“Its fine now, Grandson. Just fine.”
Fogle barely heard him over the torrential sound of water crashing into water. He looked beyond. People splashed. Otter cats were everywhere. Others gawked and stared at the strider, Tarcot, emerging. And beyond all that was something else. His eyes lit up like flares.
“The Three Great Falls?”
“Aye,” Boon said. “This was the safest place to land on short notice.”
Fogle’s head whipped around. He forced his tired body to his feet.
“Can it be?”
Towers. Dozens. Spires bright and brilliant jutting like giant jeweled fingertips stretching into the sky-blue air.
“Tell me this is real, Grandfather.”
“It is,” Boon said. “It is.”
“Why here?” He asked. Not that he cared, but because he was curious. Of all the times Boon had surprised him, this was the biggest one of all.
“It must have raced through my thoughts at the last second.” Boon rose up and stood at his side, peering at the towers. “It’s a sight I’ve longed to see as well, it seems, somewhere deep inside me. It’s good to be home again. I’d almost given up on it.”
“Me too,” Fogle said. “Me too.”
Chapter 26
“You can release my arm now,” Melegal said to Jasper.
They’d crossed a few streets. Melegal’s temper festered with every step.
“It’s fine,” she said. “Quite nice, actually.”
He shoved her into the next alley and pinned her to a wall, with his forearm on her throat.
“Listen, Jasper, I want to know more about the goings on with things. And I want to know now. How many underlings are in this city?”
Her stark white cheeks turned rosy. The dark violet shadow on her eyelids fluttered. Her fingers tickled at his belly.
“Ah!”
He withdrew his arm and watched her stand there, coughing. She was a young woman, but full-grown despite her girlish frame. Her dark silk dress accented her sensuous curves. Her perfume drew him into her darkness.
“I don’t know that much,” she said, rubbing her throat.
“You know plenty,” Melegal said. “Do you think I’ve never dallied with a deceitful wench before? I’ve known women that spun lies like fine tapestries, and I still have my head for it. Now tell me, what kind of fools dicker with underlings?”
“Don’t rise so high, Melegal,” she said, fixing her midnight hair. “Underlings are just people.”
Smack!
“Don’t be a fool, Girl.”
Her eyes bore into him like daggers. Her fingertips sparked. She struck.
Smack!
Melegal sent her into the wall. The fires in her eyes and fingers went out.
“Listen, Girl. Consider this lesson a life saver. The underlings will have your throat torn out one day. They’ll take every tower to the ground. We are at war with them to kill them, not to make merry with them. They’re evil. And evil has no friends.”
Jasper leaned back against the wall, eyes wide and blinking. Perhaps he’d take some of his aggravations out on her. His nails dug into his hands. Everything had been under control until Venir barged in. Now, the man was gone. Hunting underlings in a city that didn’t have underlings. Quickster was gone. His life once again was out of his control.
He extended his hand to Jasper.
She glared at him.
“Take it.”
She didn’t move.
“I said ‘Take it’!”
She reached out, and he pulled her up to her feet.
He looked in her eyes and nodded.
“Don’t ever slap me again,” she said.
“You call that a slap?” he laughed. “Just don’t make chummy underling talk then.”
“Fine,” she said, glancing around. “Now what?”
Melegal led her back into the street and said, “I have no idea.”
“Are you worried about your friend?”
“Him?” Melegal said, shrugging. “He’ll be all right.”
He had better be all right, because I’m not going after him.
“Let’s go spend some of this gold.” They took two more steps, and the world changed. He was on his hands and knees, spitting bile on the floor. His head felt like hammer had hit it. When he looked up, there was Jaen, lording over him with an angry look on her face.
“What have you done!”
Running his free hand along the wall, Venir followed the stairs down. He could sense them. Feel them. Smell them. The decay-like scent of underlings. The creatures that took as much joy in death as they did in life. He hated them. So through the blackness he went, head throbbing. Heart pounding. Veins charging.
He must have gone more than fifty feet down when he bottomed out on a plank platform. Through Helm, he could make out the outlines of walls and a door, cracked open. He eased it inward with one hand, Brool ready in the other.
What’s this?
Stairs and catwalks traversed a large open cavern lit by smokeless green-and-yellow torches. Glowing rocks above traced the ceiling. The dampness of water in the air cooled his face. He crept forward like a white ape and hunkered down on the next platform. Bodies were in motion below.
There was a lake of sorts. Or a river, he couldn’t tell which. A series of small docks along the sandy shore. Crates. Small barges. A company of men carrying crates over the planks and stacking them up in neat rows. Other men cracking open the wooden boxes with pry bars and taking turns sampling the goods.
Netherland Port.
A screeching chatter arose, freezing the stern-faced rogues. A pack of underlings emerged from the shadows of the docks. One of them snatched the bottle from the men and stuffed it back inside the box.
Venir’s blood ran hot. Helm urged him onward. His knuckles whitened on Brool’s handle.
Not yet, he told himself. Not yet.
He slunk back a little farther into the shadows and held his position. He removed Helm from his head. His breathing eased.
