling’s neck.
The third underling went for his sword.
Venir stepped on his hand, plunged his long knife into its skull, ripped the blade out, and slung it into the chest of the fourth underling, who had started a sharp whistle.
The underling toppled over into the water with a splash.
Broad chest heaving, the towering man faced off with the Badoon commander, who was fighting to keep his bowels in place. The Darkslayer slid a huge axe out from under the dead and held the metal before the dying underling’s eyes. “I live, you all die!”
The whistling blade known as Last Call came down, splitting the underling from skull to belly.
Venir let out a triumphant howl and chopped Brool into the meat of the barge.
He hopped into the water, dragged up the underling that had his hunting knife buried inside its chest, and ripped it out. He then heaved the underling’s body into the barge of death and let out a ragged sigh.
“I don’t think I’ll ever do that again,” he said, fanning the flies from his blood-grimed face. He glanced at the split skull of the underling commander. “Yet again, it was worth it, to see the looks on their faces.” He stowed his axe and gear, shoved the barge back out into the Current, and watched it drift away. Wouldn’t mind seeing the rest of them after they get wind of this. “Soon enough, vermin. I’ll have you all soon enough.”
After the battle with the troll, Venir had wandered the water beneath the streets with his foot throbbing and wounded. He had found a nook, crawled in, and slept at some point and had woken up with the throbbing subsided. He thirsted for the world above, but his thirst for underling blood was greater.
No one will miss me up there anyway, he surmised. The burly loner had settled for the armament. Besides, the enemy is down here … for now.
Every day after he woke up, he encountered more underlings. They combed the tunnels. Helm burning on his head, he popped up out of the water behind them. Tore their backs out. Crushed rib cages. Chopped arms off. It was a beautiful thing, hunting them. Putting fear into the fearless. He smiled at the thought, resting Brool on his shoulder as he walked along the dark shore, whistling.
Let them hear me. Let them come.
He’d sniffed out a few of their key locations underground: small garrisons made of stone, perhaps by dwarves, he did not know. They holed up in there as thieves do, moving fast and in larger groups. They dashed to the surface back and forth. They ran goods—and honorless men assisted them.
Those jackals can die too.
Venir, covered in grime, left it be. He liked the tactic, even though he realized the armament offered protection from the sight of underlings, but not from that of men. He’d gotten accustomed to the tactic. And if he didn’t have the armament—after all, he’d lost it before—he’d need an option that would do. Besides, the underling stink made him hate them all the more.
Better than the smell of my own entrails.
His blood started to cool the farther he headed down the shore. He stopped at an abandoned dock. He knew the City of Three as well as many, but the magnitude of the network below it was something he had never imagined. It was a network of rivers, lakes, and tunnels, the destination of water coming from the Great Falls. Small buildings, docks, and shanties cropped up here and there where the poor and decrepit thrived. He caught some of them fishing on occasion. A pastime he missed.
Above, in some places but not all, were markings that gave off a strange green illumination, and Venir had figured most of it out well enough to find sources of food and good water. His stomach groaned. He licked his cracked lips. The water with the slow current was foul for drinking, but there was fresh water not too far ahead. He stretched out his stride and headed down the shore, weaving along the sandy path.
Almost there.
The sound of water rushing over rocks caught his ear. He vanished into a tunnel wide enough for a small craft and emerged on the other side, where the sound became louder. Water cascaded over the rocks nearby, and Venir waded into that water. Scanning the area, he removed Helm, filled him with water, and drank.
“Ah,” he sighed. He took another gulp and hunkered down into the water, leaning on the rocks. The cool water rushed over his aching body and rinsed the gritty film away. His eyes became heavy, and he yawned. Holding Helm in front of him, he ran his thumbs around the eyelets. “How long must this go on?”
Helm remained silent.
Venir knew how long. Until either he was irretrievably dead or all the underlings were.
“I need sleep, good sleep,” he said to Helm. “And you don’t allow that, do you?” He tucked Helm into his lap. “Of course you won’t.” He wedged himself deeper into the rocks, closed his eyes, and fell into a deep sleep.
Hours later, Venir’s haggard body slipped into the water. He woke up gasping for air and splashing in the water. He found his footing and pushed up out of the water with his broad chest heaving and swiped his hair out of his eyes.
That was foolish.
His fingers clutched empty air. Helm was gone. He didn’t see Brool either. Frantically, he searched through the water, finding nothing.
“Looking for this?” a voice said from behind.
He whipped around.
An underling bigger than him had Brool in its grip and wore Helm. Its eyes flashed silver.
Venir froze.
“Come and get it, Darkslayer!” it said with a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth as it stepped off a ledge of rocks and waded into the water.
Venir drew his hunting knife and faced off with the towering creature.
“Die, Darkslayer! Die!” it said. The great war axe went up and came right back down.
Venir’s limbs froze as he watched.
“Aaaagh!” Venir yelled, jumping up out of the water. He thrust his knife out and whirled around. Nothing was there save him and the small waterfall.
“Helm!” he said, rasping.
He dropped knees first into the water and began searching. His head snapped up at the ledge where the underling in his nightmare had been. He took a breath and resumed his search until his fingertips found some metal. He jerked Helm from the water. “That was close.”
Next, he found the shaft of his great axe and held it tightly in his grip.
“Too close.”
He shook off the nightmare. It wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last. After all, life on Bish was a nightmare.
He was wading back toward the shore when his instincts fired. Torchlight caught his eye. Small craft—barges and gondolas—were cutting through the water. The heavy breath of large dogs sniffed along the shore.
Bish! Underlings work with men! Curse them all!
A knot of dark bodies crept up the shore, holding the dogs back on leashes. That wasn’t all, either. There were angry chitters from more animal-like hulking forms with a pale glow to their skin. It was the albino urchlings. A force of them.
They don’t have my scent yet, but they will.
He strapped on Helm, and his instincts lit up. He could feel the hatred of dozens of underlings.
They must have found the barge. How long did I sleep?
Venir drifted back into the tunnel he had come through earlier, fighting the compulsive urge to battle. Clearing the arch on the other side, Helm reignited. Another massive hunting party waited on the other side.
Mintaur
“Wake up,” a polished voice said. “Wake up, you have work to do.”
Soaked by a bucket of water, Fogle lifted his throbbing head from his chest. He went to rub his temples, only to find his hands weighted down with metal gauntlets.
“A precaution.” It was Palzor who spoke. “I couldn’t let those fingers be free after you bragged about the formidable force that you are. Tsk. Tsk. And taken down by a sleep pellet, at that. Albeit a potent one.”
The room was sparsely furnished and dimly lit by candles on the dark oak walls. Melegal sat beside him, hands and arms tied as well. Across from him, Palzor sat behind a small table. Behind him were two guards, heavy in armor, and another pair of characters Fogle had not seen before, fully cloaked in dark hoods.
I don’t even want to know.
“Is this how we are to help you find Venir?” Fogle said. “By kidnapping us? To what end?”
“A formality,” Palzor said, turning the pages of a heavy book. “My, I marvel at how you magi read these things. Of course, I can read some of it.”
“That’s my book!”
“Indeed.” Palzor licked his thumb and turned another page. “Remarkable reading, but it does give me a headache. Hmmm … this is interesting, a lightning shower. Most impressive.”
Blast! I should have left it with Boon after all!
Palzor closed the book and leaned forward on his table. “I’m sure you’ll cooperate in order to get your spellbook back. I call it insurance.” He pointed his fist at him and closed one eye.
Twing!
Fogle jerked away and hit the floor. A dart imbedded itself in the wall.
“Now that is something more to my liking. A nice touch for a rogue, eh, Melegal?”
Melegal didn’t respond.
“Now,” Palzor continued, “you can have your spellbook back, but I’m very fond of these, so I’ll be keeping them. But if you find your friend, then I’ll reward you with your lives, and the lives of your friends at the Magi Roost. After all, they are also in danger.”
Kam! “That’s a cowardly way to operate.”
“I’m no coward. It takes courage to get where I am. And money.”
“Your definition of courage and mine I’m certain are quite different.”
“It’s about money. I make money. That’s what I do. Who cares were it comes from.”
“Dealing with the underlings is madness!”
“It’s business.”
“It’s suicide.”
“For you, maybe.”
Fogle groaned. Idiot! “So, we are to fetch around in the dark.” He held his gauntleted hands up. “And if I come across any danger, then I guess I’ll just slug it out?”
“That does paint quite a picture.”
“I can’t go down there without any spells and expect to find him. And I know nothing of the world below this city. Is this really your plan? It’s not very well thought out.”
“Oh, I assure you, there is plenty of thought behind this, and it’s time you were made privy to it. You will accompany my two associates below. They are quite familiar with the dark.”
Fogle could smell underling all over them. He’d become more than familiar with their faint but unique stench in the Outland.
When they unveiled their faces, their black-nailed hands covered with thin grey hairs confirmed it. Two underlings with citrine eyes glared at him with malicious intent.
“I never could have imagined such a day,” Fogle said. He glanced at Melegal. The thief was stone faced and quiet. “But at least I know what to expect from them.”
“And what might that be?” Palzor said.
“Death.”
“Well, I’m assuming your formidable skills will avoid it, and you’ll return right back to me with your troublesome friend.”
“What makes you think that we can draw him out?”
The underlings slid over and dropped two hoods over them as he heard Palzor say, “Because you’re good bait for him.”
“Oh, look who’s up,” Jaen said.
Kam peeled her face up off the table and started rubbing her head. She searched out Jaen’s voice. Her half sister stood behind the bar, and her tavern was filled with a dozen heavily armed soldiers.
“Can I have an explanation for this?”
“Certainly. Palzor took your friends out to run an errand. I’m to keep watch on you in the meantime.” She huffed. “A belittling thing, but it was Father’s orders. I think he hopes we can mend things.”
“Am I some sort of ransom?”
“You are being held for ransom,” Jaen said, aloof. “That’s how it always works, doesn’t it? Hmmm … Handsome and ransom. I like those words.”
“You are a whore, the same as your mother.”
“Which makes our father a whoremonger,” Jaen said. “What of it? Aren’t you a little too old to be worried about the liaisons of men? I’m sure your little brat’s father has had plenty, being a strapping warrior and all.”
“How long is this game going to be played, Jaen?” Kam straightened in her chair. “Hmmm? You being Father’s loyal little daughter. Will you never learn?”
“And give up all I have for this harrowing life?” Jaen said, gesturing with her arms. “You must be joking. It is you who are playing games, by pretending to be a commoner.”
“I have a purpose.”
“You have nothing,” Jaen said. “Just a quaint tavern. And what has it gotten you? A missing hand. A bastard child.”
Kam shot up out of her seat and stormed toward the bar.
A soldier stepped in front of her.
“Get out of my—”
The soldier backhanded her across the face and sent her into a table.
Stunned, Kam shook her head and started to rise again. Her green eyes flashed. “You dare!”
“Careful, Kam. These men have very fond eyes for you.” Jaen took a bite of an apple. “I’m sure they’d be more than willing to put you in your place. Or on your back might be a better phrase.”
“You are foul, Jaen!”
“Not as foul as men,” she said, taking another bite. “Hmmm … I wonder what that Fogle is like. Have you bedded him?” She searched Kam’s eyes. “No? Good. If he lives, I just might have to venture that. But, I don’t think he’ll be coming back.”
“Your friends, well, they are trouble. All of them. I’m pretty sure Palzor is going to get them all killed, one way or another.”
“Is that so? Why do all of this, then? Why the show?”
“Need you really ask?”
Kam felt her knees become weak, and a sickness returned to her stomach. “Royal Games,” she said, dipping her head into her chest. “I should have known.” She lifted her chin and said, “All in the midst of the underling chaos?”
“It makes the game so much more exciting.”
Kam’s face turned into an angry sneer. “You’ll pay for this!”
Jaen nodded to the soldier.
Kam toppled over the table, cracked her knees on the floor, and moaned.
“I didn’t realize how much I hated you until I saw you again,” Jaen said. “I didn’t want to come. I really didn’t. But then I thought, ‘Why not? It might be fun.’ Turns out it is.”
On her knees, Kam found herself surrounded by three soldiers leering down at her. She covered herself the best she could and rose back to her feet. She found Jaen’s eyes between the men’s broad shoulders.
“You need to let this go,” Kam said. She could feel her face swelling. “Some lines, you cannot cross back over again.”
Jaen smiled. “I made that choice the moment I arrived here.” She nodded to the soldiers. “Take her!”
Lefty ran for his life. Underlings, five in all, were after him.
Darts streaked by his head.
This is madness!
He splashed through murky water and wove through the overhanging branches of trees. He glanced over his shoulder.
The underlings were only a dozen yards behind him. Their dark bodies, corded in lean muscle, sent a chill through him. Their edged blades made him gulp. His weary legs pumped harder, taking him to the point of exhaustion. His Lightfoot speed was going, diminishing before the fresh legs that pursued him.
He dashed by a large willow tree out of the underlings’ line of sight and dove into a thicket, where he curled up into a ball.
The underlings dashed underneath the tree and came to a stop. There were four of them on foot plus one rider on the back of a sand spider. Lefty could see their gemstone eyes narrowing in the mist.
The underlings chittered back and forth, fanning out. The rider came right toward him. The spider’s tentacled feet probed the water.
I’m in for.
It came closer. Closer.
Lefty squeezed his eyes shut.
The leafy branches of the willow tree shook, and all the underlings looked up.
“Huzzah!”
Pall dropped from the branches, crushing the underling on the spider beneath his feet. His fat blades came down hard into underling and spider meat.
The remaining four underlings converged, striking hard and fast.
Pall batted their dark steel away with power and speed that belied his girth and age.
He caught one in the neck, sending blood flying. He slipped under the blade of another and rammed his machete through its gut. One underling jumped on his neck and started stabbing with fury. Pall slung it off into the other and pounced on the both of them.
“Vermin! I’ll teach you!”
Flesh and bone ripped and cracked. Blood flew through the air. The underlings tore at Pall like rabid dogs. They dragged him into the muddy sod, claws and teeth biting and tearing at his flesh.
Lefty stirred in the brush. Do something!
Muddy and bloody, Pall emerged from the muck and fog with his hands locked behind the underlings’ necks.
“I’ll teach ya!”
He slammed their faces together.
Clock!
He drove their faces into the water and mud.
Their arms flailed. Their legs kicked.
Pall’s big, bearded face turned around. “Get out of that thicket, boy!”
Lefty crawled out of his patch, watching the twitching of the underlings subside and then stop.
Pall, grizzly and gory, pulled the underlings up and shook them. “Got to make sure they’re dead. They play possum sometimes.”
Lefty held his hand over his pounding heart and nodded.
“Ye did well, drawing them out like that.”
Something seized Lefty’s leg.
The underling on the spider locked his clawed fingers onto Lefty’s ankle.
“Aggghhh!” Lefty cried.
“Use yer axe, boy!”
Lefty snatched it out of his belt and chopped at the underling’s arm.
It wouldn’t let go.
“The head, boy! The head!”
Lefty sank the axe into the back of the underling’s skull.
Its fingers peeled away from his ankle.
Lefty skittered away.
“That’s more like it,” Pall said. He had dropped the underlings and now began stuffing tobacco into a pipe. “I like a smoke after a battle.” He winked at Lefty. “I think you’re due for one as well.”
Shaking, Lefty glanced at the carnage. Pall’s efforts were devastating.
“You’re bleeding pretty badly,” Lefty said, gazing at a gaping wound in Pall’s shoulder.
“That?” Pall said, eyeing it. “Har. It’s hardly grave.” He rubbed his fingers together over the tobacco in the pipe, and the leaves turned to flame. He began puffing. “Ah, that’s better. I haven’t had a good puff in days.” He extended his hand. “Try it.”
Lefty recognized the aroma immediately. It was the same as Mood’s cigar, and it began to ease his thoughts. “I’d better not, unless you want to carry me.”
“Har. That won’t be a problem. You did good, boy.”
“Lefty.”
“You did good, boy Lefty.”
“No, just—”
Pall started walking away.
“Where are you going now?”
“To get them wart-noses. Har.”
“But …” Lefty’s shoulders sagged. Perhaps I should take his pipe and smoke it.
Venir had his shield but no armor. His hand-and-a-half axe throbbed in his hand. His blue veins pulsed with fire.
Helm urged him into battle. Kill them! Kill them all!
Venir could feel the underlings’ vile thoughts, too. Vile. Hate filled. Cruel. There was nothing he wanted more than to destroy them, tear them limb from limb. But he needed control. He needed a plan.
Kill them! Kill them all! Helm beckoned again.
“I will,” Venir said, under his breath, fighting the urge, “but not just yet.”
Venir slunk down into the water until he could no longer hear the dogs barking. From there, he waded forward out of the tunnel, eyelets cresting above the dark water. Ahead, underlings and men in a small craft dug long fishhooks into the water. Others scoured the dark beaches.
Where did so many come from?
Only the Royals would stoop so low. After all, this was exactly what they had done in Bone. They did the unthinkable: dickered with underlings. So why was he so surprised? He could warn them of the underlings’ plans, but would they listen to him?
Deeper he went into the shallow river that formed small lakes. He carried on, careful of the lanterns and torches illuminating the gloom with soft, wavering light.
His heart raced. His nostrils flared.
Kill them!
“I see something!” one man pointed Venir’s way. “Over there!”
Venir sank into the water and scraped along the bottom on his belly, away from the light and the craft that were coming. Long and hooked sticks jabbed into the water, just missing his feet. He swam underneath one craft and waited. All he could see was the faint light shimmering above, and all he could hear were the sticks jabbing into the water. But he was drawing a crowd.
His lungs began to burn.
Aw, piss on this!
He braced his back on the river bottom, gathered his legs over him with his feet against the craft, and heaved upward.
Men and underlings screamed in surprise. The craft toppled over, and Venir emerged.
“There he is!” one man cried.
A chorus of chitters arose.
