The Darkslayer: Bish and Bone Series Collector's Edition (Books 1-10): Sword and Sorcery Masterpieces

by Craig Halloran

  “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!”

  CHAPTER 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!”

  CHAPTER 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 co
me.”

  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.”