The Darkslayer: Book 05 - Outrage in the Outlands

by Craig Halloran

Fogle couldn’t even begin to imagine all the things he’d never seen that might exist. Back in the City of Three, there were images of monsters and beasts everywhere: giants, griffons, chimeras, minotaurs, trolls of many sorts and so on. He traveled with a giant two-headed dog after all, so why’d he rule out the possibility of other things?

  He looked at Tundoor. The giant’s earrings alone were worth a fortune. Who'd forged items such as those?

  “I believe those jewels would be too big for my ears, “Cass said, “but I like the way you’re thinking.”

  “Huh … oh, well, I think you deserve something a hundred times the worth of those.”

  Cass brightened at the remark, took a deep draw into her chest and said, “It’s just us, you know, and it’s going to be dark soon. Perhaps you can tell me more about what I deserve beside a nice fire and under the moons.”

  He smiled again. “I’ll fetch the wood.” He scurried away, then came to a stop. He turned back and said, “I’m assuming we’re not going to pitch a fire around here?”

  She shook her head.

  “I’ll find a place for the fire. You just fetch the wood. Hmmm …,” she needled her chin, “we have to take care of the fallen dwarves.”

  “No, leave them where they lay. Eethum will send for them soon. The dwarves are very picky about the dead. The family will want to see the place of battle. I have a feeling all of these frowns will be upside down when they see it.”

  “Then I’ll see to it they remain undisturbed. Make haste, Fogle.”

  Make haste, indeed. My, surrounded by the dead and thinking only of my lustful yearnings for a woman. How can that be? Maybe that’s why they say the ‘The castles rise and fall between the legs of one maiden or another.” I never understood those perverts until now. Slat. What is becoming of me?

  Fogle’s weariness returned. He felt his skin sagging over his bones. His head hurt, and his stomach was still queasy as he picked his way over the battle ground. The journey had just begun, and almost everyone was dead. Mood had looked more dead than alive. He looked to the south. Nothing but the barren Outlands, a place where only the cacti, bone trees and red toads thrived. Wouldn’t it be better to just let the dog go to find his master on his own? Did the dog need them, or did they need the dog? Maybe it’s time to head back to the City of Three.

  He picked up a few more pieces of wood and headed back over to where he’d last seen Chongo and Cass. They were nowhere to be found. An unsettling feeling overcame him.

  Somewhere, Chongo was barking like a dozen hounds.

  He heard a harrowed scream. It was Cass.

  NO! Not again!

  He dropped everything and ran.

  CHAPTER 18

  Verbard could see them now: men, robed and wizened, converging on his location. Impressive. The Royals, the guardians of the city, were better prepared for the unexpected than he'd anticipated. Across the skyline the wizards came, one rising up behind the other. Verbard could sense their power and their fear as well. It wasn’t likely any of them had even seen an underling before, and they couldn’t possibly have imagined one like him. His silver eyes shined as he ran his black tongue across his top row of teeth. Underling Magi, to me!

  One by one, the underlings rose up from the smoke, heavy cloth robes billowing over their toes. Verbard felt a collective attack coming from the human wizards. They were here, but they were far from ready. The first barrage of energy came. Balls of blue light scorched across the sky, blasting full force into the mystic shield of the underlings and ricocheting harmlessly away.

  Follow my lead!

  Coils of red energy laced around Verbard as he summoned is power. The air crackled above the streets as he unleashed the first bolt of power, which streaked across the expanse and blasted into the wizards' pale blue mystic shield, splitting shards of magic from its edge, rocking a wizard back. The next bolt hit the wizard again, shattering his shield and sending him spinning through the air. Verbard's next bolt disintegrated the wizard completely. One down.

  The human wizards huddled behind their shields together, hesitating. Verbard sensed their weakness and something else. He knew the humans couldn’t float as the underlings could. Someone or something else was using power to keep them afloat. Another mind, stronger than the rest, was pulling the strings from somewhere else.

  Finish them!

  Eep, where are you?