Venir’s muscle-laden arms were already swinging.
He gored an underling with Brool’s tip, picked it up out of the water, and slung it into another rogue-filled craft.
Blood sprayed from one man’s busted chest.
An underling’s head popped from its shoulders.
“Son of a Bish! What is that beast?”
Shield strapped to his back, Venir swung hard and fast, each cut filled with fury.
Hack! Chop! Slice!
He gored. He speared. He decimated.
“I’m getting the slat out of here!” one man yelled, paddling away.
Clatch-zip! Clatch-zip! Clatch-zip!
A barrage of underling bolts feathered the fleeing man’s back.
Venir chopped through man and through craft. His movement was not slowed by the water, but his enemies’ was. He swung Brool into one man’s shoulder, severing his arm. He gouged a sapphire eye from an underling’s face.
Brool was an arc of death. Everything coming inside its radius died.
Clatch-zip! Clatch-zip!
The underlings on shore fired another volley.
Venir jerked up Brool’s broad blade, ricocheting the bolts away.
Roaring, he headed straight for them. “RAWR!” His boots sloshed up onto the shore just as two underlings cut into his path and stabbed at his gut. Venir twisted left, spun a half circle, and turned one underling’s back into a pool of blood.
The second underling slashed.
Venir turned, caught the blow on his shield, whipped back around, and skewered its chest.
Towering over underling and man alike, Venir hewed them down in lightning-fast strokes.
Nine!
Ten!
Eleven!
Rip!
He missed. His battle-enraged mind settled. No one was there. Underlings stood back with their weapons brandished, wary. Men paddled away on their boats, crying out and muttering.
“Let the fiends have at him.”
“I didn’t sign up for this.”
“My brother’s dead. His face is caved in. Blecht!”
Helm pulsated on Venir’s head.
He could hear and feel the terror in the atmosphere he created. He liked it. Broad chest heaving and lathered in blood and sweat, Venir bellowed out, “Come on, you cowardly dogs!” He shook his axe. “Come! Fight!”
The underlings, gemstone eyes glittering, remained still.
Venir took a full stride forward. “Then I’ll bring my axe to you!” He took another step and stopped. A ferocious howl rose from behind him in the cave tunnels. He twisted his metal-laden head around.
Albino urchlings and huge, mangy dogs poured, shrieking and barking, from those tunnels.
The frenzied horde would overwhelm him in seconds. He dug his boots into the dirt and faced the enemy.
Melegal had weakened his bonds by sawing at them with his diamond-dust-covered fingernails.
Wait for it.
As soon as the underling dropped the sack over his head, he twisted his bony wrists from his bonds and struck. His hand latched onto the underling’s wrist, and he summoned a charge of power from his ring.
Zap!
The underling stiffened and fell limp.
Sensing the other underling coming for him, Melegal dove on its ankles and squeezed.
The underling twitched and fell.
“Seize him,” Palzor cried out to his guards. “Kill that bony wretch!”
Palzor’s voice was all Melegal needed. His mind underneath his grey cap glimmered. His thoughts became sharp razors. Freeze!
The two guards came at him, booted feet scrambling over the planks.
Melegal jerked his hood from his face and slung his elbow into one of the guards.
The next brute slammed into him, crashing him to the floor.
Melegal clutched the man’s throat.
In a clamor, the big man twitched and collapsed.
Melegal twisted out from underneath the man just as the other guard’s sword ripped from its sheath.
“Be still, you, else I cleave you in two!”
Melegal lifted his shoulders and said, “That will never happen.”
The guard lunged with a well-placed jab straight for Melegal’s heart.
Melegal’s mind was faster, and his body less than a breath behind. He sidestepped the blade, spun backward, and rammed a well-concealed thumb knife into the guard’s temple.
“Urk!” The guard toppled to the floor.
Melegal kept moving right past Palzor’s time-frozen stare. The King of Thieves had the dart launchers pointed where Melegal had been battling underlings moments ago.
Perfect. Close, but perfect, if I do say so myself.
“What’s going on? What’s going on?” Fogle said.
Hearing the wizard’s muted cries, Melegal jerked the hood from Fogle’s head and cut his bonds.
“How?” Fogle said, staring at their frozen enemies with widening eyes.
“Never underestimate The Rat,” Melegal said.
“Your nose,” Fogle noted, “it’s bleeding.”
Melegal dabbed his finger into the small trickle of blood. His head didn’t hurt, much. He checked his surroundings. Nothing more impressive than impressing yourself. He unlatched his dart launchers from Palzor’s arms and strapped them on his own.
“How did you do that?” Fogle said, snatching up his spellbook. “Honestly, how did you?”
Melegal tipped his cap. “A thief never tells.” He patted Palzor down and emptied his pockets one by one. He whispered in his ear. “You’re fast, but not faster than me. Nor half as clever.” He then jerked off Palzor’s boots, tore off his shirt and shoved him to the floor.
“Pull off his trousers, will you?” Melegal said to Fogle.
Melegal eyed him. “Don’t you think Palzor’s wishing he stripped me by now?” He unbuckled Palzor’s belt and ripped it off. He then cracked the man across the back.
“Melegal! What is the meaning of this?” Fogle said.
“He deserves it. He knows it.” He kicked the man in the ribs.
“That’s enough!”
Melegal kicked him again and again. “Have you forgotten this man gave us to the underlings, bound and helpless?”
“No, but I’m sure the City Watch—”
“Are you jesting with me, Fogle? He has the City Watch eating out of his hand, and so do those guys,” he said, glancing at the underlings. “Which reminds me.” He picked up one of the fallen guards’ swords and stabbed it through one underling’s back and then the other’s. “Got any problems with that?”
Fogle shook his head. “I understand your point, I’m just surprised by your action!”
“Well, I can’t say I’m surprised by your inaction.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You boast of being this formidable mage, and you fall prey to some sleeping pellet?”
“I had a plan, and it would have uncoiled at any moment.”
“Sure,” Melegal said, winding cords around Palzor’s feet and wrists. He tied another around his mouth. “But at least you managed to get this man’s pants off him. Well done, wizard.”
“So what’s the next part of your plan? I’m curious, seeing how we have no idea what’s on the other side of that door.”
“I thought you would have something in that book of yours.”
Fogle didn’t respond, but his lips were moving over the pages.
Melegal slid over to the door and put his ear to it. Certainly if others were nearby they would have heard the scuffle. But the door was fairly heavy. He pushed down on the handle and cracked it open, revealing a large room full of shelves and crates.
Interesting.
Torches hung on the windowless walls, and the ceiling was that of a warehouse or barn. A depot of sorts.
“Are you coming?” Melegal said to Fogle.
The mage opened and closed the spellbook three times, shrinking it to the size of his hand. “I’m ready,” Fogle said.
“A little late for that,” Melegal said, “but maybe it will come in handy the next time you’re kidnapped.”
“You have a sharp tongue.”
“And blades to match,” Melegal said, pushing the door open. “Now go.”
“What about Venir?”
“It seems he’s doing more good down there than up here.”
Fogle batted his eyes.
Melegal rolled his. “You aren’t really wanting to go down after him, are you? After all, what would Kam do if you both died?”
“You’re joking.”
Melegal lifted his brows. “Am I?”
Fogle huffed. “What about Palzor?”
“I’ll take care of him. You just get your book-toting arse out of here!” With a firm push, Melegal shoved Fogle out the door.
“Are you not coming?”
“Do you need me to hold your hand? Go rescue that fiery witch from Jaen.”
“You should come.”
“I’m no hero, I’m a thief.” Melegal closed the door in Fogle’s face.
“Brak!” Jubilee shook him. “Wake up!”
Brak blinked his blurry eyes. “What are you doing, Jubilee?”
The sandy-headed girl climbed up on his chest and slapped him in the face.
“What did you do that for?”
“Get mad, Brak!”
“Will you stop that!”
“Are you getting mad?”
“Yes!”
“That’s better, now get really mad!”
Brak’s eyes turned red. “You’re being silly. Why are you doing this?”
“Because you’re a stupid ugly cripple!”
“I am not!” he yelled. “Why are you saying this?”
“Because you’re a useless lump of flesh and bones!” Jubilee reared back.
Brak caught her hand. “Don’t do that again!”
Jubilee swung her other hand.
“Get off me!”
“No!” she yelled in his face. “You want me off, push me off!”
“You’re crazy!”
“No, you are!” she said, pounding his chest. “Go crazy, you big-faced bast—”
A heavy pounding came at the door. Gruff voices shouted, “Open it, little girl! We know you’re in there!”
“What’s going on?” Brak said.
“Kam’s in danger! We all are!”
The frame of the door splintered. The door fell into the room. Two soldiers entered, roughhewn men with weathered faces.
“Come with us, girl, else we run you through!” He spat on the floor. “You, man, get up!”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t? Or won’t?” the soldier pulled out his sword.
“He’s crippled!” Jubilee shot back. “Leave him alone!”
“Hah! Come with us then, girl, and we’ll see the cripple well cared for.”
“You leave her alone,” Brak said, pushing Jubilee behind his bed with his good hand.
“Ha ha ha! A courageous cripple. Never saw that before.” One soldier guarded the door while the speaking one stormed over. “My father says the only good cripple is a dead one.” He raised his sword. “And by the looks of things, you’re going to need a boat for a coffin.”
Jubilee screamed and dove on Brak’s chest. “Don’t kill him! Don’t kill him! I’ll do as you say!”
The soldier grabbed her by the hair and jerked her off of Brak. “You’d better believe you’ll do what I say, little honey.”
“Let her go!” Brak yelled.
The soldier stabbed him in the leg.
Brak didn’t even groan.
Jubilee started kicking and screaming at the top of her lungs.
“He didn’t feel a thing!” the soldier said.
“Stop it! Stop it!” Jubilee screamed.
All the soldiers did was laugh.
Hidden in a hallway closet, Jasper watched two soldiers march by, banging on tavern room doors.
What do I do? What do I do?
Part mage and part thief, Jasper had had it easy all her life. She trained, she studied, she stole. But when she met Melegal, the stakes had been raised. Now she found herself making life-or-death decisions. And she was too young to die.
She recalled a spell in her mind and left it ready on her lips. Sneaking down the hall on hands and knees, she peeked through the balcony railing. Kam was pinned down on a table, and Jaen was behind the bar, laughing. Jasper didn’t care much for either of them, but she didn’t care to watch Kam getting defiled, either.
I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die.
She knew that Jaen was a mage of the highest caliber, every bit as dangerous as she was beautiful. She’d teleported Jasper and Melegal from the ground into the tower! Such mastery was incomprehensible to Jasper. So were Jaen’s acts of evil.
Embrace the madness and live. Shun it and die. Melegal had told her that and some other interesting things. Nothing better than a deadly surprise.
Closing her eyes and picturing the scene, Jasper stretched her slender arm through the balcony rails, spread out her fingers, mumbled, and released her powers.
A bright flash erupted over the soldiers’ eyes, bathing the room in an ultra-bright light.
The soldiers moaned and howled.
“Who dares?!” Jaen shouted. “Who dares?!”
Jasper opened her eyes in time to see Kam kick the men and scramble away. Next, Jasper’s eyes fixed on Jaen’s.
“You!” Jaen said.
Jasper felt power hit her in the chest.
If you’re going to be brave, make it count before you get killed.
“Seize her!” Jaen ordered. “Seize her and bring her corpse to me!”
The soldier lanced Brak’s other leg with the point of his sword, drawing dark red blood.
“Stop that!” Jubilee said.
“He can’t feel it, heh. And I find it entertaining.”
She bit the man’s hand.
“Agh!” The soldier’s sword clattered on the floor. “I’ll skewer you next, you little—”
Brak stood upright, nostrils flaring, with only the whites of his eyes showing. His fingers latched onto the soldier’s neck and hoisted him from the ground.
The soldier’s legs dangled and twitched. His tongue juttered from his mouth. His neck snapped with a sickening crack.
Jubilee swallowed hard and backed up into the other guard.
“What is that man?” The large soldier’s voice trembled as they both stared.
“He’s all the bad things you’ve ever done, coming back to get you.”
The soldier grabbed her and held his sword to her neck. “Back off, or I’ll cut her throat open.”
Brak grabbed the fallen soldier’s sword and came right at them, a towering and terrifying thing.
“We need to run!” Jubilee said, squirming.
“I-I-I never run from anything,” the soldier said. “Back off, ogre!”
Brak’s giant stride didn’t slow. His sword went up and came down.
The soldier raised his sword arm.
Brak’s blade shattered metal and carved into skull.
Squealing, Jubilee twisted out of the dead man’s grip and dashed down the hall. She ran into Jasper at the balcony.
“Don’t go this way!” Jasper said.
“No, don’t go that way!” Jubilee cried.
“It’s too dangerous, Jubilee.”
“No,” the girl said, shaking her head and pushing the dark-clad mage toward the stairs. “You have to trust me!”
Jasper wrestled her to the ground. “Jaen is down there!”
“Brak is coming!”
“So?”
Jubilee grabbed Jasper’s face and twisted it toward the hall.
Jasper’s painted dark eyes widened.
Brak came storming down the hall, blood oozing from his thighs. He clutched a bloody sword in one hand and hefted a dead body over his shoulder. A bestial scowl was on his face.
“That’s not Brak,” Jasper said, scrambling to her feet.
“It’s the bad side of him.”
“Will he kill us?”
“He’ll kill everything in sight.”
The pair was cut short as two soldiers wielding swords crested the stairs.
“You’d best turn the other way!” Jubilee yelled. “If you want to live.”
“I don’t think so, little—Bish! What is that?”
Jubilee hit the floor, dragging Jasper down with her.
Brak hurled the body into the soldiers, and down the stairs they went.
Crash! Bang! Smash!
“Go!” Jubilee pushed Jasper. “Go!”
Both young women hit the bottom of the stairs at once and jumped over the toppled soldiers. They dashed into the tavern, oblivious to Jaen’s screams.
Brak jumped from the balcony, crushing one soldier under his feet and hacking another up.
Jaen pushed the remaining soldiers at Brak. “Kill that big oaf! Kill him!”
Brak turned, head and shoulders low, face splattered in blood. An inhuman cry ripped from his throat. “RAWR!” In one great stride, he collided into the throng of well-trained, fully armored soldiers.
A terror.
A fury.
His gory blade’s speed and power were unmatched. It sheered a clavicle. Ripped through armor. Guts and entrails spilled under the wrath of the berserk meat cleaver.
Jasper gaped and gagged.
Jubilee grinned. That’ll teach those bastards!
Kam found her way between them. “We had better get out of here.”
“There’s the door,” Jubilee said.
The trio headed for it, but the door slammed shut.
“No one goes anywhere!” Jaen’s eyes were lit up in radiant purple. Her hand glowed with the same fire. “I’m not through!”
Brak let out a guttural howl. He was suspended above the dead, hacking at the air. He flung one sword into the back of a crawling soldier and let out another howl.
“I don’t know who this man is, but his days are through,” Jaen said. “And so are all of yours!”
“Get down!” Kam said.
A blast of power surged into the three.
Sssrazzz!
Their bodies tumbled and skipped through the chairs and tables.
Jubilee groaned and twitched.
Jasper moaned and spat blood.
Kam fought her way to her feet
“Stay down,” Jubilee said, grimacing. Blood dripped from her nose to her mouth. “Stay down.”
Kam staggered up with her head held high.
“Take me, Jaen, but leave them alone.”
“No,” Jaen said, making her way out from behind the bar. “I’m going to let you watch me kill them first.” Another blast burst from her hands, flinging Kam over the table.
She didn’t get up this time, but her eyes were open.
Jaen stopped in front of Jubilee and Jasper and looked down. Her hands still flared with mystic power.
Jubilee’s hair stood on end.
Jaen sneered. “I hate meddlers. But I do enjoy killing them.”
Underlings and men were one thing. Cave dogs and urchlings with poisoned claws were another. And there were packs of both.
Venir stepped toward them, shouted, whipped around, and retreated. He caught the underlings barring his path flatfooted and plowed through them with a wide, arcing swing.
A clamor rose from the dark bodies. Howls of outrage chittered after him as he sprinted down the shore.
Helm shouted inside his head, Go back! Kill them! Kill them all!
“No!” Venir growled. “I’m in control!”
Helm had controlled him plenty before—and he had died for it. Now he would fight on his own terms. Dashing down the dark shore, he passed docks and small caves scattered along the river. Here behind the ranks of the search party, he didn’t need caution. He stretched his stride.
Barking hounds and shrieking underlings sprinted toward his back, closing in.
Turn and fight them! Helm urged.
Venir felt Helm tearing at his mind. Running wasn’t Helm’s way. But he knew the swarm would overwhelm him.
“Time to try things my way.”
Another hundred yards, maybe two, he went down the shoreline. He could feel his pursuers’ breath on his heels. He ran down a set of docks and dove into the Current.
Claws scraping over the wooden planks, the albino urchlings screeched to a halt.
Venir treaded water, thinking, Maybe they can’t swim. Beginning to sink, he took a breath.
One by one, the dogs jumped off the dock and swam toward him. The albino urchlings followed, plunging into the water.
Venir’s boots hit the bottom, and he started his walk toward the other shore. His eyelets crested and his body emerged on the other side.
The first cave dogs crossed just behind him and charged.
Brool lashed out.
Yelp!
The dog fell.
Two more crossed the river, shook the water from their fur, bared their teeth, and leapt to attack.
Brool’s spike lanced one in the heart. His fist cracked another in the snout.
The vicious beast latched itself on his arm, jaws locking.
Venir screamed, dropped Brool, ripped out his hunting knife, and plunged it into the dog.
Its body fell limp.
He snatched up Brool and began running again.
Dogs were still crossing the water, and the urchlings pursued him from the other side, racing him up the river.
Leaping over deadwood and debris, Venir sprinted by more shanties. He needed higher ground. Sanctuary. Escape.
His chest burned.
