“Virgin Fogle,” she whispered in his ear, “you are here for a reason. It can only be, because I too am a virgin.”
He tried to find the words to speak but could not as she pressed her finger to his lips.
“I’ve rejected the world of men, Fogle. They can’t be trusted, but I know your words are true. His legs trembled as she pulled him up from his chair. “I want to help you, and I want you to help me. I’ve waited so long for this.”
Oh my!
He searched for her eyes, but he could not find them as she pulled him down onto the grizzly pelt. As his heart thundered throughout this body his brilliant mind fought one last time to regain control. Druids can’t be trusted, Mood had warned.
“Take me, Fogle,” she said, pressing her full body into his.
All of the passion buried inside him exploded as he kissed her..
She tugged at his hair, pulling him down on top of her. He glanced at the wolves one last time and said, “This isn’t how I imagined it.”
“Me either,” she added, pulling off her robe. “Disappointed?”
His smile was as broad as a rainbow.
“No, it’s an adventurer’s life for me.” Her chuckle was low and wicked, but he didn’t hear a thing.
***
Outside the tent, Mood awakened inside his icy cocoon. Nearby, two mountain men were sharpening their blades and chatting. One said to the other, “Shame he won’t even have time to enjoy it.”
CHAPTER 17
For the first time in his life, Sefron saw pure evil. It lurked behind the black eyes of the Vicious that squeezed his life from his throat. He managed a sickening gag as his tongue rolled inside his mouth like a salted slug. His mental pleas to be released quickly gave way to despair as he began to slat on himself.
“Release him,” a cool voice said from somewhere.
Sefron fell hard to the ground, both knees cracking on the stone as he fought for a breath of air. He hacked, wheezed and sat confused for over a minute before he managed to compose himself. He pulled his skinned up knees to his chest and looked up.
The black creature, inhuman, cat-faced, a monstrous hulk, was now standing behind a much lither figure. An underling stood tall in his black chain mail, a pair of sheathless swords hung criss-crossed on its back, their gleaming edges keener than the sharpest razor. A bandolier of knives was wrapped around its chest. Its eyes were like copper ore, its hair short, almost shaven to its head. The underling was known to Sefron as Kierway, a black ranger of his kind, he had boasted, and the finest swordsman of his craft. The underling man seemed every bit as formidable as the newcomer, but in a different sort of way.
Kierway had his hands on his hips as he said, “Do you have it, Human?”
“Nay, Master,” Sefron said, falling to his knees, “but I am close.”
Something flashed through the air, and Sefron wailed in misery. A small throwing knife now protruded from his knee.
“Human, I have ten more of these, you know, some poisoned, others not,” Kierway said, juggling three in one hand. “I’m beginning to question your loyalty. Perhaps your needs are being fulfilled above, and you no longer desire what I have offered.”
Sefron’s arm shot out despite his agony.
“No Master Kierway! I am close. Oh so close. The key shall soon be yours. I know where it is, but I don’t have the skills to acquire—YEE-OUCH!”
Another knife buried itself deep in his shoulder.
A cave moth fluttered in the dank air only to be cut down by Kierway’s longsword in one fluid motion.
Sefron blinked hard.
“Did you see that, Human? Fast, wasn’t it?” Kierway began to saunter around. “My, it’s been a long journey, only to wind up here and find out that you have been an utter failure. Hmmm … I can’t help but wonder how long it would take me to cut your leg into twenty pieces.”
Sefron’s blood went cold as he watched in helpless horror as Kierway’s swords buzzed in the air like humming bird wings. He had to survive. He would survive. He would have vengeance on all of those Royals who had used him for decades. The City of Bone would be run over by underlings, and he was promised a castle and all the human slaves he wanted of his own. All he needed was the key.
“Y-yes, Master Kierway. May I beg of you, this key, will you share with me what it does?”
“NO!” Kierway said, plucking his blades from Sefron’s wounds.
