The Darkslayer: Book 04 - Danger and the Druid

by Craig Halloran

  She flinched as something soft and delicate wiped the tears from her cheeks.

  “Even in the most disagreeable situation, you are still the most captivating woman I’ve ever seen,” a voice said from nowhere.

  Palos!

  She mumbled angrily behind her gag.

  A sinister laughter followed as she felt a finger running across her lips. The hairs on her arms recoiled, and fear raced down her spine. Had he been there the whole time?

  The voice of a gentleman charmer spoke again.

  “It’s a shame to bind your full and perfect lips. They are the color of my favorite wine, and I can only imagine that they taste all the sweeter.”

  She thought she had died when he said his next words.

  ”Welcome to your new home, Kam.”

  ***

  It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault.

  Lefty sulked within, his mind a place of misery. Gillem was quiet at his side. The tavern however, Palos’s home, the prison of Kam, was full of rude comments and raunchy jokes. The things the men said about Kam and Palos were sickening. Vile. Evil. Incomprehensible to his young mind. All he could do was sit there like a mute, helpless and full of worry. There was absolutely nothing he could do.

  Gillem, however, seemed content to smoke his pipe and drink ale after ale. His halfling mentor smiled and played along with all the congratulations of his brethren, like a wealthy brother returning home.

  “Master Gillem, can you kidnap me one of those?”

  “Who carried the left breast and who took the right? Take me next time; I’ll carry them both.”

  “Her back must be strong from carrying all that milk. What meadow did you find her in?”

  The master thief just slapped his knee, smiled and laughed. All Lefty could do was wallow within, a silly smile on his face. Smile and everyone will think everything is all right, Venir had once said. What would Venir do? What would Melegal do? Kill them? Stab them? Save them?

  One of the cutthroats swayed into him, spilling ale on his clothes.

  “Watch yourself, tiny one!” the man said before staggering away. “Yellow-headed rodent.”

  There’s must be something I can do. If I could just find Erin.

  He’d been concentrating as well. His mind was still at work beneath his thick locks of blond hair. The room was full of rugged voices, each expressing fantasies while the others commented in demented delight. There was no mention of the baby girl Erin, however. That worried him. Please don’t be dead. Someone in the room had to know where the baby was. They all couldn’t keep their mouths shut. What had Melegal told him long ago? What they aren’t saying, their bodies are showing. Watch close and see and hear as well.

  “Eat something, Boy,” Gillem said in his ear, interrupting his thoughts. “Blend in. Yer suffering is showing. Palos has little need of you now, so ye act like yer a brother of the guild.”

  For the first time in his life, Lefty felt the urge to jam a dagger in another living person’s body. SCUM! They are scum. I am scum. His eyes drifted past Gillem’s bobbing head to the doorway about the stairs. It was hard to imagine what was going on up there. A tiny fire ignited behind his heart. It was his fault. He had to fix it. From the corner of his eye he noticed a man he'd not seen before, entering the tavern. A nasty scar went from his chin to his ear, and his left eye was milk white. He gave a quick nod to the crossbowman called Diller, on the balcony, then disappeared back outside. Lefty was certain that no one else even noticed, not even Gillem.

  Diller headed down the stairs and had quick words with one rogue and then another. The two men finished their drinks before departing without another word.

  “Gillem,” Lefty said, another minute after the two men were gone, “may I take a moment?”

  Master Longfingers' eyes were bloodshot and blurry from all the smoke as he said, “Er … well, don’t go far or be gone too long. And come back with more tobacco.”

  ***

  He still had a heart, Gillem just couldn’t let it show as he ignored the halfling boy's departure. There was little he could do to save the woman or the child, and he felt horrible for it. It was not natural for a halfling to do such atrocious things. They were simple people that had a knack for getting into trouble with the other races. Why they were drawn to them, he could not figure, but they offered them things the halfling world did not. And like a curious cat, Gillem found himself plunging deeper into the lowest of wells. He never figured it would have gone this far.

  Patience, Gillem. Patience.

  Even he’d been cut from Palos's loop. He’d been too close to this one, and the Prince of Thieves was privy to that. It didn’t help matters that Thorn had not returned. That would only make matters worse for everyone: Kam, Erin, Lefty and him. It was a dangerous time, indeed. Still, Lefty Lightfoot just might have the stones to figure a way out. The boy could do things that he could not, and his heart was still good. Time, however, would be running out. He’d seen many women come to the Roost but never go, woman or child. So he laughed, swapped stories, smoked and drank. Farewell, friends of fiends.

  ***

  One second there was nothing but a table of gold before her and in the next Palos had revealed himself. His face, still handsome, yet demented, glowered above hers. His image faded out, then solidified once more.

  Invisibility potion? A waste of potent magic.

  “What are you willing to do to see your baby, Kam?” He asked with hungry eyes.

  She looked deep into his eyes that rested beneath two well primped brows and said, “Anything.”

  The Prince of Thieves flashed a handsome row of teeth.

  “I find it hard to believe, but I like what I am hearing. Hmmm.”

  He kneeled down and tore the pants around her leg wound.