Kill them! Kill them all! Helm urged.
Venir’s legs continued to churn through the darkness. The shoreline and river narrowed ahead, where more water rushed out from a dark tunnel. The urchlings surged ahead to cut him off. Venir pumped his legs as fast as he could, but not fast enough. The urchlings cut off the passage, and more cave dogs started to cross.
“Fight or die!”
Kam’s eyes fluttered open. She groaned to see Jasper and Jubilee sitting on a table, bound to one another with mystic ties, screaming at the top of their lungs while Jaen stood between her and them, laughing.
“What are you doing?” Kam managed to say.
“Laughing at them.”
“Because they think they’re on fire.” Jaen’s purple eyes flashed. “Isn’t my power fascinating?”
“It’s sickening,” Kam said, struggling against her own bonds. “You need to stop this! How can you be so depraved?”
“I enjoy it.”
Weary, Kam tried to think of a plan. She had nothing left. No spells. No power. On the other hand, it appeared Jaen had power oozing from her. Her half sister was strong, very strong, stronger than her, even. “What do you want from me?” Kam groaned.
“Entertainment.”
“Tormenting others isn’t entertainment. It’s evil.”
“It’s more or less an experiment. You know that. You were part of the circle of mages once.” Jaen smiled. “And what you shunned, I embraced. I so enjoy the power.”
“You’ll never know true power,” Kam said. “That’s what the circle never understood.”
“Oh, and you do?” She looked around the tavern, huffed, and rolled her eyes. “I can see that.”
Jasper and Jubilee’s screams continued.
Near the bar, Brak was still suspended, chopping at the air with his other sword.
“Please let them be,” Kam pleaded.
“It’s merely an illusion. Just a really good one.” Jaen’s nostrils flared. “I swear I can smell the flesh burning in the air. Can’t you?”
The screaming was maddening.
“Stop it!”
Jaen waved her hand, and the screaming stopped.
Jasper and Jubilee panted. Their bodies were covered in sweat, and their eyes had a glassy look.
“Is that better, Kam?”
Kam nodded.
“I’ve an even better idea.” Jaen extended her hand toward Brak. Using her powers, she brought his floating form over and stopped him a sword stroke from Jasper and Jubilee.
Jaen winked at Kam and said, “Imagine your berserk … oaf I guess … mutilating your friends, whom he believes are my soldiers. Wouldn’t that be horrifying?”
“Please,” Kam said with tears streaming from her eyes, “don’t do this! I’ll do anything!”
“No you won’t,” Jaen said. “You say you will, but you won’t. You are too stubborn, Kam. Too proud. Humility is beneath you.” She moved Brak closer. The frenzied man hacked away. “Now, to return the girls’ senses to them.” She rolled her fingers.
Jasper and Jubilee blinked. Their heads snapped up toward Brak.
“Brak!” Jubilee cried. “Noooooo!”
Brak’s feet hit the floor, and his sword came down.
Heart in her throat, Jasper squeezed her eyes shut. I hate this place.
Kam’s thoughts raced. I’ve failed them all.
Jaen’s eyes were wild with passion. Controlling people aroused her.
Zang!
An invisible force flung Brak into the nearest fireplace, crushing the mantel.
Jaen whirled toward the front door. “You!”
A man with tousled brown hair stood just inside the door frame. He wore dark-green robes and had an angry look in his eyes. Fogle Boon’s hands stretched out before him. His eyes bore into Jaen.
“I don’t know how you escaped,” she said, “but it will be your own peril.” Shards of purple light came from her hands, lashing out at Fogle.
He swatted the blasts away with the mystic shields on his own hands. Then he loosed his own lightning. The tavern lit up as white-hot light streaked across the planks and into Jaen.
There was a sucking sound. The silvery light disappeared into the glowing orb that Jaen jerked out from her sleeve.
She started laughing. “There’s nothing you can do to hurt me,” she said, raising the orb high over her head. The bulb radiated with power. “But there is plenty I can do to hurt you.” She loosed all she had absorbed.
It smote Fogle full in the chest, disintegrating him and setting the tavern on fire.
Kam screamed, “Noooooo!”
“That was easy,” Jaen said with a smile. “Sometimes, I even surprise myself.”
Someone tapped her shoulder.
She turned and found herself looking up into the face of an angry Fogle.
His eyes locked on hers.
She felt her mind and his mind merge.
“You’re a bad woman, Jaen,” a voice said inside her head. “And it’s time you paid.”
The orb dropped from her hand. “Uh …”
The world around her went dim.
“Welcome to my world, wicked child,” Fogle said inside Jaen’s mind. He’d tied the two of them up in a mind grumble, and now the pair fought for their lives.
“Fool!” Jaen said. “You cannot best me!” She clawed at his thoughts, tore at his brain.
Fogle laughed. “Child, surrender,” he said, his robes stretching out, enveloping her, “before all is lost.”
They battled in another plane now, the plane of wills and minds.
She turned loose one terror after another: images of him shackled and tortured, the same images with Kam and the others.
He launched his own assault: evils he had discovered in the recesses of underling minds.
Jaen screamed. And then she slipped her fingernails into the back of his neck, drew him toward her, and whispered poisoned thoughts into his ears. She was strong, conniving, and subtly vicious.
His mind quaked. His will bent.
“You are mine,” she hissed in his ear. “All mine, wizard!” Her mystic body wrapped him up from head to toe, warm and seductive in power, exerting her will and offering her body, offering him everything. “Be mine, Fogle,” she said. “Be mine forevermore.”
He could have given in. Most men would have, with the things she offered, but he knew better. He held on, pushed back, and exposed the angry jealous woman within her. He laughed again, a deep resonating sound.
She shrieked and attacked again, digging into his painful memories. “A woman left you for a dragon?” But she found no doubt in him, no weakness. She did uncover a sliver of anger, however.
He swatted her efforts away like flies. “I’m over it, and I’m finished with you.” He plucked all of her mystic knowledge from her mind, one syllable at a time.
“What are you doing?” Jaen wailed. “Stop that! Please, stop it!” She wrapped her arms around his legs and feet. “I beg of you.”
He tore out words she’d never recall again. Made the simple cantrips difficult.
She shook and screamed. Her mystic form jerked, buckled—and then his connection with Jaen shattered.
Fogle gasped, staggering back. “What happened?”
Kam stood over her half sister’s body, staring at the dagger in her back.
Fogle blinked hard at the shaking woman. “Why? You didn’t have to do that. Why?”
“I didn’t do it,” Kam said, not looking his way. “Jubilee did.”
He found Jubilee sitting cross legged on the table. She had a spacey look in her eye when she said, “She deserved it.”
“See them?” Pall said.
Lefty shook his head no.
“Those are tracks,” Pall continued, speaking from one knee. He placed his hand on a patch of moss. “It’s scraped. Just a bit.”
I don’t care. I just want out of here.
“What kind of tracks do you think they are?”
Arms folded over his scrawny chest, Lefty lifted his blond brows. “Deer?”
“Have you ever seen a deer in a marsh?”
“Moose?”
“Rrrh … you are a confounding little man. I’m trying to teach you something.”
“I can’t think when I’m this hungry.”
“Oh,” Pall said, “why didn’t you say so?”
“I did.”
Pall reached into one of the many pouches that decorated the belt that held in his belly and pulled out some black nuts. “Try ’em.”
Lefty plucked one out of his grimy paw, dropped it in his mouth, and bit down. It was sour and hard as a stone. He spat it out.
“What did you do that for?” Pall asked with a scowl.
“It’s made of stone.”
“You suck it, not chew it.”
“You didn’t tell me that, and it tastes horrible.”
“Are you still hungry?”
Pall stuck the stone back inside Lefty’s mouth. “Suck on it till the bad taste thins. It’ll go. You’ll see.”
Lefty found a spot beside a tree and sat down. After a while, his hunger eased, but he still felt queasy. The buzzing flies, big and green, didn’t help things either, landing on and taking off from all the dead bodies. He covered his nose.
They smell even worse dead.
Pall wiped his blood-coated machete blades on the ragged clothes of a dead wart-nosed dwarf. Less than an hour ago, they had come across them, and Pall had the jump on them. He killed four of them in seconds and then showed mercy on the fifth. The limping and wounded dwarf now carried the heads of two of his comrades—along with a message.
“I’ll find and kill all of you,” Pall’s message said, “if I ever see a single one of you again.”
Lefty found relief in the threat but no relief from the present company he depended on.
“You ready?” Pall said, sliding his blades back into his belt.
“For another hunting lesson?”
“No, to find yer way out of this stinking sweat hole.”
Lefty lifted his head from between his knees. “Please don’t be joking.”
He killed. Murdered. Tormented.
Buzz!
Elated, Eep had passed through Bish and his own mystic dimension dozens of times since his new mistress took over.
He’d crossed from one corner of Bish to the other. Hungry. Starving. Ravenous for blood. He landed on a jagged face of rock overlooking a narrow canyon. Covered wagons rattled over the dirt, stirring up the dust. Men’s, women’s, and children’s faces were long from traveling in the heat. He could hear their hungry stomachs groaning. All thirty of them, fleeing the south, heading north through dangerous sand storms and unpredictable monsters, like him.
Please let me kill them, he thought, clutching his taloned fingers in and out.
No, a firm voice responded inside his head. Female. Pleasant. The polar opposite of what he had been accustomed to.
They won’t make it. It would be mercy.
No.
Please …
He’d been trying to kill ever since he’d been summoned. He’d even pounced on a pack of dwarven soldiers, only to have his efforts recalled.
Trinos had shaken his mind for it. “Don’t try that again,” she had said. “You do nothing without my express permission. Just find Scorch.”
That’s when Eep had begun begging. Pleading. He’d been created to seek and destroy. His long red tongue licked out, snatching a crawling bug. He crunched down.
Did I say you could eat that?
Don’t test me, not even one more time.
Sorry, Mistress. So sorry. Never again. Never again. But I hunger so much. You must let me kill something.
Soon. Now search.
Yes, Mistress. He sighed a raspy sigh. Blink.
Eep resumed his efforts. Inside the mystic plane, he could see almost anywhere in Bish. He just couldn’t see it up close. It was more or less a bird’s-eye view of things. If he saw something interesting, he’d blink in for a closer look.
In Two-Ten City, orcs and ogres battled underlings to maintain control.
Outlaws Hide had become a bloody smear in the desert, where the underlings now thrived.
The Outposts scattered over the south teetered back and forth between Royal occupation and underling occupation. Soldiers battled. Thousands died.
Everyone was killing something except Eep, it seemed. It just wasn’t fair.
He buzzed the treetops of the Great Forest. Cut through the water of the Lush Lakes. Terrified vermin in the Red Clay Forest. In Bone, he busted through windows and tore out window frames, terrifying the women within.
She says I can’t kill, but she didn’t say I couldn’t scare.
His stomach growled—not from a lack of nourishment but from a lack of the slaughter. He buzzed over a flock of sheep and farmers, salivating.
Find Scorch.
Grinning with his sharp, jagged teeth, Eep flew on. His new mistress, powerful though she may be, didn’t understand the world as he did. He could tell that she didn’t mind seeing all the places that he took her. She found it fascinating. Hence, he delayed his search, buying time, not wanting to find his mark only to be banished shortly thereafter.
There must be something she’ll let me slaughter. Something!
He continued to cruise the sky, cutting through the clouds, scattering herds—watching the underlings have all the fun mutilating and terrorizing. Black wings humming, he circled a horrible scene.
Leagues east of Dwarven Hole, the underlings, ten in all, had a handful of Royal soldiers hemmed in behind the rocks. They were led by an underling mage, dark robed and floating above the ground. Horrifying but also fond memories of Oran, Catten, and Verbard stirred. He cocked his horned head.
Do I miss them?
Badoon warriors hacked a man to pieces and flung them over the rocks, where the three other men huddled together. One of them was holding in his guts and spitting blood.
Haggard, bloody, and bearded, one of the soldiers stepped out from behind the rocks to make his final stand. Hefting a bastard sword and limping, he came forward.
Eep’s large eye widened.
I at least need a snack while I watch this.
The underling mage floated high and out of sword reach. His cobalt eyes flared with color, and ribbons of lightning coiled along his wrists and lashed out toward the soldier.
Zaa-Booom!
Flesh and armor sizzled and exploded, leaving only the soldier’s boots intact. The rest of him was scattered hunks of flesh.
Eep laughed and started clapping.
What are you doing? Trinos interrupted his mirth.
Eh … nothing, Mistress. Moving on now. Nothing to see here.
Do you want to kill?
Yes! Yes! He nodded. His eye locked on the two human soldiers. Please turn me loose!
You may kill, Eep …
Salivating, he started his descent.
…but not the men. You must kill the underlings.
Eep pulled up.
What are you waiting for, imp?
For all of his existence, Eep had served the underlings. They were the ones who had created the spell that summoned him. Commanded him. Tormented him. He recalled all the horrible things they had done to him. Catten and Verbard had chopped him to bits and fed him to dogs once. No, twice! He eyed the underling mage hovering a hundred feet below him.
Really? he said to Trinos.
With full hostility.
Contempt filled him. Blink. He appeared behind the mage and tapped it on the shoulder.
The underling jerked around. Its blue eyes widened.
Eep’s clawed fingertips tore out the underling’s throat. Feels good!
The underling’s body drifted to the ground among the ranks of its brethren. The Badoon underlings were quick to react. Small crossbows loosed.
Darts peppered the air.
Eep plucked the harmless bolts and needles from his eye and skin. Then he grinned.
He tore out one underling’s back and disemboweled another.
Howling, the underlings converged on the knotted hulk of muscles. Steel skipped off his chest. Striking like snakes, they jabbed into his hide.
Eep reappeared on one underling’s head and pushed in his eyes.
A sword came down at his horns with pinpoint precision.
The blade chopped deep into an underling’s head, splitting it like a melon.
Eep latched onto the underling that swung the sword and pushed his claws into its neck. Blood seeped from the wounds. Eep’s tongue licked out. “Yes!” he hissed in triumph.
His wings buzzed, propelling him into a Badoon’s belly, claws first.
The underling screeched and jabbed a knife at Eep’s neck.
Eep tore out the underling’s innards. Yes!
An underling grabbed Eep’s feet. Another walloped him upside the head with a mallet. Suddenly, the Badoon, no longer surprised, drove him into the ground and began to filet him.
Bite!
Slash!
Blood soaked Eep’s eye. The knot of angry fighters was tightening, cutting him from head to toe.
Eep screamed.
He appeared above them as red death, blood soaked and chest heaving. He shook, showering the searching underlings below with blood, both his and theirs. There were only four left.
Battered and bloodied, the underlings dug their feet into the dirt.
Eep’s mouthful of razor-sharp teeth snapped open and shut. “Time to feast!” He dove.
The underlings hunkered into a stance, swords and javelins ready.
He landed on the ground behind the four of them and slashed through the tendons behind their knees.
Two collapsed. Two attacked.
Eep reappeared behind one underling, hooked his claws under its armpits, and flew straight up in the air. One hundred feet. Two hundred feet.
“Fly underling, fly!” He let go.
With a sickening thud, the falling underling smashed on top of the two with their knees cut out.
Eep dusted off his bloody claws and locked his eyes on the last underling. “What is this?”
The Royal soldiers charged from behind the rock, attacking the last standing underling.
The underling turned to greet his aggressors with two swords bared.
“Nooo!” Eep screamed.
The larger warrior’s sword arced downward, chopping through the steel of the underling’s blades and sinking his own blade deep into its skull.
Eep landed on the soldier’s back and started to tear his throat out.
Don’t you dare, imp! Leave that man be!
He let the man go, shook the blood off, and buzzed away.
No more games, imp. Find me Scorch, and I’ll feed you more underlings.
“We can’t just drift into the Underland with you looking as you do,” Master Sidebor said.
“I don’t see why not,” Scorch said. “I think I can handle any danger.”
Sidebor’s face tightened. As much as he anticipated his return to his homeland, he had no desire to be slaughtered the very moment he arrived.
“This requires stealth. Deception.”
“Ah,” Scorch said. He capped the pickle jar. “So you prefer I assume the form of an underling? Maybe I could be one of those horrible … oh, what do you call them?”
“Urchlings.”
“Yes, I think that is what you would like to see me be.”
Sidebor had thought about it. He needed to guard his thoughts better. “Underlings know one another, but they don’t pay such close attention to urchlings or the like.”
“How about you be the urchling, and I’ll be you?” Scorch’s body shifted, and his robes darkened in color. “How is this?”
Sidebor faced a mirror image of himself. “Flattering,” he sneered, “but we don’t need them to recognize either one of us, now do we?”
“Of course not,” Scorch said, “but I don’t think we need to worry about that right now.”
Ahead, the Current dropped off into the sound of a crashing waterfall. The craft glided over the water, coming to a stop at a small dock.
Sidebor tied it off and followed Scorch down the pathway. His fingers tingled as he stepped onto the overlook.
A vast, dark city sat below, carved from stone and fused by metal. Lights twinkled with a soft glow as far as the eye could see. He was home for the first time in centuries.
“How much did you miss it, now that you see it?” Scorch said.
Sidebor’s heart pounded. There weren’t many things that moved him, but this did. “I have no word for it.”
Scorch slapped him on the back. “I can tell.”
The Underland was glorious. The mammoth cave spanned miles. The castle and buildings rivaled anything above ground. Towers with spires hundreds of feet tall. Roofs of silver and gold. Caves overlooked the city with hundreds of openings and a vast network within. The Current turned into a lake that the city sat on. Underlings paddled small craft through the water. Others floated.
Sidebor could hear music over the roar of the falls. “Hmmm …”
“Something amiss?” Scorch said.
“There isn’t as much activity as I’d expect. The streets seem … barren?”
“Perhaps you should lead the way?”
Sidebor summoned his power, stretching his limbs and converting his eyes from deep red to that of a burning orange sapphire. The hair on his head and brows was already thicker than it had once been, thanks to the new body Scorch had provided.
