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

by Craig Halloran

  The scorpion and Brak squared off. With his sword gripped in two hands, Brak eyed the dangerous, poison-dripping needle that was poised to strike from the scorpion’s back. His feet moved from side to side as his heart raced. He’d never seen a monster like that before. It was coated in black armor—mindless and merciless.

  It pinched through the ogre’s gut and tossed Ugg aside. Its tail licked out. Brak brought his sword down. The steel collided with the scorpion’s deadly weapon, cutting deep into the spike. Poison sprinkled from the stinger, peppering Brak’s arm. “Arrgh!”

  With his skin bubbling, the fighter inside Brak fully woke. He pressed his attack, chopping at the insect’s eyes, clipping it neatly in the head. The exoskeleton cracked beneath the power of the blade. Its pincer rounded from Brak’s blind side and clubbed him down to a knee. Brak struck back with his sword. The scorpion caught it with its pincers. As they wrestled, Brak held onto the pommel, remembering the lessons of Venir, Mikkel, and Billip. Never give up your weapon. Because of the insect’s boundless strength, Brak felt as though he was fighting a monster made of iron. The second pincer snapped at Brak. He punched at it.

  “Brak!” Jubilee screamed.

  He’d lost sight of everyone. Blood rushed through his ears. He fought, kicked, and pulled against the monster. Its tail smote right between his legs, just missing his knees. He lurched out of the way and lost his grip on the sword.

  The scorpion dropped the sword in the sand. As it rushed him, a bright missile ripped through the insect. The glowing green light popped holes in and out of the insect like a wild hornet.

  The scorpion reared up, screeching. Brak dashed over to his sword and scooped it up.

  The missile of energy must have poked a dozen holes in the scorpion. Fluid oozed from its wounds. Still, it lived, shifting back and forth on its legs with red eyes searching for the foreign enemy. Wobbly, stinger stabbing wildly, it turned and came face-to-face with Brak.

  In a powerful lunge, Brak gored its face. The blade slipped into the monster’s tiny brain all the way down to the pommel. The scorpion flopped to the ground, twitching but dead. Brak yanked the sword free. His chest heaved.

  Fogle appeared with an anguished look on his face. Wisps of energy emanated from his fingertips. “How are you?”

  Brak gave him an assuring nod.

  Nearby, someone wailed. He and Fogle turned together. Slim was on his knees beside Ugg, moaning. The skinny man’s face was wet with tears. Brak heard Jubilee say under her breath, “And then there were four.”

  “More like fourteen.” Fogle’s face was turned away.

  “Huh?” Brak followed Fogle’s stare. His blood went cold. They were surrounded by underlings.

  CHAPTER 29

  Venir’s tremendous body leaned back against the chair. Billip and Hoff teetered in their seats. Every man’s chin dipped. Their eyes became lazy.

  Venir played along, catching the gemstone eyes of the underlings opening with a hungry look. He’d only taken a taste of the grog. The strong fermented drink wasn’t his thing. He tasted the taint in the fluid, though. It numbed his tongue.

  Kazzar lifted a hand and studied the men as though waiting for a chopped-down tree to fall. He gave a single chit command. An underling soldier with two pierced eyes moved toward Jasper. She let out a frightened little sound as the other human patrons inside the tavern chairs scooted over the hardwood floor.

  Venir’s head popped up. The muscles in his neck were tight. He shoved the entire table into Kazzar’s chest, pinning the underling against the wall.

  Instantly, Melegal fired one of his dart launchers into the exposed neck of an underling. The underling recoiled, clutching at the big needle lodged in his neck. Venir pushed out of his chair. He clubbed the underling in the face, cracking its jaw.

  Melegal kept firing. His darts found mark after mark, striking eyes and necks. A flash of light lit up the room. An underling screeched. Melegal twisted around in his seat. The underling that charged after Jasper gaped at his arm that lay on the floor. His shoulder smoked and sizzled. Black blood oozed. Jasper flung another shard of light at the underling, tearing its head from its shoulders.

  Fighting like a trapped wild boar, Venir clobbered underlings with whatever he could find. A chair broke on an underling’s skull. A poker by the fireplace became a deadly weapon. Venir bent the metal around an underling’s neck so tight the creature choked to death.

