“But—”
“No more,” Billip said, “Keep it up, and you sic ‘you know who’ on you.”
“Slat,” he muttered.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
He jammed his mop in the bucket with a scowl, trying to clear the image of the big woman, Darleen, out of his mind. He swore the coarse woman must have been born of an ogre. She was dangerous too, Georgio thought. She kept a strange amount of control over everybody. Especially around Scorch.
The handsome man was like sunlight in the room when he wanted to be, only to turn it as dark as storms when he didn’t. He was the reason the wizards never came back. He’d scared them away with a snap of his fingers. The ones he hadn’t killed. Pop. Crack. Bones shattered, they’d been dragged out into the street wailing. Darleen’s gusty laughs shook the room as she guffawed with big hands on her wide hips. The barmaids cried. The patrons shouted in praise and dismay as the Magi Roost became a storm of mixed emotions. The new crowd ushered out the old.
Nikkel brushed by his shoulder and whispered.
“I’ll see if I can slip us something from the kitchen.”
Georgio nodded.
Every night since he’d been back here, he’d wanted to leave. Billip made it clear they weren’t going. Not without Kam anyway, and she wasn’t going anywhere. Instead, the beautiful one handed mage kept to herself in a small room that was not her nice apartment, tending to her baby, Erin. Georgio eyed the pickle jar that sat on at the end of the bar. No more pickles floated in the murky green water. Just a delicate rotting hand.
He’d never forget the day Darleen told the story: “Cut that hand off, I did. She was cursed, I tell you. I saved her. She’s indebted to me. So’s her baby.”
He’d hardly talked to Kam since the first day he’d returned. She wasn’t the same woman. Her green eyes seemed sad and her shoulders sagged. If the news about Venir and Venir’s son Brak affected her, she didn’t show it. She did show something however. Tears. They had started as soon as Billip asked where Lefty and Gillem were. That’s when Georgio’s tears had started too. Gillem was dead and Scorch had made Lefty go poof. He wiped his sleeve across his eyes. Aw Lefty, where are you?
He started scrubbing the hearth on one of the fireplaces. At the other one, Brak’s metal shovel scraped over the stone and dug into the ash. The giant sized boy dumped the ash into a canvas sack. Georgio heard Brak’s stomach rumbling as well.
“Going to be a long time,” Brak said in a low voice.
“Huh?” Georgio added.
“Till breakfast. Long time. Suns aren’t up yet.”
Georgio leaned the mop against the mantle. Sat down on the hearth. He stretched his arms and yawned. He was tired. He’d been so since before he got there. It didn’t help that he, Billip, Brak and Nikkel were all cramped in a small room together. It made Venir and Melegal’s apartment at the Drunken Octopus seem huge. Plus, sleeping in the daytime wasn’t much fun either.
“It used to be better than this,” Georgio said, looking up at the cobwebs on the chandeliers. “And I never went hungry more than an hour, unless I ate too much or made Kam mad. I did have kind of a big belly though. Mmmm. But I just love eating. Back in Bone I used to get a special biscuit—”
“I know,” Brak said, wiping soot from his face, “‘The Georgio’.”
“Oh,” he said, licking his lips, “I’d kill for one of those.”
Above, the planks on the balcony groaned.
Georgio and Brak froze.
Speaking of wanting to kill.
“Georgio!” A woman’s voice shattered the peaceful silence. “Is that you talking?”
He jumped up to his feet. Grabbed the mop and started scrubbing, parting ways from Brak.
“Front and center, Curly Head!” Darleen yammered.
Bone!
Head down, he pushed the mop in front of the balcony.
“Yes?”
“I’m not paying you to chitter chatter. I pay you to clean, with your hole closed.”
His chin rose. Brows buckled.
One floor above, Darleen’s mitts squeezed the railing. Two hefty men in leather armor stood on each side. Her big hips swayed a little. Her bloodshot eyes watered from the smoke of her cigar. Georgio wouldn’t eat for a day if that railing broke. Just to see that woman fall in her trapper’s leathers and bust her back might be worth it.