  “We can’t have this holding back your efforts.” She groaned as he applied pressure with his thumb. “Still tender, I see.” He grabbed a small jar from the table and pulled the lid off, revealing a light blue salve. He gently rubbed it into her leg.

  A wonderful sensation, burning and soothing, filled her as she watched the wound close shut. He began messaging her thigh with his nimble fingers. It felt good, comforting, and her eyes began to roll up in her head. No. Stop.

  “Relax, Kam. That salve will take away more than your pain.” He kissed her knees. “It will subdue your vanity as well. Enjoy.”

  Her head began to roll along her shoulders as the euphoric sensation set in. She felt something being clasped around her neck. A collar.

  “This will keep you from mumbling any nasty spells,” he said, lips nibbling at her ear.

  She had already made her mind up that she would do whatever it took to see her baby again. Her mind was still her own, but now she was so relaxed, as if she had slipped into a warm bed of fox fur minks. Palos slowly removed her gag and other bonds. She was free. Magic swelled within in her then flowed back again. The next thing she knew there was a goblet of wine in her hand. She gulped it down. It was good. She felt good. She felt guilty for feeling so good. Focus. You’ve got to see your baby.

  “When can I see my baby?” she asked.

  “Follow me,” Palos said. He walked with grace that belied his girth, opened the door across the room and passed inside.

  She rubbed her wrists and followed. The blood flowing through her body was almost painful from where the circulation had been cut off, but she felt loose. Palos closed the door behind her.

  A large candle illuminated an otherwise dark bedroom. A large four posted bed covered in silk and cotton sheets seemed to await her. She fully expected her stomach to curdle, but it did not.

  Palos spoke with the most calming and reassuring of voices. It suggested everything would be fine.

  “What was it you were trying to say you would do to see your baby?” he said, dropping his robe and slipping beneath the sheets. I can’t be doing this.

  Part of her wanted someone, anyone, to come crashing through the doo
r. The other part of her didn’t.

  She pushed her matted hair back from her eyes and took a deep breath. She let her clothes fall to the floor. Palos’s eyes enlarged like saucers as she walked over, pulled the sheets from him and climbed onto the bed.

  She could see his lips moving but heard nothing. She straddled the man, pushed his hands back over his head and dangled her breasts in his face. She gave them both something they’d never forget as a single tear dropped from the corner of her eye.

  CHAPTER 52

  Sixty-seven.

  Melegal slid his thumb back from the wrapped up coin of continual light and gazed in wonder. He was in a room: not a small dungeon only capable of hoarding a few prisoners, no, this was different. It was another world, capable of housing a tiny village. And that wasn’t all. Mixed in with the man-made architecture were strange formations cut from the rock. It was alien compared to anything he’d ever seen in the city, or anywhere else for that matter.

  Not at all what I expected.

  He shivered. The place was foreign to his sharp senses. He wanted to completely unwrap the coin and let its full illumination blossom. For some reason, all he could think of was underlings. They’d forced droves of people to find shelter in the city. Maybe they were closer than he even expected. Why couldn’t they be lying beneath the City of Bone itself? He flashed the beam of light over his surroundings and up the steps. The landing at the bottom of the steps had unlit torches at the ready on either side. Somebody’s doing something down here.

  He scanned his light across the room, noting the intricate patterns on the old tiled floor. There was something sinister in how the mosaic seemed to twist and writhe, the light reflecting as if the tiles were moving. He moved toward the exterior of the room, unable to shake the odd feeling drifting into his shoes. Ahead, an open chamber beckoned, and along the sides was a series of small wooden doors with heavy brass handles that were similar to the one he’d ventured through.

  There had to be another way out. Going back is not an option, Rogue. But this far underground, where would any of these doors go? What was this room used for? So strange. So odd. He made his way along the perimeter of the oval room, every footstep light as the one before. The only sound was the occasional scuff of his boots and his soft breath through his nose. He stopped and inspected the key hole in one of the doors. The opening was large enough to insert the key from the top of the stairs. Interesting. He depressed the thumb lever only to meet with resistance.

  Hmmm. It might even explain why the upstairs door was not secure as one would expect it to be. The key! Maybe that was indeed the key. He checked another door that was the same as the first. Pressing his ear to the door, he listened. Nothing. He tried another. Still nothing. He made his way to the open chamber and shined his light inside. Keys! Not one, but many, all lined on pegs along the curving wall, each the same as the first, but different. The teeth, similar to those on the key up the stairs, twinkled in the light. Each key head was different: round, oval, and rectangular shapes of some foreign sort, ancient and not of the common customs. Melegal sat down, crossing his legs, at the edge of the chamber. He’d need to think about this.

  Trap. It must be. He rubbed his chin. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven pegs. He looked over his shoulder and scanned his light over the doors. Six doors. Threes keys left and three right. Lonely peg in the middle. Perhaps that was for the key at the top of the stairs, which still begged the question: why was the door at the top unlocked? Even worse, why had Lord Almen come to his study in the wee hours of the morning? Lord Almen would expect him early, but who did he expect before him? He wasn’t one to track the man, but such a time of day was odd, even for him.

