Bone!
CHAPTER 37
The atmosphere in the battle pit changed. Kazzar chitter-spoke back and forth with several of the underlings in the stands. Several more underling soldiers entered the arena seating area and spread out among the audience.
“It looks like they are having a change in strategy,” Creed said. “I think your mauling of those deformed little monsters changed their wicked hearts.”
“Those urchlings are expendable. The one thing they value is their own. We learned that the hard way,” he said, referring to Corrin.
The underlings started dragging out the weapon racks from their dugout. It was all royal-made weapons—swords, hammers, axes, picks and flails, and polearms.
“I think you spoiled the easy rounds of the contest. They want more blood now,” Creed said. “Perhaps there would be a different outcome if you hadn’t ripped the arms off.”
Kazzar came over to their dugout. “The audience isn’t pleased. They’d like to see more skill in the ring. The fights may or may not be fatal. We’ll let the audience decide.”
“I thought there would be food if we won. We are supposed to advance when we win.” Venir growled. “What happened to that?”
“There are no guarantees, Venir,” Kazzar said. “We have to let things play out. My advice: survive as long as you can. Creed, you’re next.” He gestured with his hand. “Come out front and center.”
The underling soldiers opened the cell door, and Creed took his place. Kazzar worked up the crowd in Underling. He articulated strange signals. The signals made Venir uneasy. It seemed too natural for a man who’d transformed himself into an underling. Kazzar moved to the weapons rack and fingered the variety of arms one by one. He held up a spear. The underlings chittered in dissatisfaction.
Kazzar moved to another rack. He picked up a war hammer made with a heavy head of steel and hoisted it with effort over his small head. The underlings chittered with high approval. Kazzar dropped the unwieldy weapon at Creed’s feet. The hammer had the small head of an anvil on it.
Creed picked the awkward weapon up and frowned at it. He looked at Venir and shrugged.
Venir said to him, “Remember what I told you.”
Creed nodded.
The arena became stuffy. The underlings’ faces glistened. Moisture made a sheen on the walls. Elypsa and Kuurn sat side by side. His hand was on her bare thigh. She leaned forward, placing her delicate chin on her fist as if she were bored. The other prisoners’ eyes hung on every movement. Survival was supplanted by lust.
Kazzar opened the underling dugout. A ruby-eyed warrior stepped out in chain armor with a leather tunic over the links. The sword it carried filled both of its hands at the handle. The blade was unusually long. It cut the blade through the air in quick, graceful circles. The sword seemed to be one with the underling’s body.
Creed’s chest sagged. He was about to fight a master swordsman with the equivalent of a sledgehammer. He lifted the head of the war hammer up. His boots ground into the floor. He put a gentle bend in his knees.
Kazzar closed himself inside the dugout. He let out a loud chit. The underling crowd chittered in elation as the swordsman waded toward Creed. The fiend stabbed at Creed’s knees. Creed jumped back clumsily.
The underling toyed with the imposing man painted in war paint. Its blade kissed the steel of the war hammer’s head. The blade cut at Creed’s fingers. The sharp weapon chopped high, low, left, and right. Creed parried with desperation. The underling swiped. Creed leapt backward, the blade an inch from disemboweling him.
“Curse these fiends!” Venir spit in the arena. “This is not a fight. It’s a jest! Give the man something he can fight with!” He caught Elypsa looking right at him and averted his eyes. Bone! He’d forgotten how loud he could be. It was possible she might have recognized his voice. He pressed his forehead to the bars, kept his eyes down, and watched Creed fight on.
The underling pressed Creed around the arena. The crowd started to jeer. Their mannerisms became raucous and filthy. They hissed, screeched, and hollered underling vulgarities.
Creed planted a foot and cocked back to swing. His opponent slashed him across the thigh. Creed cried out as he fell. He lay flat on his back with the war hammer cocked behind his head. The underling poised its sword for the kill. Groaning with wild pain, Creed suddenly sat up and brought his arms forward with wroth force. The war hammer slipped free of his fingers and cracked the underling square in the forehead.