  Verbard drifted downward towards the burning building tops. Below his dangling feet, Jottenhiem, the Juegen and the Badoon were clashing with a heavy force of well-armored soldiers that had charged into the market place. The war was on. Men were toppled from their horses, and underlings were trampled under hooves. The keen edge of Jottenhiem's sword split through the skull inside a fallen rider's helmet, and another soldier's head was ripped from his shoulders. Still, Verbard could see that as quickly as the men fell, two more replaced them.

  Eep buzzed to his side, rough skin singed and stained with blood.

  “You calls me, Master,” Eep hissed.

  “I need you to find someone, a mage, somewhere nearby. And be quick about it.”

  Eep was wringing his clawed hands as he said, “You want me to kill him, Master?”

  “Just sniff out the strongest source of magic and lead me to him,” he ordered.

  Buzz! Zip!

  Eep blinked out of sight.

  A barrage of arrows ripped through the air around Verbard, most bouncing harmlessly away. A row of archers had lined up along the wall, nocking and firing at his chest. He called the lightning within him. A white silver light streaked from his finger tips and passed through one soldier and into the others, cooking their bodies inside their metal armor. Verbard surveyed the battle below with wisps of lightning still dancing along his fingers. Jottenhiem and his men had the soldiers hemmed up in corridors, but couldn’t hold them back forever. In the distance, Verbard could sense more forces were coming, and coming fast.

  Eep reappeared and hissed excitedly.

  “Found him, Master! A fat one. Like a giant grape. Let me eat his belly.”

  “Is he guarded?”

  “By many. Sits on a pillow like a toad. Face is fat and sweaty. Red face ready to explode.” Eep pointed his clawed finger down the road over the heads of the soldiers. “I can kill him.”

  “Perhaps.” Verbard took a moment. “Nay. I’ll handle this man myself. You, however, are needed above. Go.”

  Eep blinked away.

  Verbard kept his energy ready. It was time he got a better feel for how much power the humans wielded. He sailed through the smoke, a shadow that was hidden from sight, whereupon he spied the man that Eep had described. On a wagon bed sat a man as tall as an underling but ten times as round. Three rows of chins hung beneath his bald-headed face, which was beet red with concentration. Surrounding him were ten soldiers: swords and spears ready, chainmail suits from head to toe, eyes wide and jittering at the sounds of the battle and the colorful explosions that came from above.

  Verbard let loose the chained lightning. The searing bolt cracked into one man, passed through the next, then fizzled out. The blood-shot eyes of the fat human wizard in orange silk robes snapped open and locked on Verbard’s through the smoke. Verbard felt a force surround him, drawing him closer, downward into the throng of soldiers that waited to chop him down.

  He hissed. It appeared the fat wizard was as powerful as he was heavy, like a massive anvil wrapped around his neck, weighting him down. Verbard’s straining eyes drifted to an orb which sat in the wizard’s lap. It gleamed and swirled with intensity. His silver eyes widened. An Orb of Imbibing! He was trapped.

  Not only did the orb consume magic, in this case it seemed to be feeding the wizard as well. Verbard was getting weaker, and the man, a useless sot by all appearances, was getting stronger. Much stronger. Verbard wrestled against the forces that were wrenching his power from him. His descent to the ground became quicker.

  EEP! EEP! KILL THIS HUMAN SLUDGE PILE!

  A
n arrow whizzed past his nose.

  All of Verbard’s strength was fading as he descended into the awaiting swords and spears.

  EEP! HURRY!

  Blink!

  The imp was standing on the man’s bulbous belly, hanging onto the man’s ears, poking his clawed fingers into the man’s neck and throat. The man wailed and squealed like a hog on fire.

  Another arrow crashed through Verbard’s shield and into his leg. He hissed. Yet, the blanket that absorbed his power had faded. His strength renewed. More arrows came, but ricocheted away. He realized it was time to go. He sped through the air, back towards the alley from where they had come.

  Retreat! Retreat!

  At the end of the alley, Verbard summoned a black dimensional doorway. One by one, the Badoon, Juegen and Magi survivors passed through. Verbard made one final command.

  Eep, fetch that orb!

  Jottenhiem was the last in line, breathing heavily, slick with blood and ailing.

  “We have failed, my Lord.”

