The Darkslayer: Book 04 - Danger and the Druid

by Craig Halloran

  “Huh, it seems you are getting old, Halfling. As I recall, we returned with at least two sacks this size,” Palos said, stretching out his arms, fighting a yawn.

  “In two months maybe,” Gillem said, standing up in his chair. “Lefty and I got this in two weeks. I was a master thief then, I am a master now, and I was a master before you cut your first purse.”

  Lefty couldn’t find his breath. Something was wrong. He had never seen Gillem upset before. He grabbed his mentor by the shirt tail and tried to pull him down, only to be swatted away.

  Palos fired back, “Sit down, Gillem! Else I’ll have Thorn come in here and skewer you like a fat little pig.”

  The man meant it, every word; Lefty could tell. He tugged at Gillem again, who to his surprise, sat down with a blank look on his face. It was as if Palos’s threat sucked all the life from the vibrant halfling man, as if he was looking at his own grave in the murky waters. Lefty remained still, his little heart the only thing moving, like a frightened bunny, barely breathing.

  “Now, Gillem, I’ll forgive your little fit this once and even this paltry tithe, but one more outburst like that and you both will die! Understand?”

  Lefty nodded along with Gillem.

  “Now, Boy, bring me a goblet of wine.”

  Lefty did as he was told and returned back to his seat. Gillem sat stone faced. Sensing that something was very wrong, Lefty slunk deeper into the confines of his chair.

  “So, it seems that our gains are meager, and it’s not just the two of you, even though you are the most disappointing.” He ran his finger around the rim of his bejeweled goblet. “So you both, at my direction, are going to begin playing a bigger game.”

  Gillem shifted in his seat, and Lefty sat a little farther up.

  “It’s called Ransom. Lefty, do you know what ransom is?”

  The word sounded familiar, but he didn’t know for sure, and he was too scared to guess. He shook his head.

  “Oh … well done, Gillem. What a fine mentor you are, not telling him about one of our favorite challenges.”

  Gillem gave Lefty a sad look over his shoulder that ran a chill down his spine.

  “Ransom, little halfling, has a big payday. Maybe ten years worth or even a lifetime if you play the game right.” Palos’s polished and charming tone had returned. “Would you like to learn how it’s played?”

  Lefty was curious. He nodded his head.

  “Good,” Palos pulled himself up from his chair and leaned on his forearms, eyes intent on his. “First, you need a target, someone of great wealth and passion. Someone who has compassion and a lot of gold. Like a Royal, for instance.”

  Lefty nodded.

  “You find something of theirs, something very valuable, that they cannot live without. Something that they would die for.”

  Lefty nodded again. It sounded like a challenge, and his thoughts went to the Wizard Towers whose smooth spires reached into the sky. Something valuable or something worth dying for would have to be in there. Maybe this would be an opportunity, a dangerous one, but something new nonetheless.

  “Or someone valuable,” Palos continued in a whisper, “like a baby, perhaps.”

  All signs of life went numb from fingertip to toenail. Erin! Bish! You can’t say Erin! Lefty wanted to run, to hide, to scream or do anything to avoid hearing what Palos said next.

  “Yes, Boy, you are going to steal Kam’s baby for me.” Palos’s eyes flickered with evil, his voice as vengeful as a viper and somewhat deranged. “That witch owes me a favor, and I’ll have her groveling on her hands and knees before me, offering me anything and everything I want. I’ll shackle her, defile her and make her beg for more.” Palos slammed his jeweled fists into the table.

  Wham!

  “I will have her baby, and she will be my whore!”

  Lefty couldn’t believe what was happening or why. No! No! No! How had skimming led him down this dark path? It was his fault and his alone. Now he was being forced to do the unthinkable. Something bumped against his chair. It was the crooked-nosed Thorn, as tall and dark as a stormy night sky.

  “You, Gillem and Thorn shall execute this kidnapping, and mind you, little halfling: fail in this charge and Kam and all the rest of your companions will be strewn across every dark corner in this city by the entire thieves guild.”

  CHAPTER 32

  “Impressive, Detective,” Lord Almen said.

