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

by Craig Halloran

  “It’s an order, Brak,” Venir said.

  “And I suppose you are going to stay here and fight them off,” Melegal said. “You lose control, Venir.”

  “I’m in control,” Venir replied.

  “How do you know that?”

  He put the helmet back on his head. “Because I have to be.” He turned to Brak and gave him a shoulder hug and slap on the back. “I’m proud of you, boy.”

  “Touching,” Melegal said as he ushered Creed and Ebenezer through the trap floor. “I’ll get those flags up, Venir. What are you going to do if you make it out of here?”

  Venir climbed into Chongo’s saddle. “I’ll meet you at the west gate.” Chongo rode toward the wall, leapt into the stands, and sauntered up the benches. Ears pinned back, he crouched down with Venir on his back, waiting for the doors to burst open.

  Venir looked back one last time and smiled. “Too bad you won’t be here to see the fiends’ faces.”

  “Let’s go, Brak.” Melegal prodded him along.

  Step by step, Brak disappeared into the hole, his eyes fixed on Venir. Once he was down, Melegal entered with Eep hovering over top of him. “Don’t ever try to kill me again.”

  “It depends on what my master says.”

  “Who is your master?”

  “Good-bye, bony one.” Eep disappeared.

  Melegal secured the trap floor. The men moved down the corridor. He took the lead. Venir, you better make it.

  CHAPTER 28

  Georgio and Lefty were bound up by the striders. Hands tied behind their backs, they marched toward the campground they’d spied from the overlook. Barton was nowhere to be found. It was just them and hundreds of striders who set up camp in the middle of the Outlands. Rows of small tents with blankets lying in front of them were being packed up by female striders wearing desert robes.

  “It seems we’re in familiar company,” Lefty said. “What was the name of the strider we fought with against the balfrog?”

  “You’re asking me?” Georgio shuffled along behind the one strider while the other strider prodded him in the back with his spear. The striders talked back and forth with one another in a strange, broken speech. “You know I’m lousy with names.”

  “True. I think the name was Tarcot. Does that seem familiar?”

  “I guess.” Georgio licked his dry lips. “Say, strider, do you think I could get some water. We are on the same side, you know.”

  The tall four-armed men with praying-mantis faces continued on in their long strides. They didn’t stop until they made it to the other side of the camp. A few thousand striders were gathered in a ring. The striders were so tall that even Georgio couldn’t see by them. Whoever spoke had the crowd hanging on every word. It wasn’t in underling, but the quick broken speech of their kind.

  “I think that’s Tarcot,” Lefty said.

  “How would you know? They all sound the same.” Georgio spit blood. Though he was healing up, it still hurt. His stomach began to rumble too. “If I don’t get something to eat soon, things are going to get ugly.”

  “Sssh, be quiet. I’m listening to what he’s saying.”

  “You don’t know what he’s saying.”

  “I can figure it out. I have an ear for things.”

  Georgio bent his head. The striders spoke back and forth. They seemed to be arguing, but he couldn’t tell. He looked to Lefty. “Well, what are they saying?”

  “They are trying to decide if they should roast you or boil you before they eat you.”

  His eyes popped. “We need to escape… wait a moment. You are just making that up.”

  With a wide smile on his face, Lefty said, “Now why would I do that?”

  “Because you are feeling yourself again, it seems.”

  “I suppose that I am.”

  “Too bad.”

  Striders carried the underlings Georgio killed over their shoulders. The gathering parted. The striders, dead in tow, marched through the opening in the ranks. Georgio and Lefty’s captors followed after them. They hustled along. The blinking gazes of the striders hung on them. The striders laid the underlings on the ground. Another strider, the one Georgio believed was speaking, studied the bodies. His four hands were clasped together. Necklaces of bones and feathers hung over his neck.

  “I think that’s Tarcot,” Lefty said.

  “How can you tell? They all look the same.”

  “I can tell.”

  “Cannot.”

  “Can too.” A strider poked Lefty in the backside. “Ow!”

