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

by Craig Halloran

  That hurts a bit.

  He pulled down his ragged sleeves and crawled over to his bed. It was a pile of fresh straw covered with a cotton sheet. The guards had even brought him a heavy green blanket. He crawled underneath it and fluffed up the straw where he rested his head.

  Much better.

  Clasping his hands over his chest, he stared up at the ceiling. There were 742 stones in the roof. Five archways kept the roof in place. The crack that brought forth the light of the day shone on his fingers. There was little warmth to it, but it was something. It was hope.

  “You know, it’s not so bad,” he said to himself. “For one thing, I don’t have to listen to anyone stupider than myself. I don’t have to bathe, either. I hated that as a child, but it wasn’t half bad with a woman.” He screwed up his face. “Bone, I can’t even picture one right now. Perhaps that’s a good thing. The last one got me into trouble, I think.”

  He made some sword-like motions in the air with his finger.

  “I wonder how much my skill has deteriorated.” He replayed his battles, stroke by stroke. It was the one thing he clearly remembered. All the rest he assumed he’d just forget about. It was steel that mattered. He made a tight fist. A vision of his grandfather came to mind. “I’d do anything for another stroke with a sword.”

  He coughed and cleared his throat. After the fever passed, the food had started to come. One plateful a day, then two. Then one, and none for days again. Today was a good day. “Somebody somewhere still fancies the likes of me. I only wish I could thank them. I think. Tee-hee.”

  Focus, Creed.

  Inside, he didn’t burn for vengeance, but he simmered enough to keep him alive. Just enough that he might see his grandfather, Lord Grom, again. Run a blade through him. The bloody thought came and went.

  Could I do that? Murder one of my own?

  He slid off his bed and started doing push-ups. “One. Two. Three. Four—” He gasped and collapsed onto the cobblestone floor. Wheezing, he crawled back onto his bed of straw and closed his eyes. “I think I’ll call it a day. Perhaps I’ll meet with death tomorrow.” He closed his eyes and dozed off.

  Clankety-clank. Clankety-clank.

  Creed’s eyes popped open. There was no sound more distinct than the door to the dungeons being opened. He rubbed his languid eyes and grabbed his spoon. He noted the crack in the wall had dimmed. He sniffed the air.

  I don’t smell dinner?

  He started toward the metal bars and sat back down.

  Don’t look desperate. You’re the best swordsman in Bone. Well, the former best swordsman in Bone.

  One of the Bloodhound guards led the way. He wore a studded leather tunic dyed red. He’d been the one to bring Creed most of his meals and had even offered almost ten words of conversation.

  What’s this? His hands are empty!

  His arm with the spoon in hand sagged. Behind the guard, another man followed down the stairs. Lumbering like an ox, the man was built like two. Chains rattled on his ankles. His very presence filled the room. Shaggy, dark hair hung over his face, covering his downcast eyes. His hands were cuffed and bound, huge and meaty. Behind him was another Bloodhound with a halberd pointed at his back.

  The first guard unlocked the biggest cell in the room, located at the back wall, across from Creed. He pulled the creaking cell door open and said, “Get in.”

  The behemoth of a man stooped down and stepped inside.

  The guard closed the door behind him and headed back toward the stairs without a word.

  “Pardon,” Creed said to the guard. “Pardon, but if you can barely manage to feed me, how do you expect to feed him?”

  “We don’t figure to feed the both of you,” the second Bloodhound said. “Because one of you is going to hang on the morrow. Heh-heh.” He glanced back at the new man in the cage. “And I don’t think a rope will hold that one.” He winked at Creed. “So it might be your death that’s due.”

  Creed sank back on his bed, watching his former brethren go. “Perhaps I will meet Death tomorrow after all.” He shot a look at his new cell mate. “But I want to live.”

  CHAPTER 10

  “What do you mean, Fogle?” It was Joline who spoke up. “Sit, tell us, what’s a lie?”