“What are you glaring at?” she said, slurry. Her hand fell to the knife on her hip. “See that pickle jar-hic.”
Georgio pointed to it and said, “You mean, that one without the pickles in it?”
“Don’t you mouth me, Boy. I’ll put both yer hands in there.”
Georgio’s neck turned red. All she did was boss and run her mouth day in and day out. Her voice was as coarse as her clothes. It was time to get rid of this woman. Take back the Magi Roost. He held up his hands.
“I’d like to see you—”
Billip clamped his hands over Georgio’s mouth.
“What? What did you say!”
“The boy was saying, Darleen,” Billip said, “I’d like to get back to work. There’s much to be done.”
“No,” Darleen said, shaking her head. She stomped down the stairs. The two men with daggers on their hips were right behind her. “That’s not what he said. He’s got a mouth on him. I used to have a mouth on me until someone taught me a lesson.”
“You must be joking,” Georgio said, but Billip covered his mouth again.
“Be silent, will you, Boy?” Billip hissed in his ear. “We’re all thinking what you’re saying, but she’s got Kam and Erin up there. Be patient.”
Georgio gave a quick nod even though he wasn’t sure what Billip meant. He wasn’t sure if Kam was a hostage or not. If she could come or go. What would Darleen want with her? It was like they were hostages without saying so. A sick twist on life.
Darleen squared up on them. Looked down her big nose at both of them, bouncing her knife off her palm.
“I don’t like the way you’re looking at me,” she said. “Either of you.”
“Darleen,” Billip pleaded, “he’s adolescent. They aren’t good at controlling their tongues at this age. Please, allow me to discipline him. It won’t happen again.”
“Tongue, eh?” She scratched her chin with her knife. “Maybe he’s got a forked tongue like those wizards.”
“I assure you,” Billip started. “It won’t—”
“No, it won’t happen again,” Darleen said with a gleam in her eyes. “Because-hic-I’m going to cut it out. Seize him!”
Chapter
3
Glitch!
Creed ripped his sword out of the underling’s face. Black blood spilling to the ground, it fell onto the heap of the others. Creed’s chest was heaving. His swords dripping in gore.
“Help me,” a voice moaned nearby. “Help me.”
A City Watchman sat propped against the alleyway, face gashed and belly soaked in blood. He was one of many Creed had tried to rescue. Victims to underling terror that struck the city at night. Six underlings had wiped out a patrol of ten, and only one still lived.
Creed kneeled down beside the man and put a canteen to his lips.
“Drink,” he said.
“Who are you?” the man said, sipping. “An apparition? A terror that attacks these fiends as they attack us?” The man coughed. Sputtered. His eyes rolled up inside his head with a final gasp.
“Bone.”
Weeks ago, the City Watch had been little more than thugs to him. Now they were his allies. As was every man. Every woman. Miscreant. Criminal. Royal. They all battled for their survival against the assault of the underling world. The underlings struck in the moonlight. Killed women. Children. Ho
rses. Dogs. Anything that wasn’t underling that moved or crawled. The furnaces that breathed hot life beneath the city were filled with the dead, the smoke and smell almost unbearable.
Creed wiped his blades on the underling corpses and spat blood from his mouth. Exhausted, he stuffed the blades in their sheaths and shuffled on. He’d been fighting for days. Each night a different battle. No rest. No recreation. No wine. No women. A glimpse of Lorda Almen flashed in his mind. Perhaps I’ll see her tonight.
Whoo-ooo-wooo … Whooo-ooo-wooo …
He froze in his tracks. Somewhere an underling called. He whirled. An underling survivor crawled from the pile of dead brethren with his dark lips to a pipe. It scurried.
A shadow pounced on the underling from the dark. A glint of steel flashed in its hand and buried itself in the underling’s throat.
“Who in Bish?” Creed said, swords ready.
Corrin rose up and pulled his shoulders back. His jerkin and trousers were coated in blood. His steely eyes reflected the moonlight above.
