“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.
Glitch!
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.
“What are you doing?”
“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!”
CHAPTER 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!”
Glitch!
He pinned the little monster to the ground. Snatched up his axe and fought like a wild man.
Towering over the part-men 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.
Slat!
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.
Hack!
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. H
e 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 over-sized 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.
The Darkslayer: Bish and Bone Series Collector's Edition (Books 1-10): Sword and Sorcery Masterpieces Page 6