  Melegal snaked out a weapon from a fallen foe. He slunk behind an underling caught up in the fracas and pounced like a cat, sliding the blade clean between the vertebrae. It sagged, but not so fast that Melegal didn’t strike again.

  The underlings became a wreckage of black flesh as Venir and Melegal picked them apart with savagery and quick steel. Melegal slid the blade from an underling’s ribs just in time to catch Venir with Kazzar pinned up against the wall.

  “What did you put in me?” Venir demanded.

  The choking Kazzar waved his hands in a frantic motion. He clawed at Venir’s unforgiving hands. His face shifted and contorted. Feet kicking at the empty air, Kazzar’s black skin turned pale. The features on his face became those of a man. His head was bald and round. A long moustache hung from his upper lip.

  “What in Bone is this?” Venir asked.

  Standing beside Venir, Melegal said, “It’s a trick of those black devils. Twist its head off.”

  “No, no…” The man in Venir’s clutches managed to croak with his tongue half out of his mouth. “I’m a royal. A royal.”

  Venir gave Melegal a glance.

  The thief said, “That’s an even better reason to let my temperamental friend crush your throat.”

  “Please,” the bald man groaned. “Let me explain.”

  Melegal took a quick glance around the room. Billip and Hoff lay on the floor. Jasper stood nearby. Sam was approaching. “Sam do you know anything about this?”

  “Nay.”

  “What about our companions?” Melegal said, holding a dagger under the man’s eye. “What did you give them?” The man who had been Kazzar struggled to talk. Venir still had him pinned to the wall by one arm. The man’s head was turning beet red. He gave Venir a nod.

  The warrior’s grip eased. He lowered the man so that his toes hit the floor but still held him fast. “Out with it.”

  Coughing, the man known as Kazzar cleared his throat and said, “Your friends will be fine. It’s just knockout juice.” He eyed Venir. “Why you’re standing, I’ll never know. I’m really Altan Rey of the House of Kord.” The balding man was as slight of build as an underling and appeared to be in his fifties. “Not every royal house has buckled to these cave dwellers. I’m a spy.”

  Glancing at the fallen underlings, Venir said, “Are they spies too?”

  “No. I mastered their language and stole the identity of Kazzar. These minions come and go. None of them knew Kazzar well enough to tell the difference.” Venir released him. Altan Rey rubbed his neck. “They’re all sick bastards.”

  “So why poison us?” Melegal said.

  “It’s hardly a poison.” Altan Rey found the waitress that he kept chained by the neck and waved her over. She slunk toward him on nimble feet. He unlatched her collar and pecked her cheek. “Sorry, dear. As for the potion, well, it’s a bit of deceit. Any formidable man is taken to the arenas in the castles to fight. It’s a better life than burning in the furnaces. The underlings fight soldiers all the time for sport. True gladiators.”

  Melegal gave the woman a once-over. Though dressed in scanty linen, her figure was fine. Her eyes and hair were dark. He noticed a royal birthmark mostly hidden under the hair on the nape of her neck. He knew it well. Many of the royal women were marked at birth to keep them from being accidentally sold into slavery. “You’re both spies.”

  “Some of the royals dug deep before the entire city went to slat. These underlings might be nasty and clever, but they can be softened the same way men can.” He tugged at the sleeves of his robes.
His hands seemed small for a man, and his fingers, toying with the hem, were quick. He produced a little scroll. The parchment was rolled up as tight as a twig. It crumbled in his hand. “That’s that.”

  “That’s what?” Melegal said.

  “The spell that allowed me to transform. It was one of my best. I spent hours casting it, and it will take hours to resume the form of Kazzar again.” He rubbed his head. “In the meantime, we’re in a bind. Underling patrols will roll in here come nighttime. They’ll be looking for Kazzar. When they don’t find him, they’ll kill us all.”

  “Maybe they won’t show up for a long time yet,” Jasper said.

  “I’d say they’ll be here sooner than normal,” Altan Rey replied.

  “Why do you think that?” she asked.