  Verbard gently pushed him through, saying, “Only if we were supposed to succeed.”

  Behind him, Eep was running his way, his wing broken, the orb wrapped in his hands, a wave of soldiers on his tail. “Wait, Master, wait!”

  Over Eep's head, Verbard sent a bolt that slammed into Eep pursuers as the imp jumped through the door. Verbard dove in behind him, collapsing the door as a dozen arrows clattered off the alley walls.

  ***

  Kierway stood inside the ancient chamber below Lord Almen’s study, swords sheathed and clenched fists shaking. At his side floated two underling magi, both of whom he wanted to kill, but he needed them if he was going to get out of this castle alive.

  Trembling near his feet was the flabby form of the human cleric, Sefron. Groveling.

  “My Lord. Apologies. I’ve never been to this chamber. I never knew there was a secret door. I was never privy to the study . Please, my Lord, don’t kill me,” he whined, his high voice echoing all over the chamber.

  Kierway slapped him across his face.

  “Quiet, you failure!”

  Kierway made his way over to the pegs in the alcove and touched them with his clawed finger, one by one. Seven keys, not one. His father, Master Sinway, had only required one, but which one would that have been? It hardly mattered now; they had failed.

  The Vicious threw his weight into the door where the three humans had escaped. The creature's powerful talons clawed and swiped, its heavy shoulders shaking the door on the hinges, but it held. The magi, both of them, tried spells and incantations, but the door remained sealed. So did their fate as well. There was no escape from where they stood.

  “Enough!” he said. The Vicious and Magi fell at attention. He kicked Sefron in the head.

  “Who was this man that took the keys? It seems he knew more about them than you knew? I’m curious: why was that?”

  Sefron wiped the blood from his mouth and gasped a sickly wheeze. It bothered Kierway’s iron eyes to even look at him. Certainly, he could have found someone better to serve him, but the cleric had been the most willing.

  “Melegal is his name. He serves Lord Almen as his detective. He’s of little importance. Nothing more than a little rat, is all. Hack. Hack. A fool with fortune on his side this day.”

  Kierway reached over and plucked a dart out of Sefron’s face.

  “A fool. A fool that has seven keys to our none. A fool who it seems is much smarter than you.” He grabbed Sefron by the back of his head and held the dart tip to his bulbous eye. “You will find this man, and quickly.” He jammed the dart in Sefron’s eye. The cleric let out a howl like a wounded wolf. “Or you’ll lose the other eye, as well.” Voices could be heard over the top of Sefron’s pain-filled wails as he kicked and wallowed on the floor.

  Kierway drew his blades as the Vicious bounded toward the landing on the stairwell. One of the magi muttered a powerful incantation, and they were gone.

  CHAPTER 19

  The glowing fire was hot on his face, but Georgio, though exhausted, was all smiles. Sucking down a tankard of ale while chewing a mouthful of food, he felt like he’d reached another plateau in his life. He felt all grown up. He’d survived a one-on-one battle with a brutal rogue, and he’d won.

  “That was something,” Billip said, shoving a small pile of coins across the table. The older man, grim-faced and wiry, looked as uncertain as he was pleased. Running his fingers through his coarse black hair, he leaned back in his chair and added, “Stupid, but something. I’m not sure what possessed you, Boy … er … Georgio, but I’m certain you’ve sprouted more chest hairs today.” He hoisted his goblet up and drank.

  Georgio hardly noticed a word that he’d said. His attention was elsewhere.

  “Something?” The dark sultry woman by his side had her leg draped over his lap. “Amazing. That’s what I’d say.”

  Her name was Velvet, the one who’d drawn the cards. Raven-haired, sensuous and captivating. She stirred his blood by running her gentle fingers through his hair and down over his chin.

  “And to see such a handsome young man thrash such an ugly brute. I must say, I’m grateful. Jeb and his goons have been nothing but a menace to us girls and all the other patrons around here.”

  Georgio was smiling all over himself when he said, “Aw … it was nothing.”

  Billip humphed from across the table, folding his arms across his chest.

  Velvet reached down, grabbed his hands and began inspecting them.