Venir pumped his fist. “Yes!”
The underling’s legs became noodles. The sword fell free from its fingers. Its eyeball had burst, and black blood oozed from the crack in its skull. It crumpled, quivered, and died.
Creed fought his way back to his feet. He pressed on the nasty gash in his leg. The underlings sat back in their seats, hissing as he limped back toward the dugout. On a signal from Kazzar, the underling guards let him back in.
“Possum, eh?”
“Yeah,” Creed said, grimacing. “I paid for it too. I didn’t see another way out. That thing would have chopped me to bits. Praise my dogs I pulled it off.” He sat down on the stone bench, grabbed the gauze, and wrapped up his leg. “Do you think the underlings are underestimating our skills? I hope I have them fooled.”
“Stay on guard. We’d be fools to believe so.”
CHAPTER 38
The older sentry jabbed the spear into the manure again. The tip bit into the wood. Melegal inched a little farther back. I’m going to get hit. Two spear tips started stabbing into the pile.
“Woohoo!” a voice called out from far away. “Woohoo!”
“What’s this?” the older sentry said. He moved away from the cart.
Melegal let out a sigh. He couldn’t see what was going on, but something had caught the sentry’s attention.
“Look at that,” the older sentry said with excitement. “She’s cute for a bigger gal.”
“You think she’s cute?” the younger sentry said.
“You’re too young to fully appreciate the arousing attributes of a woman. You’ll understand better when your my age. Whoa! She took her smock off. Heh, she’s got some big ones. I think she likes me.” The older soldier patted the cart. “Get this thing out of here. I’m due for a break. That maiden on the rooftop is calling me.”
“It seems a tad suspicious in broad daylight, and somewhat…disturbing,” the young sentry added.
“Just cover for me. I’ll be right back. If there’s something suspicious, I’ll find out about it.”
“You shouldn’t leave your post.”
“I know but, hah, you only live once. Besides, there isn’t that much left to live for.”
The older sentry moved out of sight. The cart was wheeled into the gates. It turned. Melegal caught a glimpse of the man crossing the roof. He had just enough of an angle to see Frigdah had partially covered herself and was waving to the sentry. Good, motley girl. Very good. The gate closed. He was inside the castle courtyard. The women servants pushed the cart to the stables located in a barn in the westward quadrant of the castle.
Melegal had shoveled manure for the royal castles when he was younger. Thinking of it made his back ache. He’d shoveled it into stables and mixed it with hay beds. He fertilized their gardens with it. He swore once he got out of doing it, he’d never do it again. Yet here I am. He thought of Georgio. He’d gotten the young boy to do all of his chores. Sad he’s gone.
For whatever the reason, it seemed that the underlings, despite their diabolical behavior, were willing to maintain a status quo in terms of operating the castles.
Melegal waited until the women left. The only sound he heard was the occasional nicker of horses. Carefully, he pushed his way out of the manure, managing to hardly get a flake on him, hopped out of the cart, and hung the blanket over one of the stable doors. His eyes went to the rafters. There were old cobwebs but no spiders.
Good for that.
If there was one thing he was very
uncomfortable with, it was the spiders that patrolled the walls like weird guard dogs. He didn’t know how to account for that. He moved over to a trough of water, rolled up his sleeve, and inspected his wound. The gash oozed. He rinsed it off. Eh, that will have to do.
In all of his years, Melegal had spent plenty of time in the castles. Most of his time was when he was a boy. The other time was when he replaced McKnight as the detective for Lord Almen. Castle layouts were much the same. They were big, and eyes couldn’t be everywhere at once. They had secret passages too, most of which were designed for the servants to come and go through without disturbing the royals. The odd thing was, after so many generations passed, it seemed that the royals weren’t aware of these passages. The servants did what the servants did.
With his back hugging the walls, Melegal crept out of the barn, using the daytime shadows between the buildings for cover. He kept his eyes upward most of the time. The towers and spires had many windows. Some were rooms and others were guard posts. A sand spider crawled up one of the towers, startling a human guard, before vanishing on the roof of the tower. It sent a chill through Melegal. It gave him an idea too.
