Was I mad when I created this mess?
She clenched her fists.
If I am going to stay here, I can do without Scorch. This world isn’t big enough for the both of us.
She turned her attention to the next battle that was about to unfold. The Nameless Two faced the underling survivors.
Scorch needs to die.
Pain. Life. Ched still experienced both. The royal knight lay prone, staring over the Warfield’s blood-splatted dirt and into the horizon. Bodies lay in heaps. Friends and foes. Blood oozed from gaping wounds. He lay prone, unable to move, with a spear jammed through his back. The surviving underlings chortled in victory, scurrying through the masses of death.
I still live, you bastards!
Blood dripped over his eye. Something else caught his gaze. It was cutting the underlings’ chortling short. Two figures in sandy robes approached, stirring the dust with sandaled feet. Bright steel hung on their hips.
The underlings fanned out and chittered orders back and forth. The ghost-like figures didn’t slow. They drew their long swords, exposing bright razor edges.
The Nameless Two?
Ched had heard the legends about them. Shades that showed up after the slaughter and finished the suffering off.
The Nameless Two spread out.
The underling forces split apart and hemmed their assailants in. Shoulders slumped, some limped, while others made angry hisses. They attacked.
Steel flashed in the wink of an eye, and the first underling fell over and died.
The underling soldiers cried out and surged.
The Nameless Two spun and parried. Countered with blinding speed.
Slice. Slice. Slice. Slice.
Underlings lost arms and hands. Black blood spurted from ruptured necks.
Stab. Stab.
Black hearts were punched. They pumped no more.
The underlings were quick and fast.
The Nameless Two were quicker and faster. Impossibly so.
Steel clashed. Skin Flayed. Muscle was severed from bone.
Ched stirred and reached for his sword. Blood-stained gauntleted fingers stretched out. Life still flowed through them.
Kill them! Kill them all, you ghostly fiends!
Exhausted, bloody, narrow chests heaving, the underlings faulted back.
The Nameless Two pressed.
Steel sheered through steel into one underling’s neck. The screaming face of the black fiend caught a mouthful of fist in its teeth. A pommel came down, cracking its head. A sword pierced its back. Underlings scrambled, fell, and died in a hurricane of steel. Only one was left. Flanked by the Nameless Two. A juegen underling soldier covered in blood-splattered plate armor. Dark steel whirled in both hands.
The Nameless Two closed in.
Ched coughed up blood.
The juegen struck one full in the chest. With its other blade, it parried the strike of the other. Metal rang off metal with a clang.
One of the Nameless Two countered with quick strikes, while the other sagged to his knees, swords skipping off an underling’s armor.
The underling let out a triumphant chitter, ripped its sword from the downed Nameless One’s chest, and squared off to attack the standing.
The remaining Nameless One was smaller than the fallen other. Lither. Not as formidable. But steel licked out like a metal snake tongue.
The dazzling fencers danced back and forth. Sparks and bits of steel flew in the air.
The juegen clipped through robes. Pounded at parrying wrists with hammer-like blows.
The Nameless One flailed back. A decapitating blow skipped of the hardened armor of a raised shoulder. It went on for another minute. The underling struck with slow heavy blows. The Nameless One sidestepped and batted the next blow away. The juegen struck again and again, missed and stumbled.
The Nameless One swatted the flat of its blade off the back of his metal-covered head.
Clang!
The juegen gathered itself and swung again.
Swish! Swish!
The Nameless One struck back.
Bang! Bang!
The underling’s swords fell from its grasp. It dropped to its knees and ripped off its helmet. Its eyes shone blood red. It chittered a curse and bowed its head.
Slice!
Body and head fell to the ground, spilling black blood until it died.
Ched wanted to cheer but mustered only a bloody cough. He watched the Nameless One rise and remove the other Nameless One’s hood, revealing patches of hair, a scarred and burnt face.
A man and woman.
Ched coughed again.
The burning eyes of the Nameless Two met his startled gaze. On sandaled feet, they came right at him.
They come to give me mercy.
Vultures dropped from the sky, gathered around, and started pecking at the surrounding flesh. The Nameless Two stood over him, looking at one another. Their faces were more dead than living. Their flesh mostly skin over bones. They raised their blades together and gazed back down at him.
Mercy.
Chapter 13
“That was incredible,” the man said, panting. He reached for his clothes at the end of the bed and looked back at her. “Really incredible.” He licked his mustache and gazed over her generous curves. “I don’t normally say things like this, but thank you.”
Trodd was a well-knit man, lean-hipped and muscular with a short rugged beard covering his face. He slid his cotton shirt on and a coat of mail over it. Pulled on his trousers and buckled his belt. He was one of Lord Grom’s finest. Captain of his guard. He picked up his sword belt, slung it over his shoulder, and took a deep breath.
“Not a word of this,” he said, looking into Lorda Almen’s eyes, then drifting to her splendid breasts. “My fate depends on it.”
Curled up on the blankets, she smiled.
