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

by Craig Halloran

  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

  CHAPTER 5

  “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?”

  “No.”

  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!”

  Clatch-Zip!

  Clatch-Zip!

  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.

  CHAPTER 6

  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.

  Smack!

  “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.

  No!

  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.

  CHAPTER 7

  Georgio’s blade sheared an underling’s head from its shoulders.

  Slice!

  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.

  Clang!

  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.

  Swish!

  The underlings jumped back, and Georgio spun off balance. The underling blades found a home in his back.

  Jab!

  His eyes lit up, and he cried out. Eyes watering, Georgio swung on against the pain.

  The underlings were sk
illed 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!”