  It was a compliment; a sincere one that wasn’t layered in an accent that suggested anything otherwise would mean death. Instead, Melegal stood tall, not proud, before the Royal Lord's desk beneath the castle kitchens. It had been almost three full weeks since he was last summoned to the hawking man’s private study, which gave him great relief and curiosity as well. Lord Almen, an image of strength and power, looked drained. His vulture-like countenance almost sagged, as if recovering from a sudden illness. It wasn’t something one would normally notice, but nothing escaped Melegal’s notice.

  Lord Almen continued as his ring-clad fingers rolled a strange foreign object over his desk. It was one of the items seized during the capture of the Slergs, perhaps the only thing of value at all. The Royal Lord smiled and said, “This is a great prize:.a Slerg weapon, very potent. Have you ever seen anything like it before in your life?” Lord Almen held it before his own face, eyes filled with admiration.

  “No, Lord Almen. I’m not very familiar with the various forms of weapons, especially one of such a crude make,” he said, staring at the white ash cudgel of the one called Leezir, a man he knew from long ago. It looked like nothing more than a club carved from a trunk of wood and shaved down, smooth at the top with a grip carved out for a handle. It had a strange white hue about it.

  “Spine Breaker,” Lord Almen said, rising from his chair and toying with the hefty weapon. “Tell me about its acquisition. I’ve heard nothing about this capture of my foes, and I’d like to have some intimate details.”

  Almen waved the fat end of the cudgel inches from his nose, like a giant rattle. Melegal fought the urge to step back as images of the battle of the Slergs swelled inside the confines of his mind. Oh, the sick Lord will enjoy this.

  He cleared his throat.

  “The short version, Lord Almen?”

  “Yes, but don’t leave out the interesting parts. I know there must be some,” Almen commented while he poured two goblets of wine and handed one to Melegal.

  I better make this good, then.

  He thought of Venir, the story teller, the man with as much mouth as he had brawn. Venir had his ways, and Melegal had his own, but he’d never been one to entertain men, as opposed to women when it came to using his tongue.

  He took a sip, thinking Oh, that’s wonderful, and began:

  “We had them cornered in the catacombs in the sewers beneath the city, between the Northeast passages and the manufacturer’s district. I estimated there were only six of them remaining, trapped between the grates with their only way out being up through the storm drains. I ordered the City Watch to drop the smokers in. We had the lone rain portal sealed, twenty Watchmen, swords and watch sticks in hand, ready to dispense your will by my command.”

  Taking a sip, Lord Almen nodded for him to continue.

  “As the smoke billowed from the hole in the street, the first man came out, arms flailing, coughing. An eager Watchmen cut his neck out with a sword, a bit too eager, it seemed. I reminded the dullards we were to take them alive, not dead. So, I had them sheath their swords.”

  Lord Almen interrupted saying, “Seems risky. They’ve been a dangerous lot.”

  “True, Lord Almen, but I needed to interrogate some of them. I had to make sure we had them all,” he reassured the Lord. The truth was, he was hoping the City Watch, one or two at least, might be caught off guard. The fewer the Watchmen, the better.

  He wet his throat with more wine. With grapes pressed such as this I could tell stories all day. Man and babe alike. Delicious.

  “The next man burst throu
gh the hole in a black cowl, waving that cudgel, which was glowing like the moons. Two watchmen bore down on him, and there was a clap like thunder.” He smacked his hands together with a sharp pop. “One man fell to the ground, in a pile of boneless flesh, and the other gawped long enough to have his head cracked open like a nut.”

  “Excellent,” Almen commented, hands caressing the wood.

  “About that time another character climbed from the hole, his swords chopping through a small wave of watchmen like they were wheat. He was fast: punching holes in throats and slicing open bellies like a seasoned soldier. Another thunderclap followed. This time it shook the ground, knocking men from their feet. That’s when I let loose your snakes.”

  Melegal opened up his palms. Two coiled pieces of intricate metal shone dully in the lantern light as he set them on the table.

  “I'm not a mage, and I had my doubts, but I did as you instructed me. Dropping them to the ground made the things come to life, slithering like sidewinders over the stone and wrapping around the legs of the two formidable Slergs like whips. After that, it was over.”

