The Darkslayer: Book 04 - Danger and the Druid

by Craig Halloran

  He could hear their scampering feet as he headed toward the dead end of the alley and began his search. He was seething inside. Sefron had slipped him again, it seemed. He ran his delicate fingers over every niche he could find. Nothing. That left only one other option, and the thought left him uneasy. Magic,and maybe he was on to me. Melegal stuffed his hands in his pockets and began the long walk home. I guess I’m gonna have to kill him in the castle.

  ***

  Sefron took one feverish glance over his shoulder after another as he lumbered down a steep series of narrow steps. He labored for breath and wheezed through his nose as he stopped and looked back over his shoulder. Paranoid. He waited a few more moments, confident his spell worked, before he continued his descent. Good. Good.

  He was oblivious to the fact that Detective Melegal had been following him, but that didn’t mean he didn’t take precautions whenever he slipped outside the castle walls. For over a decade, almost two, he had been avoiding the prying eyes of the Royals. A spell he had mastered, an apparition of himself, had unloaded itself from the wagon, hours earlier, and in his guise wandered the streets until it expired. Not just one, but two shades were out there before he made his own secretive trek. If someone had indeed been following him, he would not have known, but that didn't matter. What did matter was that no one, especially not the Almens, knew where he was going or who he was about to see. He peeked over his shoulder again. As much as he enjoyed watching others being tortured, he had nightmares of it happening to himself. A betrayed Almen was as merciless as merciless could be. Hate em’. Hate them all!

  As the light faded above him he muttered a quick incantation.

  Shazal-ong.

  A copper ring on his middle finger came to life with a soft glow as he stood on a landing barricaded by an ancient door covered in rust and grit. A new sense of security washed over him as a pair of rats scurried over his feet. He pushed his way through. A cool damp breeze cut though his clothes and raised bumps over the clammy skin on his neck. He swallowed hard. Slow and easy. His frail legs ached. His lungs wheezed. It took another twenty minutes for him to reach the bottom of the slick rock stairs that bottomed out in what looked to be an unfinished room that opened into a cave.

  The light from his ring did very little to expose his surroundings, and anyhow, the curiosity that bred a need for exploration evaded his being. What lay beneath the City of Bone was of little concern to him. Humans feared what was beneath the ground, always assuming it was filled with ghouls, trolls or underlings, at least at the subterranean levels. The sewers, almost another two hundred feet above, were another matter, but even those desperate enough to try the sewers never crossed to the deep levels, and they hoped whatever lived in the ground never crossed them. Yet it happened. There were monsters that wandered below. Sometimes they reached the sewer levels, and rarely one would creep into the city, but most witnesses never lived to tell about it.

  Sefron wiped the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief as he waited and waited. The sounds of dripping water echoed from everywhere. He began to pace back and forth on his aching and shaking legs, his wheezing just as heavy as ever. He knew he wasn’t late. He never had been, not once over the years. He was in the same place as the last time, a place no one would ever think to look: cool, damp, deep, dark and dangerous.

  With a raspy sigh he sat down, allowing his lids to close over his bulging eyes. This trek took a lot out of him, and he was grateful that he only did it once a year. His thoughts drifted to the castle's serving girls. They’ll have much work to do, massaging my sagging old muscles. His dry mouth began to water.

  “Taking a nap, are we?” A sinister voice cut through his thoughts.

  Sefron shouted out in terror at the sight of the horrifying face before him. It was an abomination of cat and man: black, twisted and cunning, layered with muscles from its toes to its shoulders. It hoisted him off the ground by the neck with a single hand. Sefron could feel its steel file-like claws digging into his neck as it choked him. The smell of piss wafted in the air as he soaked his robes. The monster, unlike anything he ever imagined, sneered at him with fiendish eyes.