“Nice touch,” Scorch said. His ruby eyes turned to sapphire blue. “I like blue. Lead the way.”
Stone staircases wound downward, stopping at a large platform suspended in the air. Wooden walkways with arched bridges went off in several directions. Sidebor felt a tad queasy. There had been changes. Many structures he remembered were gone. New ones, huge and grotesque, replaced them. All of it bore the mark of Master Sinway.
Sidebor’s claws dug into the rail where he stood.
“You have family still?” Scorch said.
“I’m certain they are all dead. Come.”
Sidebor could have floated but chose to walk. The less attention they drew the better. So far as he knew, Master Sinway didn’t know he was back and had no reason to believe he would be. His adversary had no idea that Scorch had met with him, either. Still, certainly Sinway had some kind of warning in place.
“No one is expecting us,” Scorch said.
Sidebor glared at him. The man—or whatever he was—had too much power. But every power has a weakness.
They made it down to the main streets of the city, where underlings in commoners’ clothing prowled, decorative and tasteful. There were merchants, storefronts, and the aroma of comfort foods he’d gone long without. He heard Scorch’s stomach groan.
“Underling cuisine?” Scorch perched a brow. “How interesting.”
It drew some stares from passersby.
“Speak Underling,” Sidebor whispered in his own tongue. “I suppose you can do that?”
“Certainly,” Scorch said back in Underling.
“I suppose you want to dine.”
Scorch took a seat at a table in front of a dreary café.
A small female underling came out and greeted them. Her hair was white, eyes pale violet, skin dark grey, and very little covered her nubile form.
Scorch eyed her with interest while Sidebor ordered. Scorch’s eyes followed her when she departed. “That was delightful,” Scorch said. “Enchanting and pure evil. Hah.”
“She’s a wretch riddled with imperfections. Why else would she work here?” Sidebor scanned the area. The underlight kept the cave linings illuminated, but there were still exquisite lanterns posted, and lights coming from all sorts of windows. The Underland was a place with its own hideous beauty. Cold. Uninviting. Underlings talked and bartered, but no money was exchanged. Just agreements of sorts. His tense muscles began to ease.
The underling woman returned with a bottle of port and a plateful of steaming food. She bared a jagged tooth behind her crooked smile and walked away.
Scorch inhaled the aroma. Dug his fork into the food.
Sidebor filled their goblets.
“Mmmm…” Scorch commented, “sweet, sour, and spicy all mixed into something that is far from delicious, yet satisfying and palatable. How would one describe? Gorlicious.”
Sidebor rolled his eyes.
As they ate, Scorch asked question after question. Sidebor explained the underling ways, everything from commerce to mating. Scorch devoured it all.
“I can’t believe what he has done,” Sidebor commented later.
“And that would be?” Scorch said, tapping his chest and letting out a gentle burp.
“The Underland is practically abandoned. Our forces are … gone.”
“It’s not likely the Underland will ever be invaded.” Scorch finished off his port and saluted. “A gutsy move!”
More stares came their way from other underling patrons that sat nearby.
“Perhaps we should go, before you prattle off any more gibberish.”
“Certainly,” Scorch said. “Let me pay for the meal, and then you can take me on a tour.” His hand slid off the table.
Sidebor snatched it. “We don’t pay for such things. It’s all taken care of.”
“Not even a tip?”
“A what?”
“Never mind,” Scorch said, scooting his chair back, making an awful noise. He bumped into underlings seated at another table, jostling their drinks. “Apologies.”
What is this fool doing?
“Did you say something?” Scorch said, teetering away. His feet left the ground, and he began walking on air.
Muttering an underling curse, Sidebor grabbed the hem of Scorch’s robes and pulled him back to the ground. “Get your senses back, Scorch,” he hissed in his ear. “You’re making a scene.”
“Certainly, Sidebor,” he said.
“Keep your voice down. It’s likely a crime to mention me.” Sidebor shoved Scorch along, avoiding all the probing stares, and stopped just inside an alley. “This loose behavior ends now, Scorch,” he said, seething.
Blue eyes flashing, Scorch said, “You dare threaten me?”
“You threaten both of us,” Sidebor said. “As powerful as you may be, you don’t want to engage a host of underling magi. It would be unlikely you’d crawl out of these caves alive. There’s hundreds of them down here.”
“Hundreds?”
“Well versed. Hardly pawns.” His sharp nails dug into Scorch’s arm. “I demand your discretion.”
Scorch glared into his eyes, shoved him out of the way, and sauntered into the streets filled with prying gemstone eyes. Hic! “Come along, Sside, hic … I mean, comrade. I’m so ready to absorb this fine city.”
Sidebor waited in the alley, fingers twitching and mumbling to himself. “He’s crazy.” He caught up with him. “You’re going to get me killed.”
Hic! “Oh, why would I do that?”
Venir cut down two urchlings and the last cave dog. He’d been cramped inside a tunnel, barricading himself behind a pile of the dead. Hours earlier, he had mown a path through them, huddled into the tunnel, and made his defense. Now a heap of mangled bodies, gouged faces, and twitching limbs kept his pursuers at bay.
He hefted Brool up one more time and brought it down on an underling’s neck.
The head dropped into the knee-deep water.
Venir gulped for air and leaned his broad back against the wall. His iron-thewed limbs ached and burned. Gashes seeped blood from him everywhere.
Kill them all! Helm urged yet again.
Ignoring the call, Venir turned and ran. The time when Helm controlled his every movement was gone. He’d faced fire, torture, and death countless times. He had become the ultimate survivor.
No metal bucket will tell me what to do.
He sloshed through the water and popped out of the tunnel. Boots back on a sandy shore, he jogged through the darkness. He’d given the underlings something to think about. Their pursuit was muted by his impossible efforts. The farther he ran from them, the more the simmering helmet on his head cooled. His formerly battle-heated body became heavy, his breathing ragged. He forged ahead, stopping on the planks of a dock he had found two days earlier. There was a staircase leading to the city above. He swallowed and looked back. The tunnels were silent, the air cool.
Time for some new scenery.
With a groan, he slid his shield off his back and snatched his backpack. He pulled out the stitched-up leather sack and opened up the neck. The shield went in first, followed by Brool. He unstrapped Helm’s chinstrap and scanned the dark water and tunnels through him one last time before he pulled him off and dropped him in, spike first.
Venir’s energy sapped.
With effort, he stuffed the limp sack back into his pack, shouldered it, and limped up the stairs. His boots squished on the planks. He reached the top, pushed open the door, and was hit by a blast of fresh air. He staggered into the alley and collapsed into some crates and garbage, laughing.
It was night, but it might as well have been day after being surrounded in blackness for ten days. He forced himself up and wandered down the alley, uncertain where he was. The streets were lifeless, quiet. All the shutters were closed. Doors were sealed.
But the City of Three always has night festivities.
Horse hooves caught his ears, and the rustling of armor. Venir slipped into the shadows between two storefronts. The City Watch, some on horseback and others on foot, patrolled the streets with lanterns. Venir saw a weary look in their eyes.
A pair of men were cuffed and walking with a woozy gait. One stumbled and fell to his knees and started giggling.
“Get up!” a watchman said. “Get up now!”
“I’m trying.”
A club came down.
“Get up, or we’ll leave you out here with the underlings.”
“No!” the man said. “No!” He forced himself up to his feet with the help of his friend. “Sorry.”
The watchman smote him on the back.
“Quit howling and come along.”
They moved on.
Venir could feel the heaviness in the air. The nervousness of their voices.
Kam dabbed a wet rag on Fogle’s brow. The pair sat underneath the balcony, out of sight.
“Are you well?” she said, smiling.
“I’m fine,” he said, leaning closer. “Just fine.”
The Magi Roost was a mess. Jaen’s powers had set portions of the bar on fire. Fogle’s magic and buckets of water from the trough outside had extinguished it. Now, the fine tavern was once again marred in smoke, grime, and blood.
He stared at the corpses. Jaen and a dozen soldiers were laid out alongside one another. Jaen’s figure stirred him. He’d never seen such evil from a woman before.
“Thank you, Fogle,” Kam said. Standing over him while he sat in a chair, she hugged his face. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, his voice muffled against her breasts. He felt her soft lips on his forehead. His battle-dulled senses found new arousal. Blood rushed through his hips.
Kam sat down on his lap and continued to wipe the grime from his face.
He averted his eyes from her heavy stare. Tried not to ogle her. He wanted to pick her up and take her to her room.
She’s incredible.
“I’m glad you stayed, Fogle,” she said, lifting his chin and looking deep into his eyes. “Very glad.”
“Brak,” Jubilee said, shaking him. “Brak, snap out of it!”
Part of her didn’t want to stir him. Hours ago, he’d almost hewn her into bits and pieces, but she was the one who had provoked him, after all.
“I think you should leave him be,” Jasper said. She sat at the fireplace with her feet up. “He almost killed us.”
“No,” Jubilee said, looking over her shoulder at the dead. “She did.”
“Well, you showed her different, didn’t you?”
“She had it coming.”
Shivering, Jasper drew her legs up to her chest and held them tight. “I’ve never seen anything like that before, and I thought I’d seen plenty. I’m guilded with a nasty crowd. And Fogle,” Jasper said, eyes sliding over, “he took out Jaen, well, mostly. She’s one from the highest order.”
“You’ve never been to Bone, have you?” Jubilee said, snapping her fingers in front of Brak’s face.
“No. I’ve always heard it was a little slathole filled with the nasty races.”
“Hah! You’re joking.”
Jasper shook her black-haired head. “It’s well established that the most powerful live and thrive here in Three.”
“You’re serious.”
Jasper nodded. “And there will be consequences, now that Jaen has fallen. Her allies, I’m certain, won’t take this well. Not well at all.” Her eyes locked on Jubilee’s. “They’ll avenge her.”
“Whose side are you on, anyway?”
“My own.”
“Well, you’d better pick one.”
Jasper leaned back and closed her eyes.
“Mrrmuh,” Brak said, shifting on the floor.
Jubilee put his head on her knees and stared down at him.
“What happened?” he said, smacking his lips.
“You killed everyone again.”
“Only kidding,” she said, “you only killed almost everyone.”
“I did? Who?”
“Just a bunch of soldiers—and you almost killed us.”
Brak jerked up into a sitting position. “What?”
“You sat up, Brak!”
He scanned himself. Moved his arms and fingers. His jaw dropped.
“Can you stand?” Jubilee said. “Here!” She pushed a chair over. “Try to climb onto this.”
“I can’t,” he said, shaking his head.
“You can! I just watched you kill all those men,” she said, pointing at the corpses. “That wasn’t done by a cripple. Now get your arse in that chair, Brak!”
“Are you going to start saying mean things again?”
Jasper huffed a laugh.
Jubilee glared at him. “If I have to.”
“I don’t like that.”
“Well, I didn’t have much of a choice,” she said, folding her arms over her chest and looking away. “You saved us all for it, so let it go.”
Grunting, Brak took a knee and looked down at her. “How’s this?” he said.
“Can you stand?”
He stretched upward, and a smile started on his grim face.
Jubilee’s eyes turned to saucers. “Brak! You did it! You did—”
He teetered over and crashed through a table, hitting the floor with a thunk.
“Well,” Jasper said, “at least he made some progress.”
Kam’s lips found Fogle’s: soft, warm, hungry. Her fingers ran through his hair. Elation consumed him. Logic gave way to lust.
Wham!
Heavy blows rained down on the front entrance.
Kam’s lips tore away from Fogle’s, but her hand held him fast by the hair. Sweat ran down her heaving chest.
The next blows shook the hinges, bowing the door inward.
“I can fix that,” Fogle said, twitching his fingers.
“No,” Kam said with her eyes smiling at his, “save your energy. I’m sure they’ll go away.”
“Could be the Watch.”
“They’d have said something. The Royals would have too, for that matter. It’s just travelers looking for an inn. They’ll move on.”
They waited, panting.
Fogle’s hand eased up her thigh. “Seems you were right.”
She kissed him. The world melted away. A rush of lust consumed him. He kissed her neck.
“Upstairs,” she said, kissing his ear. “Take me now.”
“Absolutely—”
The front door burst open, shattering the bar. A statue covered in blood and brawn staggered inside, his skin slashed to ribbons in a dozen places. He held a large purse in his bloody hand and tossed it on the remains of the bar.
“Grog is on me,” he said, staring through the room with fierce blue eyes. “Start pouring.”
He crashed face first to the floor.
Kam jumped off Fogle’s lap and rushed over. “Venir!”
Fogle’s passion fled. “Slat.”
A bucket of water splashed all over Palzor’s body, awakening him from his slumber. “What! What! What!” he said with his head jerking around.
One of his guards stood in front of him with a bucket hanging from his mailed fist. Tight leather cords bound Palzor’s wrists, and he wore nothing but shorts. He was inside his warehouse, just outside the room he’d been in earlier.
“Cut me loose, fool!”
The guard, a sizeable man in plate armor with a heavy bruise on his chin, said nothing.
“Are you mad? Cut me loose!”
The guard’s eyes drifted over his head. He nodded. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
“Who is back there?”
The guard stepped forward and slugged Palzor in the jaw.
He saw spots, and his head rang. He spat out a bloody tooth. Sniffed the air. “Melegal, is it?”
“Must be. The mage doesn’t have these methods in him.” He spat more blood. “But you, you show promise … Melegal.”
The guard dropped the wooden bucket over his head.
Palzor fell silent. He hadn’t suffered the slightest sort of unwanted discomfort in decades. His thoughts raced. Last he remembered, he had everything under control and Fogle and Melegal were minutes from an inescapable dilemma. Well, the tables have been turned.
The thief exploded into slippery action.
Palzor’s body froze. He couldn’t even move a finger. How did he do that?
Perhaps the mage had managed something he’d overlooked: a mind grumble or a certain spell. But he’d foreseen that. He could only listen in frozen fascination as Melegal dropped two underlings and two guards in sizzling fashion, his speed and movement superior to even Palzor’s.
Magic. Must be. I certainly underestimated that thief. A shame. He could have been useful to me.
Palzor strained at his bonds. The more he moved, the tighter they became. Well done. But he’d never met a rope that could hold him yet. Just a matter of time. Bound, naked, and weaponless, I’m still a dangerous man. He practiced some breathing exercises. Closed his eyes. Meditated.
Clok. Clok. Clok. Clok …
A wooden object, maybe a spoon, struck the bucket in a steady rhythm, interrupting his thoughts. It went back and forth. On the right. On the left.
He wanted to curse, scream. It seemed Melegal was prepared for him. Perhaps it was he who had been duped. Set up. Deceived. He did have plenty of enemies. Had Jaen betrayed him?
The noise went on for an hour, a slow and steady pounding in his eardrums. He couldn’t focus. He could barely think.
Beat that bucket all you want, but I won’t break.
He sat still, trying to block out the pounding and the burning of his haunches under his seat. His back became stiff and achy. He felt old.
Angry.
He chewed at his lip and strained at his bonds a little at a time, hour after hour after hour.
Please! Somebody come! I’m important!
The thumping on the bucket stopped. Someone behind Palzor removed it from his head. He strained his eyes, staring into nothing but the pitch black. He could make out the outlines of the same walls he’d stared at before, but the guard was gone. The air was cool on his sweaty neck.
Time to negotiate.
That’s when he noticed a table: waist high, narrow and rectangular. He could hear breathing in the room, very faint, but distinct, heavy. Although it had stopped, the thumping from the bucket continued to play on inside his head. His stomach growled. His throat was dry. “I could use more of that water about now.” He heard a chuckle. Very deep. Hollow.
Who is that?
He turned his neck.
A heavy blow drove his chin into his chest. Bright purple spots danced in his eyes.
“Melegal,” he said, “tell me your demands. I’ll double them.”
Flint struck. A warm glow of light started up, casting his shadow over the table. He swallowed. Looking downward, he could see the bloodstains in the wood and the metal cuffs that locked his hands to the table. A pair of mintaurs, brawny, ram-faced, horned men almost five feet tall, stepped on either side, facing him. Their corded arms rested over their barrel chests. He didn’t know them.
“Triple,” he said.
The heavy voice laughed again. It sounded like a very big man, perhaps orcen.
“And a fine retainer for your men.”
The mintaurs picked up the table and rested it over his knees. A cold blade slid down his wrists, giving him a shiver.
“We don’t need to be barbaric about this,” he said. “Just talk to me, Melegal.”
Interrogation. He had used similar tactics on many, but he’d never been through it himself. And who was this Melegal anyway? Jaen had learned little about him aside from the fact that he had experience dealing with underlings. He had seemed an ideal candidate to be a go-between, someone who didn’t cower to the deviant breed. But Melegal had resisted, and his comrade, Venir, had gone into a fighting frenzy, screwing everything up. They were a different breed.
His cords were cut.
Palzor slipped his hands away from the mintaur’s grasping hands and started to rub them. “A moment of comfort, and my hands are yours to mutilate.”
The mintaurs’ heads turned to the figure behind him.
Palzor struck. Quick as a snake, his fingers plucked a small knife from a mintaur’s belt. He cut its wrist, making it flinch, and he lashed out at the other, who jerked back. Feeling movement behind him, he tilted his chair over, avoiding a skull-rocking blow from a mailed fist. He sawed the cords on his feet against the legs of his chair.
Almost there! Almost out of here, fools!
His sawing stopped.
What! What is happening?
He couldn’t move.
No! Nooooooo!
The strong grip of the mintaurs seized him and set him up in the chair. In a moment, they had cuffed his wrists to the bloodstained table again.
At least I got a look at them.
There was a big goon, a tall and meaty half orc wearing a beat-up hauberk of mail. Beside him stood Melegal, arms folded over his chest, wearing a fine traveler’s cloak, yawning.
That’s my cloak.