  The strider resumed his speech. His four arms gesticulated with vigor. The strength in his voice rose. His fists shook.

  “He’s trying to talk the striders into fighting the underlings,” Lefty said. “They are uncertain about it. Interesting.”

  “They probably want to hide. Everyone wants to hide from the underlings, except us.” Georgio noticed a strider drinking from a water skin. “Oh, I want a drink of that. I want a drink bad. You, bug-face! Give me a drink!” he said to his guardian.

  The strider poked him in the ribs. “Ow! Will you quit hitting me? I’m just thirsty.”

  The outburst caught the attention of the rest of the striders. The one that was speaking said in a common tongue, “Bring the humans forward so I may see them.”

  The guards led Georgio and Lefty to the front. They were shoved to their knees. The strider that was speaking toyed with his many necklaces with his left pair of hands while one right hand was on his chin and the other on his hip. “You brought the foul-skinned into our lands. You seek to harm us. Why?”

  “No,” Georgio said. “We killed them because they were trying to kill us.”

  “Nay, nay, no,” the strider said. “As I understand, my striders killed the underlings. They saved you for judgment.”

  Rankled, Georgio said, “That’s ludicrous! The underlings were dead before they got there!”

  “You are a deceiver! The hot lands are now full of many deceivers. We shall eradicate them.”

  Face reddening, Georgio said, “Now you listen to me you bug-faced bast—”

  “Georgio! Hush! Let me do the talking,” Lefty interjected. The striders had three spears pointed at each of their faces. He swallowed then cleared his throat. “Mighty protector of the Outland, may I address you properly?”

  The strider’s head cocked side to side. A quick nod followed. A different strider, carrying no weapons, translated as Lefty spoke.

  “I am Lefty Lightfoot. This man is my henchmen. He is an ignorant man that often speaks out of turn. He wields the tongue of the undisciplined. It shall take many more lashes to break him.” Georgio glared at him, but Lefty continued. “We are lost. Underlings raided our caravan. We escaped with our very lives only to be tracked down. Fortunately, your brethren, powerful and brave warriors, came to our aid. Now, we wish to thank you and hopefully return the favor.”

  The strider put his right fists to his left chest and said, “Lefty Lightfoot, I am Kocus, leader of this tribe. Your words are all lies. I confirm this with my men. You fail the test. Hence, you will suffer the consequence.”

  “And what might that be?” Lefty said.

  Kocus turned his thumbs down. “Death.”

  “Well done, Lefty,” Georgio said as they hauled him away. “Well done.”

  CHAPTER 29

  “Ready to fight, brutish one,” Eep said to Venir.

  He nodded.

  “Good.” The imp blinked his eye and vanished.

  “Can’t even count on gruesome imps these days.” Venir fastened his shield onto his back. Chongo’s body rumbled. His low growling sent tremors into Venir’s body. He and the slavering dog were one. He and the helmet were one. All three entities fed off one another, each of them ever intent on the destruction of the underlings but for their own reasons.

  The huge, dwarven setter would protect his master. Venir wanted vengeance not only for himself but for all mankind. Helm’s intentions were clear. It would aid
Venir, feed him, and increase his consciousness. It was still a mystery to Venir, however. Was the helmet feeding off him or was he feeding off the helmet? Who would the armament serve if the underlings were beaten back into the caves that they came from?

  Venir pondered the power of his gear sometimes. Living without it became starvation. Living with it was a feast. There was danger. His own humanity was at stake. He’d felt it before. There was a detachment from his friends. His reality didn’t measure up with theirs. He cared for them all, but when the suns finally set, it was all about the underlings. Venir’s excuse for the slaughter was keeping his friends safe. It was the lone thread that kept him together. It was either that or become a mindless automaton of destruction.

  The hair on the back of Chongo’s neck rose. Venir dug his boots deeper into the stirrups. He tightened his grip on the reins. “Almost time, boy.”

  For over ten years, Venir had hunted the underlings. He did it with and without Chongo and the armament. It all started back when he was child. The underlings took his family away. All of his friends had died. He survived. A hatred brewed inside the boy who had to grow up so quickly. For the longest time, it was all about survival. Everywhere he went, a new enemy would rise in the bleak world of Bish.