  “How can you not be burned? Your meaty hands are soft like butter, yet there’s not a single scorch mark.” She started massaging them. “Are you a mage of some sort?”

  “Well, I can’t exactly—”

  He felt a boot smack into his shin. Billip was eyeing him.

  “Ow! Er … I’m from a family of blacksmiths, is all. I’ve been around the furnaces all my life. Tough hands. It runs in the family.” He shrugged.

  “Impressive,” Velvet purred. “And my hands are from a long line of … well … personal services, and they’re all yours. I’m sure you have plenty of bumps and bruises that I could,” she squeezed his thigh, “remedy.”

  Georgio scratched the back of his neck.

  “Uh …”

  “Alright,” Billip interjected with a smile, “can you give me and the young warrior a moment, Velvet is it?” He slid her a coin and winked. “And we could use another round if you’d please oblige, Pretty Thing.”

  Velvet kissed Georgio on his forehead, shot Billip an aggravated look, huffed, and walked away.

  “What'd you do that for?” Georgio said, gawking at the sway of Velvet’s hips.

  Billip reached over and punched him in the arm.

  “Ow! What'd you do that for!” he exclaimed, wiping his face.

  “No time for fooling around, Georgio! Underlings! In Bone!”

  Georgio surveyed the room. The people, what was left of them anyway, were drawn up as tight as bows. Stories and chatter of the vicious creatures were spreading from one chair to the other. There was talk of a mass exodus that had begun, but Georgio had a hard time believing any of it. And the only thing that mattered to him was getting closer to Velvet. He shrugged.

  “I don’t see any underlings in here.”

  Billip punched him again, harder this time.

  “No, but you’re about to see stars.”

  “Ha! I’d like to see you try.”

  Billip’s eyes narrowed, his voice as deadly as a pit of vipers.

  “You think beating that curly haired slug has you prepared for the likes of me … Boy?”

  Georgio gulped. He'd seen Billip angry before. On the trek down to Bone, they came across a nomad band of half-orcs that tried pushing them around. Billip skewered one in the neck with one throw and another in the belly with the other. It all happened in the blink of an eye. “Er … only teasing, Billip.”

  “Fill your belly. Cop your feel, but we're getting out of here … soon. Mikkel’s checking th
e stories out, and when he returns, we're going after Nikkel.” The wary archer looked over his shoulder. “Something about this city just isn’t right. The whole world isn’t right and hasn’t been for a while. Underlings in the City of Three and now underlings in Bone. You’re young, Georgio. But I’m telling you, this is crazy.”

  Georgio was weary again. The fire was soothing, but his spirits began to dull. He could tell by the grim looks on the people’s faces that something wasn’t right. Normally, the people of Bone, though hardened and somewhat criminal, had a more positive tone about them. Now, they spoke in whispers, under their breath, jumping a bit at every unusual sound. It only made sense. The citizens had never seen an underling before, and according to rumors, no one lived to tell about seeing one, either.

  “What’s going on inside that big melon of yours?” Billip said.

  “Ah … I’m just starting to get the feeling that maybe you're right, Billip. What if the underlings are overrunning the city? What if they’ve overrun Bish? What will happen to us?”

  An uncertain smile broadened over Billip's thick black goatee when he said, “Well, I guess we'll all eventually be buried arses up and heads stuck in the ground. Cheers!” He reached over and clonked his tankard against Georgio's.

  Reaching for his mug, Georgio saw a group of distraught men burst inside the door.

  “Underlings! Hundreds!” a man dressed as a laborer shouted.

  “Thousands!” the other man, thick in muscle and skull, added at his partner’s side.

  The Drunken Octopus fell silent.

  “The entire 21 District is overrun. Burning and mutilated. Thousands of Royal Soldiers are dead.”

  The short stocky one waved his hands over his shoulders.

  “All of their heads are gone. Half eaten most of them. You must flee! They're coming!”

  A small quiet group of people turned into a frenzied hoard when the entire room made for the stairs and the doors. Georgio was rising to his feet when Billip pushed him back down.

  “What?” he asked.

  “We’ll go when Mikkel returns.”