The Darkslayer: Lethal Liaisons (Series 2, Book 4) (Bish and Bone Series 2)

by Craig Halloran

  “Hmm,” Brak said. “So how do we find Kam?”

  “We wake him up and have a grumble.”

  “Ah.” Brak’s face showed concern. “Am I doing it?”

  “No, no. That’s the other thing I need you for. You have to protect me while I’m locked up with him.”

  “Don’t you need another mage to do that?”

  “You’re very observant, Brak. But a mage the likes of me has ways around that.” He slapped Ruut on the cheek. “We just need to wake him up first.”

  Brak reached over and pinched the meat of Ruut’s arm.

  The man lurched up, and his eyes popped open. He screamed a muffled “Ow!”

  “Ruut the Envoy,” Fogle said, pushing up his sleeves. “I don’t suppose you’re going to make my request easy, but here it is. Tell me where Kam is.”

  Ruut shook his head.

  “Brak!” Fogle said, eyeing the giant teen.

  “What?”

  Fogle wedged himself between Brak and Ruut and said under his breath, “This is where you slap him. Loosen his teeth. Scare him.”

  “Why?”

  “You know why.”

  “I thought you were going to handle this encounter with your grumble.”

  “That’s option two,” Fogle said with a sigh. “Fine, if you won’t rattle him, I will.” He turned and swatted Ruut across the cheek, knocking the gag free.

  “Fool!” Ruut said. His lips became a blur. The air sparked and crackled. A blinding flash followed.

  Brak saw black and purple spots. The room spun. His stomach was queasy. He stumbled into the wall. Ceramic crashed on the floor. “My eyes! My eyes!”

  CHAPTER 19

  Sinking into the floor, Venir cursed again.

  Kavell laughed. “The more you squirm, the quicker it gets.” With a motion of his hands, an ornate chair slid across the floor and behind the wizard. He sat down. Perched with an air of superiority, he studied Venir. “You are a unique specimen. I’ll give you that.”

  Venir stretched his fingers out, grasping toward the nearby curtains. He wasn’t close enough. “Bone!”

  “You should have stayed in Bone, Venir.” Kavell surveyed the fallen. The elegant chamber had turned into a blood-slicked battlefield. “You’re the one stirring up all the trouble. Do you not realize that your efforts are futile? Change is in order. Men and underlings will have peace and work together.”

  Venir barked a laugh. “You’ll change your mind once they hang you by your entrails.”

  Gazing at the gaudy rings on his fingers, Kavell said, “I’ll take my chances. Do you have any last words for my daughter? I think I might share them with her.”

  Sunk past his waist, limbs feeling cold, Venir said, “Tell her I said her father was an arsehole.”

  Kavell’s face soured. “Time to collect the bounty.” He snapped his fingers. Pop!

  Helm throbbed.

  A half-dozen underlings entered the chamber dressed in dark leather armor. Shiny black steel weapons jangled on their hips. Their gemstone eyes were narrow slits.

  “As I understand it,” Kavell continued, “you and the underlings have quite the history. Humph. I can feel the heat rising off their backs.” He leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees. “You see, Venir, this was never about my daughter. It was about you. She was just the bait. But if it makes any difference, she’ll be just fine after this. After all, your disappearance won’t come as a surprise. I won’t tell.” He pushed his finely combed hair back. “Perhaps I will next time she steps out of line. Who knows, but she’ll never hear your last message. That’s for sure.”

  “You’re a sordid man,” Venir said.

  “A very rich and successful one, I might add.” Kavell nodded to the underlings. “And I’m always making new friends.” He leaned back and switched his speech to that of the underlings. He chittered a phrase that was unnatural to human lips.

  Venir, with the aid of Helm, interpreted it all. Kavell said, “Do what you will with him.”

  Gliding over the hard floor with the slithering grace of lizards, the underlings encircled Venir.

  Brool licked out and clipped the ankle of the closest underling.

  It fell away, grasping at the wound and howling. The underlings’ blades lashed out, striking at his arms and face.

  Venir countered, swinging the big axe left and right with one hand and covering his back side with the shield. “Come on, fiends!”

