“What are you laughing at?” Cass said.
“It’s just … well … it’s one of those other things I’ve never done with a woman before.”
“Great Bish, will I have to show you how to do this, too?” She said it while taking him by his hand.
Cass sat down beside Chongo and laid her small hand on the big beast's belly. Fogle joined her on the ground. Her eyes fastened on his. My, she’s beautiful.
“Wizard, there is no time for your fantasies.” She squeezed the blood from his hand. “This must be done now. Lock with me!”
It was a simple spell, for a mage anyway: two willing minds becoming one. He remembered the last one, the battle with the golden-eyed underling. He'd been suffocated, dying, his awesome will being crushed like an egg. Somehow his battle with Venir had saved him. Maybe this was important after all.
The dwarven women surrounded them like a cauldron of warmth, locking arms and murmuring an ancient tune.
“Get on with it, Fogle. I don’t like your sweaty hands.”
He looked deep into Cass’s eyes.
“Impre ontu doskst,” he whispered.
A wave of energy rushed through him like a spring. Cass was drawing from him, a warm hand reaching inside and taking hold. It was strong, but he was stronger. With control, he released his power. He saw her body, spinning, contorting and turning black. She plunged into an abyss and was gone.
Don’t let me go, Fogle, he heard her mind say, or the dog will die and I as well.
Fogle's body broke out in a cold sweat. Cass’s hand was burning like fire, and his mind was being stretched down to his toes. Something tugged at his mind, powerful and sinister. The fight for Chongo and Cass had just begun.
CHAPTER 41
It was an enormous thing, perhaps the largest living creature Verbard had ever seen, and he had to kill it, or rather, direct its killing. That didn’t stop the massive stalactite from dropping into a barge filled with fifty underlings, capsizing the vessel. Of the fifty, it could only be assumed that most were dead, and the remaining passengers were swimming for the shore.
“BAAAAAAAAA-HAA-ROOOON!” the creature roared. It was a hulking bi-ped whose neckless fishhead scraped debris the size of boulders from the stone ceiling as it attacked. Another volley of arrows and spears ricocheted off the creature’s armor. It raised its leg and dropped its foot on the closet barge.
This is a disaster! Underling magi respond!
Robed figures floated over the waters, a dozen wielders of magic, their clawed finger tips burning with life. Verbard floated behind them, his mind and theirs one.
Burn his head! He ordered.
Lightning. Fire. Energy.
The entire cavern was aglow from the various explosions of power. The brilliant colors splashed across the fuzzy faced underlings, adding an additional gleam to their bejeweled eyes. The creature bellowed a deafening roar as it staggered backwards. It raised the fins of its thickset arms in front of its face as the mire and muck broiled on its grotesque body.
Don’t let up!
Whatever it was, it was a force. A stupid unyielding one. Verbard took a quick glace into the fray below. The barges were filled with melee. The underling warriors, Badoon, Juegen and urchlings were at odds with a host of Trolls. Not a single underling screamed when it died, and not a single one yelled when it attacked. Instead, the chitters came in precise hissing commands.5 A single troll was drowning three underlings at once. Another underling, a metal-armored Juegen, was being swung like a club. The surprise was becoming an onslaught.
Verbard felt his own black blood begin to boil as another barge was capsized by the trolls. He wanted to scream. Instead, he did something else. Enough of this! He pulled a rod with a fist on the end from inside his robes. It was a two-foot long piece of inch-thick iron, cold and heavy in his hand.
He touched the metallic fist to his lips and muttered an incantation.
Jottenhiem, attention!
A Juegen, covered from head to toe in troll guts, stood at the bow of the barge below him. The underling raised its open hand as it ducked under the swing of a troll that had been rocking the barge.
Catch.
Verbard tossed the rod and watched it fall into Jottenhiem the Juegen commander's eager grasp. The rod burst from two to six feet, a fist at the point. As the troll climbed onto the bow, Jottenhiem rammed its skull with the rod. A flash of light erupted, followed by a notable thunder crack, pulverizing the troll’s head, sinking the monster back into the current.
