The Darkslayer: Book 04 - Danger and the Druid

by Craig Halloran

  Melegal shrugged, looking over his shoulder and said, “The bedroom.”

  He might as well have been a ghost in her eyes, and he liked it. I don’t know what happened, but that really was something. “Perhaps you should sit down,” he said.

  Instead, Haze came over and wrapped her arms around him. He could feel her body tremble like a frightened animal in his arms. Oh, this is good.

  “You’re real. That’s all I need to know,” she sighed.

  It was the kind of answer he needed for now, and if anyone should sit, it should be him. Keys. There were seven in his life now, one as significant as the first. Great power lay within one, but what power did one have with all seven? He pulled his hat off and tossed it on the peg with a little laugh. He’d managed to dodge certain death. Not too shabby, Rat.

  Haze filled his hand with a glass of port.

  He shrugged at her and propped his feet up, letting the crackling embers warm them and wondering. What kind of power did Lord Almen have? How desperate must Sefron have been to align himself with him? But, how could Sefron have ever known?

  “Uh … I missed you,” Haze said, rubbing his shoulders.

  “Not now, I’m still trying to figure out how I got here.”

  “But, when did you … I was just in there.”

  “All in due time Haze, now shush, and relish in my presence.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed. His heart was still beating like a bunny rabbit's. His moment of doom had passed, but that wasn’t all. His obsession with finding the key had moved on as well. Whatever possessed him to do something so foolish? As desperate as he was, he’d never considered breaking into Lord Almen’s office, and he was certain Lord Almen would have his suspicions. Still, the keys had his undivided attention now. Where did those other doors lead? Could they take you anywhere you ever wanted to go? And what was with all of those strange markings on the wall, the floors?

  The dawn's first light crept in through a small stained glass window over the tiny kitchen area. Its bright light ate at his brain. It was time to get up, but all he wanted to do was go to bed. There was something he had to do, though. The Time! Haze squeaked as he jumped out of the chair and grabbed his hat.

  “Where—?”

  He snatched the bottle of port from the table and headed out the door, bounding the steps two at a time. He had a meeting with Lord Almen at the castle, and he was already late.

  CHAPTER 53

  After all his years dreaming of adventure, Morley Sickle'd had enough over the past few months. It was time to kill himself. He climbed willow branches. Pickles. Pickles. Pickles. Crawled out on a branch. Cheese. Cheese. Cheese. And dove headfirst into quicksand that awaited him below. Jig. Jig. Jig. The first moments weren’t so bad. The murk was warm and comforting as he sank, ever so slowly, into its awaiting darkness. He could hear nothing save for his own heartbeat. In a few moments he’d be listening to his last. Peace.

  Elsewhere, Scorch, the omnipotent man, was distracted. Swamp trolls, six in all, had taken them by surprise. Morley's man-sized captor, blond hair flowing over his shoulders, was swinging a glowing great sword he’d procured from thin air. The trolls piled around Scorch, twelve feet of evil and hate, teeth chomping at the man who’d invaded their swamp. The trolls didn’t stand a chance, but Morley had seen his chance and fled.

  Instinct seized his withering bones. His air supply came to an abrupt halt as he sucked his first taste of sandy bile down his throat. It was awful, choking and dying. Suddenly, life didn’t seem so bad. Help! The quicksand continued to surge down his throat, burning his lungs, as he swam with utter futility in the puddle. I’m going to die. His body twitched and lurched. Scorch!

  Morley hacked. A deep breath of air filled his sandy lungs. He coughed and hacked more. He was on his hands and knees, his body shaking in pain from his violent seizure. It was pure joy compared to where he was before. The grit of the land was a familiar companion as he wiped away the wet dirt that covered his eyes. The first thing he saw was gleaming steel sunk deep into the ground. A pair of booted feet straddled it.

  “Morley, seriously, what did I tell you about killing yourself?” Scorch said, voice tranquil with a layer of agitation.

  He tilted his head up. Scorch’s gore splattered face was almost serene, eyes glittering like torches. He coughed and spit.

  “Morley,” Scorch said in his upbeat and authoritative tone, “what do you say?”

  “Thank you.”