  Facing that bar, Melegal scowled. “Because that snake Jeb is gone.”

  CHAPTER 30

  “I always figured him for a spy,” Altan said. “A fellow like that should have been taken down, but the underlings let him be. I should have known, but things have been easy until the likes of you came in. Now he knows I’m not what I seem. That’s trouble.”

  Melegal took Jasper by the hand. “You stay with them.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I’ll return.” Melegal jetted out of the tavern into the narrow street. No one knew the city better than him. On a hunch he went left, heading through the alleys and toward the districts. Shadows covered his every move as the setting suns slipped behind the great wall. Melegal scaled a narrow ledge of steps onto the roof of a two-story house. With a bird’s eye view, he studied the narrow passages for passersby. His keen ears were perked up at any sounds of commotion.

  If I were an arsehole, where would I go?

  He leaped from one building top to another. His soft landing startled a woman smoking a pipe. She shuddered inside her patchwork blanket before giving him a toothy smile. Ten minutes into his roof-jumping search, he was considering turning back when a chittering caught his ear. He stepped to the building edge and leaned over.

  Ah.

  Jeb’s burly frame lurked below with a pair of underlings. They were exchanging words. A small leather purse was exchanged.

  Slat! He’s told them all they need to know. Huh, this is going to be tough.

  Narrowing his eyes on the backs of the underlings, Melegal unsheathed two daggers. The fiends were shoulder to shoulder. He could see their coarse nape hairs as they chittered to each other. Seeing them shift their feet, Melegal hopped down. He seemed to float through time on his descent. The air rushed up and tickled his ears. He landed right behind the underlings, turning loose a two-handed stab at the same time. He pierced the underlings’ spines with an expert precision. The underlings gurgled, crumpled, and died.

  Jeb’s jaw hung open as he stared at Melegal. The big-eared brawler’s hand fell to his short sword. When it was halfway out of the sheath, Melegal ripped out his daggers and sprang. He buried his steel between the man’s ribs.

  “Gaak!” Blood spilled from Jeb’s mouth. His eyes rolled up in his head.

  Melegal wiped his blades. “Men should never side with underlings.” Hearing the sound of others approaching, he ducked into the alley.

  ***

  Venir’s shoulders turned toward the door as soon as Melegal entered the Drunken Octopus. The thief appeared as cool as ever, but Venir knew better. “Well?”

  “Jeb has nothing stupid left to say. Ever.”

  Satisfied, Venir resumed his conversation with Altan Rey and his lady friend. The other tavern dwellers had stripped down the dead underlings and dragged them into the kitchen. A threesome of women worked at a feverish pace, scrubbing the wet blood from the floors.

  “Continue, Royal,” Venir said.

  Altan let out a sigh of relief. “As I was saying, some royals stir against the underlings, and though it seems to be in vain, we hope time is on our side. The underlings grow overconfident. We’re just learning and waiting for them to slip up. Whatever we can do to delay their genocidal efforts, we do with negotiations and wines.”

  Venir huffed a laugh.

  Altan Rey cocked a brow. “You disagree?”

  “The underlings are more clever than you royals will ever be. They are only fattening you up for the kill. Soon enough, you’ll be slaughtered. Underlings by the tens of thousands gather far beyond the wall. They won’t leave a single man, woman, or child living.”

  “You jest.”

  “No, I’ve seen it myself. We all have.” He pointed to Hoff and Billip, who were still sprawled on the floor. “How long will my other witnesses be out?”

  “Hours, but at least they’ll wake here instead of in the dungeons.” Altan took a sip of wine. “So what brings you here, then? How did you get inside the walls?”

  “That’s our business. Tell me more about these fights that you drag the men into. What’s the purpose in helping the underlings out?”

  “We’re trying to pinpoint the leader,” Altan Rey said. “Every castle has a brood of underlings running it from within. The goal is simple: find the leader and assassinate him. I use these fights to draw out the leaders. They love seeing the men slaughtered, but it is slow going. All of the underlings look the same, bright-eyed or not.”

  “It’s a good plan, but for all you know, the leader is in the Underland and guiding his forces from there. No, if you want to fight the underlings, you’d best gather all of your forces and strike quickly. Otherwise, they’ll keep pouring in and slaughtering.”