“Ah …,” he stammered and groaned as he tried to speak, “But …”
“Time is running out, Human,” Kierway said as he and the Vicious walked back into the darkness. “When you get it, we will know. Get it soon, or I shall find someone else to gain the prize.”
NO!
Sefron stiffened as he sat up. Grimacing, he pulled out a small jar and applied ointment to his wounds. It burned, sealing the wound shut, but he was used to it. Kierway had stabbed him many times over the years, just not this many times at once. Sefron fought his way back to his feet and began the painful walk back up the stairs. He thought he knew where the key was, but he would need help trying to get it. Who would he have to fool to get it? Maybe Detective Melegal can be useful after all.
CHAPTER 18
It was a gruesome scene, a man and woman, neither more than a day over thirty, torn and broken in broad daylight. The City Watch, decorated in their brown and gray, mired with hate and grime, remained casual about their business. They had seen death in the streets of Bone before, although this situation was a little more unique than the rest. The dead man, a well known labor boss of the 14th District, lay in a pool of blood, his head missing.
“I’m telling you, I saw the man twist his head from his shoulders and toss it up on the roof.”
“Hrmph,” the watch sergeant said, “and what about the woman? How come she’s still got her head?”
The residents murmured. They didn’t normally fool with the Watch, and answering questions usually got you into more trouble than it was worth, but this time things were different. This time, they were under attack and needed protection, of some sort, anyway.
“The monster hit her so hard with its fist I heard her neck snap like a busted pallet. The man pulled his sword and lunged, but the murderer was much faster. Grabbed him by the neck by one hand he did, lifted him from the ground and squeezed.”
Another chimed in.
“The man, the dead one, he was big, too, and the other, picked him up like a child, rattled him in the air, then twisted his head off.”
The watch sergeant spit brown juice on the ground and wiped the sweat from his brow on his sleeve.
“No man twisted his head off! That’s impossible. That’s a cut! Idiots!”
“Did too!”
The sergeant nodded his head saying, “Well, did any one of you get a closer look at this big monster of a man? I’m hearing lots of stories, but not many descriptions. And by the way, where is the man’s sword that he drew? Which one of you stole it?”
“The monster stole it, not us!”
The watch sergeant grabbed the uppity man by his shirt collar and said, “Don’t talk to me like that.”
“I pay my fees, I’ll say what I—oomph!”
The man crumpled in a heap under the force of the Watchman’s punch.
“Any more of you want to discuss your fees?”
The small group backed away, but one remained. An older woman, heavy set with deep wrinkles in her forehead, jutted her hip out and said, “That’s ten murders in the past few months, and they not so much as stopped yet. An I hear the other districts got murders, too.” She spat juice on the road. “What’s you gonna do about that?”
He slid his watch stick from behind his belt and began to slap it into his hand.
“Heads up!” a voice yelled from above.
Clonk.
A man’s head bounced off the cobble stones and rolled at his feet. It was the labor boss, his long yellow hair matted with blood.
The woman said, “He kinda looks l
ike you, Blondie. Seems the monster-man doesn’t like pretty hair like yours. Ain’t it true, all them dead men had straw colored hair? Big fellows, too, same as you, except I think your belly’s a bit fuller.”
The Watchman gawped a bit, his Adams apple rolling under his chin.
The feisty woman began twisting her fingers in her blonde hair and added. “What about that other man, two roads over, everything chopped up from his neck down to his toes? Wasn’t he one of yours?” She cackled, but she wasn’t alone. It wasn’t often that the citizens got a chance to poke at the City Watch. “It’s a shame you all aren’t yellow headed, then that monster would be a hero.”
The lead Watchman looked up on the rooftop and yelled, “Get down here, Clovis. The rest of you,” there were four watchmen in all, “get a cart and take them to the morgue, and we’ll give the family a day to claim them.”He straightened himself up and said, “You fine citizens of Bone better get your stories straight. Whoever is doing this is a man, not a wight, underling or ghoul. It’s just some crazy bastard with a sword that is touched in the head. Lock your doors, don’t go fooling around at night. As of now there’s a curfew.”