  Sefron’s legs twitched. His eyes bulged like boiled eggs as his slimy tongue writhed inside his mouth. He watched in horror as the creature opened its large mouth, revealing fangs and rows of razor sharp teeth. He must have failed his master. His time had come, his efforts undone. But he wasn’t going to die without some kind of fight. He stared into the eyes of the monster, channeled his thoughts and energy. Let me go. Let me go, he commanded. The monster's gaze filled his gut with despair as its grip tightened around his throat. No! It’s not working! Laughter echoed and began to fade.

  CHAPTER 9

  Underneath an ancient snow covered pine, Fogle Boon’s knees shook beneath the ropes of ice that bound him. He had been there for hours, his shivering beyond control, without so much as a sound or visit from his gorgeous captor or her pack of wolves. He strained to hear something, anything, but he could only feel the icicles growing on his earlobes as the howling wind continued to rip through him to the bone. He had been miserable before, but nothing compared to this. I can’t go like this. Not without a fight. Yet, he still felt his chances for survival dwindling away.

  Nearby was Mood, frozen up to his neck in a single block of ice, head down, unmoving. Fogle tried to imagine which was worse, his situation or the Blood Ranger's. He’s probably enjoying this. Bloody dwarf!

  He tried to focus on what magic he had left within him, probing his superior intellect to see if there was anything he could use. His hands were bound, and his mouth was gagged with a dirty piece of cloth that tasted like sweat. He was all alone with his only remaining weapon: his mind. Yet she, whoever she was, some strange guardian of ogres and wolves, was careful not to catch his eyes. Instead, two men as tall as small pines, bearded like dwarves and armed with picks, had bound and hauled him away. Two ogres shoved along the block of ice that kept Mood imprisoned.

  It was a long trip that led them deep inside a cavern, a veritable garden where vibrant plant life of many colors was bursting through the ice and snow. Flowers, trees and streams filled with jumping fish were abundant in his field of vision. As spectacular as it was, Fogle was far from impressed. It was still cold, colder than a lich’s tit, and all he wanted more than anything was fire and a blanket. He groaned a pitiful sound as his teeth clattered together. He was certain they were about to break like ice tablets at any moment.

  Another sliver of fear raced down his spine as the pack of wolves appeared from behind him. Their coats brushed along his knees as they growled and barked in low puffs. He watched the saliva drip from their fanged mouths. What a wonderful coat you would make. A fearsome sight, the wolves, each one's back stood almost four feet at the shoulder. He thought of Chongo and wondered if the giant two-headed dog could make quick work of them, or if they would tear him to pieces. Chongo, the reason he was here and freezing in the snow.

  As the dogs sat, the two tall men reappeared, one carrying a short log as thick as a man on his shoulder, the other a heavy blanket. Gently the man set it on the snow in front of him, and the other laid the blanket on top of it. They both then stood on either side of the log, arms crossed over broad bearded chests, unmoving. Nice blanket. Fogle would have fought them both bare handed for it. He looked up at them, each standing taller than even Venir, eyes straight forward, hairy and scary. That’s when Fogle noticed the heavy blades with long hilts on their hips. Bastard swords. The heavy picks they had earlier seemed more adequate to the conditions, the swords more out of place because the rough hewn mountain men looked more like executioners. He swallowed a frozen glob of snot. That’s when she came. Oh my Bish!

  She was back, her pink eyes almost glowing in contrast to her soft skin and snow white hair. A tiara of twigs and small flowers adorned her hair while her toga flapped loosely in the air. She eased her rear end onto the blanket, and without a word the two men lifted her from the ground,
holding her a head’s height above Fogle’s frozen face.

  She pulled the rag from his mouth. “Tell me, Wizard, why did you kill my ogres?” Her powerful voice was not as threatening as it was before.

  Fogle searched for her eyes, but he could not find them. They looked out above him as if he wasn’t there. Deep inside of him a pot of anger stirred. It was one of the stupidest questions he had ever heard. He wanted to tell her that, and less than a year ago he certainly would have, but now things were different. Still …

  “Cah-ca-cause they were trying to kill us,” he somehow managed to sputter out.

  She looked around, making an eerie sound as she did so, before she made her reply.

  “My ogres protect me, my brethren, my haven,” her voice rose, “they are sweet creatures to be cherished, not slaughtered.”