One of the mintaurs secured the bonds around his feet. The other set a hammer and nails on the table, along with a couple of blades. Palzor could still see, but he couldn’t move a single thing. Then the bucket was dropped over his head and the tapping renewed.
Melegal dabbed a handkerchief under his nose and checked it. No blood, but the headache had returned. Palzor’s attempted escape was impressive, but anticipated. The King Thief was quick. Nimble. Deft. His movements could be replicated by Melegal, but not as fluidly yet.
It’s a good thing I got the drop on him, or he’d be long gone by now, and I’d probably be dead.
He watched the half-orc thug pound at the bucket. He’d hired these hands off the street. Durable and desperate, they made the best henchmen. Palzor’s guard stood watch nearby. He was affable for a thug. He didn’t much care for Palzor, anyway. He didn’t care for Melegal shocking the crap out of him again, either. Not too smart, he’d been easily convinced to change his loyalty.
It was time to bleed information out of Palzor. Melegal needed a better feel for how things worked here in the City of Three. Palzor’s guard, Zurth was his name, might not have been too bright, but he had a good memory. He had filled Melegal in on several key details. The rest, Melegal’s sharp mind began to fill in on its own.
Perhaps it’s time I became a Royal.
He rested in his thoughts until Palzor’s fingers began to wiggle.
Showtime.
The bucket was jerked off Palzor’s head and slung with a hollow clatter over the floor. Melegal stood behind the table, cleaning his nails. That was when Palzor saw all his rings on the rogue’s slender fingers, sparkling in the lantern light.
“You can keep the rings,” Palzor said. “And there are many more where those came from. Treasures beyond comprehension.”
“It seems you think little of my imagination, Palzor.”
“I wasn’t questioning it. It was more of a statement.”
Melegal slid his dagger into his sheath, leaned over, and began drumming his fingers on the table. “I don’t think you’ll be able to make use of these rings anyway.” His eyes slid over to the mintaurs, who withdrew the knives from their belts. “They require fingers.”
A blade flashed down.
Palzor slid his hand away.
Melegal’s brows lifted. “Now that is fast. Very fast. Back in Bone, we have a game called Hand Stabs.”
Palzor shifted in his chair and cleared his throat. “We have our own version here, but I believe the rules are less confining.” He shifted his hands that were cuffed to the table. “What are the terms of this challenge?” Delay, Palzor thought. The longer things took, the more likely his loyal followers would find him.
“Oh, well, it seems there isn’t much that you have to offer at the moment, seeing how I have your rings.” Melegal nodded to the mintaurs. They rested their elbows on the table and raised the blades for striking. “But my ears are open to your temptations.”
“Then let us talk. I see no need to play this game.”
The mintaurs struck at once.
Palzor twisted his hands away.
The back of one hand bled.
“Oh, that’s a mark. That means you lose,” Melegal said.
“Just tell me what you want, Melegal. This game is silly.”
“Aren’t all Royal games silly?”
Palzor leaned backward and laughed. “You’re no Royal.”
“And you are?”
“Of sorts, yes, I am.”
The blades came down again, just missing Palzor’s hands.
“How does one become Royal?” Melegal asked, drumming his fingers again.
“You’re born into it,” Palzor said with a shrug. “You know that. Everyone knows that.”
“Hmmm,” Melegal said, leaning back and rubbing his dimpled chin. “Have you ever known a good thief who didn’t have any fingers?”
“As a matter of fact, I—”
A blade flashed in Melegal’s hand and cut through one of Palzor’s fingers.
Palzor screamed. His face reddened, and his breaths began puffing.
Melegal withdrew his dagger, wiped it off with a handkerchief, and said, “Let the Royal Games begin.”
Venir stirred from his slumber.
“Where …” he said, starting to sit up. Pain raced through his body, and he eased back down.
A candle lit the apartment room, and his frame filled a small bed. He had bandages all over him and a stack of pillows under his head. He caught the heavy stare of a towering figure sitting at the end of the bed.
“Brak?”
“Uh huh.”
Venir’s vision focused, and he caught a soft smile on his son’s face. “Have you grown more already?”
“You can move?”
Brak stretched out his arm and patted his legs. “Just about everything. Not so well, but I think, I think I’ll manage.”
Venir noticed recent jagged marks on Brak’s face and arms, a dim fire in his blue eyes. “That makes me glad,” Venir said. Grimacing, he forced himself up into a sitting position. He could taste a scab on his lip, and everything else was sore.
“I’m glad too,” Brak said, squeezing Venir’s ankle.
Venir sucked through his teeth. “Easy now. I’m as tender as slain venison.”
Brak chuckled. “Do you ever get used to it?”
“Getting stabbed?”
“Hmph … only when it kills me, I guess, and that’s happened a few times.” Venir peeled a bandage away from his arm. Stitches made tracks up his forearms. “Nice work. Who did it, Kam?”
“Joline.”
“Where’s Kam?” he asked.
Brak shrugged his heavy shoulders.
“Never mind. I’m certain I was the last person she wanted to show up here again. I probably got blood all over the place.”
“You did.”
“Was Kam upset?”
“She made Jubilee and Jasper clean it up.”
“No, about me.”
Brak shrugged again.
Venir decided to change the subject. For some reason, he didn’t like the way this conversation was going. “So you can walk again?”
“I have crutches. Seems when I go … well … berserk, all my parts are working. When I snap out of it, I collapse, but I get more movement back each time.” He shrugged. “It’s happened twice since you’ve been gone.”
“I haven’t been gone that long, have I?” Venir reached for a pitcher of water on the table. He slugged it down and wiped his mouth. “Ah! What sets it off?”
Brak talked about what had happened when he, Georgio, and Nikkel battled the underlings. It riled Venir’s blood. His son went on to tell him how Billip, Georgio, Nikkel, and Boon had departed for the Outlands.
“Why didn’t Fogle leave?”
Brak shrugged.
“Did I see Kam sitting on his lap when I came in?”
Again Brak shrugged, but he looked away a little also.
Something stinks, and it isn’t me. He closed his fingers into a fist. “Have you seen Melegal?”
Brak filled him in on everything he knew about Jaen and Palzor. His big face saddened, and his chin trembled. “I almost killed Jubilee and Jasper. I almost killed all of them. I don’t want to kill my friends, Father.”
Blocking out the pain, Venir stretched his arm forward and clasped Brak’s hand in his. “You haven’t killed any friends yet,” Venir said. “And I doubt you ever will.” Unless they move in on your woman. “Say, where’s my pack?” He looked around.
Brak reached down in front of the foot of the bed and produced the sack.
“That purse you carried is in there too. I’ve never seen so much before.”
“You peeked.”
Brak wiped his eyes and shrugged. “A little.”
Venir pulled his pack toward him, dug into the back, and produced some coins and tiny precious stones.
Brak’s eyes widened when Venir handed them to him.
“You can buy some fine blades with that.”
“Or an axe,” Brak said, eyeing him.
Venir broke out in a broad smile. “I’ll be glad to show you how to use it.” He swung his legs off the bed and searched for his boots. They were scooted against the wall. He leaned over, stretching his fingers, and pulled them to him. Slowly, he stuffed them on, leaving him shirtless and wearing a pair of dark-green trousers he was unfamiliar with and bandages all over his shoulders and chest. He belted on his long hunting knife.
“Where are you going?” Brak said. “You should rest.”
“I’m going to see your little sister and perhaps her mother.”
“I can get them.”
“No,” Venir said, laying his hand on his son’s shoulder. He bobbed his chin. “I think I’ll surprise them.” And that wizard.
“Kam, please, have a seat,” Fogle said, patting the sofa. “We’ll figure it out.”
She had been pacing the floor for almost an hour, manicured fingers picking at her lips. She circled the sofa, made her way into the kitchen, and poured a mug of coffee.
“That’s your second pot,” he said. “It’s just making you more jittery. Come, sit, discuss.” He patted the cushion again. “Let’s put our heads together.”
She took a deep breath and sat beside him on the sofa with her knee touching his. It sent a fire through him. He touched her hand. It was warm and trembled a little.
“I’ve never seen you like this,” he said.
“You haven’t seen much of me at all,” she replied, staring out the window.
“True, but from what I have seen, even the worst situation never rattles you.”
“It doesn’t take much to rattle me these days.” She leaned back on his shoulder, and he put his arm around her. “I’m a wreck.”
There were issues. Jaen and several of her guards were dead. The Order of Mages would take issue with that at some point. It was going to be a huge problem. Not to mention, Jaen was Kam’s half sister, and her family would have to be notified. But despite the blood splattered all over the tavern, none of that measured up to Venir’s reappearance.
Maybe he won’t wake up. Kam’s scented hair flared his nostrils. She had an invigorating quality to her touch, her moves. We could always induce his sleep.
“Have you ever thought about leaving this place?” he asked.
“Never,” she said, “until recently. Everything has gone so wrong.”
Erin started to cry.
Kam sighed and pulled away from the couch. “Someone’s hungry.” She hoisted Erin up from the bassinette near the window and took a seat in a rocking chair, pulling up her blouse to let Erin latch on.
Fogle tried to glance away.
She caught his stare. “Are you blushing?”
“I…” His head turned. He felt his face warming. “I suppose. I apologize.”
“Don’t be silly, Fogle. It’s quite all right. I should have been more considerate.”
I’m glad you weren’t. Bish, I sound like my grandfather.
A soft knocking came on the door.
“That’s probably Joline,” Kam said. “Do you mind? I’m certain she’s worried sick. It’s been nothing but madness around here.”
“Certainly.”
Fogle headed for the door, unhitched the lock, and opened it up.
He stepped back, blinking, and heard an audible gasp from Kam.
Filling the doorway, Venir leered down at him. Hard lines and scabs marred his face. His brow buckled over his penetrating eyes. “Fogle,” Venir said, slapping his hand down on Fogle’s shoulder. “I wasn’t expecting you.” He shook him. “How goes it?”
“Eh … good, Venir. And you are well?”
Venir pushed his way inside. “I breathe. I live. You can’t have one without the other.” He eyed the apartment and rested his eyes on Kam. “Ah, there she is.” He made his way over to Kam and kneeled down. “I see my little girl’s hungry.” He patted his stomach and eyed Kam. “I could use a meal myself.” He gently stroked the golden locks on the back of Erin’s head. “I feared I might never see this magnificent little creature again.”
Fogle noted the stained bandages and stiffness in Venir’s gate. There was strain in his deep voice. The man was in pain. He’d suffered wounds most men would have died from. Joline had spent hours stitching him up.
He’ll never die. “How about some coffee, Venir?” Fogle said.
“Ah,” Venir stretched his mighty frame up, faced him, and nodded. “I’d like that.” He focused his attention on Kam. “Brak seems fine now. Are you still not speaking to me?”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Hello would be nice,” Venir said, “but if you’d rather hold your tongue, I’ll respect it.” He stepped over the sofa and took a seat. “Ah, such a comforting spot. I’ve missed it.” He patted the cushion. “I’ve spent quite a few nights right here. How about you, Fogle?”
“Me?” Fogle answered. His hand shook as he poured. Stop that! “Why, no. I just became recently acquainted with it, myself.” He set the mug down on the table. “I’ve gotten accustomed to the sandy pillows in the Outland.”
“I see,” Venir said. His hand almost covered the hot mug as he picked it up and gulped the coffee down. “I’ve missed that too. The underlings are very good hosts down in those tunnels.” He took another gulp. “But at least you know what to expect from them.” He set the mug down. “So, Brak tells me there has been some trouble of late. More trouble than me, that is. Care to fill me in?”
Fogle searched for Kam’s eyes.
She shrugged her eyebrows.
He eyed the door.
She shook her head no.
“Have a seat, Fogle,” Venir said. He swung his booted heels up on the table. “I’d like to hear more about the venture Billip and Boon took to the Outland.”
Fogle didn’t want to sit. He wanted to be ready. There was an indescribable tension in the air. And when no one spoke, there was dead silence. His chest tightened. I shouldn’t feel this way.
“I feel guilty,” Venir said.
“Excuse me?” Fogle swallowed.
“Guilty,” Venir said. He slid his long hunting knife out of its sheath. “Not being with them. I should be there…” He shaved the hair off his wrist. “…skinning underlings.” He pointed the knife at Fogle. “I hear there was a strider here, too.”
“Tarcot.”
“That’s interesting. Did he get a tour of Kam’s apartment too?”
“That’s enough, Venir,” she said. “And put that knife away.”
“My grandfather gave me this knife,” Venir said, eyeing it. “Did you know that its edge never dulls? And the blade never stains. I’ve scalped my fair share of underlings with it.”
“You’ve told me,” Fogle said. “But I didn’t know about the edge.”
“It’s a fine edge,” Venir said, thumbing the blade in a dreamy state, “A fine edge we walk, isn’t it?”
Fogle recalled some spells, watching for any sudden moves. He’d fought giants, underlings, and dragons, but he’d never fought against this new enemy that tore him up inside: guilt. He glanced at Kam and then at the barrier between them, Venir. He wanted her more than ever.
“They aren’t gone more than two days,” Fogle said. “I’m sure you could catch up to them.”
“I’m sure I could, but I’ve had my fill of underlings and the Outland for a moment. I wouldn’t mind spending time with my daughter and my son before I saunter back down the dusty trail of death. Care to join me, wizard?”
“I’m in no rush to get back there either,” Fogle said, politely. “And there is a current disaster here that we need to contend with.”
“Huh,” Venir said, tapping his long knife on his shoulder, “things are getting messy.” He glanced at Kam. “Unexpected. You’d think I’d know better by now.” He finished off his coffee and tossed the mug to Fogle. “I think I’ve had my fill.” He lifted his colossal frame off the couch with a grunt, stepped toward Kam, and kissed the head of his daughter. He made his way for the door, stopping just short of the threshold.
Fogle had a spell ready on his lips.
Kam’s eyes shone like emerald moons.
“Kam, next time I see you,” Venir said, sheathing his knife, “Fogle had better be gone.”
Palzor slumped backward in his chair. Blood dripped from the table and onto the floor. Three fingers were missing on one hand and two on the other. Melegal and the mintaurs had done fine work, but it was mostly the mintaurs.
“Keep talking,” Melegal said, “or I’ll have them poke holes in your chest.”
“There is little more to know,” Palzor said, “Royal Melegal.”
“I really like how that sounds,” Melegal said. “Thief King will also do.”
Palzor licked his lips. The handsome man still had his poise about him. An air.
“Thief King, set me free and I’ll show you all I know.”
“Ha,” Melegal said, walking away. “I know enough already, I think.”
Over the past few hours, Palzor had spilled some very detailed information about his operations and contacts, including several Royals. Melegal was most concerned about the Thieves’ Guild’s dealings with underlings, but things were going hand in hand. Trade was the Royals’ way of making peace rather than war. Compromise and cooperate. Lives will be saved. They’d convinced themselves they had it under control.
“What are you going to do with me?” Palzor said. “Now that you have mutilated me?”
Melegal touched his fingers to his chest. “Am I supposed to feel guilty? You kidnapped me and turned me over to underlings!”
Palzor started to speak, but Melegal cut him off.
“Don’t give me that innocent look, Palzor. I know that you know underlings mar and disfigure living men, women, and children. You know damn well they bury people headfirst in the ground after strangling them with their own entrails, and you think you have been treated poorly?” He slid his knife back out. “Really?”
“There is a code among thieves, is there not?”
“You’ve betrayed every pickpocket, cutpurse, and cutthroat. To the enemy of all enemies.”
Palzor averted his eyes.
“And I understand The Nest has a price on your head.”
“Some agree with me, and others don’t.”
“Yes, the ones whose pockets you have filled with underling gold agree. The rest are fully convinced of your ultimate betrayal.” Melegal stabbed the dagger into the table. “They offer a price for you that I can live with.”
“They won’t pay you,” Palzor said. “You aren’t one of the guild. You’re a stranger.”
The half-orc guard returned from outside the warehouse, carrying a small glass jar in his hand. He set it on the edge of the table.
Palzor’s pale eyes became wide.
“Ah … you know them,” Melegal said. “And perhaps you don’t know me as well as you think. I haven’t been here very long, but I am quite resourceful.” He removed the lid of the jar.
Black and yellow caterpillars started to crawl out, each as thick as a thumb.
“Flesh Eaters. I can even see their tiny little teeth. I suppose you are familiar with their work. The more they eat, the bigger they get. In Bone, I saw some as big as a man. It’s a horrible way to go.”
“Why are you doing this? Will you not negotiate? Please, Royal Melegal.” Palzor tried to scoot his chair away, but the mintaurs held him fast. “I’m no good to you dead.”
“I don’t want you dead; I just don’t want you alive.”
“I don’t understand.”
The caterpillars moved slowly over the table toward one of Palzor’s severed fingers.
Melegal watched Palzor’s eyes drift from the flesh eaters to himself. “In my experience, a figure such as yourself can only cause trouble for me.”
Palzor started to speak.
Melegal cut him off again. “I don’t think of myself as a killer. Murder is a dirty business.” He cleared his throat. “But I think there is some key information that you are withholding from me.” He scooted the amputated finger toward the flesh-eating caterpillars.
Their tiny teeth dug into it, little chunks at a time. Their black antennae sprang up. They started to enlarge.
“The bigger the bug, the bigger the bite.”
A lump went up and down Palzor’s throat. “I’ve no idea what you want,” he whined. “You ask questions. I answer. You ask more questions.” Sweat dripped off his nose. “I’ve answered them all.”
“You haven’t answered the questions I haven’t asked, though, have you?”
“How would I do that? I cannot read your mind!”
“Tut-tut, don’t be coarse with me.” Melegal dragged a chair over and sat down. “Let’s try this, Palzor. If you were interrogating me, what would you ask me? That’s what I want to know.” Using his dagger, he scooped up one insect on the blade and brought it toward Palzor’s enlarging eye. “Now ask me, before I drop him in your trousers.”
Palzor’s lip trembled.