  “You seem to know much about the underlings.”

  “I know them all too well. We all do.” Venir knew much more than he let on. He even knew which underling to look for—Master Sinway, the underling with iron eyes. He wasn’t even sure how he knew it, but he did. He’d seen the face in his dreams and battles. Trinos spoke of the underling, and Kam had a special knowledge too. He needed to vet Altan Rey some more. “Tell me something useful, and if I like it, I might reveal what we are here for.”

  “The royal House of Kord might be a lower house, but we are a far cry from the dogs that run this city. Our nobility stands for itself, and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that the royals stationed above us opened up a grand opportunity.” Altan stroked his moustache and smiled at his woman. “We wouldn’t mind one bit to see the others fall. Frankly, I’m more disgusted than ever. I’ve been watching the royals volunteer their men as living sacrifices. They send them screaming and burning from the catapults on the wall. The House of Kord has made no such sacrifices.”

  “Do underlings fill your castle?” Venir asked.

  “As much as any other. We communicate in the day. At the markets.” He patted his woman’s knee. “She handles things. For weeks, it’s been nothing but the status quo and hopes that my family remains intact as long as they can stand it.”

  Venir rubbed his chin. “What happens if the pit fighter wins?”

  “Oh, well, that’s rarely happened. Even the finest might make it through a round or two, but they get carved down. That’s the interesting thing, though. It draws the more powerful underlings out. If a fighter made it far enough, I imagine we’d see all of the underlings, including the leader.”

  “How much time between the fights?”

  “An hour or two. Long enough for more underlings to gather. Why?”

  “Because I have a horrible idea.”

  CHAPTER 31

  Brak counted fourteen underlings in all. The fierce little men encircled them in the wink of an eye. Dressed in their customary dark-leather armor, with scowls that matched their ferocious appearance, half of the fiends took aim with blowguns and hand crossbows. Others gripped razor-sharp, blackened steel. The metal edges were curved and jagged. Some of the points were serrated.

  The underlings were not the usual ilk. They were what Brak had come to know as the hunters, or the “badoon” in Underling. Their heads were partially shaved, and some displayed long ponytails, carvings in their ears and bodies, bones of men rattling f
rom necklaces, and belts made from human skin. Brak swallowed the lump in his throat. He eased his big body in front of Jubilee.

  “Everyone remain really still,” Fogle said out of the side of his mouth with his fingers twitching at his sides.

  A ruby-eyed underling with a steel hoop in one of his nostrils glared at the muttering mage. The underling took aim with his crossbow and fired. Clatch zip!

  Fogle lurched. He dropped on one knee. A small bolt was lodged in his shoulder. His brow knitted. The glow that had started in his fingers vanished. “Curse you, fiends!”

  Brak stood like a wall in front of Jubilee. He held his sword in front of his chest as he scanned the knot of dangerous fighters. He’d faced death many times before. Peril was part of breathing. His eyes slid from face to face. The intent of the flock of fighters was perfectly clear. They were going to carve up Brak and the others. Toy with them. He couldn’t let such peril come to Jubilee.

  The youngster was much like himself and at that point more woman than girl. Her fingers dug into his waist. She whispered, “Do what you have to do, Brak. Don’t worry about me.”

  The underlings puffed on their blowguns.

  Toowah! Toowah! Toowah!

  Jubilee let out a squeal. Darts were lodged in her legs. She hung tight to Brak. He held her fast, nestling her in his big arms.

  The underlings let out cruel and gleeful chittering. A small knot of them with long swords pierced the flesh of the horse and watched the fine beast fall to the ground. Small projectiles lanced Slim, Fogle, Jubilee, and Brak. The darts burnt like the sting of hornets.

  Thunder came from the distance, catching the underlings’ attention. The sound came not from the sky but the ground. Jarla appeared, riding hard on the back of Nightmare, leaving a cloud of dust in her wake. She leaned from her saddle with her sword hanging low. Underlings rushed into her path. Jarla’s sharp steel greeted an underling’s skull. Nightmare plowed over two of the fiends, crunching bone and flesh.