If he were caught, Melegal would have a hard time talking himself out of a dire situation. He had two options. Dress as a soldier, which would nullify his ability to move about with quiet indiscretion, or take on the garb of a servant. He opted for the latter. Pressing against the wall, he watched three underlings cross in front of him and move on. He followed after them into the castle and split off into an abandoned living room with fresh blood stains on the carpet. On a hunch he searched the bookcases. He discovered a false panel. A doorway was concealed behind the bookcase. He entered and closed the door behind him. On cat’s feet, he navigated the narrow tunnels to the servants’ quarters behind the kitchen and peeked inside.
Looks like a window has opened.
The servants’ quarters were nothing but small cots lined up along the floor. There were chests at the foot of the cots to store clothing. Melegal could hear the rustling of china and ironware coming from the kitchen. He slipped into the quarters. Rummaging through one chest after the other, he found a brown servant’s smock with a beige collar. He slipped it on over his narrow shoulders. It covered him down to his knees. He grabbed a servant’s cap off a peg. Placing it on his head, he moved on through the kitchen. Two men stirred huge pots of something that smelled awful. They didn’t glance his way.
Heh-heh.
Melegal found a wicker broom and dustpan in a storage closet. Head down, he carried it through the halls. Every time he heard voices echoing his direction, he took a knee and began to sweep.
Underlings escorted a tall warrior dressed in the formal apparel of a high-ranking royal down the hall. The man carried the same commanding presence as Lord Almen. He slowed as they passed Melegal.
Melegal’s shoulders tightened. He felt eyes on his back.
“Servant,” the man said.
Melegal stopped sweeping. Head down, he stood and turned to face the royal. “Yes, lord.” The man gave him a thorough once-over. His eyes searched his face. Servants never looked the royals in the eyes and rarely talked to them unless directly addressed.
“My mother needs fresh water, right away,” the royal said. “Take it directly to her quarters.”
He nodded.
“Look at me, servant.”
Melegal looked the man in the eye. He knew the name Manamus, and immediately he put together that this was Rayal’s father, Ebenezer. There was a strong resemblance between father and daughter. Ebenezer had the same probing eyes Rayal did. If the Lord of the Klings saw right through him, he didn’t show it. Suddenly, the underlings crowded him. An odd silence fell over the hallway. I’m doomed.
CHAPTER 39
Billip, Kam, and Fogle skulked over their table. Kam’s heart was shooting up her throat. It seemed everywhere she turned the walls were closing in. Now, they hadn’t sat down more than a handful of minutes when the corrupt city watch accompanied by an underling filtered into the rank-smelling tavern.
“Just act like you belong here,” Billip said under his breath.
Kam draped her leg over Fogle’s thigh. She looked into his eyes and played with his hair. “I bet your druid princess would be really upset if she saw this.”
“Her? Bone, I’m jealous,” Billip said.
The city watch sallied up to the bar and ordered some drinks. The underling cruised in and out of the tables. It pulled one man’s head back by the hair. Chittering, it shoved the man’s face back down. The bartender set two full tankards of ale before the city watchmen. He poured a separate goblet of port.
The underling paid the barkeep no mind. It fastened its eyes on Kam’s table.
With his mouth inside his goblet, Billip said in a sharp tone to Kam, “Kiss him!”
“What?”
“Underlings can’t stand the sight of affection. Hurry.”
Kam planted a slutty kiss full on Fogle’s lips. He reeled her into him with surprisingly strong hands. The kiss switched over from a playful act to something deeper. Her fingers tangled up in his thick brown hair. Their hungry mouths locked together. She lost herself in his lips and was oblivious to her surroundings. A firm hand cupped her breast and squeezed. She moaned.
“He turned away,” Billip said. Kam and Fogle kept it up. He kicked the leg of her chair. Their lips broke apart. “I said, they went.”
Panting, Kam saw the watchmen and the underling leave. Fogle removed his hand from her breast. “Sorry. I became carried away.” His cheeks reddened. “I suppose.”