“So there is something,” Melegal said. “Don’t hold back, Palzor. Not when you are so very close to dying.”
“All right,” Palzor said. “There is a depot beneath the city. It’s the heart of everything.”
“Tell me how to get there,” Melegal said. The caterpillar on his blade reared up in Palzor’s face.
The City of Three’s dethroned King of the Thieves blathered every last detail. Where the underlings were clustered. Key Royals who were in on it.
The hive of the fiends was even deeper than Melegal had imagined. He dropped the caterpillars into the jar and placed the lid back on.
Palzor shook his head. “All of this because you want the underlings? Why?”
“You’re too blinded by greed to understand.”
“All thieves are greedy.”
“But this greedy thief wants to live.”
“Boss,” Zurth said to Melegal. “You might want to take a look.”
Melegal made his way over to the small window. Cloaked and stealthy, several figures were closing in. A creaking came from the roof above. Footsteps. Slat.
A shadow crossed over a moonlit window above the rafters. There was stillness in the air.
Palzor started to chuckle. “Your time has run out, Melegal.” He twisted his head around. “My forces have figured it out.”
“Everyone for himself,” Melegal said. “You’ve already been paid. Now go.”
“Any moment,” Palzor continued to laugh. He stopped and glared at Melegal. “You will be repaid!”
Glass shattered above. The warehouse door buckled. A swarm of stealthy raiders poured inside.
“Ha ha ha!” Palzor continued, “I’m going to make you swallow those flesh eaters and watch them eat you from the inside out. Ha ha ha ha—urk!”
Melegal jammed his dagger through Palzor’s chest. “I don’t leave loose ends. I leave dead ones.” He stared into Palzor’s dying eyes. “Royal Game over.” He scanned the warehouse and doused the lamp. Catch me if you can, amateurs! He sprinted through the darkness.
A bolt ripped through his leg, and down he went.
Argh!
Fogle sat on the sofa, twiddling his thumbs and watching the tears run down Kam’s cheeks as she stared out the window. Venir had been gone an hour, but he still felt the man’s threat.
“Who does he think he is, telling me who can and cannot be in my room?”
Fogle could have made a case on Venir’s behalf. After all, Venir was Erin’s father, and he did seem sincere in his care for her. For both of them. But Fogle held back. Let it be her decision.
“He shows up. He leaves. He shows up. He leaves.”
She laid Erin down and muttered a spell. A gentle sway rocked the bassinette, and soft music could be heard. Kam walked over to the couch and sat down beside him. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I shouldn’t have brought you into this.”
“Into what?” Fogle said. “You can be angry and upset if you want. Not that I understand how you feel, but there has been a lifetime’s worth of surprises of late.” He wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her robe. “You’re entitled.”
She nodded. “You are a reasonable man, Fogle. You don’t try to be too clever with your words.” She sniffled. “I like it.”
Neither of them said a word for a while, leaving only the soft music of Erin’s crib in the background. A pot of coffee brewed on the stove, and all the tension that was in the room began to fade into something else.
“He comes back here in pieces,” Kam started. “He’s two steps from death, then comes in here to cuddle as if nothing happened. I can’t take that. I don’t like caring for these men who are so ready to die. I hate it.”
Fogle remained still. This is a twist.
“Am I supposed to sew him up and rescue him? Who’s going to rescue me from him? He’s a disaster.”
I’ll rescue you.
“Fogle, I don’t want to come between you and him. I don’t want him to hurt you.”
“Hurt me?” Fogle said. It stirred him. Venir, strapping and rugged as may be, wasn’t a match for a well-placed spell that would rock him on his heels or turn his mind into pillow feathers. Fogle was ready for Venir. It surprised him, but he was. A flick of the tongue, and Venir could be blasted through the door. Or his thoughts turned to mud. “I don’t think he’d do that.”
“He did before.”
“True, but that was a time ago. I’m, well …” He caught a flicker of disappointment in Kam’s eyes. “…wiser now.”
Her eyes softened, and she patted his leg. “Yes, yes you are wise. And I’m thankful.” She pressed her warm body into his and hugged him tight. His lips found her neck, and she straddled him.
So am I.
Brak’s eyes were wide.
“You can do it, Son,” Venir said.
Grasping the rail, Brak dragged one foot across the floor and down onto the next step.
Venir remained by his side, hands steadying his waist. “There’s no hurry.”
Sweat dripped down Brak’s face. One leg was numb, the other weak, but at least he was moving. Jaw clamped, he slipped down another step. Swayed. The railing groaned.
Venir steadied his waist.
“I can do it,” Brak said. He swallowed, took a breath, and took another step.
“Good,” Venir said. “You can smell Joline’s stew, can’t you? It’s motivating.”
“Yes,” Brak said, straining to take another step. That wasn’t all he smelled, either. There was blood in the air. Blood on the floor. Busted-up tables and broken chairs burning inside the mantels. There were eyes on him: Joline, Jubilee, and Jasper’s eyes. He took another step, and another. Excitement filled him. He went faster, slipped, and sprawled out on the stairs. He slid until his head almost hit the bottom. He glared up at Venir.
“You said you had it,” Venir said, smiling. He stretched out his hand. “And you almost did until you caught the ladies’ eyes. You have to be careful, Son. Nothing can trip a man up faster than a woman.”
Brak took his hands, and Venir heaved him up to his feet. “Or a hungry belly,” Brak offered with a smile.
Venir laughed and got him over to a table and sat him down.
Jubilee was the first one over there. She reached up and rubbed his shoulder. “You’ve had another growth spurt,” she said, laughing. “If you get any bigger, we’re going to have to plant you outside.” She glanced at Venir. “And you aren’t dead. Amazing.”
Joline set two large, steaming bowls of stew in front of them.
Brak could see large chunks of meat, potatoes, and black rice in it.
“It’s good to see the both of you on the mend,” Joline said. “Enjoy that. Good things are getting harder to come by.” She kissed them both on the cheek. “I don’t know what to make of the world these days, but its good having the both of you with us. I miss Billip and the others already.” Frowning, she made her way back into the kitchen.
Brak dug in and so did Venir.
“That’s more stew for us, the way I see it,” Brak said.
“Brak!” Jubilee said, slapping him on the shoulder.
He shrugged and eyed his father.
Venir chewed slowly. His eyes were elsewhere. They had been infernos when he came into the room earlier.
“I’m looking forward to swinging some steel again, if you have the time,” Brak said.
Venir blinked. “Huh … ah, certainly. Get your gut filled, and we’ll take a stroll into the courtyard. We’ll see what you have in you.”
Brak nodded. After years of wondering who his father was and then months venturing with him, he finally felt comfortable speaking with him. But Venir still intimidated him. The man was a brawny piece of scarred iron. A furnace always burned behind his eyes. He’d seen his father’s glare shake a man more than once. He didn’t like being on the wrong end of that, either.
“I want to learn too,” Jubilee said.
“Do you have a sword?” Venir said.
“No, but I’m sure I can get one.” Jubilee sat down.
Jasper’s lither form crossed its arms over dark robes and sat next to Jubilee. Her black hair was short and her make-up dark and intriguing.
Brak found her odd but interesting.
She addressed his father. “Are you going to look for your friend?”
“And which friend might that be?” Venir said. “I have so many.”
“As I understand it, he’s out of harm’s way. Why?”
“I want to go with you.” She drew her legs up on the seat and folded her arms around them. “I’m ready to get out of this place.”
“Perhaps,” Venir said, taking another bite. “This might be even better with some ale.” His eyes drifted toward the balcony. “I’ve had my fill of coffee.”
“Are you jealous because Kam likes Fogle now?” Jubilee said.
“Mind your business, Jubilee!” Brak said.
“How do you know she likes Fogle?” Venir said, leaning forward.
“Just that way she looks at him.” Jubilee pulled her shoulders back. “I know, I’m a woman.”
“You’re a girl,” Brak said. “A small one with a mouth too big, at that.”
“Well, I’m right, aren’t I, Jasper?”
Jasper shrugged.
“Are you going to pummel him?” Jubilee continued. “I would. I mean …”
Venir’s face darkened.
Jubilee swallowed her tongue. “I think I’m going to help Joline out,” she said, sliding out of her chair and backing away. “She always needs help.”
That was when a man appeared, right behind Joline.
She passed right through him. “Eek!” And stumbled down.
Venir sprang to his feet, leapt the table, and swung his long knife straight through the apparition.
“There is no need for that,” the man said. He wore a neatly cut set of black robes trimmed in gold lace. His hands were hidden by the drooping cuffs of his sleeves. He was balding, with a crown of black hair, medium in height and build, and fit, with alert and inspecting eyes. “I’m not here to hurt anyone, just investigate. I’m an envoy of the Order.”
Jasper turned her face and shrank in her chair.
“What order?” Venir said.
Jubilee cowered behind him.
Brak sat mute.
The envoy didn’t say a word. Instead, he traipsed through the tavern, studying the blood on the floor and the busted furniture that burned and crackled.
Brak was amazed that he could see right through him.
The envoy turned to Venir. “You look like you’ve been in a nasty scruff. Care to explain your condition?”
“Bish happens. It’s a dangerous world.”
“We are missing some colleagues,” the envoy said. “As we understand it, they paid a visit here.”
“Maybe the underlings got them,” Venir said, sneering. “They’ve taken plenty of others.”
“Unlikely,” the envoy said. “Don’t go anywhere until the Order returns.” He smiled at all of them, gave a curt nod, and slowly vanished. “And that’s an order.”
“What was that?” Brak said.
Jasper mumbled in her chair. “That’s the end of us all. The Towers! They’re going to put us through an inquisition.”
“A what?” Brak said.
“They’re going to strap us down and turn our grey matter inside out.” She kicked a chair. “Blast! I knew I should have left. This place is cursed.”
Chapter 30
Melegal flattened himself on the floor and whisked a blade out. A bolt jutted from the meat and skin of his thigh muscle. His stomach became queasy. In the darkness, silhouettes darted through the warehouse.
Slat! Slat! Slat!
Running was impossible and hopping was suicide.
He knew it was beyond his hat to freeze time on individuals scattered about the whole place. Maybe once they had him at close quarters…
Capture. Torture. Mutilation. Better than dying? Let’s hope.
The clamor of battle rocked the confines of the warehouse. Men screamed. Metal clashed on metal. Two figures closed in on Melegal with crossbows lowered at his chest. They were covered head to toe in dark garb and blended in well with the darkness.
“Don’t move,” one said. His voice was raspy and sure.
Clop, clop clop clop, clop! Hooves scuffled over the floor.
The assailant turned and fired. The bolt zinged off a mintaur’s curved horns.
The beast plowed over the man. Clop clop stomp! Bone gave way to hoof.
Clop clop clop wham! The second mintaur rammed into the back of the other assailant. Thick, dark bodies pounded Palzor’s rogues with hooves and club-like weapons.
Can never have enough of those guys.
Biting his lip, Melegal crawled toward the exit. His keen ears accounted for twenty men in the warehouse, scrapping it out. Zurth and the half orc whose name he didn’t recall seemed capable brawlers, but that was it. The mintaurs were the same. They’d hold up a minute maybe, but well-trained cutthroats would eventually cut them down in the blackness.
A figure jumped from a huge shelf and landed in front of Melegal.
He stabbed the man in the thigh.
The man screamed and drove his sword down.
He rolled into the man’s feet. Steel sparked off stone. Melegal drove his dagger into the man’s gut.
The reeling man, solidly built, crumpled on top of him.
He felt warm blood on his clothes and face. Bone! He shoved the man off, redoubled his efforts, and scooted for the door.
Zurth, the strapping guard of Palzor he had spared, battled hard nearby. Fending off three men with wide slashes left to right, he stood his ground.
Melegal heard the string of a crossbow crank back. Looking up, he saw the crossbowman on a top shelf, taking aim at Zurth. He took aim and fired his dart launcher.
The crossbowman jerked and shot.
The bolt skewered another rogue’s back.
The crossbowman plucked the dart from his face. Eyes searching and then locking on Melegal, he jumped off the shelf and ran right at him, drawing his sword.
Foolish man …
Melegal caught the white of the man’s eye.
The man cried out, screamed in rage, “Eyyaaaagghhhh!” and kept heading right at him.
Didn’t see that coming!
“I’ll kill you!” the man said. Sword arcing, he jumped up and came down on top of Melegal.
Melegal’s hands lashed out around the man’s wrists, halting the blade.
The man drove a knee into Melegal’s ribs, dropped his sword, jerked an arm free, and punched him in the face.
Melegal swung his dagger at the man’s gut.
The man pinned down Melegal’s hand and wrenched the blade free. The man was strong and had fifty pounds on Melegal. His fists came down with fury.
Whap! Whap! Whap!
The man had Melegal pinned down. The punches hurt, but the bolt digging into his thigh was excruciating. All he could do was slap the man’s heavy-handed blows aside.
“You’re a dead man! I’m going to take both your eyes out!”
Half stunned, Melegal fought back with all his strength. He wasn’t used to melee. Not this kind. Jeb the brawler flashed in his mind, back in the Octopus. It made him mad. He swatted the next series of punches away, sat up, and jammed the dart back into the man’s eye as far as he could.
The man let out an ear-shattering scream and died.
Lungs burning and huffing for breath, Melegal collapsed on the floor.
I’m a dead man.
He spat blood. Shaking, he tried to get to his feet.
I’m gonna have to hop my arse out of here.
He grabbed the man’s sword, used it as a crutch, and forced himself up. His swollen eyes watered. Peering through the gloom, he saw that the warehouse door was open a crack. Zurth was gone, but three fallen bodies remained. One twitched on the floor. Melegal had limped halfway there when a strong voice cut him off.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Melegal dove.
A bolt tore through his neck. He saw spots. Blood was all over his hands. A rush of queasiness made the room spin. Someone seized him. Everything went black.
Chapter 31
Fogle’s face was buried in Kam’s chest when Erin screamed.
“What?” Kam said, pulling her blouse up and jumping off of his lap. “Who are you? Get away from my baby!”
Fogle blinked. Gathered his senses. Lust turned to alarm in the blink of an eye. Something was wrong.
A man stood over Erin’s bassinette, staring inside. A black-robed apparition.
Fogle’s blood turned to ice. He knew the man. He and Ruut went way back. They had started the same year in mage school, with little separation in skill between them until later. There had come a point when no one could keep up with Fogle anymore, not even the instructors. Ruut, to his credit, had handled it better than most. He was a planner. And now it seemed his plans had turned out well. He was the top envoy for one of the City of Three’s most powerful Royals, Kam’s father.
“A lovely child,” Ruut said. His voice was peculiar with an edge of deadliness. “This must be Erin. Striking features of the mother.”
“Step away from my baby!” Kam’s hand sparked to mystic life. “Now!”
The ghostly man stepped away with a look of amusement on his face.
“You are aware that you can’t harm me,” the envoy said, swiping back the wisp of dark hair on his balding head. “I don’t pick the time or place for my intrusion. Your father does.” He glanced around Kam and locked eyes with Fogle. “It’s been a while, my fellow disciple. It seems you’ll grapple with anything these days.”
Fogle rose from the sofa. “Mind yourself, Ruut. As long as I can see you, I can make you feel me.” Fogle was very aware of Jaen’s orb in a pocket of his green robe. Inwardly, he grinned. Outwardly, he kept a neutral face.
“Pah,” Ruut the envoy said with a snort. “Not on your finest of days. At least you still have some arrogance. I find the humble annoying. Speaking of humble.” Ruut made his way around the apartment, staring at each and every little thing. “Is this where you reside now? This closet space?”
A dash of green light shot from Kam’s fingers and passed through Ruut. The curtains caught fire.
“Now that’s amusing,” the envoy said. “Stupid often is amusing. Even more so,” he said staring at her missing hand, “you did that with one set of fingers.”
Kam’s face turned red. She glared at Fogle.
Erin cried at the top of her lungs.
Kam turned away, picked up Erin, rested the little girl on her shoulder, and began to hum.
Fogle extinguished the burning curtains with a wave of his hand. Coughing, he opened a window, letting the smoke out of the room.
Kam sneered at Ruut. “Get on with it. What does my father want?”
“It seems he’s missing a daughter.”
“Oh really,” Kam said, “and which one might that be? He has so many, it’s no surprise he lost one.”
“I can see why this one isn’t suited for the towers,” Ruut said to Fogle, “but in your case, I don’t understand. Do you really play such silly games? Or have you found a zeal for ample women?”
“Mind your tongue,” Fogle warned.
“Hah. I think you are the one who should be minding yours, considering where it’s been.” Ruut chuckled. “The things that go on down here! It’s quite the adventure.”
“You snot-nosed little suck-up—” Fogle said.
“Oh, please, don’t try to be valiant, Fogle. It’s beneath you.” Ruut shook his head. “Look at you. There wasn’t a wizard more renowned than you. Now you are a scarred and scraggly mess. I lost all respect for you with a glance.”
Now it was Fogle’s turn to laugh. He remembered being so pompous. Arrogant. Inconsiderate. He remembered thinking he was better than everyone else and poking fun at those living on the ground, outside the towers. How everything seemed so small from up in that perch—until the day he was humbled. He shook his head. He was alive now. Magi like Ruut never lived at all.
“Spit it out, Ruut,” Kam said, taking a seat on the rocking chair.
“Spit it out?” Ruut rolled his eyes. “Such savage terminology. It leaves me intrigued. Perhaps you can tell me more about these wild ventures sometime, Fogle.”
“The only way to learn it is to live it,” Fogle replied.
“Oh. Well, I suppose I do need to spell things out, then. It seems Jaen is missing, and her last known whereabouts were here.” Ruut looked at Kam. “Did you see her?”
Kam didn’t reply.
Fogle didn’t either.
“Downstairs, I spoke with your comrades. They had little to say on the matter, either. Silence is such a dangerous thing. So,” Ruut sighed, “I ordered them to stay put and notified them of the upcoming inquisition.”