  Fogle made his way over to the table and took a seat beside Brak, across from Venir. The warrior’s face was creased in a frown. He cleared his throat. “I’ve been investigating the matter at hand on my own. The Order of Wizards is not operating in accordance with its own laws. They are subverting the system.” He pulled the sleeves back on his arms, revealing a nasty blister on his forearm. “I paid for what I’ve found, and I’ll pay more. We must go. All of us.”

  “All of you, maybe,” Venir said. “I wasn’t nosing in their business. Don’t bring your sorcerous treachery down on all of our heads. Perhaps you should go.”

  “Venir,” Joline said, “at times like this we need to stick together. What of these lies? What of Kam?”

  “I haven’t seen Kam in a month,” Fogle admitted.

  “A month?” Brak said. “All this time, I thought you were visiting.”

  “I’ve been trying, but I’ve not been permitted. Not since the last visit anyway. She was well cared for, at least it seemed that way. She’s strong.” He glanced at Venir. “If something’s wrong, she won’t admit it. Seriously, we need to go. I came to warn you.”

  “We just got here,” Venir said. “Odd that you arrive in such a timely fashion. I’d say you’ve been waiting for us to arrive.”

  No fooling him. Why is that so surprising?

  “Yes, well, I’ve been exercising caution in these matters. For your safety as well as my own. I’ve been waiting for you to arrive, but it’s only been a few hours.” He cleared his throat.

  “Have a drink,” Joline said, offering some wine. “And what of these lies?”

  “Yes, tell us of these lies that you boast about,” said Venir.

  “The tower that fell… it was empty.”

  “What do you mean?” Brak asked, finishing off his last spoonful of stew.

  “The wizards knew that it would fall.” He rapped his fist on the table. “They planned the entire thing.”

  “I’m certain the underlings were behind that attack. I felt it myself,” Venir said.

  “Yes, they did it with help from the Royals. Don’t you see? The city is divided. Now they are uniting it under the Royal banner. They don’t want us fighting the underlings. They want us under control.”

  “It’s madness!” Joline said.

  “Agreed,” Jubilee said. “He’s just blowing magic smoke up our arses.”

  “Jubilee!” the woman cried.

  “What? It’s true.”

  Fogle sighed. He turned and faced Venir. “And what do you think, Venir? Do my words ring true, or do I speak lies?”

  The jaw muscles in Venir’s face tightened. His fingers drummed on the table. He said, “I hate to admit it, but I believe you.”

  “You do?” Brak said with astonishment. “But the Royals, that means they’ve killed their own people. Hundreds of them. Maybe a thousand.”

  “Yes, but remember, they are Royals. Some good, most bad. They’ll do anything to maintain power. It seems that this civil war is getting to them.” The maple chair cracked when he leaned back and smiled.

  Fogle lifted his brows. “And you’re pleased… why?”

  “Because we’re doing something right.” He slid his long hunting knife out of his belt and thumbed the blade. “We need to keep up the pressure.”

  “We are not an army,” Fogle said. “They catch us and stick us in a hole with no bars, no windows, and no doors. I know this.” He tapped his finger on the table. “You have to listen to me and go.”

  “And what of Kam?” Venir said.

  “Yes, what of her?” Joline added. “We can’t abandon her.”

  “She’s safer in there,” Fogle said, shifting in his seat. Buckled brows bore down on him. Bish, they all
want to kill me. “And it is her wish.”

  “But you haven’t seen her in a month. Perhaps her mind has changed,” Venir said.

  “I can’t even get in to see her,” Fogle said, not hiding his irritation. The order of wizards had told him not to leave, that there would be a trial, but there had only been delay after delay. Now, he’d been cut off from his sources. “Listen, her concern is Erin’s safety. I pledged to do what is best for the child.”

  In an effortless heave, Venir’s massive arm flipped the table aside. He snatched Fogle by the collar and pulled him up to his toes. “She is my child,” he growled.

  Poor choice of words on my part. “Sorry, I meant no disrespect. I’m only honoring Kam’s wishes.”

  Venir lifted Fogle clear off the floor, holding him in a grip of iron. “Does she not think I’ll take care of my own?”