  Melegal finished his goblet that Lord Almen refilled.

  “Thank you, Lord Almen. At that point, the City Watch overwhelmed them, beating them like a pair of dirty rugs. Really dirty. But the damage had been done. Four of the Watchmen looked like they had just fallen from a cliff and landed on a pile of rocks. Three more were dead from the one Slerg's steels, two others wounded. Blood and guts smeared the road, until the rain came and washed it away. The only ones left of the Slergs were the two and a young girl.”

  “And wasn’t there another, a giant brute of some sort?” Almen asked, hoisting the hefty cudgel on his broad shoulder.

  “We’d jailed him earlier. Can’t tell if he was kin or not. Seems too big and slow, somewhat mute.” Melegal didn’t want to say too much. Brak’s fate was not in his hands, but if anything, maybe the man could bust rocks for the rest of his life in shackles. Better than being dead.

  Lord Almen took his seat, dipped a quill in a jar of ink and jotted something down on a piece of parchment. “So, Detective, how confident are you that there are no Slergs left?”

  He didn’t shift or sigh, despite his resentment of the question—How in Bish was he supposed to know? He had poured over every last bit of information that the torturers had extracted from the men. No man, under thumbscrews or bamboo shoots, was unbreakable, and in the case of the Slergs, they had a weak line of faith. He could only assume they did not lie when they screamed. He had to be right. Of course, it was expected that he would be—after all, he was Castle Almen’s Detective—a position he had come to discover offered a degree of reverence, even from the Almen family. Right or wrong, I’ll be dead one day anyway.

  “Certainly, Lord Almen. Every lice-ridden head accounted for. All survivors in uncomfortable and agonizing custody,” he said in a reassuring voice.

  “Not too agonizing. I have plans for those who remain.”

  Is that so?

  “Lord Almen, may I ask … Do those plans involve me?”

  Lord Almen raked his fingers through his long brown hair, fastened his handsome countenance on Melegal and said, “Of course, Detective. With all the work that you have done, it would seem fitting to let you in on our final farewell to the Slergs. I plan to have you and Sefron work on this little project together, along with my family and other Royal friends of mine.”

  Melegal could feel the blood curdle in his veins at the mention of Sefron’s name. He felt his nostrils flaring like galloping horses, even though they weren’t, he still struggled to maintain his accommodating composure. Great, maybe I’ll accidentally kill him. He had already seen the creepy cleric spill more blood in the castle dungeons than most seasoned soldiers spilled on the battlefield. The sick man enjoyed delivering misery, death and pain.

  “Excellent, Lord Almen.”

  “I think you’ll enjoy it. There will be a coming of age ceremony for several fine young Royals. It almost makes me want to laugh, thinking about Sefron’s plan for the meddlesome Slergs”

  “And that would be, Lord Almen?”

  Lord Almen raised a brow and said, “I’m sure you are familiar with the Coming of Age ceremony, Detective?”

  “Certainly,” he answered. Most urchins that served in the castles were very aware, especially the large and slow ones, like Venir. Melegal’s memory of back then was as clear of the details as if it had all happened yesterday. It had been at least two decades since he had seen the last one, the one where Venir had fought the Slerg brothers, Creighton and Hagerdon. Leezir had been there, too. Funny how things happen, he thought. “So, the Slergs will be the contestants against the upcoming youth, I suppose?”

  “Yes,” Almen said, his face showing mild delight. “It’s only for the Almens, and as I mentioned, other friends that lie outside of the constrictions of the Royal Castles. I can’t have word getting out of this event, Detective.” Lord Almen picked up the cudgel that self-illuminated with pale light. “It wouldn’t be viewed favorably among other Royal Castles.”

  “Understood. Is there anything else?”

  Lord Almen hawkish eyes fixated on his.

  Please don’t ask.

  “How are you coming along with the Lorda’s investigation of my deranged son … Tonio?”

  Lord Almen hadn’t mentioned his son in weeks, and now he was interested again? Melegal had no answers. Except one.

  Be bold.

