As he ran his bony fingers through his salt and pepper hair he could hear Haze creeping through Detective McKnight’s former apartment that he now called his own. A smell of spiced soup was in the air, and he heard a cork being pulled from a wine bottle. His face allowed the ever slightest smile while the fire began roasting his toes.
Haze sat beside him on a much smaller chair, holding out a bowl of soup and a goblet.
“I tell you to leave, threaten your paltry life and there you sit like an urchin offering me more piss porridge. I’m beginning to think your sisters are the brightest of the three nitwits.”
He sat up in the chair and sniffed the air.
“They haven’t been in here, have they? It smells like the fat one's sweat and armpits.”
Haze sat there, plain and serene, quite content among his insults. She’d been like this since the day he diddled her like a trollop: fawning and obedient, like he was a Royal of sorts. Despite his reminders that she was of as little worth to him as a field mouse in a cat house, she stuck around like a stubborn child that wouldn’t go home. She had even painted her nails, combed her hair and worn more revealing clothes that offered little more than a pair of skinny legs below a tight little rump. She even smelled good.
“You look tired,” she remarked.
Melegal swiped the goblet from her hand, swished it around his mouth and spat it into the fire, bringing a sizzle. Octopus rumbled from his spot on the hearth, his back muscles rippling beneath his black coat before lowering.
“Are you trying to poison me, Woman?” he exclaimed, pulling the bowl from her hands.
She blanched. “I thought you might like something different. I’m sorry. I’ll get your usual.”
She scampered away to grab another goblet, a look of worry in her grey eyes.
He sipped the soup. It was good, not Royal good, but better than his usual fare. He hated to admit it, but she was pretty good at making soup and some other things, too. He grunted.
“Wine please,” he said, handing her the bowl.
“Ah,” he sipped and swished, “so much better. What was that drivel you gave me?”
“It’s called port. I heard many people talking of it in the city. I thought you would—”
“Please don’t think on my behalf, understand?”
“Yes Melegal. I’m sorry. I’ll pour it out.”
He waved her off and said, “Nay, perhaps I’ll serve it to my enemies one day. Port, you say?”
She nodded, a half-smile cracked over his thin pale red lips.
“Never heard of it,” he lied.
Haze reached over and touched his feet. Her touch was light as a feather, almost soft enough to tickle.
He sighed.
“Must you maintain this obsession with my glorious feet? Do you miss those days beneath the castles, rubbing the feet and arses of the self-glorifying and vain?”
Without saying a word, she twisted and rubbed, while he drank, frowned and enjoyed.
As much as he wanted to give in to the moment, his mind began running over his checklist.
Kill Sefron. Find the Slergs and have them killed. Do what Lord Almen says. Do what Lorda Almen says. Don’t get yourself killed. Kill Sefron. Uncover threats to Castle Almen. Find valuable information and deliver it to Lord Almen. Avoid the Castle. Avoid the Almens. Drink more wine. Sample more port.
“Ah! Easy now, I’m not one of your hooved sisters.”
She rolled up his pants legs and rubbed his calves.
“So, Melegal, have you found what you’re looking for?”
“No.”
Without looking at him she said, “I can help.”
“No, you can’t help, and quit asking.”
“But I found some Slergs,” she reminded him.
She actually had helped. He hated that.
He pushed is pants leg down and said, “Yes, but I could have paid any urchin a silver booger and that would have yielded the same results.”
“I’m not finished,” she said as he stood up.
“My feet are fine,” he said, removing his vest and shirt.
She grabbed his arm and pulled him back.
“I’m not talking about rubbing your bloody feet!”
In a single motion he had her wrist twisted behind her back. He made a throaty whisper in her jeweled ear saying, “What are you talking about?”
She pushed her hips back into his and said, “I think I know where the rest of the Slergs are.”
He twisted her wrist a little harder and whispered, “You lie!”
He felt her chest begin to heave.
“No, I can prove it!” she squealed.
With his other hand he grabbed the back of her hair and began to pull.