  “Ah, now that’s better, and you’re welcome,” Scorch said, squatting down in front of him. “Can you not see now living is better than dying now?”

  He spit another mouthful of grit away. Scorch was a manner of man like no other. Dressed in a common tunic of leather, the man made the miserable, fog-laden swamp seem like a palace. His voice was soothing, but pressing, borderline arrogant and annoying. Morley couldn’t help but like the man and hate him just the same.

  “I suppose.”

  “Morley, why despise me? I’ve brought you no harm. I’ve showered you with gifts and look,” he stretched his arm over the surrounding landscape, “I’ve killed all these evil trolls.”

  He looked over his shoulder. A troll, grey and green as a toad, lay sprawled along the ground, decapitated. Another leaned against a tree, clutching a gaping hole in its chest, dead. Entrails hung from the branches, and the foul smell of a charred husk lingered in the air. He shook his head.

  “What is it, Man? Why don’t you like me?” Scorch asked, his voice more demanding.

  “I don’t understand you.” He paused. Scorch gave him a pleading look. “Uh … you read my thoughts. You’re too powerful!” he yelled, then covered his face, cowering.

  Scorch stood up and said, “Ah … so you want my power.”

  Morley’s dander began to rise.

  No! I want to be left alone! I want you to leave me alone!

  Scorch studied his nails and said, “I can’t do that, Morley.”

  Why?

  “I like you, Morley … and, I don’t want to.”

  Morley felt his mind going numb.

  “But, I’ll tell you what I can do. I’ll make you the second most powerful man in the city.”

  It wasn’t such a bad idea. After all, he had been a jig churning nobody all of his life. Now, other than his peace of mind, he could have anything he wanted: Women. Power. Gold. Women. Besides, Scorch didn’t seem to mind what he thought. Of course, he’d gone that route before, only to see a lot of people needlessly die and suffer at Scorch’s will and pleasure. It had gotten to him, but better them than him.

  “Now you’re thinking, Morley. Now you’re thinking like those troublesome Royals. So, you ready to clean yourself up and head back to the city?”

  Morley nodded. There seems to be no other choice.

  “Excellent. I’m starting to miss my moldy cheese and pickles.”

  CHAPTER 54

  Trinos sat on the water fountain's edge, her sensuous arm dangling in its cool waters, basking in the early sunlight. The fountain bubbled and trickled from the mouth of a large fish, endless and sparkling. Around her were many people, some carrying pots, others clay urns, all nodding or bowing in greeting. Corrin stood nearby, a gangly man of medium height and build, wrapped in a light grey cloak, his fingers tapping on his chest. The man had been a thief and cutthroat all his life, but that had changed now. His purpose had been redefined, but his doubts remained persistent.

  “They’re coming,” he warned. “I told you they’d be coming. You can’t just open up a fountain in the middle of nowhere and think the Royals won’t find out. Son of a boar! There’s a dozen of them!” He shuffled closer to Trinos.

  She yawned as she gathered her elegant feet and stood. Stretched out in the light, she saw Corrin gawp at her magnificent framework. He had the look of a child seeing a rainbow for the first time. Of all the men she’d encountered, his mind, though savaged by the brutal world, remained respectful. “I’ll handle this. You
just see the others to safety.”

  “Er … safety?”

  She gave him a look.

  “Right away,” he said. “Get your pots and go, rodents! The Royals come to fetch their water. They’ll have your hides if they catch you with it. Skin you like hogs. Especially you,” he said, pointing at a fat woman that waddled as fast as she could, carrying a full pot of water between her legs. “Yer gonna need more water than that to wash that thick hide of yours, Tula!”

  Trinos smirked. Corrin was as effective a communicator as he was crude, and for some reason she liked the way he said things.

  Two rows of horses trotted in a direct path toward the fountain. The men atop the mounts wore heavy armor, swords dangling from saddle scabbards. One lone man carried the banner whose gold and forest green colors she’d already come to know. They spread out, cutting off her path from going anywhere else, as well as Corrin’s. She gazed up at a large man who was blocking her sunlight.

  “Can I help you?” she asked.