  Sweet and ogres didn’t mix, not since the dawn of any timeline. Any fool knew that. This witch, or whatever she was, was crazy. Be wary of the crazy ones, Venir had told him once.

  “Not in this world. Anyone knows ogres are every bit as evil as their armpits are smelly. What I can’t understand is—”

  “SILENCE!” she yelled. Her wolves began to snap and pounce. She lowered her palms, and they all sat. “Tell me then, why have you come here? What is it that you hunt?”

  “I hunt nothing. We’ve come to help a fah-fah-fah-friend. We need to find a druid.”

  Fogle thought he saw her eyebrows perch for a moment and noticed her shifting a little on the log. He started to continue, but she cut him off.

  “Liar! Men have no use for druids. I have no use for liars,” she said, slipping from the log, her feet landing softly on the snow. As she started to walk away, she made an order. “Chop off his head, and feed him to the wolves. Stab that Blood Ranger in the brain.”

  The thought of losing his head at the swing of icy steel made his teeth ache. He always figured he’d have a peaceful death in bed. His head was cast down in failure as he murmured his final words, “I guess I’ll be dying a virgin after all.” Fogle cringed as cold steel was scraped from sheaths. Freeze and die.

  CHAPTER 10

  The inside of Verbard’s head twisted inside out. Poison! He was certain it was in control. Before him, Master Sinway’s image stretched, contorted, swirled into a pinwheel and exploded. The urge to vomit came, but it never played out. Instead something else happened, very unexpected. Everything came to a halt: his heart, his brain and his breath as he took in his new surroundings. He was back underneath the blazing suns of Bish. He was mortified. Banished!

  “My, my, Verbard, you almost look as pale as a human,” Master Sinway said, standing at his side. “Feeling a tad uneasy, are we?”

  Verbard turned his back to the suns, clutched at his sides and retched, but nothing came out.

  “Pah, Verbard, you are not in your body; you cannot vomit. My, Catten would be ashamed. An underling mage vomiting from a dimensional spell. Well, I suppose powerful magic is not for everyone.”

  Master Sinway floated away, tall and foreboding, but in a different light now. The bright suns brought out features of the underling, who looked like part man, part wraith in his fathomless black robes. Verbard went after him, trying to acquire his senses. He felt nothing: no heat, no air and worst of all, no magic. I live.

  Master Sinway stopped and turned. His ancient face was magnified in the sunlight: intelligent, cunning and omnipotent. His iron eyes were deeper than a mineshaft, his shoulders broad and his hands gave Verbard the impression his master had broken necks before. His master wasn’t one to hide from the suns or the moons or anything above. Verbard had the feeling that—if anything—they should hide from him. Master Sinway’s evil countenance seemed invigorated, almost cheerful.

  “Have you adjusted?”

  Verbard nodded.

  “Good then. Try to keep up; I’ve much to show you and little time.”

  They seemed to move as fast as thought, in a fashion that reminded Verbard of Eep’s eye, but this included more sights and sounds. This spell was powerful, dangerously so, something he'd never imagined Sinway had control of. He felt small. Then, Verbard wondered if Master Sinway was defenseless in his home now. Who’s protecting him? Can he be in two places at once? His idea was fleeting, as his respect for Master Sinway grew. He looked down as they soared through the sky where a plume of heavy white smoke was building. Dark ranks of creatures became more distinct as they fell closer. He gasped. How glorious! Judging by the terrain, Verbard was certain of exactly where they were, but this was south of the Great Forest of Bish, somewhere between there and the jungles. Crops, miles of them, had caught fire, but that wasn’t all. An army of underlings, a thousand or more strong, were killing men, women and children like sheep.

  He and Sinway stood in the center of a village now as underlings on spiders and on foot decimated human flesh like fresh poultry. A woman’s head was tossed through his ghost- like form, and that brought forth a chuckle from Master Sinway.

  “When, Master? I beg of you, why was I unaware?” He was very careful of his tone.