He didn’t know whether to believe her or not, but it didn’t matter. His blood began to run hot as she let out a soft moan.
“Tell me everything you know, Haze, or I’ll take my belt to you.”
He saw the goosebumps rise on her neck as she shuddered.
“There is a price, Rogue. Either pay it or kill me,” she panted.
“You better hope I don’t do both,” he said as he pulled her into a small candlelit bedroom and slammed the door closed with his foot.
CHAPTER 15
A small group of ragged men carrying small torches traversed the tunnels beneath the City of Bone. Each was wrapped from head to toe in torn and tattered clothes, their faces covered in dirty cowls, some feet bare, the others sandaled. Their soft steps and breathing could barely be heard except for one in the rear, a large one that seemed able to plug the narrow corridor with his bulk. He was bigger, significantly so, his breathing heavy, his footsteps loud. He was drawing the ire of another who continued his complaints from the front.
“Leezir, your giant urchin continues to slow us,” Hagerdon said with a sneer in his voice. “It’s time to cut bait and run.”
“Must you be so dramatic, Fool?” Leezir replied, pushing his way through a massive water pipe that was as dry as a bone. “Can you even count, you moron? How many heads do you see?”
Hagerdon pulled his cowl down, revealing a shaven head in the dim torchlight as he hurried along. They all were shaved now; it was the best way to conceal their identities from the searching eyes above, as well as those below. Hagerdon hated it. He loved his thick locks of glorious hair, and he missed the feeling of painted finger tips running through it. All his leader Leezir could offer him was that he wouldn’t have to worry about lice, or dandruff for that matter. He scoffed; he’d never had a flake in his life.
“I know, eight Slergs, but we have an army of man-urchins at our disposal,” he said, now crawling over a patch of wet and sticky muck on his knees and elbows. Even worse were the comings and goings of abhorrent stench, but he’d managed to get accustomed to them.
Leezir shook his white cudgel in Hagerdon's face.
“You are such a fool, Nephew! Two weeks ago there were fifteen of us. The man-urchins have suffered even greater losses taking bribes for our cause, and now you, still impudent and young, want to abandon a fighting man who is three in one? Was he not the one who pulled you from your grave a mere week ago when the City Watch had us by the balls? And now you want to cut loose the only redeemable man, er boy, er whatever from us?”
Hagerdon was adamant.
“Yes.”
He could see Leezir’s eyes blaze like fire underneath his black cowl as he swallowed hard and stepped back. When the cudgel began to glow there was a gasp from behind.
The last few months had been hard. The once mighty Slerg House was being dwindled away. Not one Royal house, not even the lowest on the tier, would give them audience. If anything, they gave them away. Lord Almen would not end his hunt until he was certain every single threat was gone.
Leezir added as he turned around, “It’s days like this that I wish it was you who died and not your brother Creighton. He was sensible.”
His hand clutched the pommel of his sword, but Leezir was a
lready hurrying down the dingy corridor.
“SLAT!” Leezir screamed from up ahead.
Hagerdon and the rest caught up and groaned at the source of their leader’s aggravation. A five foot iron grate barred their path, its iron bars eroding but thick.
Leezir kicked. Hagerdon pulled.
“We’re just going to have to go back up top,” Hagerdon said.
“Is that so?” Leezir walked up on his toes. “Then you go back and lead the hounds from our trails. I’m sure they won’t devour your scent.” He smacked his cudgel into the stone walls. “Does anyone else want to go back and face the City Watch or suffer an inquisition of Detective Melegal and his brood of Almen thugs?”
No one said a word, until Hagerdon broke the silence.
“It seems we have no choice but to go another way. Certainly we can double back and find another course or wait until night and take our chances on the streets. Leezir, we can’t hide forever down here.”
Month after month they had stayed down below, stealing from above like common orphans. The man-urchins did most of the work, but the results were paltry. Hagerdon had his fill of the stink, rot and filth that was now his life. Just one more time he wanted to take a shower, adorn clean clothes and swing his steel in one last battle to the death. There was nothing dignified in living like a rodent, but Leezir, in his obsession to avenge himself on the Almens, insisted on this course. And being somewhat of a coward, Hagerdon followed those orders. Life is preferable to death after all, no matter how slatty it gets.