  He ran his fingers over the mosaic tiles on the floor. The grey grout between the small tiles was thin, but solid. On his hands and knees he followed his light along the outer edge of the round room toward the first key on his left. At an agonizing pace his light and hands scoured over the wall and floor, feeling for loose plates or difficult to see holes. It seemed unlikely that such a place would not be protected by something. After several minutes he slid his way underneath the first key. Good so far.

  He rolled onto his knee, shined the light on the wooden peg that jutted out above his nose and gave it intense study. His slender fingers glided over the tiles around the peg. I hate traps. Hate them. He took another long draw of stale air through his nose. Just do it. He lifted the key from the peg like a feather. A tingling sensation ran from his fingers to his toes. He rubbed the cold key in his grip. Good. Now, let’s try door number one, shall we.

  The squeak of a door came from nearby. Slat! It wasn’t upstairs. Instead, it was one of the doors in the main room, a door slowly being shoved outward. Melegal dropped his coin of light into his black silk pouch and flattened himself along the floor. The glow of a lantern filled the room. The door, the closest one to the right, was fully open now. I’m dead. He pushed his body backward, slithering over the tiles like a snake, into the shadows of the opposing wall. Three pairs of heavy footsteps clomped loudly over the floor.

  Clearly not here to steal anything. He reached his hand down his belly, to the pommel of a well concealed knife. The door clanked back shut. A rustle of footsteps echoed within the chamber. The smell of sweaty men began to linger. Good. No underlings.

  “Follow me,” a husky female voice said.

  Melegal could see the lantern moving toward the stairs as he peeked from underneath his cloak. They were well armed, weapons jangling on hips, their strides confident without alarm.

  He’s expecting them. Excellent. But where did they come from? On silent feet he dashed across the room and caught sight of the two men and the woman heading up the steps before they disappeared around the corner. There was something familiar about the way the woman walked. The way she talked. The shadows in the darkness can remind the mind of many things. Nah. He crept from behind, up the winding stair case, from deep in the shadows, straining to hear any words that might help. A door opened. Three pairs of booted feet made their way through. The door closed, leaving him back in the utter black near the bottom of the steps.

  Melegal leaned against the wall and fanned himself with his hat. He licked the salt from his lips. I’m thirsty. He ran the strange key through his hands. A feeling of satisfaction ran through him.

  “Ah …,” he clutched at his stomach.

  A wave of nausea came, and he doubled over. A feverish sweat broke out on his brow. What is happening to me? He began panting for his breath.

  The sound of a door opening burst in his ears. Whoever just went in to Lord Almen’s was coming back. The sounds of booted feet were rushing down the steps, but Melegal was already on the bottom. Threatening voices began to shout. What had happened? What am I doing here?

  He shut his eyes and recalled everything he’d already seen with the light. Through the pitch black he bottomed out at the stairwell, stumbled, and dashed through the dark to the last door he had the key for. Without looking over his shoulder he jammed the key in the door and turned. Click. A sense of dread filled him as the footsteps closed in. A cry and crash roared out from above. He propped the door open as he slipped off his boot, ran into the alcove, hung the key on the peg, ran back, pulled open the door, rushed inside and closed it. I should have stayed home in bed. He screamed, or so he thought he did. Something powerful lifted him from his feet, turned him inside out and hurled him through time and space.

  ***

  “I saw nothing, Lord Almen,” the woman said.

  Lord Almen stood inside the alcove, touching each and every key. His instincts had never failed him. He had a sleeping guard in front of his office quarters followed by another coincidence.

  He turned to the woman that stood a finger shorter than he and said, “But you did smell cinnamon, did you not?”

  “As faint as the dew on a honeysuckle,” she said, as the lantern light deepened the scars over her sensuous wine red lips.

  Lord Almen walke
d around the room and said, “No man could have escaped so quickly, but we cannot be certain thanks to these two buffoons that stumbled in the stairwell.”

  “It will never happen again my Lord,” she said, ramming her sword in the nearest man’s chest. The other's eyes widened like saucers.

  Slice!

  Lord Almen hacked that one with his cutlass, biting deep into his shoulder and neck. The floor moaned with life, the tiles shifting and sucking. He watched in morbid fascination as the dead men’s blood was sucked into the floor and disappeared. Their bodies withered and turned to dust. That chilling sight never grew old for the Royal. The chamber of death was as deadly as fascinating. He smirked.

  “As for you,” he said, wrapping his arm around the woman’s waist and kissing her neck, “it’s been too long, my little black queen.”

  “Don’t you mean Brigand Queen?” She purred.

  ***

  What happened?

  The door handle Melegal had been holding was gone. Part of his mind should have been as well. He patted himself up and down. Dagger. Boots. Belt. Coins. Knife. Hat. He couldn’t be where he was, though. The room was still black as night, but his ears were on high alert as his fingers found the edges of a wall. He fully expected to be inside of a corridor or tunnel of some sort, instead it was nothing more than a closet and another stone door. He ran his fingers over the keyhole, kneeled down and took a look. Huh?

  He pushed the door open and walked through.

  The woman in the room screamed and jumped so high her head almost hit the low ceiling. The startled look on her face was one for the ages.

  “W-Where did you come from?” she stammered as she pointed at him.