  Mood was there from the beginning. He taught Venir how to hunt, trap, and kill. He became a skilled woodland man and a survivor of the Outlands. The harsh environment prepared him for life outside of civilization, but the life inside civilization was a different animal. He remembered a ballad a troubadour comrade once wrote:

  The royal’s smile, so splendid and serene. Don’t close your eyes or blink.

  Tantalizing features hide the wrathful nature of true deceit.

  Eyes that wink, chins that nod, the moment you turn a cheek aside.

  Stay of so far away from their treachery and games.

  No escape. No escape.

  A simple gamble offers little to gain when the vipers poison your back.

  There is nothing to win and everything to lose the day you cross a royal.

  During his youth, the royals turned the world he knew inside out. They were filled with greed and deviltry, lusting for more power no matter how far it was from their grasp. They sucked the vibrant marrow from a good man’s bones. Lives were ruined on their word. Venir developed another hatred for his own kind, a mistrust deeper than a well. Now, here he was, in the bed of another enemy, trying to save them from themselves. There would be no reward in it. If anything, there would be claims made against him. Still, he fought. The one thing they had that the underlings didn’t was that they were human.

  They deserve what’s coming to them, save a few. That’s who I will fight for.

  The doors bowed inward. The metal strained and flexed at the hinges. The hard wood popped and snapped.

  Chongo growled. Helm throbbed. Mystic black smoke filtered from the eyelets. Venir felt the underlings’ rage. Their hatred could swallow a mountain whole. There wasn’t a mountain big enough to match Venir’s hate for them. It had built slowly over the years. He roamed the Outlands, a soldier, a brigand, a sword for hire. The innocent were slaughtered, buried, and mutilated. Children were burned alive. Women had been tortured. It was sickening. The underlings came in a river of evil washing everything good from the land. The royals sat on their hands, watching the current of death take the helpless away. They didn’t do anything to stop them. Venir did.

  The doors gave. Weapons glistening, the underlings burst through. The emboldened fiends slowed the very slightest. The back rank bumped into the rear. Their armor and weapons collided. Their gem-speckled eyes were fixed on the terrifying beast and rider.

  “Yah!” Venir yelled. Chongo lurched ahead. His huge paws buried two underlings beneath him. Venir chopped down into the sea of surging bodies. The underlings clawed and stabbed at his legs. He cut through them. Chongo rambled through the doors into the hall, biting and barking. “Feast, Chongo! Feast!”

  A badoon underling warrior climbed up Chongo’s flank and latched onto Venir’s back. Hanging onto the shield, the underling stabbed at Venir’s back. With his free hand, Venir reached behind him. His fingers found a handful of hair. He ripped the underling from the shield and flung it into the crowd. A patch of underling hair fell from his fingers.

  Venir chopped hard and quick. Chongo plowed through their ranks. Underlings were pulled apart by mighty jaws. Their bodies were pulverized by Brool the singing decimator. Fueled by the armament, Venir attacked the ranks with unmatched fervor. The underlings were nothing more than a horde of angry children throwing a tantrum against him. Every effort was in vain. Venir was invincible. “They fall like wheat! Ride, Chongo, ride! Yah!”

  Helm throbbed with such force it staggered Venir in the saddle. At the end of the hall, a mage with emerald eyes stood with his hands aglow. Behind him, another mage, much the same as the first, lurked. They thrust their hands up and down. There was a loud crack. Venir glanced up. “Bish!”

  The heavy stones in the ceiling cracked. The floor above them came crashing down on top of him.

  CHAPTER 30

  Using the servants’ tunnels, Melegal guided Brak, Creed, and Ebenezer through the bowels of the castle. Creed pushed his shoulder along the wall. Ebenezer half carried him. They popped out on the backside of the castle where the stables were located. Once thick with underling patrols, the castle had now become a ghost town. The problem was, the gates leading out were still secured by underlings.