What in bloody Bish are they doing!
Venir never thought he’d see the day when men bartered openly with underlings. The fiends had corrupted the City of Bone and now penetrated the City of Three’s underworld. It seemed they were buying the royals off. Poisoning the streets. Weakening the structure from within. Someone had to be responsible for all of this madness. Someone high up had given in.
I need to find out who’s doing all of this and put an end to them.
He stared at Helm. The eyelets were like a reflection staring right back at him. Hot. Angry. He ran his thumb along the brassy edges of the metal eyelets.
I see no reason why we can’t put an end to the ones down there right now.
He started to put Helm on and stopped. How many times had he rushed into the thick of things and paid for it? How many others had suffered because he let Helm lead?
From the shadows, he glared down at the underlings. Could he tolerate them long enough to try and find more help? He watched the underlings order the rogues around, strutting along in their dark armor. There weren’t that many.
He could see Helm looking back at him, saying, Take them.
But Venir was older now.
Time to be wiser.
He observed a little longer.
The men labored back and forth, unloading one barge after the other. There were barrels. Boxes. Sacks with the clinking of coins. The rattle of precious stones. A hoard of treasures fit only for royals.
Venir’s thoughts raced. Every city had its thieves and dirty dealings. Were the rogues behind it? The wizard-royals? Perhaps Kam would have insight to these questions. If only she would talk to him now. His thoughts drifted to Brak. Which was more important:
killing underlings, or seeing his wounded son?
Time to go. He looked at Helm. No more today. He readied the sack and stuffed Helm inside.
The soft sound of sobbing echoed from the cavern below.
What was that?
Another barge eased its way through the waters on the other side of the docks. Dozens of half-naked women and children were huddled in the center. The sobbing and crying became louder as they found the cold glittering stares of the underlings. Desperate pleas and cries for mercy came forth. The rogues silenced them with hard strokes of the lash and dragged them kicking and screaming from one barge to another.
Venir drew forth the shield from the sack and buckled on Helm.
“Aw, Bish no.”
Chapter 27
The Gruell. It wasn’t so much a prison but a series of cages and pits lined up along a carved-out hillside. Each wrought with filth and decay. Bugs and vermin scurried about, gnawing at what was left of once-alive things.
The wart-nosed dwarves had strange ways of dealing with people from the city of Holm. The Gruell was one of those ways. Kidnappers they were. Smugglers. Thieves. They never hesitated to seize a prosperous opportunity.
Lefty stood over the rim of a pit, looking down within. A man’s body rotted there, fine clothes in tatters. Skin eaten away by bugs and vermin. He sighed. The man’s family either didn’t have the ransom the dwarves wanted or they didn’t care. So the man had died. Had taken his last breath months ago. Lefty wiped a tear from his eye. He’d forgotten about the man in all his troubles.
“Get that hole cleaned out yet?” Hoknar said, shoving Lefty and almost knocking him into the pit. He spat inside. “People don’t care so much about one another as you’d think.” He grunted. “They didn’t even dicker. Now get down there and clean out that hole.”
Lefty nodded, tied a rope to a nearby cage, and lowered himself into the hole, coughing. The stench was suffocating. He wandered into the cave, tied the rope around the body, and climbed out. Hand over hand, he hauled it up. Everything made it up but the head.
Hoknar scratched the warts on his nose and said, “Get back down in there, stupid.”
Rubbing his aching shoulders, Lefty sighed.
“Now!”
He’d started to untie the rope from the dead body when Hoknar walked over, laid his hand on his shoulder, and stopped him.
“I’ll get that. You hop in there and toss up that head. I’ll toss the rope in. Time’s pressing.”
“But…”
“Now!”
Lefty slouched and walked over to the pit with his shackles rattling around his ankles. Now, he hated the shackles more than anything. At first, he had thought he deserved them. But now, he had made up his mind to try and get away. And they’d worn his ankles raw.
Gazing into the pit, he sighed. It was twelve feet down. He could handle that. Getting out was another problem. Hoknar probably wouldn’t help at all. He glanced back and saw Hoknar combing his fingers through his beard and shooing him onward.
He jumped in, landing noisily when the chains rattled, and picked the gory head up. He tossed it out of the hole and waited. Nothing happened. All he could see was the dark rocky cave ceiling above. Bugs scurrying into holes below.
“Hoknar!” he yelled.
No answer.
“Hoknar! You’ve given me much to do. The sooner you let me out of here, the better.” He swallowed hard. “Hoknar, please?”
He sighed.
He’s gone. I know he’s gone. He always does this to me.
It was either jump in the hole when told, or be beaten. And Lefty was starting to get the feeling that Hoknar might be growing tired of him. That this latest trip into a pit might be his last. The wart-nosed clans had started to wear out their welcome in Hohm City. The royals had begun to show an interest in them, and Lefty saw signs that said they might be moving on. A handful had ventured into the city and never made it back.