Much better.
Another troll had a pair of urchlings in his hands, beating them together like dolls. Jottenhiem hurled the fist in a streak of black light.
CRACK!
The troll fell back into the waves, dead as a stone, two smushed urchlings crushed in its clutches.
Verbard turned his attention back to the other magi. He could feel their energy ebbing. Ahead, in the dimness of the lake, the creature still stood, a smoking ruin of living scales and searing flesh. It stomped its finned legs and punched the jagged ceilings like an angry child. It should have been dead by now, but it wasn’t.
That thing must have a heart a big as a barge.
Verbard’s lip curled over his clenched teeth.
I can’t invade an entire city with half an army.
Another rock formation fell, crushing one underling mage’s skull, knocking it from the air and driving it into the waters.
Follow my lead, magi!
A bubble of yellow energy formed in his hand. A soft blow from his thin black lips sent the warbling globe towards the creature. Another series of the globes followed. Well done, brethren. The creature swung at them, catching them on its arms and legs, while other globes stuck like dew to its chest and face.
Now!
Bamf! Bamf! Bamf!
The creature roared out in sheer agony as chunks of flesh blew from its body.
Bamf! Bamf!
One arm fell into the murk.
Bamf! Bamf!
Its entrails spilled out into the water.
And for the finale …
BAMF!
Verbard added another hole in the back of its head. It wavered, mouth clutching open and closed, then splashed full force into the waters and sank.
***
Verbard sat on the beach holding his head. The trolls, what was left of them, had fled. The rod of smiting he had given Jottenhiem lay at his feet, a charred husk of steel. Sixty seven underlings were dead, two barges sunk, and his siege on the greatest city in the world of Bish had not yet begun. He watched in irritation as the magi levitated one barge from the Current, flipped it over and set it down with a splash. Three barges were ready now. The blockade in the tunnel was almost clear as more magi had begun using magic to remove the boulders.
How? Why?
The entire attack was unprecedented. It left him filled with uncertainty, and he couldn’t help but wonder if Master Sinway was behind this. After all, it had been Sinway’s suggestion to begin the siege from within.
He rubbed his temples.
“Jottenhiem,” he said.
The Juegen commander stood at attention by his side, helmet off, long curved blades gleaming with blood at his hips. “Yes, Lord Verbard.”
Verbard rose to his aching feet and faced his commander. Why they ached he didn’t know, but everything seemed to ache these days.
“What is your assessment?”
Jottenhiem had ruby red eyes, typical of most Juegen warriors. The sides of his head were shaved, and his rat-furred face twitched with muscles. The Juegen, one of Verbard’s longtime allies, was reliable. He spoke in a manner unlike most, deep and less chittering, almost slow.
“A troll trap for troll food.”
“We are underlings, not troll food, Jottenhiem.”
“It seems some of us are troll food.”
“And what to you make of that other monster? Was it hungry as well?”
“I didn’t get a chance to ask it.”
Verbard turned away and watched as the underlings continued their preparations for the remaining journey.
“What do you make of our invasion of the human city?”
Jottenhiem formed a tiny grin of razor sharp teeth.
“It will be glorious and bloody.”
“Assuming we get there in one piece,” Verbard snapped. “Take the helm of the first barge and see to it we don’t fall into more troll traps! Imbecile!”
Verbard floated away, filled with anger and frustration, but there was nowhere to go. He ducked into come caves. I need help. He couldn’t shake the feeling he was being set up. Now, he should feel nothing more than elation for the opportunity to slaughter mankind with a single lethal strike. His brethren were almost glowing about it, but why was he not? He was an underling. He despised mankind, but this mission, this golden moment of underling kind, filled him with doubt. His fingernails dug into his palms. His teeth bit into his jaw. Something wasn’t right.
CHAPTER 42
Helpless and alone. Kam’s hands trembled as her stomach twisted inside out. Her baby girl, Erin, was gone. She wiped her eyes and nose as she sat at a table inside the Magi Roost. She did not recognize the man that sat across from her, but she'd caught his name, Thorn. His speech was slow, reserved, scary.