“Inquisition!” Kam said. “You jest!”
“No, I’m quite serious.” Ruut rubbed an amulet on his chest.
The hair on Fogle’s neck prickled. “This is a matter for the City Watch, not an inquisition.”
“Kam’s father disagrees,” Ruut said. “And the City Watch is busy these days, dealing with other things.”
“Call them underlings,” Fogle said.
“There are many matters at play that I am sure you are unaware of.”
Fogle’s hands formed white-knuckled fists. The arrogance of the Royals in the towers infuriated him. Their buildings could be toppling from the sky and they would still deny it before they acted.
“But,” Ruut continued, “I’m not here to discuss other matters. I’m here to find out what happened to Jaen. And if you don’t tell me, there will be an inquisition.”
Fogle’s eyes searched for Kam’s, but she wasn’t looking at him. He followed her stare out the window.
Troops were coming, a dozen soldiers on horses with an accompaniment of foot soldiers. There were magi, too, wearing purple robes streaked in blue.
“Perhaps you’re looking in the wrong place,” Fogle said. “It wouldn’t be the first time the Order was wrong. I seem to remember a few cases where many innocent people died.”
“Let’s not be coy, Fogle. Though it’s good to know that you still have some banter within you.” Ruut passed through the sofa and stood in the middle of the coffee table. “I’d advise you not to say anything that could be put on the record.”
“Oh, I’m on trial, am I?”
“You will be soon enough. And not just you, as I mentioned before, but all of you.”
“You can’t just make an accusation off of an assumption—”
“Fogle, stop,” Kam said. She got up out of her rocker, still staring out the window. Her eyes widened.
Fogle looked. The Magi Roost was surrounded.
Kam sighed. Tears streamed down her face. “It’s me you want.”
“Pardon?” Ruut said, drifting closer.
Kam turned to face him and opened her mouth to speak.
“Don’t,” Fogle said. His words had no effect.
She said, “I know where Jaen is.”
Ruut lifted a brown eyebrow. “And that would be where?”
“Where she belongs. In the ground. Dead.”
Ruut’s bright eyes shone big as moons. “And you killed her?”
Chapter 32
Venir ground his teeth. Kam came down the steps with Erin in her arms. Fogle was by her side, and the shade of a man glided behind them. At the bottom of the steps, Joline waited.
Kam handed her the baby and spoke soft words. “You’ll be safe. Take care of her until I return.”
“But,” Joline sobbed. She mopped her eyes with a rag. “You can’t—”
Kam and Fogle walked by, side by side, chins down.
The envoy for the Order had a satisfied look on his face. He said to the rest of the room, “I’ll be back, so don’t leave town until this is over.”
“Kam,” Venir said, blocking the exit. “What is the meaning of this? What is going on?”
She didn’t look up at him. Instead, she tried to go around him.
He laid his hands on her shoulders and stopped her.
“Let go,” she said, firmly but softly.
“She goes to suffer the inquisition,” Fogle said, “It’s for all our good. She’ll clear it up—”
“Be silent, you scrawny toad,” Venir said. “Kam has a tongue of her own.” He wanted to shake her. “Talk to me!”
She looked up into his eyes and said, “Just get out of my way and let me do this.”
The venom in her voice made him angry. He didn’t understand what he’d done that was so horrible. He couldn’t fight off the feeling that he might not ever see her again.
“Kam,” he said, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“It feels good leaving you for a change and not the other way around.” She brushed by him. “And don’t feel a need to stick around. I’m certain I’ll be gone awhile.”
Two soldiers pulled the double doors open and another stepped up with shackles. Armored in chain hauberks, the soldier locked up her wrists and shoved her forward.
Venir exploded into movement.
Kam’s ear-shattering voice stopped him in his tracks. “BE STILL, YOU FOOL!”
Rattled and dismayed, Venir let his arms fall limp at his sides.
Seconds later, Kam, Ruut, and the entourage of soldiers were gone. Joline sobbed, and Erin started to cry. Venir picked up a table and slung it across the room. After that, everyone fell silent until Fogle spoke again.
“She has a plan, Venir.”
“And she shared it with you, not me?”
“I was there.”
“A funny thing, you being there, Fogle,” Venir said, coming forward. He glared down into Fogle’s eyes.
Fogle was tall but still shorter by several inches. He didn’t back down. There was no fear in him.
“Care to explain?” Venir said.
“We’re men. I don’t need to explain anything.”
Venir closed his fist.
“You might be fast, Venir, but you aren’t faster than my thoughts.” He paused. “I’m not the enemy. They are. Why don’t we talk about what is going on, what we’ll do next? How we can help her through this madness?”
Venir stepped closer. He could feel a force around Fogle. A shield of some sort, keeping him at bay. The wizard’s words were suggestive as well. Almost soothing. Venir felt his temper begin to cool.
“Let’s sit,” Fogle suggested. “And eat. And I’m even willing to confess my side of things.”
Venir looked away and started to turn. “I’ll grab some chairs.”
“I’ll snatch a bottle from the—”
Venir struck.
His fist collided with Fogle’s chest, knocking the man off his feet and into the newly reconstructed bar.
The wizard clutched his chest, sucking for air.
“Don’t toy with me, Fogle. I won’t hold back next time.” He sat his big frame down at a table with two chairs near the fireplace. “And I don’t want wine. I want ale.”
Fogle dragged himself over to Venir’s table, chest sore and hot with anger. Even with a protective spell up, he had felt every bit of that jarring punch. “You didn’t have to do that,” he wheezed. “I was being reasonable.”
“Were you being reasonable when you moved in on Kam?”
Fogle sat down across from him, looked into his eyes, and said with sincerity, “She moved in on me.”
“I see.” Venir sat broad and stone faced.
Fogle couldn’t read him. “She riles the blood with a single look. I’d be lying …”
Venir held his palm out. “Don’t say anything else I don’t want to hear you say. Let’s talk about this inquisition, shall we?”
Nearby, Brak and Jubilee sat long faced and quiet.
Jasper brought a pitcher of ale and placed it on the table and took a seat.
Fogle eyed her.
“I’ve heard things,” she said. “I’d just never had them confirmed before. Have you witnessed an Inquisition?”
Fogle’s heart became heavy. He had. And he had enjoyed it. “I watched an older man be picked apart by a jury of peers. His mind melded to theirs. His grey matter twisted like entrails. All because he had a disagreement with a higher member in the Order. Accusations followed. It went on for weeks. One interrogation after the other with little rest. The man was never the same after that, but he wasn’t found guilty, either. He departed, body intact, mind desecrated. I can’t remember the man’s name, but he didn’t confess. He just shivered, mumbled, and walked away.”
“She didn’t do it,” Jubilee spoke up. “I did.”
“I know,” Fogle said, “but that doesn’t matter now. They want to make an example out of somebody, not nobody.”
“Excuse me?” Jubilee said.
“Don’t pout,” Fogle said, “unless you misinterpret my meaning.”
Jubilee scrunched her eyebrows.
“Consider yourself fortunate, for the moment,” Fogle added. “They’ll be coming back at some point, I imagine.”
“Do you think they’ll come back for us?” Jasper said.
“Possibly.”
“Great,” Jasper said. “I knew I should have gotten out of this place.”
Venir spun a coin on the table. Jubilee and Jasper bickered with Fogle. Brak shuffled out to the stables, where he could be heard splitting small logs into kindling. Venir had never seen the Magi Roost like this. Cold. Quiet. It was just them. He tried to pluck the coin off the table, and it splashed into his tankard of ale.
“Humph,” he grunted.
A warm fire on his back and a pitcher of ale couldn’t soothe his restlessness. Inside, he burned. The Royals here were just as callous as the Royals in Bone, it seemed. Turning a blind eye to the evil that manifested in the city. Making examples of citizens and not the enemy.
Disgusting.
He sat and drank for another hour, itching for a fight. He wanted to head to the Outland. Tear into the underlings. He wanted to climb the towers and toss the Royals out on their heads. He’d had his fill of the both of them. It seemed the entire world was against him.
Heavy knocks came at the door.
Knock knock knock knock!
“Should I get it?” Jubilee said, popping out of her chair. She rushed to the window. “I see some men, but it’s pretty dark outside. Why’s the lantern sign out, anyway? Brak, isn’t that your job? Oh, never mind.”
The pounding became harder.
“Let us in!”
Hand on the hilt of his knife, Venir lumbered over. “I’ll handle it.” He lifted the bar from the doors and swung one inward.
A roughly cut bunch spilled inside.
“He said to bring him here,” one said. He was a half orc, pit faced and scarred. Bandages covered several wounds.
“I stopped the bleeding, but he’s still unsettled,” another man said. He wore the insignia of a Royal soldier and carried Melegal’s limp form in his arms. “But I don’t know if he has much time left in him. He lost a lot of blood. He’s almost gone.”
Chapter 33
“How do you like the view?” Pall said, puffing on a cigar.
From the lip of a crevice, Lefty gazed over the scorched Outland and swallowed. The heat of the blinding suns was exhilarating. Tears formed in his eyes. He had been in the mist and darkness so long that he’d almost forgotten the feeling of true light.
“It’s as beautiful as I ever saw.”
“Beautiful, this wasteland? Har. Hot, sandy, and no water for miles, leagues maybe. Days longer than nights. You’ve a funny way of interpreting things, halfling.”
“Perhaps,” Lefty said. He lengthened his stride and headed down into the cactus-filled valley. “But at least it’s full of light. Thanks for taking me out of there.” He didn’t glance back at the fog that covered Hohm’s marsh. Scorch had put him there, and he wouldn’t go there again. He wanted to be as far away as he could get from Hohm, the dreary city. And he hoped he never saw another wart again. “Thanks for the water,” he said, waving back and patting the skin that Pall had given him.
“Har! Where are you going? You can’t traverse the Outland alone.” He caught up with Lefty. “Fool of a half person, slow your pace. Reckon with me where yer going.”
Lefty pointed southeast and said, “That way.”
“And what is that way?”
Lefty shrugged. “I’ll find out when I get there.”
“Har!” Pall said, squinting his bushy brows and surveying the landscape. It was nothing but miles of mirages, sand, and thickets of bone-dry trees. “Looks to be as good a place to go as any. May I join you?”
“Sure,” Lefty said, resuming his pace. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Hee hee.
Sniff. Sniff.
Eep filled his beak with air and rummaged through the cave. A soft green glow illuminated the cavern that rested along the water of the Current.
Find something? Trinos asked.
He hopped up on a large crimson velvet sofa and sniffed it. Oran’s scent still lingered on it. Verbard’s did as well, and some others. He hopped over to a large wooden table where several vials and jars rested. A halfling’s head was pickled in a jar on one end. A pair of orc hands was in another. He picked up the jar with the halfling head, shook it, and cackled.
Put that down and move on.
He checked the shelves full of many jars and faces. The cells in the caves, where he had killed and tormented so many, lay undisturbed and open. The smell of rotting flesh lingered in the air. Cave bugs, some as big as his clawed feet, picked the skeletons clean of flesh.
“Ah!” he said, walking over, picking up a squirming bug that screeched, and swallowing it down. He patted his hard belly and licked his mouth. “Mmmm—uuuurp!”
Disgusting. Move on, Eep.
“Yes. Yes, Mistress.”
Wringing his clawed hands, he buzzed out of the cell. He missed all the things he had done with Oran. All the torture and mutilation. The underling cleric had turned him loose on so many things and let him do what he was designed to do: tear flesh asunder.
He landed on the sandy shore and lay his claw down in some footprints. Another underling’s scent lingered, and someone else’s as well. He could feel power and see a lingering yellow outline of magic that passed through Bish into another dimension.
I can see it.
“You can?”
I have a discerning eye. I know what I’m looking for. Well done, Eep.
“Yesss, can I kill something now?”
Now that you’ve found the trail, can you find it again?
“Once I have it,” he said, wringing his hands, “I’ll never lose it.”
Hmmm … I need to see his face first. Once I’m convinced, I’ll turn you loose on a new enemy.
Eep’s wings buzzed to life. He zipped over the still water, creating ripples. Claws bared and tongue hanging out, he said, “I can’t wait to see him, myself.”
Scorch stared up at a towering onyx statue of an underling mage holding up severed heads from all the races but its own. Blood dripped from the necks, filling a red death pool below, and the heads were still screaming. The garden was filled with statues of this sort, some far more grotesque, others absolutely beautiful, but dark.
“Beauty is in the eye of the holder, I suppose,” Scorch said, walking away. He locked his arms behind his back and eyed the details of everything. “Your kind certainly has a very devilish way of looking at things. It leaves me … conflicted.”
“I see nothing conflicting about any of this.”
“Oh, I’m not conflicted about your kind. I’m conflicted about something else.”
“I see.”
Sidebor and Scorch had spent hours in the gardens now, talking about many things among handfuls of urchlings that tended to the gardens.
“Allies, Sidebor. I think it’s time we sought any you may have.”
“I’m certain they are all dead.”
“Perhaps, but the Underland is abandoned, the forces divided. Not all can be happy about this?”
“The underlings are united in their conquest. They’ll see things through, conquer, and begin the bickering later.”
“I see. So have the underlings ever conquered the surface before? After all, you have been around a long time.”
“We’ve had our moments.”
“But you couldn’t sustain them?”
Sidebor’s ruby eyes narrowed, and his claws dug into his palms. “Victory on Bish has never been sustainable.”
“How entertaining,” Scorch said, staring up at a statue of a great troll stuffing two muscular human warriors into its mouth. “It seems my grasp of things has been enlightened.”
“How so?” Sidebor took his gaze away from the statue and searched for Scorch, but Scorch was gone. Movement caught his eye. Underling soldiers in dark plate armor came his way. Underling magi in dark, velvety robes hemmed him in from above.
Inside his head, he heard Scorch laughing. “Ishfuhn!”
It was an underling curse.
A ring of silver fire dropped from above and encircled him with lightning-like bonds. He howled and screamed. The more he fought, the stronger the force became.
“Ishfuhn!”
Sidebor submitted and with a heavy head was marched to Sinway’s castle.
Chapter 34
Melegal lay flat on the tavern floor, bruised and bloody. His scrawny chest rose and fell. His fingers twitched, and his lips were curled up on one side.
“The bleeding stopped,” Joline said. She’d rubbed a magic salve on his neck that sealed the gaping wound. She adjusted the stained white bandage around his neck. “He’ll survive just fine, but we need to get that bolt out of his leg, too.”
“I’ll do it,” Venir said, stepping forward and kneeling alongside his friend. He’d hardly seen a scratch on Melegal before, not even when they were children. Now the resilient but bony man looked half dead. It disturbed him.
Joline rested her hands on his shoulders. “I’ll handle this. You men cause damage. Leave it to us women to stitch the wounds.” She shook her head. “Just scoot.”
Venir rose up and scowled at the men who had carried Melegal in. They had wounds of their own.
One man unbuckled his plate armor. He was well knit with the mannerisms of a soldier. The half orc was taller than Venir, but leaner. He’d shaven most of his face, unlike most orcs. He wrapped clothes around a gash in his hairy arm and tore it with his teeth. The other two were mintaurs. Scuffed up and bloody, they didn’t say a word or attempt to patch their wounds.
“What happened?”
The soldier stepped forward, extending his hand. “I’m Zurth. Your comrade hired me from Palzor.” He paused when Venir didn’t accept his hand. “Sort of.”
“I’m called Slom,” the half orc said. “Your comrade, very mischievous he is. Killed Palzor. Gutted him like an urchin.” He spit cloth out of his mouth. “I don’t like many men, but I like him.”
“Palzor’s dead?” Fogle said, rising up from his chair. “Are you certain?”
The orc let out a rough laugh. He reached for a sack they had dragged in and pulled something out and held it up. The women gasped. Slom held a man’s head by the hair.
“That him?” Venir said to Fogle.
“It is,” Fogle nodded. “Melegal cut his head off.”
“No, Melegal gutted him. I cut his head off. We needed the proof.”
“Put that away,” Joline said.
“Er,” Slom said, looking at the face, “I think he needs a drink. Brah-hahaha!” He stuffed the head back in the sack. “But I’ll have to do the drinking for him.” He eyed Venir. “You pay?”
Venir ignored him. “What else, Zurth?”
The soldier brushed his black hair out of his eyes. “I’ll talk better with a drink.”
“You’ll talk worse with my fist in your throat.”
Zurth sized him up. “I’m not that hungry.”
Venir leaned forward.
Zurth threw his hands up. “Nor thirsty.” He backed up to the bar and took a stool alongside Slom. The burly mintaurs made their way toward the nearest hearth.
“They aren’t much for conversation,” Zurth said. He fanned himself with his leather gauntlet and glanced at the decorative bottles behind the bar. “It’s awfully warm in here. Whew!” His light-colored eyes glanced around. “Nice place. Some of the troops were talking about it earlier, but I’d heard about the Roost before.”
Fogle stepped alongside Venir. “He’s one of Palzor’s guards. Melegal dropped him once when we were imprisoned. Doesn’t seem likely he’d befriend us now.”
“Hah!” Slom reached behind the bar, stretching his fingers toward a bottle of grog. “He’ll confirm it. He’d be dead otherwise. Ah!” He grabbed the bottle and lifted it to his lips. He teethed the cork off and poured. “Pah!” He slammed the jug down. “Empty.”
“For the sake of slat, can we have a drink, brawny man?” Zurth said. “Check your friend’s pockets. All is there. He’ll confirm our story.”
Melegal moaned.
Joline had him biting down on a dowel rod.
Jasper and Jubilee held him down.
Joline began to ease the bolt out.
Jubilee’s eyes widened.
Jasper looked away.
“Brak,” Venir said, “think you can fetch a barrel?”
“Sure,” Brak said. He stretched up out of his chair and lumbered back toward the kitchen, leaning on a plank crutch.
“Who is that man?” Slom said. He did a double take. “That’s one big giant-headed man.”