The Gruell was getting dim. Lefty’s legs ached, and his belly groaned. He kicked at the bugs crawling over his toes. It had only been a few hours, but that was nothing for a dwarf. Every minute, Lefty wondered whether or not he should try to climb out. He could see himself cresting the rim, only to find Hoknar staring right at him. He’d be put in a grimy cage or a covered pit for days. Some nights, Hoknar left a yellowish rooster that crowed all the time.
“Hoknar!” he yelled. “Hoknar, please!”
Silence and biting bugs were his only company. He’d had enough of the company that he kept. He’d punished himself enough. He had to escape the next chance he got, but if they caught him, he’d be dead.
I can do this.
The wart-nosed dwarves were a curious bunch. They had a way of finding things. Creatures. People. They set traps and surprises. Anything they put a mark on, they found again. And there were at least twenty of them sulking in the misty woodland. He could see them that didn’t want to be seen. Always on the lookout for their hideout. Maybe more keeping an eye on things. If Lefty slipped out, there was no clear right direction to go.
I can’t do this.
He clutched at the hairs on his head.
Don’t be a child. Get ahold of yourself. It was Melegal’s voice he heard. He took a breath and eased his mind, blowing out one mental candle at a time. Listen. Learn.
Confined in the pit, he focused on the sounds above. A breeze rustled the dirt. Distant birds ca-cawed. But no sound of a dwarf grumbling or picking.
Here goes.
He dug his tiny fingers into soft dirt. The dirt would break away under a heavier man, and normally a wooden grid cover sealed the hole. Lefty climbed with a spider’s ease, one tiny handhold at a time. He could have done that at any time, but why, when it would be fatal. Cresting the rim, he peered outward. Hoknar’s hollowed eyes were glaring into his.
“Ya be a fool!” the dwarf said, rising to his feet, axe in hand.
Lefty pulled himself out of the hole and stood on his legs.
“A dead fool!” Hoknar yelled, “if you don’t get back into that hole!”
“No!” Lefty said.
“What!” Hoknar said, charging forward, nostrils flaring. The dwarf breathed steamy smelling breath into Lefty’s face. “I’ll tell you one more time.”
Lefty kept his eyes locked on Hoknar’s. There was a thing about the wart-nosed dwarves. Their hollow eyes blinked slower than most. He started a count. One bishandbone, two bishandbone …
“Do as I say, Halfling.”
…three bishandbone…
Hoknar blinked.
Quick as a cat, Lefty blew a handful of dust into Hoknar’s face and darted to the side.
Always have a plan. Good or bad, it’s better than nothing.
Hoknar bulled up and took a vicious swing with his axe.
Swish!
His next swing was wild.
“What have you—”
Hoknar coughed. Sputtered. His wide eyes froze, and his joints locked up. In a moment, he stood like a bearded hot-faced statue.
Lefty rubbed powdery hands on Hoknar’s forehead. Dusted the rest onto the dirt. It was the same powder the dwarves used to kidnap their victims. A mystic concoction abused by the dwarves. Lefty had stolen a spoonful of it months ago and preserved it ever since.
Lefty wrenched the axe from Hoknar’s frozen grip. He looked up into the ugly dwarf’s eyes. He could see the angry life in them.
“I hate you, Hoknar,” he said. “No one as cruel as you should live.” He swung the axe back and forward into Hoknar’s head, wrenched it free, and shoved him into the hole. “I just wish I had enough powder so I could kill the whole lot of you.”
He started chopping at his chains.
“Ho, Hoknar!” another dwarf yelled. “Where are yo
u?”
Bish no!
Without a second thought, chains rattling on his ankles, he vanished into the misty woods.
Please don’t let them find me. Please don’t let them find me.
Chapter 28
Melegal rose to his feet, keeping his steely eyes on Jaen. Her fists were on her hips, and her lips were puckered.
“What do you mean, ‘What have you done?’ I’ve done what I was told.”
She brushed his comment off and glared at the darkly dressed woman lying green on the floor, “Who’s this?”
“That’s Jasper. An acquaintance from the arrangement you made.” He rubbed his fingertips into his temples. “Why did you transport both of us?”
“Because I can. And I need answers to my questions.” Jaen held out her hand. “The sack of coins, please.”
Melegal eased it out of his jerkin and placed it in her palm.
“I guess I’ll get no payment after all.” He plunked down on the sofa.
“What are you doing?” Jaen said.
“Giving my jelly legs a rest. How did you get us here?”
She rattled the sack of coins and jewels she had and said, “This isn’t money. It’s magic. But you would not understand if I tried to explain.” She sat down beside him and glanced at Jasper. “Do you like her?”
“I like most women, so long as they don’t talk too much.” He cleared his throat. “You shouldn’t be jealous.”
“Jealous?” Jaen perked up. “Ha! Magi are above such trivial things.”
“Well that’s good, because I’ve take a fancy to Jasper’s charms.”
Jaen turned her chin over her shoulder and said to him, “I don’t care.”
“Yet your cheeks redden somewhat.” He smiled. “I’m flattered.”
“Ha! Don’t overestimate yourself, Envoy. You’re just a commoner to me.”
The Darkslayer: Series 2, Box Set #1, Books 1 - 3 (Bish and Bone) Page 28