“This doesn’t have to be difficult,” he said in a rugged voice that was far from reassuring. “The ransom isn’t what is important. The return of your child is.”
The tavern was empty, other than herself, the crooked-nosed man, Gillem and Lefty, who sat fidgeting at the bar. It was Lefty that had come to her rescue, a bit conveniently. His story, sweating feet and all, was convincing. Gillem, in all his stock and grace, affirmed the history of halflings with sweaty feet in brief detail. Kam had no choice but to believe them, for now.
“As you know, the Prince of Thieves, Palos, my master, has been expecting a favor from you for quite some time …”
Palos. The name inflamed her anger like a hot iron. She knew him to be crafty, beguiling and deviant. No thief could be trusted, him least of all. His honor had less weight than a feather, and his greed was without rival. It appeared the rumors were true. But kidnapping a child, of a Royal, no less? That was as unexpected as it was frightening. Who was she really dealing with? She pushed her fingers through her hair, aware of Thorn's hungry eyes on her chest.
She couldn’t stop her chin from trembling as she spoke:
“I owe that man no favors. Bring back my daughter, you dog!”
It was there, the magic, a festering blossom of rage ready to unleash itself. Kill this ugly bastard!
Thorn wagged his long finger in her face.
“Now, don’t lose control. This is a negotiation, not a discussion, nor an argument. I’m just delivering the terms.” The chair groaned as he leaned back. Thorn was tall, heavy boned and sinister in expression. He spoke better than his dull eyes let on. There was intelligent life behind his harsh and haggard expression, cunning and without mercy. “Your choices are limited as well as your time, Mistress of the Magi Roost,” he finished, licking his tongue over his lips.
Pop.
Kam jumped as an ember cracked in the fireplace behind the man. She clutched her chest, which was fighting her ability to breathe. Thorn chuckled. It took a degree of self-control to not hurl the man aside. What would she do? Who could she turn to for help? Her family, Royals themselves, would be more than agitated by this attempt. But Palos would not have made such a move if he did not already have something on them. Her family, aloof with politics and position, had made it perfectly clear years ago that she was on her own when she made her choice. She had gladly accepted. If anything, she’d be too ashamed to ask for their help. She'd rather die than hear them say I told you so, even at the cost of her life or her daughter's.
“Palos knows I’ll do anything to get my daughter back. I could not live without her,” she said, her sobs becoming heavy again.
“My master is counting on that,” Thorn said, leaning forward, entranced by her trembling curves. “What Prince Palos offers is more of a gift than a threat. It’s just difficult to present it in any other way. He desires your company. He wants to bask in the glow of your beauty. I cannot fault the prince in his tastes, they are superb. Captivating.” Thorn eased closer. “Even alluring on the darkest of days.”
Inhaling deeply through her nose, Kam pulled her shoulders back and let out a slow shuddering sigh. She watched as Thorn’s Adam’s apple rolled up and down, his eyes filled with fantasy.
“So,” she said wiping her nose on a rag, “how long have you and Gillem been planning this abduction?”
Thorn’s eyes flicked over her shoulder where Gillem sat, then back to her.
I knew it!
“I’ve no business with the halfling other than this parlay.”
Liar!
She let her energy swell behind her chest, a cauldron of boiling power.
“You know what, Thorn?” she said, unable to hide her simmering green eyes.
“Eh …?” he replied, edging back.
“You remind me of something that crawled out of an ogre’s nose.”
The vulture-like man stiffened in his chair, his hands falling to his sides.
Kam held out her palms.
“Wench! I’ll carve—oomph!”
Thorn was thrown from his feet and heading towards the fire.
She felt him fighting against the bonds of her telekinesis spell, fighting to avoid the flames.
“Mercy, you wench!” he shouted.
Her anger swelled her energy. Thorn screamed as he was stuffed into the flames. Harder and harder she pushed. She felt small bones breaking as her power began to crush him like a vice of flame.