  Steel clashed, rattled off his shield. But some of it got through and began carving Venir’s arms into bloody ribbons. Deeper and deeper he sank. Chest-deep, he fought for every swing. Blades bit into his arms and jabbed his back. The underlings chittered and howled.

  “Marvelous! Simply marvelous!”

  Kavell’s words infuriated the man, but sunken neck-deep and tasting his own blood, all he could do was yell.

  ***

  The floor engulfed the mighty warrior. The shield first, Venir in his helmet, and finally, the battle-axe, from the blades to the tip of the axe.

  Kavell huffed a laugh. “Weak mind, powerful illusion.” He got up from his seat, lifted the hem of his robes, and stepped among the throng of underlings that came up to his shoulder.

  Illusion dissolved, Venir lay still on the bloodstained floor. Not a death twitch nor a moan.

  “Death by imaginary suffocation. Of course, those wounds are real.” Kavell eyed the blood sliding off the helmet and axe. “Interesting trophies. Whatever will you do with this brute’s husk now? Never mind that, I don’t want to know. Just get this dead cretin out of here.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Cough. Cough. Hack. Melegal spat up a mouthful of foul water. Limbs throbbing head to toe, he forced his eyes open. Someone had him by the back of his shirt and was dragging him over a sandy bank. Somewhere he heard screams and the roar of fire. He slid his hand down his belly and withdrew a small, concealed blade. Wait for it.

  The figure stopped and released him. “You breathe. You live.”

  “Slom?” Melegal said, squinting in the darkness.

  “Aye.”

  Melegal pulled himself up into sitting position. They were on the shore of the Nest, deep underneath the docks. Another figure was huddled beside a pile of plank driftwood, breathing easy. He noted the water-soaked lithe frame. Jasper.

  Slom squatted down beside him. “She did well helping me swim your carcass back to the shore line. Should be dead. All of us.”

  “There’s always a remnant.” My cap! He ran his hands over his head and patted down his body.

  “Here,” Slom said, holding out the damp cloth.

  Melegal reached for it.

  Slom jerked it away, showed some teeth, and said, “What do you say?”

  “Give it back.”

  “Not the eloquent thanks I was expecting, but here, have back your ugly cap.” He tossed it over. “And we haven’t survived yet. We still have to get out of here.”

  “What are we waiting for, then?”

  “You,” Slom said. He glanced at Jasper. “And her. She’s exhausted, but I can carry her.”

  Melegal crawled forward, getting a better look at the lake. The battle was still being waged. Metal. Magic. Mayhem. Bodies floated on the waters. The cave ceiling burned. Heavy smoke lingered in the air. Master thief for the day, what a joke! He thought about all of the gold and jewels inside that upstairs tavern room. Probably looted already.

  “We need to move,” Slom said, plucking Jasper up into his sinewy arms.

  “You know the way through the Stack?”

  “I’ve tried it once. It won’t be easy carrying her. The stairwell is narrow.”

  “I suppose we’ll have to wake her up at that point, then,” Melegal said, donning his cap. “Lead the way.” I’m as good as lost in this bug-ridden Nest.

  Slom trotted underneath the docks, to the exposed area below the wharf. Several rogues hunkered down in the shelter. “You better move on,” Slom suggested.

 
“Nay. Nothing to move on for. We’ll take our chances with the underlings.”

  “It’s your life to waste.” Slom moved on and found a ladder that led to a trapdoor below the wharf. He nodded his head at Melegal. “Might want to take a peek first.”

  Above, footfalls fell over the wharf, moving from all directions. Melegal eased himself up the ladder and pushed up the trapdoor. Peeking through the crease and seeing only wooden crates, he said, “Clear.” He slipped onto the wharf and held the door open. They were on the supply end of the wharf.

  Slom’s head popped up. He eased Jasper’s limp frame onto the boardwalk and lifted his long limbs out of the trapdoor.

  Melegal closed it. Grinding his teeth, he hated to ask the next question. “Where to now?”

  Slom stretched up, peering over the wooden crates. Melegal joined him. Fighting and fleeing were everywhere. The rogues were on the receiving end of a whipping. “We don’t make much of an army,” Slom said.