“Who else?” Corrin said, “You can’t do this every night, Creed. They’ll get you.”
Creed turned his back. His shroud made a strange crooning inside his head. He could sense them. The underlings. Every time he tried to sleep, they woke him. He could hear them scratching beneath the ground. He could see their devious deeds in his dreams. The only way for him to rest was to kill them.
“You better go, Corrin,” he said, twirling one blade. “Many come.”
Corrin walked up beside him. The man was average in size and well built. He had a dangerous quality about him. Cold. He peered from the alley down the street that led to the Royal Roadway. “How many?” he said. “I don’t see any.”
“Too many,” Creed added. He twirled his swords. Falchion blades. Heavy. They felt perfect in his hands. The dark metal was razor sharp. Skin the hair off a frog. Invincible. “Go.”
Corrin huffed and said, “You need rest. I need rest. Let’s walk away. The underlings will be here tomorrow. We’ll take them one at a time, but we can’t take them all at once.”
Creed agreed. But more people would die. Good or bad. And it wasn’t right. He couldn’t let that happen. The Royals, some but not all, were fighting. Others preserved themselves. Soldiers galloped through the streets in the day, but they’d already given up the night, unless they were part of the City Watch. Those got the bad duty. In the meantime, citizens boarded up their homes. Apartments. Waited for daylight. Others tried to leave. Beyond the walls, thousands tried to get in. It was Chaos. Everywhere. Chaos.
Corrin stuffed his knife in his belt and said, ‘Take it from me, Creed. They aren’t all worth saving. Just save yourself. The ones you can. Like the Bloodhounds. The Lorda.” He smiled. An earring flashed in his ear. “I think she’s warming up to you.”
“Go.”
Corrin jerked Creed’s cowl down. “Take a breath, will you.”
Creed back fisted him in the chest. Grabbed Corrin by the collar and pulled him face to face.
“Don’t ever—”
“What?” Corrin said, fearless.
The crooning was gone. The hairs on his arms no longer itched. His shoulders sagged.
“Huh…”
“Let’s get back to the castle,” Corrin suggested. “Drink and eat a little. Enjoy the morning. You never know when it will be the last one.”
Creed rolled his neck. The air felt cool on his blood-smeared face. Taking off the shroud cleared his head. Allowed his thoughts to become his own.
“Perhaps,” he said. “Let’s go then.”
Nights in The City of Bone had always been dangerous. City Watchmen used to call the shots with arrogant priggery, where they controlled the districts. Man-urchins, rogues and thugs would rule the streets, preying on the drunk, stupid and weak. Only the seediest of sorts would ever dare come out a night, before. But now, all those troublesome elements were gone. Replaced by permanent evil that preyed on every human, without any discretion.
Hugging the walls from corner to corner, Corrin led the way. A pack of dogs gnawed on dead flesh. Many human heads were mounted on lantern posts. Creed’s stomach no longer turned. He hadn’t gagged in days. He was used to it. Death. Decay.
“Foul, these things,” Corrin muttered, stepping over a corpse with a dozen holes poked in it. “This way,” Corrin said, trekking down an alley. His feet splashed through the muck. He came to a stop, gaping. “Bish.”
A cobweb filled the alley from one side to the other. Behind it another and another.
“Let’s go back,” Corrin said, backing away. He bumped into Creed’s chest.
“No, wait.”
Creed stepped forward and stretched one of his blades out.
“Don’t,” Corrin started.
The metal sliced the webbing. It peeled away and dissipated.
“I’ll be.”
Creed donned his hood and took the lead. The crooning renewed. The underlings were near, but not near enough. Good. He wanted to get back to Bloodhound Castle. Satisfy Corrin. Although coarse and unpleasant, the man had a resolve about him. Made up his mind and stuck with it. Creed liked that about the older man. He had family like that. Liars, thieves and whoremongers, or of a reputable sort. He was used to it. But even his family, a pack of jackals, no matter how hungry didn’t venture out at night. Corrin did.