  “Ebenezer, if you know another way out of here, now is the time to reveal it,” Melegal said.

  The royal shook his head. “I only know the front gate and the corridor.”

  Creed panted heavily. “I know a way. We’ll take the front gate.”

  “We just said those were secure.”

  “You did?” Creed’s face was clammy and covered in perspiration. “Well, let’s take the front gate then.”

  A bone-jarring crack erupted.

  “What in Bish was that?” Ebenezer said. “It sounded like my castle split in half.”

  Above, one of the castle turrets collapsed. The stones hit the ground. The underlings guarding the gate rushed to the scene.

  “There’s your opening.” Melegal hustled into the stables. “Get on these horses.”

  “I’ve never ridden a horse without a saddle,” Brak said.

  “With your big arse, I don’t think it will make a difference. I’ll get that lane door open. Once you see it pop wide, ride like a demon to clear it.” Melegal twisted the vanishing ring. Staring at their blank looks, he said, “Get on with it, then.”

  Castle Kling had a main gate with two narrow lanes on the side for pedestrians. With the underlings distracted, Melegal slid the bolt open to the door. As he did, Ebenezer and Creed appeared on horseback on the other side of the courtyard. Ebenezer’s hands gripped the chestnut steed by its brown mane. Melegal flung the door open wide. Ebenezer kicked the horse. The beast galloped straight for the gate, racing by the furious underlings. Melegal jumped out of the way. He shouted, “To the old barns!” as they thundered by. The underlings raced right by him, chittering angrily. Something was wrong.

  Where is Brak?

  He ran back to the stables. Brak was gone.

  Horse slat!

  Melegal searched the barn. An odd rustle came from one of the stables. The door was closed. He peeked over the top. Ice ran through his veins. A sand spider sucked on the neck of a horse that lay on the ground. Melegal glanced up. There were spiders and webs in the rafters but none as big as the one feeding on the horse. I hate underlings and all their creepy things.

  Brak’s disappearance troubled him. Either the young man was hurt, or he went back for Venir. Where the greatest commotion was would be the best place to look for them. Melegal moved back into one of the small courtyards. The underling scramble had led them into the castle. The wave of a flag in the top spire caught his eye.

  Do I need to raise a flag or not?

  Assum
ing Ebenezer and Creed made it back to the barns to notify the others, he shouldn’t have to, but he wasn’t willing to take that chance. They might not be able to get the message to Mood by other means. Fogle had his ways with magic, and Billip had a dwarven horn that could be sounded. But what if they didn’t make it.

  No, I better do it. Creed was bleeding to death, and you can’t ever trust a royal.

  Melegal maneuvered into the castle, taking one flight of steps after the other. He slid into the main tower centered in the castle. Stone steps wound around the inner ring. He reached the top landing where a variety of flags hung by pegs on the wall. He spotted the red flag with a white star in the middle. The heavy fabric had never seen the harsh weather. The distress flag was used when one royal house overtook another, in a time of mourning, or after a travesty. Melegal had only seen them flown a handful of times in his lifetime.

  This is the one. I couldn’t imagine there being a more appropriate time than this one.

  He stepped outside the door onto the outer walkway that made a ring around the spire. The brisk winds from the high elevation almost took his cap off. Still invisible, Melegal stuffed it in his pocket. There were four metal flag poles, but the color banner of Castle Kling did not fly. Nothing did. From the spire’s roost, Melegal noted that none of the castles flew their banners.

  I suppose this will be a first. Bound to garner myself much unwanted attention. Oh well, time to raise the banner and let chaos fly.

  He attached the flag and hoisted it up the rope, hand over hand, until it reached the top. He tied the rope off. Placing his cap back on his head, he said out loud, “That should do it.”

  Stepping back inside the spire’s doorway, he heard the pounding of feet. Six badoon underlings raced up the spiraling staircase. Leading them was a four-legged beast, a shaggy cave dog with gray fur and enlarged nostrils. It sniffed and snorted along the stairs and wall.

  Bloody Bone! They’ve sniffed me out already.