Leezir let out a long drawn out sigh. His shoulders slouched as he slid down the wall onto his haunches. The others followed suit except Brak, who stood like a golem at the end.
“Perhaps, brothers, Hagerdon is right. Our time may have run its course. Jubilee, dear, have we been followed? And please say your pepper left the dogs from our trail.”
A small figure crept forward, naked feet pushing through the grime before taking Leezir’s hand.
“Aye Grandfather, I’ve lost the dogs, ten tunnels since. But my pepper is low. I’m sorry.”
He patted her ragged head and said, “Well enough, dear one. And, Taggert, are we still on course to the northern most corner of the city?”
“Aye, Leezir. Direction's good. I’m certain.”
“Hmmm … I believe my ears have detected something disturbing,” Leezir said.
Hagerdon frowned as he heard something, too.
A sound of barking dogs was echoing down the corridor.
The little girl’s eyes widened.
Hagerdon’s swords sang from their sheaths.
Rising to his feet, Leezir’s cudgel burst aglow.
“This is it, Slergs! We will survive this, not all but some. Brak, today you live or die a Slerg.”
Brak was coming their way.
“Brak,” Hagerdon said, barring his path, “you oaf, what are you doing? Get in front and protect us!”
Everyone cleared out as Brak waded past them as if they weren’t there. There was nothing but stark determination in his close-set eyes when he wrapped his big meaty hands around the iron bars.
“You idiot! Get back there and fight, Coward. There’s no doorway to run though there.”
Brak’s short powerful arms began to pull.
“Heave Brak!” Leezir prompted in his ear.
The massive man-boy squatted down, putting his arms and legs into it.
“Hurk!”
Hagerdon couldn’t hide his amazement as the metal began to groan.
The yelping of the hounds became louder.
“Pull, Man! Pull and I’ll roast you the fattest sow you ever saw!” Hagerdon promised.
Sweat was rolling down Brak’s forehead as his big face began to turn red and purple under the torch glow. The bars began to bend, the ever slightest.
One of the Slergs said with astonishment, “It’s bending! Bend it, Brak!”
Brak dug his heels into the lip of the grate and tugged. The iron groaned in defiance before giving in to living muscle which had turned to steel. The first bar rolled upward.
“I can’t believe it!”
Brak grabbed the next bar and pulled.
“Hurry, Brak!” Jubilee cheered.
The bar groaned and gave way. The hounds became louder in the distance, intertwined with the shouting voices of the City Watch.
Leezir shoved Jubilee through the gap.
“Quick everyone, go through!”
There was little more than two feet of space to squeeze through the bars, but none hesitated. One by one they crawled through, tearing clothes and skin, scraping sides. Hagerdon was the last to go.
“Come on, Brak! Bend one more and join us. The roasted sow is waiting!” he said, his green eyes glinting in the torch light.
Brak reached down and bent the first bar downward.
“What are you doing, you buffoon? You’ll get yourself killed! Get over here!”
Brak bent the second bar back down and slumped against the wall, chest heaving.
“No!” Jubilee cried. “Brak, no!”
“Go,” Brak gasped. “I’m only slowing you down. Goodbye, Jubilee.” He reached through the bars, wiping the tear from her cheek. “Slat on the rest of you.”
Leezir stood there, face pressed against the bars, his wizened face bewildered. He shook his head.
“Come on, Jubilee. He’s bought us time, no reason to stand around and watch his slaughter. Move with haste now; the Watch may have magic afoot, too.”
Jubilee sobbed as they scurried away, her eyes drifting back then out of sight, but Hagerdon remained.
“Here,” he said, tossing a knife at Brak’s feet. “You’ll need that in close quarters, you lout. Stupid like your father, I see. Giving your life for others.” Hagerdon added a quick salute. “Maybe what I taught you will give you an extra minute to realize how stupid you are.”