“Go ahead and confirm your story now, Zurth,” Venir said. “He’s liable to be out for a while, and my patience is often short.”
“Certainly,” Zurth said, hitching his elbow back on the bar. He relayed to Venir everything that Fogle had seen and continued from there. “Your friend captured Palzor and was digging around about those grey-skinned fiends. It was interesting. He wanted to know who was behind it all. He wanted to find out everything he could squeeze. When Palzor’s troops came, I thought the King of Thieves would slip free, but Melegal, he killed him. One of the most powerful men in Three, and he’s stone cold now. Never thought I’d see the day.”
“You’ve an odd amount of interest for a hired sword,” Venir said.
Brak returned with a barrel of ale and set it on the bar. He pulled the wooden plug out with his fingers and stuffed the tap in.
Eyeing Brak with astounded eyes, Slom elbowed Zurth.
“Did you see that?”
Zurth shook his head and continued, “You see, we like your friend. He killed Palzor, and we killed all the rest of Palzor’s goons.”
“What is your interest in it?” Venir asked.
“Survival of the greediest,” Zurth smiled. “You see, the guild is divided. The Nest is at odds with the Royals. We don’t like the underlings, but the Royals have the fiends doing their dirty work.” He shrugged. “The Royals have long been the top employers of our services, but with Palzor out of the picture, things can change.”
Fogle stepped in and said, “How so?”
“Once word gets out that Palzor is a ghost, it will be complete chaos. Every cutthroat will want to take control. It’ll be months before The Nest declares a leader. Maybe years, with the underlings making a wreck of things. Hmmm,” he rubbed his chin. “And there’s always the possibility the underlings could seize hold of the world below, which feeds the world above. It would take time without Palzor’s direction. He was one of the masterminds behind it all.” He laughed. “Your scrawny friend sure fouled things up. And there will be Bish to pay for it, soon enough.”
Slom handed Zurth a tankard, and they clanked them together and drank.
Zurth wiped the froth from his mouth with his forearm. “That’s good ale.”
“That’s a good tale,” Venir said, dropping his hand to his knife.
“Listen, friend,” Zurth said, easing back, “your friend didn’t so much find us as we found him. Me, I should be dead. One of my comrades is dead. But the rest of this crew, they’ve been staying close to Palzor’s watch. We are the eyes and ears of The Nest. It’s how we survive. Your friend presented a unique opportunity. It’s strange fortune that we all lived, and I’m glad for it. I hate those underlings.”
“So I’m to believe the rogues are the only force left to defend this city?” Venir filled himself a tankard. “Ha! I’ve little faith in that.”
“We’re all part of the guild. Everything we say is true.” He and Slom laughed and clanked tankards again. “Well, in this case it’s true.”
“It’s true enough, lout,” a raspy voice said.
Venir looked down at Melegal. Joline was helping him up into a sitting position while Jubilee wrapped up his leg. Melegal’s reddened eyes glanced through the people. The thief tried to hide his discomfort but could not.
“It seems you’ve found some new company, Melegal.”
“Anything’s better than my old ones,” he said, rising to his feet. “Ack, that hurts. Of course, a lack thereof would be more preferable.” He shoved Joline away and limped over to a chair, touched his neck, and grimaced. “Where’s my hat?”
“On your head,” Venir said.
“Ah,” Melegal said, smoothing it. He sat back into his chair, and his steel-grey eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure why everyone is still here. Any moment now, we’re going to be covered in underlings and arseholes, present company excluded.”
Underling Mage
Chapter 35
Melegal’s eyes lifted toward the door. He sat at a small table in a dim room of a dingy apartment far away from the Magi Roost. They’d departed more than a week ago, leaving only Joline, Jasper, Jubilee, and Erin behind.
A figure cloaked in desert-colored wool entered the room from the pouring rain. The man stomped mud from his boots and dropped his hood. It was Venir.
“It’s there, all right,” he said, tossing the cloak onto a rack nearby. “A hive in the ground. Catwalks. Railcars. Everything.”
“How many?” Melegal said.
Venir shrugged his big shoulders. “Thirty fiends, maybe fifty. I didn’t venture into the tunnel.”
“What else did you see?” It was Fogle who spoke. He sat on the floor cross legged with his spellbook in his lap. A mintaur was there, and Slom was too. Slom rested on a cot. The mintaur’s back rested against the wall as he filed the tip of his pick axe.
They’d all been cooped up in the dingy, candlelit apartment too long. Venir had been more than happy to get out and do some scouting on his own. The room was rank with sweat, and there was only one small window.
He tore a cork off a bottle with his teeth and downed some grog. “Ah!” He put the cork in the bottle and set it back in the small cupboard.
“Why didn’t you kill them all?” Melegal said.
“Why didn’t you answer my question?” Fogle added.
Venir took a chair and sat down by Melegal, squeezed his shoulder, and said, “How’s the neck?”
“Better, oaf. Now out with it,” he said, cleaning his nails with a small knife. “However, I cannot seem to shake the pain in my behind.”
Venir smiled. “Some things just don’t go away so easily.”
“Indeed.”
“Say, where’s Brak?”
Melegal tilted his head toward a closed door.
“Ah, good, but I don’t hear him snoring.”
“I cured that,” Melegal said, waggling his dagger in his hand.
Venir cocked his head and glowered.
“He still breathes, just not so loudly. It’s a trick I learned.” Melegal rolled his shoulders. The tightness was back between the blades. Moments of relaxation were becoming hard to come by. The sweaty stuffiness of the room didn’t help much, either.
Zurth and Slom had tried to convince them to head to The Nest, but he didn’t like the idea of living beneath the streets. And the guild had enough confusion now that Palzor was gone. Slom had anonymously delivered Palzor’s head to them.
“A caravan of soldiers and men escort underlings to the depot. I saw that slime Royal, Cappy, among them. That explains much. I don’t think many are hunting underlings these days.” His face darkened. “So, boxes, sacks, tarps go in; men, women and children go out.”
Slom sat up. “What?”
“It took all I had to refrain.”
“You’d be a fool to do otherwise.” Slom said. “What man can fight a score of underlings and survive?”
Fogle, Venir, and Melegal looked at Slom.
“Still,” Venir continued, “I think there is an opportunity here, me. It must have taken them months to carve out that depot. If—”
“Do you think there are any more?” Fogle said, cutting Venir off.
“Mind your business, mage.”
Fogle closed his book, got up, and said, “This is my business.” He walked over to the table and looked down on Venir. “Do you think there are any more?”
Melegal eased back. He could feel the heat between them. The pair made the air ripe with tension.
Venir tilted his chair back on two legs. “Why don’t you go take a look for yourself?”
“Venir, can’t we cast our differences aside?”
“Differences?”
Fogle found a chair, dragged it over to the table, and sat down. “Fine, you talk; I’ll just listen.” Fogle folded his arms inside his robes. “And hope you don’t try to pull my ears off for it.”
Melegal eased back. Idiots. One too brawny, one too … not brawny.
Venir let Melegal do the talking.
Despite his aversion to Fogle, in truth he couldn’t blame the man for how he felt, but he didn’t have to accept it, either. At the moment, he was more intrigued by other things, Melegal in particular. He loathed underlings. He wanted to destroy them. It was one matter the three of them could agree on.
“If we can disrupt the depot, we can create enmity between the underlings and the Royals. That might give the good citizens strong enough a foothold to turn this city back around.” Melegal eyed Venir. “Are you up for it?”
“Of course.”
“What about you, Slom? Can we scare us up some more bodies?”
He glanced at Fogle.
The mage patted his tome. “I know a few spells that can help guide us, but I need at least a day.”
Venir shook his head and sighed. “Wizards.”
Chapter 36
“Mate,” a voice said. “Mate.”
Creed couldn’t open his swollen eyes, but he heard the door to his cellar creak open. A rat squeaked and scurried. Rough hands shook him.
“Mate,” the voice said again. “Eat. Drink.”
The guard peeled him off the floor and propped him up against the bars.
He coughed and sputtered. He forced his head up to look at the guard. They all looked the same. Ugly. Blurry.
The guard left.
Creed raised his arm and said, “Wait.”
The guard came back inside and set down a wooden bucket. Fresh water sloshed over the sides.
Creed lurched over, sank his head inside, and drank. It was fresh. Cool.
“Don’t drown yerself. Save some to wash down your eats.”
Creed gulped down a few more mouthfuls and gasped. Blinking his eyes, he got a better look at the guard. He wore a leather hauberk and had a little grey in his beard. His grey eyes were dark and saggy.
“Wh—”
“Don’t speak,” the guard said, waving him off. “Just eat.” He presented Creed with a plate of food. Cooked chicken and half a plate of rice. A large biscuit, too.
He devoured it.
The guard knelt, resting his elbow on his knee. “Enjoy it. Not sure when it might come again, but we’ll see.” He stretched up and made his way outside the cell. Keys rattled as he locked it back. “Hang in there, Creed. It’s better than hanging outside.”
“Wait,” Creed said, sputtering food from his hairy mouth. “Please, wait,” he said, voice cracking.
Not turning, the guard walked up the steps and disappeared. Creed looked down at his food, blinking.
“Son of a Bish, it’s still here.”
Corrin brushed one dog down and started on another. Five men had hung over the past month, and more were to come. Lord Grom had gone mad. Many dogs had lost their owners. Corrin now cared for them.
“That’s a good fella. A very good fella,” he said, scratching one large shepherd’s ears.
He’d gotten used to the dogs. Their company. Loyalty. The smell of the kennel didn’t even bother him anymore. All the barking, he blocked out. Sometimes, he could even get them all to stop. He shoveled and cleaned when he didn’t guard the towers. Some of the bloodhounds had warmed up to him. Even shared a drink from time to time.
He stood up, stretched his back, and groaned, making his way over to a larger cage where Creed’s dog Manx lay. He crouched, drawing a rumbling growl. He stretched his hand over and stroked him behind the ears.
“He lives, Manx. He lives. Just keep hanging in there.”
The Outland. Half a league south of the City of Three, a score of men gathered. They wore chain hauberks with tunics of Royal insignia draped over them. Each had a helmet crested with the markings of a Royal house. All of their faces dripped with sweat, aside from one.
“This will never happen again,” Melegal said, adjusting the chain hood of his hauberk. The sunlit chain mail felt like a hot iron on his arm. “Only fools wear this metal garb.”
Venir chuckled. Filling his suit with ample brawn, he was a colossal figure. In his grip, he gently swung Brool from side to side.
“It was your plan, was it not?” Venir said.
“It was to some degree, armor not included. I think we could have gotten by with the tunics.” He peered off the overlook, the same as the others. On the ground below, he could make out the man-made mine called the Depot. It was a massive hole with a large mouth. He shifted in his coat of armor. It felt like it weighed more than him. “Stupid idea.”
“I like it,” Zurth said. The rogue henchman smiled as he put on his helmet. “Armor makes me feel invincible.”
“If being slow makes you invincible, then I’ve been living my life all wrong,” Melegal said with a frown. He inspected the rest of the ranks. On one side were Venir, Slom, and a handful of rogues. On the other were Zurth, Brak, the mintaurs, and a few more rogues. Brak wore his own armor with a Royal tunic stretched over it. He had a helmet the size of a bucket squeezed onto his head, too. “But slow works for some.”
“It seems everything is in place,” Fogle said, sliding in behind them. The mage wore his green robes and had his spellbook tucked under his arm. His eyes were distant. Melegal caught Venir glaring at him. “No Royal squadrons are near. The caravan trail is barren. I’ve noted thirty-five underlings in the depot. Considerable numbers.”
“They won’t be expecting an attack,” Venir said. He held his helmet under his arm. “We could wait until night, and I could handle this alone.”
Melegal watched Fogle’s ebony hawk circle in the sky.
“Can he really see through that thing’s eyes?” Zurth asked, peering upward.
Melegal shrugged. He’d learned that magi could do plenty of things he never suspected before. In this case, he was glad it favored them for a change.
“Any like you in their midst?” Melegal said.
“No,” Fogle said. “Just a well-armed force. Laborers and fighters. Formidable as any. I’m not so sure these rogues can handle the underlings.”
“We can handle them,” Slom said. “It’s them who should be wary of us. I’ve gutted my share of the glitter eyes.” He spat. “I’ll gut even more today.”
The Depot was well fortified. Underling sentries were spread out along the rim. A pair guarded a steep and narrow ramp that led down into the center. There were also cranes and pulleys that hoisted goods in and out of the hole. There were catwalks, scaffolding, and other barriers. Getting into the Depot was one thing, but getting out was going to be another matter.
“Remember, men,” Venir said, “on my command, ride in, take a head, and ride out. Mount up.”
In a minute, everyone was geared up and in a saddle. The score of men, led by Venir, headed toward the Depot. Two carts filled with barrels and crates were between them. Melegal’s stomach was queasy. Fighting with a group of men wasn’t his thing. But it was his plan.
Not the best plan, but a plan nonetheless.
Initially, Melegal had hoped to find a way to collapse the tunnel, but that wasn’t possible, so he had opted for another plan.
Fogle rode alongside him. “I like your plan. It’s sound, if well executed.”
“I think it’s time you faded back,” Melegal said. “There is little you can do at this point. Maybe you can cast a spell that will dig us nice graves.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Fogle said, drifting back behind the ranks.
I bet I could have been a good mage. Better than that egghead, anyway.
Melegal rode up alongside Venir. “Don’t put that helmet on and get yourself all lathered up. We want to leave some survivors.”
Venir stretched his axe toward him and said, “Maybe you should take this, then.”
Melegal snorted and led his horse away, saying, “Just don’t get carried away.”
“That’s not my way.”
Melegal shook. His heart pounded in his chest as they approached. He was too far out of his element. He was doing things he’d never considered doing before. And for what. Profit? Vengeance?
What am I doing? And why did they even listen?
It was a simple plan. Hit. Run. Turn the Royals and underlings against each other. Build mistrust. Breed confusion. That was what Royals did. He’d lived it for years. Now it was time to use their own tactics against them. Create a spark that would force the Royals to fight against the underlings. But would they do enough damage to make it work?
I doubt it, but doing something is better than doing nothing.
A streak of black caught his eye, diving and disappearing into the tunnel. It was Fogle’s familiar, Inky.
Slat. He’ll probably find out there’s a hundred more in there.
Fogle watched on horseback. He could see Venir in the lead, approaching the ramp guarded by the underlings. He could also see something else. He’d sent Inky into the depot tunnel. It was twenty feet high, and Inky flew in thirty feet deep and squirmed up into the support beam rafters. There were underlings. Another score or two. Maybe more further back. They stirred. His blood stirred.
I thought so.
He rubbed his spellbook. He’d kept his thoughts to himself, prepared a spell, and now the time had come to cut it loose. The underlings closed in on Venir and the others. The conversation, however it went, wasn’t going well. Venir’s axe came up and ripped down.
Forgive me, Inky.
He closed his eyes and spoke a powerful incantation.
It was a short conversation.
“See those carts back there?” Venir said to the underling. “They are here to pick up your dead.”
The underling chittered something to the other, and the other spoke in Common.
“What do you mean, Human?”
“The dead,” Venir said. “Pick. Up. Your. Dead.”
“What dead?” The first underling screeched and went for his sword. The other whistled an alarm.
Brool flashed up and Brool flashed down.
KABOOOOOOOOOOM!
The ground shook. Large chunks of rock, dirt, and debris erupted from the Depot.
“Have at them, rogues!” Venir roared. He sank Brool into the second underling’s neck. “That’s two for me!”
The ground above the tunnel of the Depot had sunk twenty feet into the earth. Melegal pulled off his coif and tossed it to the ground. The Depot was a dust-and dirt-covered hole now. The scaffolding and catwalks had been shattered. Underlings were buried in a pile of limbs, entrails, and other carnage. Whatever had shaken the ground was a power he’d never experienced before.
Venir and Brak and the others had made quick work of the underlings and chased away a handful of survivors.
Fogle approached from the hillside with a look of satisfaction on his face.
“Did your bird do that?”
“That’s quite a bird.”
“It would have been nice to have a heads-up about it.”
“But that would have ruined the surprise.”
Armor coated in dark blood, Venir approached with a scowl on his face.
“I don’t think he’s going to like what you did.”
“’Cause I’ve never seen anyone kill more underlings than him before,” Melegal said.
Synopsis
“Venir is to blame for everything,” claims Palos’s father. “I’ll show him!” says Melegal.
Boon, Billip, Georgio, and Nikkel go to the Outland war against the underlings.
Ashamed of why he has stayed behind, Fogle sighs whenever he catches glimpses of Kam.
Jubilee pines for Nikkel while she babysits the still-paralyzed Brak, until she needs him.
Kam’s sister Jaen shows up and makes unreasonable demands that our friends cannot meet.
About The Author
Craig Halloran resides with his family outside of his hometown of Charleston, West Virginia. When he isn’t entertaining mankind, he is seeking adventure, working out, or watching sports. To learn more about him, go to: www.thedarkslayer.com
Other works by Craig Halloran
The Darkslayer Series 1
Wrath of the royals (Book 1)
Blades in the Night (Book 2)
Underling Revenge (Book 3)
Danger and the Druid (Book 4)
Outrage in the Outlands (Book 5)
Chaos at the Castle (Book 6)
The Darkslayer Series 2
Bish and Bone (Book 1)
Black Blood (Book 2)
Red Death (Book 3)
The Chronicles of Dragon Series
The Hero, The Sword and The Dragons (Book 1)
Dragon Bones and Tombstones (Book 2)
Terror at the Temple (Book 3)
Clutch of the Cleric (Book 4)
Hunt for the Hero (Book 5)
Siege at the Settlements (Book 6)
Strife in the Sky (Book 7)
Zombie Impact Series
Zombie Day Care: Book 1
Zombie Rehab: Book 2
Zombie Warfare: Book 3
Connect with him at:
Facebook: The Darkslayer Report by Craig
Twitter: Craig Halloran