“You have nothing to worry about, young lord. Your talents are appreciated as well.” She prowled over the bed on hands and knees. He met her at the footboard. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed her body into his, and sucked on his neck. “You’ll be missed.”
There were footsteps outside of Lorda’s room. Trodd’s eyes widened, and he eased her back.
“I had best go. Lord Grom may return any hour.” He gave her a fierce kiss. “I never thought there’d be a woman worth risking my neck for.” He stuffed his feet into his boots and listened at the door. He opened it and winked. “See you soon.”
“Not soon enough,” she said, blowing a kiss at him.
Three days later, Lorda Almen stood alongside Lord Grom. He had his hairy arm wrapped around her waist. They stood on a stone balcony overlooking the courtyard, where a ceremony had just taken place. Captain Trodd was in the wind and rain, hanging by a rope around his neck.
“He was a good Bloodhound,” Lord Grom said in his gruff voice. “But he never should have laid his paws on my Lorda.” He tipped her delicate chin up so that her beautiful blue eyes met his. “I’m sorry for that.”
Lorda squeezed his hand and said, “Thank you for seeing justice done. Sometimes your hounds act like animals when you’re not around.”
“I know,” he said, reaching down and squeezing her rear end. “Come. Show me how thankful you are.”
“Certainly, Lord Grom.” You bearded pig. She followed Lord Grom off the rain-soaked balcony and took a quick glance at Captain Trodd’s boots swaying in the winds. He wasn’t so bad. But it took more than a few tussles to get everything I wanted. Most importantly, Creed lives.
Creed hacked and coughed. Kicked at the straw on the ground. He wrapped his arms around his shoulders and curled up into a ball. Sweat beaded his forehead, and his skin was pale and clammy. Fever. Chills. An
guish. He had the fever. It was often fatal.
Above, water dripped through the cracks of the slime-covered walls. It always did when it rained, and it had been raining for days, it seemed. The crack that normally shed daylight after dawn remained dark and dreary all the time. The wetness and the damp raggedy clothes he wore chilled him to the bone.
“Guards,” he managed to say with a croak. “Guards.”
Flickering torches were the only answer. Drops of water extinguished two of the four that illuminated the room, leaving the small dungeon darker than it had ever been before. It was lonely. No cells were filled with dying life but his. He fought through another fit of coughing.
“Guards!”
I have to get out of here!
“Guards!”
I’m going to die in here …
Kill Lord Grom. Ridiculous.
Corrin worked a brush over one of the large dogs in the kennel. It was one of Creed’s, a short-haired shepherd, black, brown and white-patched, with a long snout and high pointy ears. A fine dog. Voracious protector.
“Does that feel good, Manx?”
The dog stood tall and rigid. His head jerked from side to side a little. Corrin had seen Manx tear the throats out of two underlings. He was every bit as formidable a hound as he looked to be. It had taken Corrin months to get close enough to pet him.
“You know he’s alive, don’t you?” he said, brushing the dog’s back. “I wish I had your instincts, but I can’t be so certain.”
The dog whimpered a little and scratched at the floor.
Corrin turned his gaze toward the kennel entrance. His hand felt for the dagger on his hip. Two bloodhounds in leather armor entered, wearing belts and hanging metal. Both of the scruffy hard-faced men leered at him. They rounded up their dogs out of the cages, put on their harnesses and leashes, and left him with a disapproving gaze.
Good riddance.
Corrin knew both of them, but not well. He was still an outsider and not much of a talker. His presence was accepted, but that was about it. He was unprotected without Creed. And no one dared talk about that man. It seemed everyone knew something bad was going on, but they’d learned to live with it. And now Lorda wanted him, or her, to kill Lord Grom.
Not sure if I’d be doing the Bloodhounds a favor or not. I’m certain not all hate him. But I know they all fear him.
Killing Lord Grom wouldn’t be easy, and Corrin had killed many men. The older well-knit man had been a petty assassin for years. He’d killed for as little as a bottle of wine worth only a small sack of coins before. He never minded killing people. He always figured no one really wanted to live in this horrible city. And now Bone was worse than ever.
But Trinos had changed Corrin. The moment he saw her face, another purpose had renewed him.
He grabbed Manx’s leash.
“Do you want to go for a walk? You don’t get out much.”
Manx pawed his leg. Corrin put the leash on, and outside into the courtyard they went, into the drizzling rain.
“Ah, it’s good to get some fresh air,” he said. He glanced down at Manx. “No offense, but your kennels stink of slat and piss. My nose is sensitive, you know. But I’m getting used to it, and that might be a really sad thing.”
They made their way around the inner circle of the courtyard. No one was out. None of them ever were. The odd royal family kept to themselves, and all the meetings Lord Grom held were very private. Corrin hadn’t even made it within twenty feet of the door where they were held. The dogs watched and guarded it. And that was what made killing Lord Grom so difficult. The hounds.
Never had to kill a man surrounded by a hundred of his loyal hounds. Killing a man surrounded by underlings would be far easier. Nothing is more loyal than a hound.