“Agghh!” Creed said.
Something big as a cat scurried out of the wall. A spider with glowing green spots on its back crossed from one side to the other.
“Did you see that thing?” Corrin said, shivering.
“Just a bug,” Creed said.
Corrin seemed shriveled up when he said, “Hate spiders. Even the tiniest ones.”
Creed slit more webbing. Marched through. There were spiders bigger than horses roaming the streets. He’d seen them. Killed them. Corrin hadn’t heard about that part.
Another spider scurried by and up the wall. Followed by another.
“We almost there?”
“Yes,” Corrin hissed. His head swiveled around. Eyes darting up and down. “Go faster.”
Creed could sense the underlings, but not spiders. Or any other thing for that matter. He wondered why that was. His hood began crooning again. An eerie sound filled his ears. His skinned crawled. His veins ignited with fire.
“What is that noise?” Corrin said, drawing out his sword.
Above, the clouds blocked the light of the moons. That’s when Creed looked up. Over the rooftops they came. Underlings riding on the backs of spiders.
Corrin gawped. “You must be slatting me.” He took off running.
“No Corrin!” Creed said, stretching out after him.
Toowah. Toowah. Toowah. Toowah. Toowah. Toowah. Toowah. Toowah.
Darts filled the air. Javelins clattered off stone. Corrin spilled face first in the ground. In an instant he was covered in cat-sized spiders.
Chapter
4
“Stay awake!” Venir said.
Melegal shuffled back. Eyes wide. Long fingers drifting to his hilts.
Venir shook his head. “Just come,” he said, gathering his gear. He filled his hands with dwarven steel. “We’ll get her.”
Melegal fell in step. A shadow behind him. Venir wasn’t so much mad at Melegal as he was himself. It wasn’t the first time the thief had dozed off. His friend wasn’t accustomed to the Outland like him. And, the weary eyed thief was exhausted. He didn’t say it, but Venir could tell.
Venir squatted down and fingered the dirt. Haze’s body had left a dragging impression, but the tracks were small. Tiny impressions in the ground. Barely traceable. He sniffed the air. Keen as his instincts were, he smelled nothing out of the ordinary.
“Not sure,” he said, mov
ing on.
“Not sure what?” Melegal asked.
Venir glanced over his shoulder.
“What took her.”
“Underlings?”
Venir shrugged. Kept going. The morning light behind them. It bothered him. Every hour of the trip bothered him a little more with every league. If he had the armament, he could at least rule out underlings, but now he couldn’t say. He felt blinded. Muted. Weakened. He ached. He should have shaken it off by now.
Continuing another few hundred yards, the body impression of Haze stopped. He circled the spot wider and wider, peering everywhere.
“They picked her up,” Melegal said, staring at the ground. “Whatever they is.”
Venir had his theories. The tracks were similar to sand spiders, but those didn’t sneak into camps and haul people off. Underlings often rode spiders’ backs, but they would have taken them all out, not just one. Whatever it was, it was different. He pushed the hair out of his eyes as the wind picked up.
“Be ready,” he said, picking up his pace. “The hot breeze will wipe out the tracks if we don’t move quick.” He started into a trot. Bone!
Venir had thought the journey back to the City of Three would be quick and easy. It was anything but that. The man who once thought he could handle anything wasn’t so sure of himself. His ribs were busted. His jaw rattled. One ear was sawn off. Over the past few weeks he’d had the living snot beaten out of him and had lived to tell about it. Talking only made it worse. The threshold of death sang to him. Somehow he dodged its embrace. He should feel joyous. Triumphant. The survivor that survived it all. But the fires inside were gone. And, he missed Chongo. He’d found him only to lose him right after. Mood and Slim were gone too.
Suck it up, Venir!
Now, he felt naked in the Outlands. Raw. He knew the terrain as well as anyone, but he knew it better with the Armament. With Chongo and others.
We should have stayed with a caravan.
The Darkslayer: Series 2, Box Set #1, Books 1 - 3 (Bish and Bone) Page 2