  “They say a wild butcher in Royal armament runs the streets. They say he is a ghost or ghoul from below. I say that ghoul is yours, Lord Almen.”

  Lord Almen gave him a wary look and said, “Is this what you have told the Lorda?”

  “She can’t be as easily convinced, but yes, I have.”

  “Can you hunt him down and kill him, if need be?”

  “I can on your command.” But I’d rather not. I don’t think he can be killed.

  Melegal stood there waiting for the Royal Lord to respond. When his feet began to ache, he asked himself the same old question: How did that big man sneak up on me?

  Lord Almen continued to jot down more notes.

  Melegal waited.

  Oh, not this again.

  Minute after agonizing minute passed.

  “I’ll be expecting confirmation of what you believe at some point, Detective. Dismissed.”

  Melegal backed towards the door and left as quietly as he could. How could he confirm what he believed without bringing Lord Almen proof? Kill Sefron. Kill Tonio? There has to be a way out of all this. Up the stairs he went, stride after stride, with the full realization that he wasn’t going up, he was going down.

  CHAPTER 33

  Outlaw's Hide was a place of wary faces. Venir welcomed them all, however, offering greetings and salutations as if they were all long lost friends, not a stranger among them, yet there were many.

  “Hello, Pretty One,” he said to a chubby half-orcen woman wrapped in tattered robes and carrying a sack of flour.

  Adanna, Hogan’s daughter, jabbed his ribs with an elbow. “Will you stop that? You draw too much attention upon yourself. And calling that two-legged sow pretty is sickening.”

  Venir reached over and tickled her ribs, bringing forth a squeal of delight.

  “Jealous, I see.”

  “Hardly,” she said, reaching up to pull the clay jar of grog from his lips, “now give me that. You’ve drank yourself blind.”

  Venir dangled the jar high over his head. “And before the night's over I’ll have drunk myself deaf as well, but not so much that I cannot enjoy your soft lips crying for more.” He slapped Adanna on her rump, lifting her to her toes.

  “Lout,” she said, slapping him away … with a smile.

  Outlaw's Hide was little more than a tent city, the heavy canvasses large, small and some even grand enough to house a hundred people, others little more than a stick and a rug. There were buildings, but these were few and rotting like fallen logs in a swamp. It ha
rdly mattered. The inhabitants of Outlaw's Hide didn’t often stay for long. The Hide was dangerous: even the deadliest criminals and renegades were at risk within its shadowy clutches. Some came and went quickly, others didn’t last through the night. Venir wasn’t worried about any of that.

  Venir tossed his empty jug into a small tent, busting it with a crash. A cry of alarm went up, and angry voices stepped out, a pair of stout men, one as scarred and calloused from battle as the other, hands gripping the pommels of their swords. Venir was whistling as he walked by, paying neither man any mind.

  “You’re a dead man!” one said, ripping free his sword, its keen edge glinting in the moon light.

  Venir stopped, turned and laughed, his big hands falling onto two broad swords strapped around his waist.

  The men were almost a head shorter than Venir, yet taller than most men. Their opposing demeanor was criminal from head to toe as they spread apart, both brandishing steel. The murderous intent in their eyes began to fade as Venir’s shadow fell on them.

  “Did you jackals say something?” Venir said.

  Both men made grumbling sounds, sheathed their swords and returned inside their tent.

  “That was strange,” Adanna said. “Oh!”

  Venir hoisted her over his shoulder and said, “Let’s give those pretty little legs of yours a rest, shall we?”

  Other than an excited sigh, her warm, supple body offered little resistance if any at all.

  Venir jostled through the throngs of orcs, men, gnolls, kobolds, dwarves and even striders and halflings as if they weren’t there. He was the most popular man in the Hide, and that wasn’t good.

  Outlaw's Hide, on the southernmost corner of Bish, once small and secluded, was getting crowded. The races at most times were barely tolerant of one another, but now they were almost amiable. It wasn’t uncommon to see men and gnolls playing cards, though the dwarves still were intolerant of the handful of half-ogres. The Hide was a remnant of Venir's time spent with the Brigand Army, another secure location tucked behind the jungles, behind the grasses and atop jutting hillsides.