It was one of the reasons Corrin spent so much time in the kennels. He needed to learn about the dogs. All of the Bloodhounds were born with hounds at their sides. They ate, slept and slat with them. Corrin never had a pet. Most people in Bone didn’t. The royals rode horses. Some folk kept cats for mousing, but that was about it. He eyed the platform where Captain Trodd was recently hung. The noose gently swayed in the wind. He rubbed his neck.
Probably a better way to die than being chewed to death by a pack of dogs.
He kept walking. Thinking about the challenge of killing Lord Grom kept him entertained. There were two ways that he’d killed men: a blade, and poison. Well, one time he had used a garrote on a greasy fat-necked merchant who refused to dicker with him.
Poison’s out. It’s expensive, and I can’t get into the city. And it will be impossible to cut the man without a dozen hounds tearing me to pieces. Lorda is pretty, but she’s not worth dying for. Well, Trodd must have felt differently, the fool.
The dogs posed other threats as well. They could sense things that were about to happen, alerting Grom of danger. The paranoid man wouldn’t hesitate to kill you if he thought for one moment you weren’t on his side.
There’s got to be a way where he dies and I live.
The rain started to come down harder.
“Let’s go back in.”
Back inside the kennels, Manx and Corrin both shook off the rain. A Bloodhound appeared in the opposite doorway. With a twisted grin on his face, he said, “Corrin, Lord Grom wants to see you. Now.”
How the man said it didn’t sit well.
Slat!
Chapter 14
Hard rain bounced off Venir’s blond head and broad shoulders. He’d wandered the streets of Three for hours. Fresh blood dripped from his knuckles. He brought a jug of ale to his lips and drank. It was emptied. He slung it down the street. It was followed by a crash and cries of alarm. City Watchmen appeared down the road. People were pointing his way. He turned down the next alley.
The City of Three was far different from Bone. You could walk the streets at night without risk of being robbed. The people in Three had a quieter way of going about things. And the City Watch, though formidable, weren’t thugs. However, Kam had warned him their jails were far more secure. Three had more responsible people.
At the end of the alley, a group of figures cut him off.
City Watch!
He turned, only to see some at the other end of the alley as well. There were no bad districts to hide you in the City of Three. All corners of the city were taken care of, even when forces were thin due to the war. And Venir had drawn crowds when he busted up a few things over the past few hours. The locals had had enough of him.
Just ahead, a heavyset bald man staggered out of a doorway and bumped into him. Venir glared down at him. The man hiccupped and lumbered away. Venir ducked into the same doorway. Smoke, sweat, and the smell of cheap perfume greeted him. A big-chested woman in a revealing short dress wrapped her arm around his. A tall shirtless one-eyed man stood with his muscular arms crossed over his chest. A fine curved sword was strapped to his hip.
“My, what have we here?” the woman said, licking her lips. “Such a rugged character. Come in, sit down, and I’ll get you a drink.” She tapped her hands on his purse. “But it will cost you.”
Venir snapped the purse off his belt and tossed it to the one-eyed man.
“Trouble follows. Can you get rid of them?”
“What kind?” the one-eyed man said, pushing himself off the wall.
“The City Watch kind.”
The man flashed a silver-toothed smile and said, “No problem.”
The woman led him in and sat down beside him at the bar. She draped her sensuous leg over his and said, “You gave him all your money. How are you going to buy me a drink now?”
He tickled her knee.
She squeaked.
“I thought you dragged me in here to buy me a drink?”
She stiffened a little and nar
rowed her eyes at him.
“I thought you were avoiding trouble, but you’re about neck-deep into more of it.”
He showed some teeth and stuffed a gold coin in her palm.
Her eyes lit up.
“Buy us whatever you want.”
She glimpsed at his bloody hand and said, “What happened?”
“I didn’t like the way the walls were looking at me.”
“I’ll get a bandage,” she said, getting up from her stool. She rubbed his shoulder. “And some of the good stuff in the rear galley. She winked and walked away.
Venir enjoyed the sway of her generous hips until she disappeared.
Kam would kill me.
He scanned the room. The candles offered little light. They sat on some tables and hung from the walls. Through the smoke, he could see gruff faces: men, dwarves, mintaurs. Some part-orcs were among them. A surly lot, using coarse language and harsh voices. The tension between his shoulder blades eased.
This is more like it. Wish I’d found this place months ago. I should have known. Every city has its dark places.
Venir knew little about the City of Three, just that it was composed of three segments: the ground for the commoners, the royal wizard towers above, and the dark catacombs below, about which Kam would say nothing. Most of his time had always been spent in the Magi Roost, and he had never stayed long before. There had always been something he couldn’t see that bothered him about the City of Three. It was as if someone was always watching him.
The brown-haired woman returned with a damp rag and a dark glass bottle with a cork in it. The glass bottle was crafted in a way he’d never seen before. The barkeep poured its contents into two small glasses while she nursed his hands with the rag.
The Darkslayer: Series 2, Box Set #1, Books 1 - 3 (Bish and Bone) Page 22