  Trinos could feel their needs: their hunger, anger and lust. The dark clad men weren’t here for negotiations. Instead, they were here for humiliation and with orders to destroy, if need be, all the people she protected. In their sight, not one was worth saving. Six of the twelve men swung their legs from their saddles, dropping heavy boots onto the cobblestone road. Corrin became pale at her side as the formidable group of trained soldiers closed in.

  The leader folded his arms over the neck of his mount and leaned forward. He had a thick head of yellow hair and a black mustache. He ran his eyes up and down her body, then flicked them towards the burbling fountain and back to her. He cleared his throat.

  “This fountain is not for public use. It is property of the Royals.” He took a closer look at his surroundings, his black brows arching. “District 27 is under the watch of the Kling household. You are trespassing. You must go.”

  The soldier’s voice was cool and condescending at the same time, his thoughts wicked, but in control. He’d been with many fine women before, but nothing that compared to her. What did women think of such men? Pigs. She smiled and offered a suggestion.

  “We are only serving the needs of the Royals. No harm is being done. Come, let your horse and men drink from this fountain of Bish’s cooling waters. Perhaps you would like to help serve this purpose as well?”

  The man blanched and swallowed hard. His face became knit with confusion. She could feel the others begin to thirst for something other than herself. Their eyes began to gaze over the water.

  A feminine chuckle came from nowhere, followed by a clapping sound.

  “Bravo, Radiant One. Bravo.”

  Trinos gasped. The horses stirred. Something humanoid shimmered in the air.

  A short haired woman, clad in robes of deep purple with copper trim, appeared a few feet away. She was older, her face crinkled like a sun beaten hag, her eyes luminous and dangerous. Many earrings pierced her ears, and mystic power emanated from her persona. She was hunched over as she looked Trinos up and down.

  “My, what a beautiful spell you have woven, Sorceress,” she said in a voice as frozen as ice. “I myself may have struggled with such a powerful suggestion. You have all of these dogs’ tongues hanging from mouths, and you have their tails wagging. Next, they'll be romping in the waters like children.” The woman’s bracelets jangled as she lifted her arm and snapped her finger.

  Pop!

  The soldiers blinked and rubbed their glazed eyes. Trinos cringed. How had this woman evaded her detection? It seemed Bish had surprises for even her.

  “I only offered them a drink from my fountain, no spell required.”

  The woman let out a short laugh as she rubbed her knobby chin.

  “A well versed liar too, I see. Hmmm … so tell me where you hail from,” the woman said, fondling her platinum hair. “What is your name?”

  “Trinos. And you are?”

  “Manamis. Lorda Manamis Kling,” she said, looking for a reaction.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Trinos said, extending her hand.

  Manamis slapped it away. Her voice took on a more dangerous edge than before.

  “Fool! You’re about to be defiled and then shackled by these very same men. These pathetic people will be slain and fed to the furnace. You dare try to place your hand upon a Royal? I’ll have your hands removed, your tongue cut out, your pretty eyes gouged—”

  Trinos fell to her knees. Corrin followed suit, trembling at her side.

  “I beg forgiveness, Lorda Manamis Kling!” she cried. “I only sought good—”

  “Too late to grovel, you little necromancing whore! Soldiers! Seize her and slay these wretched people! Each and every one!”

  Trinos kept her head down, hiding the smile on her face. She saw Manamis’s feet shuffle back toward the men.

  “What are you waiting for? I said seize … er?”

  Trinos lifted her chin and watched the look on the stupefied woman. The men, each and every one, were gone.

  Manamis looked like someone was pulling her tongue from her face. Her ringed fingers twitched and grasped in the air. Trinos could feel the woman’s power growing, her fingers glowing. Manamis’s power was dismaying. Trinos had yet to sense such a force before now. The woman’s shout could be heard echoing over a quarter mile round.

  “Impossible!”

  She whirled on Trinos, hands on hips, as she looked down on her like a mother over a spoiled child.

  Trinos's eyes radiated in the reflection in Manamis’s sunken eyes.

  “District 27 is under my good care, Manamis. Go in peace, and do not return ...”

  Manamis hissed a reply, “Never! Your illusion does not fool me.” The older woman flinched at the sound of horrifying screams coming from above.

