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

by Craig Halloran

***

  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!

  “Guards!”

  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.

  Slat!

  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 revealin
g 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?”

  She nodded.

  “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 hi
s 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.

  Thoom…

  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?”