They groaned.
“And it starts now. Whoever it was must be close; this just happened less than an hour ago. If you see anyone strange, just whistle. In the meantime—”
Somebody whistled.
“Fine, I was being kind, but if yer going to be a bunch of pigs arses—”
Clovis shouted from the roof top.
“Hey! It was me! Look,” he said, pointing down the roadway.
A man stood tall and broad a little ways down the road. A bastard sword stained in blood was gripped in his hands. His armor, partial plate, had the insignia of a Royal, and the rest of his body was draped with a dark cloak with a cowl wrapped over his head.
Most of the crowd gasped, but the woman screamed.
The sergeant drew his sword and yelled, “You’re under arrest!” The other watchmen followed suit, swords in shaking hands. Clovis watched unblinking from above.
“VEE-MAN!” the man in the road cried.
“Get him!” the leader ordered. The City Watch charged.
CHOP! One Watchman’s head was split in twain.
CLANG!
SWIPE! Another fell, writhing in his blood, screaming for mercy as his entrails were spilled.
CHOP! The third turned to run a split second too late.
The leader fell back on his footsteps, gawping in horror.
Fear managed to pull his tongue from the roof of his mouth as he screamed, “Someone go for reinforcements!”
Only the sound of running feet and doors slamming shut greeted him, then he stood there all alone.
“VEE-MAN!” He slipped and fell as he turned to run. The man snorted a laugh, coming his way on heavy legs with armor and weapons creaking and clanking.
***
Tonio saw a big man with straw colored hair falling to the ground and screaming something at him. What the man was saying didn’t matter, as he assumed they could only be more insults from Venir. He thought he’d killed his adversary, if not once, a dozen or more times, only to see him back on the streets again, gloating and mocking him. His broad face and yellow hair was always mocking and taunting him.
He swung into the man’s leg and watched it skitter a bloody trail across the road. He followed up with a deep swing into the man’s heaving chest, oblivious to the blade that was thrust into his side. It was a pinch at worst in his deranged mind as he swiped the blood from his mouth, knocked the man's cap from his head, pulled him up by the hair and chopped off his head. Somewhere nearby a man screamed, and he peered up on the roof and gazed at a man covering his mouth, tears filling his eyes.
He looked at the face of his vanquished foe, Venir, or so he wanted to believe, and hurled the head through a window.
“Vee-man!”
Bloody sword in hand, Tonio departed from the scene, still hungry for vengeance. He would kill them all if he had to, and make his mother proud. The once empty streets began to fill as he went, and not one person crossed his path. The whispers of horror and sounds of pursuit became loud in his ears as he disappeared into the tunnels beneath the City of Bone. How many more times would he have to kill Venir before Tonio could return home to Castle Almen?
In the darkness he huddled inside a small cell, a former home of other miscreants that all now were dead and washed away in the sewers. He pulled at his hair and mumbled. He knew he didn’t always used to be this way, that he had a home, a mother and father. He had eaten at the finest tables, and beautiful women had filled his bed. Everything was confusing though, distorted, blurry, vague and twisted. He snatched a rat and bit into it.
Where was McKnight? That man could help him, give him guidance to something, but without direction all he had was vengeance on his mind, and he would enact it over and over again until the last Venir was gone.
Bish have mercy on the fair-haired citizens of Bone.
CHAPTER 19
“The black fiends from the Underland have come!” a warrior, fortyish, with a beard touched by grey clamored.
Mikkel and Billip had the man pinned up against the wall near one of the corner fire places in the Magi Roost. The warrior wasn’t any slouch, either. His arms were like hammered iron, and his wounds were fresh, but dried. His eyes were darting back and forth, his cracked lips yearning to speak more, but Mikkel kept his forearm shoved in his throat.