  A man wielding a pitchfork tried to defend himself from the attack of one underling only to have a crossbow bolt shot point blank into the back of his head by an armorless underling. It was strange, euphoric, being in the center of the melee as all sorts of creatures passed through their forms, screaming in terror and glee. Verbard was enthralled, but he needed his questions answered, too.

  “Come,” Master Sinway said.

  In a single step they moved miles. In a field he stood, once vibrant with full crops, now burned to the ground and converted into a graveyard of sorts. Pairs of legs were sticking from the ground, some clammy, some bloody, some twitching as far as his silver eyes could see. Underlings, diggers they called them, were dragging living corpses from all directions, leaving smears of blood over the green and blackened grasses. Verbard began counting. It was unlike anything he imagined. Simply beautiful.

  He looked over at his master and said, “There’s over a thousand, practically an army of men dead. How? When?”

  “Ah, that’s the best part, less than a couple of months, not a day more. Consider it a tribute for what you have done, Verbard. With the Darkslayer gone, the small towns and villages are so much easier to burn.” Master Sinway whirled slowly over the muddied ground then let his eyes rest back on Verbard. “I assume you have a question? Your eyes do not show the glee I anticipated.”

  Verbard took in a sharp breath as his chin dipped.

  “Master, am I to understand the Darkslayer prevented such carnage all alone? He was one man. It seems unlikely that he could have stopped an entire army. There has to be something more to this force than just the Darkslayer's demise.” He hated to say the next line. “I could not be the one to take all the credit. Surely your hand is in all of this.” When he looked up again, Master Sinway’s broad back faced him.

  “Heh … is that humility I hear? From my most impudent and challenging servant of all?”

  Verbard began to speak but was cut off.

  “Don’t pretend to think you are undeserving, even when that's the case. Humility is not your way, Verbard. My, without your brother you’ve become uninteresting. I don’t like it.”

  The sharp words somehow stung his black heart. Sinway continued:

  “Now, come alongside me.”

  “Certainly.”

  “Hmmm …” Sinway glanced at him, rubbing his chin, then looked away. “You’ll figure it out. Now, as for you observations, yes, you are right, this isn’t all because of the fall of our foe. But, it did play a key part. These wretched humans lack the will without his presence being totted. The Royals, our greatest enemy of all, squabble amongst one another and let their world fall to ruin. Without man helping man, well, you see the result."

  “So, we burn their crops, kill their people and little more than a few hundred soldiers have been sent to stop us. All dead.” He fanned his hands over the crops. “The orcs, dwarves and ogres are naug
ht to be heard from. We’ve hardly been challenged. Our treks of terror began in the twilight, just to see if your words were true. Just to see if the man would come. He did not. Now, we press into the day and strengthen our grip on the South. In a few more months, everything below the Great Forest will be ours. By the time the Royals make a show of force, it will be over.”

  Following Sinway over forests, jungles and cities large and small, Verbard could see people in large caravans heading north and other humanoid races moving south. He could see fear, worry and starvation on their ugly faces, and his hatred fed on their destruction. He felt stronger.

  “What are your thoughts, Verbard? You’ve been so quiet. It’s unlike you,” Sinway said with a twinge of annoyance.

  “How many of our kind roam the lands?”

  “Five thousand.”

  “That’s a huge force for us. The humans can summon armies as big as ten thousand on a moment’s notice. We could be slaughtered,” he said matter-of-factly.

  Sinway hissed.

  “But they have not! They sit, whine and wallow in riches, fighting over the next bauble or glimmer of power. It’s an opportunity like none from ever before.”

  Verbard wasn’t so certain. The death of thousands of humans was always a good thing, but the way it came about seemed unnatural. Century after century, underlings and humans chipping away at one another had become a ritual. What he saw now was a slaughter. He liked it, but it seemed too easy.

  “Oh so many months ago, Verbard, did you not feel a shift in your powers? A quake, a shimmer, an ebb? It was like the entire world of magic we know wobbled and flipped.”

  He had, several times, and it terrified him. Had it jolted his master as well?