  “You have a bit of a reputation for not being there when needed,” Fogle said. His thoughts raced over a protective incantation. “I don’t think you can deny that.”

  “Venir,” Joline said, putting her hand on his arm. “Put him down. This resolves nothing.”

  “No,” Venir said. “It doesn’t.” He dropped Fogle.

  The mage straightened his robes.

  Venir poked him in the chest, knocking him backward a full step. “You do know what tower she is in, don’t you?”

  “I know the last tower she was in,” Fogle said, “but they might have moved her. Why?”

  Venir picked Helm up off the table, placed it over his head, and buckled the leather chin strap. “Because I’m going to get her.”

  “You’re a fool.”

  Venir hefted his axe over his shoulder and said with burning eyes, “And you’re a coward.”

  ***

  Kam lay strapped to a slab of white marble. Her auburn hair was matted to her face. Her cotton robes were soaked with sweat and clung to her body. The fullness of her body was gone and replaced with a bony frame. Her cheeks were sunken, and she was hollow eyed.

  Don’t break. Don’t break.

  One minute she’d been surrounded by robed figures, and in the next they had all gone, only to return as a cluster of ghostly apparitions. They probed her mind. Her body. They assaulted her with question after question that were both meaningless and meaningful. She fought. She cried. She screamed.

  Don’t break. Don’t break.

  Dried-up tear streaks were on her face. Her mouth was dry. Her body shivered. Her mind was scrambled. The group of inquisitionists showed no kindness. Day after day, hour after hour, they took pleasure in it. How could her father do this to her? It angered her. It frightened her. She needed to get out of there.

  “Submit!” they said a thousand times.

  “I won’t!” she fired back ten thousand more.

  Don’t break. Don’t break. Don’t break.

  CHAPTER 11

  The other man at the table spoke up. “Here’s Slat for Brains now.” He smiled at Melegal and Jasper. “Poetic.”

  Melegal sized the man up. He must have been fifty or older. His clothes were made from fine linen. The jewels on his fingers were polished.

  “They call me Satchel. A master thief, not unlike yourself.” He reached for a jug on the table. “Wine? It’s some of the finest in all of Bish.”

  Jubbler walked over and took the bottle from Satchel. “What’s left of it anyway, you sot. Huh.”

  “Do I look like a sot?” Satchel said to Jasper.

  “Just because you don’t look like one, huh, doesn’t mean you aren’t one.” Jubbler snatched up a couple of crystal goblets and poured the dark-purple wine. “Sit and drink, huh. We can eat if you like. If you want rest, huh, there is a bedroom behind that corner.”

  Melegal and Jasper took their chairs. She whispered in his ear, “Is that a golden bath tub?”

  He gave a little shrug.

  Jubbler filled his own glass and raised it high. “A toast, huh. To your new home below the, huh, city, Master Thief.”

  “New home?”

  “Aye,” Jubbler said. “This is your home, huh, as in your apartment.”

  “As in my gold?”

  “You can dispense of it as you will, huh, but the pickings have been much leaner these days, huh, thanks to those black rodents. We expect you’ll, huh, resolve it though, Master Thief.” Jubbler drank. “Ah. Of course, huh, you can’t enjoy it if you aren’t free to spend it all, huh, now can you?”

  “I see.”

  “Humph,” Satchel said. “Of course, you don’t have to accept the honor. After all, there are many who would be willing to take your place. Me, for one. But the Nest has voted. By their decree, they want an outsider to take charge. A hero. The vanquisher of Palzor.” He flicked a red grape high in the air and caught it in his mouth and chomped down. “It’s foolishness.”

  “It’s final? I’m in charge?” Melegal said with a little doubt in his voice.

  “Eh, almost, huh,” Jubbler said. “Of course, that’s why you are here, huh. To find out if you want to take on the Mantle of Rogues or not, huh. There have been votes, huh. You have them. But there are, huh, challengers.”

  “Yes,” Satchel said, cocking a brow. “Many. I’d enjoy yourself and this place while you live.”