  Manamis looked up just in time to see the Kling soldiers falling from the sky. Metal and screaming flesh smashing into the cobblestone road was as sickening a sound as there ever was, and they splattered all around the street. Manamis gawped at the gore as the horses reared and galloped away.

  “As I was saying,” Trinos said, dusting off her hands, “go in peace and do not return, or die in a fashion far more horrible.”

  Manamis gave her one last look, eyes narrowing like needles before she screeched and disappeared.

  Corrin stood up and said, “Think she’ll be back?”

  Trinos shrugged, “Certainly. She hungers for power. She won’t be able to let that go.”

  “Why not kill her?” Corrin said, examining a nearby pile of flesh.

  “She’ll have an awful lot of explaining to do. For her, that’s worse than death. After all, she might not survive her explanation.”

  Corrin yelled out, “Somebody get a cart and some shovels. Make it quick, else we’ll have a swarm of flies all over.” He put his hands on his hips. “What a mess, but I like it. The only good Royal is a dead Royal.”

  She resumed her seat by the fountain and let out a soft sigh. Next time, I better be more careful.

  CHAPTER 55

  Tonio didn’t even notice the down pour of rain as he sloshed through the city streets. Tiny rivers were filling the sewers below, forcing him to abandon the sanctity of his rotting abode. The rain splattered on his scarred and split face as he looked up into the sky. The moons were not there. He’d grown fond of them, two beacons that he could trust. Their light gave him clarity.

  His mother, Lorda Almen, used to walk with him through the castle gardens at night. She often commented on the moons. Her gentle arm always hung inside the nook of his elbow. He was walking in such a fashion now, down the flooding street, not paying any mind to the district in which he wandered. There was no cause for alarm. Few—barring all murderers and criminals—ventured out this time of night, and the rain made for an even more unlikely reception.

  “Mutha,” he said. “I come soon home.”

  He growled. His garbled voice was beyond comprehension. Yet he talked to his imaginary mother all the same. Reflecting
on fragments of memory, he tried to explain to her what had happened: a two-headed beast had mauled him. He never contemplated how he now lived. He’d died once, or almost had. He'd been resurrected by an underling, only to be severed in twain by an axe as big as the moon. Spidery men had brought him back. Stitch by stitch, their threads laced with fine magic had meticulously taken his innards and put them back inside him. He told his imaginary mother how his throat had been severed and re-sewn, which was why his tongue was thick as leather. He told how somewhere in there, he’d fought a man with a spider's head to the death. His memories were a blur most days, but today they were good.

  He looked up to see where his booted feet had taken him. A sign hanging on two chains swayed in the wind. A monstrous creature of color was painted on the wooden sign: a lion, serpent and goat all on one body.

  “Kye-mar-ah.”

  A familiar feeling swept over him as he stepped inside the entry way. He pushed his way through the heavy double doors and found himself face to face with two men every bit as big as he. He paid the startled looks on their faces no mind as he stood dripping inside the foyer.

  A bald-headed man unfolded his meaty arms from his chest, said, “Your fee is triple,” and held out his hand. Tony reached inside the folds of his tattered cloak and handed the man a small purse. The two men smiled, parted and watched him pass. There was a familiar smell, sweet and musky. The interior décor was refined and uncommon. The smoky room quieted as he made his way to the bar and sat down.

  The red-faced bartender recoiled. “ Er … What will it be?”

  Tonio looked over his shoulder at a table where a finely dressed and aghast couple sat. The table was filled with bottled wine and steaming food. He tipped his chin up.

  “S-Sam get.” He dropped a small gemstone on the table.

  Sam’s eyes popped open as the fireburst gemstone disappeared under his rag. “Right away.”

  For several minutes Tonio sat, motionless, while the other patrons quietly made their way out. One by one they rustled by, casting nervous glances his way, before disappearing through the front and rear doors. If he noticed, it didn’t show. Sam the barkeep, in the meantime, filled a stone cut tumbler with a bottle of grog. Tonio sniffed it and drank. There was a burning sensation, and he coughed. He snatched the bottle from the counter and tipped it up. Down his throat it poured, one ounce after the other, burning like living fire and filling his belly. He slammed the bottle on the bar.