  “Of course not. We’re cowards, for the better part.” Melegal scanned the area. Underlings had made their way onto the shore and had unleashed an onslaught on the docks. More of their floating craft had populated the underground lake’s waters. “I imagine things are even worse above.”

  Slom turned to him and grunted. He pointed his long finger toward the red brick smoke stack. It was a massive structure surrounded by the under city. A great smoking tower. A living and breathing thing.

  Melegal briefly wanted to ask what made it burn so. Who cares, so long as it’s not burning me? The hairs on his neck stood on end. He snaked a dagger from his belt and whirled around. A pair of underlings appeared on top of the crates. Bright red slits in their eyes were full of hatred. Together, they pounced on Melegal and drove him hard to the boardwalk. “Oof!”

  Claws dug into his arms and side. One locked his arm up. Another bit his leg, sinking teeth deep into his flesh.

  “Argh!” Melegal jerked his arm away and lashed out, driving the point of his blade in its neck. Glitch!

  It clasped its hand over the gaping hole and let out an angry screech.

  Melegal poised his dagger to strike again. Something hard clocked him in the side of the head, drawing blinding spots of pain. He lashed out. Blade hit to the bone. A fist slammed into his jaw. Teeth bit into his hand and wrenched his dagger free. Fighting for his life, he drove his boot into an underling’s ribs. It swatted his legs aside, straddled his abdomen, lifted a crockery plate high over its head, and drove it down two-handed with all of its might.

  Glitch!

  The front of a sword blade exploded from the front of its chest. It gurgled blood and fell over. Behind it, Jasper stood on her knees, body quavering.

  Shaking his head and rubbing his skull, Melegal said, “Well done, little witch.” His head whipped around at the sound of a nearby scuffle.

  Chop! Chop!

  Slom wielded a heavy blade that sunk in and out of an underling’s skull. Four underlings lay dead on the wharf. Slom limped over with a nasty pair of gashes on his legs. “The cockroaches fight well for little people.” He spat blood. “Let’s go.”

  Melegal found his dagger, took Jasper by the hand, and followed.

  Slom cut through the wharf, holding his bleeding leg. He traversed a series of ladders that led up to the now-ashen catwalks. Holding his injured spots, he pushed them all back into the shadows. A small knot of underlings ran by. “Come.”

  Across the street and into the nearest alley they went.

  Jasper coughed.

  “Keep silent,” Melegal said to her. Her eyes were watering. The smoke had thickened around them. His own eyes and lungs burned. “Can you do it?”

  Squeezing his hand, she nodded.

  Slom half-limped, half-trotted through the back alleys. Chitters echoed from the stone walls. Wherever they sounded the loudest, Slom moved the opposite way. Finally, they reached the bottom of the stack. It was a dozen stories high, and the red bricks inside the black mortar were giant objects, each a quarter the size of a man. The clean-shaven half-orc led them along the bottom side of the rim. He stopped in front of a great iron door. “This is it.”

  “It’s closed,” Melegal said. “Can it be locked?”

  “Only a fool would lock himself in.” Slom grabbed the iron handle and turned the wheel. His arms bulged from the effort. “Of course, no one said opening it would be easy.” With a groan, the wheel began to turn.

  A clamor of chitters rose. Jasper screeched. Underlings appeared from the nearest alley and charged.

  Melegal grabbed the wheel and put his back into it, helping Slom. “Why must everything be so difficult?”

  CHAPTER 21

  Lord Grom stood on a balcony overlooking the courtyard. He was dressed in a fine leather tunic dyed forest green. He wore ornamental, bronze-colored garb over it. Beside him, Lorda Almen stood tall in a sleek, midnight-blue gown. Mustered in the courtyard were more than fifty men and their dogs of Castle Bloodhound. The earlier sun had crested the castle’s highest spire, and light twinkled off the hardy men’s weapons.

  Corrin, standing front and center, stood with his fingers locked behind his back, thumbs fidgeting. Somebody say something. I want to get this farce over with.