“YOU WILL PAY, RODENT!”
Bottles were rattled from the shelves, shattering on the floor. Thorn was wailing, burning and writhing with torment. Someone else was yelling as well. She caught a flicker of movement in the corner of her eye. Gillem was making haste towards the door. She released her hold on Thorn.
“STOP, GILLEM!”
A row of plates cut through the air, one by one, making a bead for the halfling's head. Gillem ducked, rolled, twisted and dodged as the air was filled with the sounds of breaking dishes. Master Longfingers leaped toward the window. Kam reached out her painted nails.
“Kye-Noche-Liene!”
Tendrils of white energy whipped out from her fingertips, coiled around Gillem’s portly little body and snatched him from the air. He writhed within the coils, his aghast face aglow from the white hot light. She rolled her wrists, layer over layer, wrapping the halfling into a tight bundle. Gillem wasn’t going anywhere. She let go. The harmless but steel-strong bonds held the halfling tighter that a bear trap.
Gillem rolled into sitting position, a look of bewilderment in his eyes.
“You fool hot tempered woman! What have you done? Ye’ll never get back the baby Erin now!”
CHAPTER 43
“So be it, Farc,” Venir replied, spitting on the ground. “Your stench is more threatening than your words.”
The small throng of Farc’s Outlaws erupted in a sinister chuckle. Venir, despite his blossoming hatred for his foe, didn’t care for the odds. He glanced over at the worried looks on Hogan and Adanna’s faces. Farc’s threats had them convinced.
Farc snorted and looked up into the sky. The second dusk, a glow of radiant yellow light, was washing over the city. Dusk was almost gone. “Look at this human, men! A cheater. A coward. A liar. A murderer. This is the man who took my young son, barely twelve years old, and broke his neck.”
Venir’s neck warmed, his face flushed. He reached for the swords at his feet. The sound of steel scraping from sheaths and a bow drawing back caught his ears. He was as flatfooted as a horse was hoofed.
“Adanna, get our gear. Hogan, break down the rest. I’ll wait.”
Another series of chuckles came as Adanna and Hogan scurried into the tent. The sounds of rattling ge
ar and unpleasant words were exchanged from within the canvas. Venir kept his eyes on Farc’s one. The ogre, once as powerful a warrior as a warrior could be, was diminished. He stooped. His left shoulder dipped, and the fire behind his yellow eye no longer burned. Farc, at least a decade or two older than Venir, was in decay. He watched as the ogre wiped the drool from his jutting jaw. Farc’s hand trembled as he swung it behind his back.
“Venir, I should kill you now.”
“Then why don’t you?”
“You know the rules in the Hide.”
Outlaw's Hide was a sanctuary for the worst that Bish had to offer. There was a code among all, unless you were an underling: no killing without a challenge and don’t rat out your neighbors. There was no judge and no law, but there was an unspoken civil order. Other than that, it was anything goes. Of course, if you were killed, which did happen quite often, there was little to defend you. And if you killed, you were asked to leave, or subsequently killed by a self- appointed militia. But, if you had control, which Farc seemed to have at the moment, you could do whatever you wanted.
“Why not challenge me then?”
Farc let out a gruff laugh.
“Time to go, Yellow Hair.”
Venir looked over at Slim, who was biting his nails.
“You coming?”
Slim’s wizened face looked around at all the outlaws and said with a shrug, “Well, it’s either that or die.”
***
Farc and his men followed as Venir, Slim, Adanna, Hogan and his wife trekked a mile north to the edge of the haphazard city, loaded down with all they could carry. The only things they were missing were the tents, water and rations. He heard Farc’s final words:
“I sent the underlings my personal mattock to dig a grave for you. I only asked for your boots in return.”
***
They traveled almost five miles north of Outlaw's Hide and made a fireless camp. The terrain, grasslands mixed with jungle, posed few problems. They all sat, wiping sweat and slapping away mosquitoes, or holding their hungry bellies. There was no food.
The Darkslayer: Book 04 - Danger and the Druid Page 22