  Melegal sipped his wine. No problem enjoying this. He reached over and squeezed Jasper’s knee. “If this is my place, then I want that babbling mass of flesh out of my sight.” He frowned. “Why is he even here? Let him rot in the dungeons.”

  “The dungeons are, huh, full,” Jubbler said.

  “Then unfill them.”

  Satchel sat up in his chair. “Are you saying let them loose?”

  “Send them down the black waters. Let them roost with the underlings for all I care. Now, begone.”

  Jubbler and Satchel glanced at one another and back at him. Jubbler said, “There is much to, huh, discuss.”

  Melegal narrowed his eyes on him. “Begone, the lot of you.”

  ***

  “I have to admit, this isn’t what I expected,” Jasper said, soaping her body in the golden tub. “But I like it.” She blew a handful of bubbles out of her hand. “Why don’t you join me? That furrowed brow”—she rose her leg up out of the tub—“needs to be unfurrowed.”

  “Perhaps,” Melegal said. He sat at the end of the table nearest the fireplace. His clothes felt like a warm blanket on his back. Strange turn of events, indeed.

  “You’re missing out,” Jasper said, giggling.

  Am I? Or am I missing something? The campaign for Melegal’s invitation to the Nest had begun within a week after Palzor’s head was delivered. Slom and Zurth had spoken of the account. The pair of them, respected guards of Palzor’s, were guild members as well. They had made their case for Melegal. The rogues had listened, responded, and ushered him into the guild.

  With their forces divided, the rogues beneath the city had been ready for a change. Melegal had seized momentum, telling them everything they wanted to hear, with a tongue as swift as a politician in Bone. The majority had eaten it up, and now he sat on the edge of the throne of the under city.

  He grabbed three coins and juggled them with one hand. I wonder if I could spend it all as quickly as I acquired it.

  “So,” Jasper said, “how are you going to bridge the ties with the Towers? And what about the challengers? No offense, but you aren’t exactly the fighting type. Can they name a champion? A brawler, perhaps?”

  One thing at a time. “That’s where you come in, Jasper.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you. You didn’t think I’d bring you along just because you’re pretty, did you?”

  “You think I’m pretty?”

  “Gorgeous.”

  “Irresistible?”

  If you were made of gold, maybe. “Absolutely.”

  “Then why aren’t you in this tub with me?”

  Good question. “Stay on point, dear. Now tell me everything about everyone you know in connection to the Towers.”
<
br />   “Not unless you bathe with me first.”

  Melegal kicked his boots off the table and started to undress. “Oh, all right, then.”

  Knock! Knock! Knock-knock!

  He sighed. “Enter!”

  The bald, one-eyed man pushed the door open.

  I really should have locked that.

  Jubbler and Satchel entered.

  “What is it?”

  “Underlings. Huh.”

  “What about them?”

  “A barge full of them sits out on our, huh, waters.”

  “Then sink it.”

  “We tried. Huh. We can’t.”

  CHAPTER 12

  The Magi Roost was rife with tension.

  “Venir, you can’t just barge into a tower. You’ll be deader than stone the moment you knock on the door,” Fogle said.

  “Just point it out.”

  Brak started buckling on his sword belt.

  “What are you doing?” Jubilee said to Brak. “Do you want to get killed too?”

  “Better to die on my feet than on my arse.”

  “You are an arse.”

  Brak made his way over beside Venir.

  They’re both mad! I suppose I should be used to it by now.

  Fogle folded his arms together. “You can’t go anywhere unless I tell you where she is. At least, where I think she is. And I’m not going to let you get yourselves killed. You might not like me, but I don’t want to see you dead either.” He eyed Brak. “At least not him. You, well, you’re difficult.”

  “At least I’m not indecisive.”

  “Indecisive!” Fogle’s hands turned into fists. “I’ve been risking my neck too, you know! Irritating oaf!”

  Eyes all on him, Fogle felt something stir inside his gut. His blood started to race. It wasn’t anger or irritation, rather something uplifting. The urge to do what was right. He’d been playing by the Royals’ rules long enough. It had gotten them, most of all Kam, nowhere. “Slat. Give me a moment.”

  “For what?” Venir said.