Brak sat with a glum look on his face, watching him go.
The barking dogs were echoing with loud ferocity now as Hagerdon bolted down the tunnel, happy to know that Brak, the son of Venir, was about to be eaten alive. At least I gave him a fighting chance before he becomes dog food.
“More sow for me.”
CHAPTER 16
Fogle awoke in darkness, head aching and unable to move. Where am I? He tried to choke down his panic as he struggled with his bonds. He found comfort in the fact that his fingertips were no longer frozen, or the rest of him for that matter. Wherever he was, he was upright, sitting on soft ground of an unfamiliar texture. Mood. Was his lone protector with him or dead? Mood had told him there would be days like this when you adventured outside your home, and he needed every detail he could find of his surroundings if he was going to formulate a plan … to escape.
Mood’s advice had seemed silly at the time, weeks ago, but the Blood Rangers’ wisdom seemed crystal clear. If you don’t have your eyes, use your ears. He listened. There was a soft rustling nearby, and the wind was rolling over a canvas, like a flag. A tent. He balled up into a knot as something growled, hungry and horrible. A picture of the big wolves with those rows of pointed, saliva-dripping canine teeth appeared in his mind. Hadn't Cass said she would feed him to them?
Use your nose, Mood had told him.
“It smells like dogs,” he said out loud. He tightened his lips as something padded by him, brushing fur across the bridge of his nose. He took a deep draw through his nose. “And scented candles?”
Skin, he thought.
It was warmer, much more so, as if a fire was nearby, but the sound of crackling wood was not there. As happy as he was to be able to feel himself again, he could only imagine his situation had gotten worse. The woman, Cass, seemed a little touched in the head. Her voice was eerie, and her pink eyes were shifty. Mood had said druids were tricky, and with this one he was certain she was everything a druid could be: strange, sneaky and magnificent. He thought he could smell her breath.
“Aaaaa-CHOO!” he sneezed.
The w
olves barked and growled. He could feel them nipping at his face.
“HEEL!” a strong feminine voice commanded. Cass?
“Don’t make another sound, Virgin Fogle, or my wolves will devour you,” she said, her voice dark, ugly, dangerous.
He didn’t care.
“If I’m going to—”
A pair of jaws snapped at his face.
“Egad!” he cried. His body began to shiver at the thought of the canines crunching his bones. Make a plea.
He cleared his throat.
“Can I at least glance at you on last time, Cass? At least I can dream I’m no longer a virgin in my last moments.”
She made a funny sound. Next, he heard footsteps, like petals coming his way. All of the most wonderful fragrances of nature filled his nose as something soft and plentiful brushed into his face. He swallowed as he felt two petite hands working the knot behind his head and slowly removing his blindfold.
“Happy, Virgin Fogle?”Cass’s chest was inches from his nose. A pink gossamer robe adorned her exotic figure. Her skin was perfect: translucent and soft, and her white hair seemed impossibly curly and long. Another wave of feeling washed over him, not the kind he expected to have when he was about to die, but something else quite unexpected … Lust.
“Hmmm …”, she purred, as she got down on her knees and began loosening the bonds around his ankles.
Fogle didn’t want to take his eyes off of a single inch of her figure, but he fought to do so. His eyes flitted over his surroundings. A tent surrounded them over the top of a bed of green grass. Six large timber wolves had them both surrounded, sitting, licking their chops and other parts as well. Forty one candles of all shapes and sizes were in the room, eleven lit, flames wavering from a draft. Incense sticks burned from a small mantle made of trees. He never imagined he’d experience that again. Three sheep skin rugs. Fifteen pelts of fur. And in the middle, laying over most of the grass, was the pelt of a silverback grizzly bear. He knew, because Mood had killed one weeks earlier. His eyes went back to Cass. His mouth was watering, no longer dry as he began to thirst like he never thirsted before.
The Darkslayer: Book 04 - Danger and the Druid Page 10