  “Bloodhounds!” Grom said in a voice of thunder.

  The wind died down, and the scuffling in the courtyard fell silent. Every chin lifted his way.

  “These are perilous times. Enemies surround us. Our allies are lost. Brethren have turned against us.” He shook his thick head and grabbed the stone railing with his hands. “But that does not mean we cannot find good times during the bad.” He fastened his eyes on Corrin. “It is time we added a new brother to our ranks.”

  The crowd of men rustled. Some stiffened and muttered under their breaths.

  Corrin didn’t expect anything less. All of these men had been born within these very castle walls. They have more important things to worry about. Like being food for the underlings. He gave Lord Grom a curt nod.

  “Corrin,” Grom said, “Are you ready to be initiated among us?”

  “I am,” he said, getting a catch in his throat. He said it louder. “I am.”

  Grom made a motion to one of the Bloodhound lieutenants standing near Corrin.

  His name was Avery, a well-knit man with a salty attitude. He turned and faced Corrin and withdrew a dagger with a long, sharp blade. “Give me your hand, and repeat after me.”

  Without hesitation, Corrin extended his palm.

  Avery continued. “I, Corrin of Bone...”

  “I, Corrin of Bone…”

  “Swear on my life…”

  “Swear on my life…”

  The recital went on about another minute with each phrase wrapped around Corrin like a tight, heavy cloak. He’d never sworn his loyalty to anyone for anything except the money that he was paid. This was different. It was a real commitment that he wasn’t sure he wanted or not. What choice do I have, with my own neck on the line? And to think, I’m swearing loyalty to the man I must kill. Will that make it easier or harder?

  Avery finished up, and Corrin repeated, “I am a Bloodhound, by my blood, from now and forevermore. And if I am unfaithful, may you stretch my neck for all eternity.”

  Avery slit Corrin’s hand open, making a bloody gash.

  That stings a bit.

  The Bloodhound lieutenant shook his hand and howled like a dog. All of the other Bloodhounds followed suit. Their dogs joined in, and the howling became louder and louder. The entire moment charged Corrin’s blood. It was invigorating. The men lined up, and one by one they shook his bloody hand. Some had kind words. Most were just gruff. But it was clear to him that he was part of something. He was a Bloodhound. Bone.

  Lord Grom rose his meaty arms up. His men fell silent. “Corrin, your care of the hounds is well known. Take one you want to be yours, now and forever.”

  He nodded. There was one he was fond of, a lean but shaggy beast, several months old, that he called Burk. The po
och had a clever personality about him. “Thank you, milord.”

  “Now,” Lord Grom continued, “as the day brightens, there is much that we all must deal with. And sadly, as one member is now honored among us, another traitor must go.”

  Corrin swore he heard hearts stop in the men’s chests. He swallowed. At least the women and children are no longer present. Bish! Who is to die now? Is it me? Has he figured out my traitorous intent?

  “I’ve decided however,” Grom said, combing his black-and-white beard, “that given the festive event, I’ll make it a sporting matter.” He turned toward the back wall of the city. “Hound guards, bring them in.”

  Two men with hoods covering their heads were marched through the outer archways. Their arms and legs were shackled. Corrin recognized the one with the massive frame immediately. It was Lunk the laborer. Little taller than the other man, he looked three times as thick. The pair of men was led into the center courtyard and then circled by the Bloodhounds mustered there.

  Corrin eased back into the ranks and turned to face the circle. What is this all about?

  Lord Grom spoke up. “As we all know, Challenges are a big part of Bone’s history.” He beat his chest. “They’re how we men like to show our bravado.”

  Some men cheered.

  “We test our mettle. Our spirits, cunning, and daring.” He reached behind him and produced two long hammers with heads like anvils and raised them high. “Today, I challenge these two men that you see to the Battle of the Hammers.” He tossed them inside the circle of men. They landed with deadened thunks. “Unshackle them.”

  The two guards executed the order, took the chains, and disappeared through the ranks of men.

  “You may remove your hoods,” Grom said.

  Slowly, Lunk removed his, revealing his long locks of frizzy hair. His close-set eyes squinted in the light.