“You sure sold them,” Billip said. “The look on that underling’s face was sheer disgust.” He cracked is knuckles. “Perhaps horror.”
Kam’s fingers slid out of Fogle’s hair. She took a breath and a long drink. She’d gotten caught up in the moment more than she could have imagined. She had feelings for Fogle but never imagined it was anything so strong. In that moment, she’d lost control of her body. She knew it. Fogle knew it. It’s just the pressure, Kam. That’s all. The pressure.
As the underling and the city watch departed, another man in a full beard bustled through the doors. He drew a scowl from the underling. Billip elbowed Fogle. “That’s Hoff.” He tipped his chin at the man.
Hoff crossed the room. His beard hung halfway down his breastplate. The chair creaked when he sat. “You live. Good.” He gave Kam a nod. “I see you brought some help. We’ll take all we can get.”
“This is Fogle,” Billip said. “Glad you found us so soon.”
“Well, it’s good fortune. There was a stir in the streets, and I got the feeling I better stake out some of our hives. I checked one more before this one. It was on the journey.” He helped himself to Fogle’s ale. “Apologies, but I’m very thirsty. Barkeep. Another!”
“Any word from Venir?” Billip asked.
Kam stiffened.
“Nay. The black hearts have him. I’ve managed to round up a couple hundred willing horsemen when the time comes. Castle Kord offered many.”
“Slat!” Billip said.
Hoff leaned back. “What’s the problem? Horsemen are a good thing.”
“Yes, but only if they are on our side. Word has it that Castle Kord’s alignment lies with the underlings and not their own.”
“Are you certain about this? Altan Rey gave his word. I’ve dealt with them before. They’ve always been honest fellows.” He sighed. “I’m not certain what to believe. Shall I make other arrangements?”
“I’d find as many other riders as you can. Be wary.” Billip showed him the dwarven horn. “I’ll watch for the flags and Venir. When you hear this, it’s time to ride down those gates one way or another.”
“And if they don’t come down?”
“The dwarves, and most likely us, will be slaughtered.”
Hoff drank from the pitcher the barkeep handed him. “Bishspeed then.”
“Aye,” Billip replied.
Kam barely heard
a word any of them said. Her thoughts were on Fogle. Her lips still tingled. How fickle am I? Does my heart betray me? I’m not worthy of Venir.
CHAPTER 40
Ebenezer’s brows knitted together. He leaned down and spoke harsh words in Melegal’s ear. “Be quick about it, servant. The longer you delay the angrier she will get, as well as I. Tell her I’m off to the arena.”
Melegal nodded. He hurried back to the kitchen and fetched a pitcher of water from the cistern then made his way back to the spot where he’d crossed Ebenezer. He could have had me killed but didn’t. Clearly he knew I was not one of his. Perhaps Rayal has gotten word to him. He moved toward the staircase that led up into the castle. He had no idea where Manamus was. There were dozens of rooms to choose from. The vulpine man made it to the second level before a servant woman came his way.
“This needs to go to Manamus, immediately, per Ebenezer,” Melegal said. He startled the woman. “Her quadrant is not mine, and I don’t want to upset the head usher. I’m come on service from Castle Kord.”
“I’ve not heard of this,” the woman said as she gathered herself. “It’s not customary—”
“Having my family gutted in front of my eyes by underlings isn’t customary either. This is not about customs; it’s about survival, so if you don’t want to draw further attention to you or me, I suggest you help out.”
“I…” She swallowed. “It’s just that many fear Manamus more than the underlings. I don’t want to cross her again.” She brushed her hair back over her ear. The skin was charred black. “She did this when I accidentally stuck her with a pin when adjusting her formal gown.”
“I see. How many rooms does she occupy?”
“Just the one in the westward tower. She’s the only one up there.” She cast her eyes down the hall. “Beware.”
The Darkslayer: Bish and Bone Series Collector's Edition (Books 1-10): Sword and Sorcery Masterpieces Page 108