“This isn’t the place for spreading rumors,” Billip warned. “You’ll be moving your bad news elsewhere, or you’ll be dead or in the hole.”
The Magi Roost was in full swing, and the scholars as well as the racial variety of merchant had gathered a keen interest. The serving girls began refilling goblets, batting eyes and swinging their hips, drawing away the customers' attention. But not all the girls could hide the nervous look in their painted eyes. This wasn’t the first time a dark tale of underling hordes found its way behind the walls of the tavern. It was just another one of what had become many over the passing weeks.
“Let me go,” the man managed. “I’m a warrior, such as you both, and you know my words ring true. I must tell these people what is going on.” The warrior’s voice was strong and convincing. “The Royals sit in their towers and castles doing nothing while we sit here like sheep waiting to be slaughtered.”
Mikkel and Billip eyed one another. They both knew what the underlings did to men. It didn’t help that most of the stories that were spreading around the city were for the most part, accurate. Mikkel lowered his arm from the man’s neck and said, “Keep it low, Man, and sit. I want to hear more.”
Billip raised his eyes in objection, then directed the man to a table tucked behind the bar in the front. As they sat, Mikkel sat down with a pitcher of ale and one of the waitresses brought over a half loaf of bread and cheese.
“Thank you, men,” the warrior said. “I’ve not had real food in a month, and three days travel to here seemed like an eternity.” The warrior said it while stuffing his mouth with bread and washing it down with ale. “Sweet Bish, I swore I’d perish before I ever tasted this nectar again.”
Mikkel filled his own mug and said, “Tell us more, and keep it down. There’s nothing but magi with big ears in here.”
“Maybe underling spies, too,” the warrior offered.
“No, couldn’t be,” Billip disagreed, craning his neck and popping his knuckles.
The warrior shrugged. “I’m crossing over from Hohm, part of a heavily guarded merchant train, not a day any different than before. Over twenty well-armed men bringing in the goods, wagons full of spices, seeds, grain, gold and other things. My face is known here, my comrades as well; you can check.”
Mikkel rolled his wrist before leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest.
“It was hot, the landscape full of mirages, and tricks began to play on our minds as the first dusk began. We were setting up camp when the horses began acting funny, snap
ping and stomping men and one another. I don’t know about you, but I’ve never seen horses bite one another like that before. Then the wind came, a crying howl, like a woman in pain, stirring the dirt and blinding us from seeing anything.”
The warrior finished his first mug with a loud gulp and whipped his sleeve across his mouth.
“Ah! So, a storm was all, and we’d been through over a dozen land squalls like that before, so we hitched down what we could and prepared to ride it out. As suddenly as it started, it stopped, and that’s when the screams began.”
Billip re-filled all of their mugs, itchy fingers twisting at his goatee.
“The second dusk had settled, and our camp was swarmed with dark figures, at least two to our one. Some of them rode spiders. Others walked in the air, like living nightmares. I never could have imagined something so terrible if I had not seen it for myself. The underlings, thick furry little faces and bright gemstone eyes, chittered in elation as they began to chop us down. Webs sprung up in the air, taking my men down like helpless flies only to see their throats cut.”
Billip interrupted saying, “So did you stand there and watch, or did you fight?”
The man’s eyes narrowed.
“I don’t know you, Man, and you don’t know me, but I didn’t stand around with my sword up my arse. I split the skin and bone of two or more. Either of you two waiters ever seen an underling before?”
Mikkel and Billip nodded.
The old warrior placed a folded up piece of cloth, stained in dark blood, on the table.
“Perhaps you’ll recognize this, then,” he said, unwrapping it.
Two small bolts of a crossbow lay there, the tips a dark metal and the shafts stained black.
“And that isn’t all.”
The Darkslayer: Book 04 - Danger and the Druid Page 11