The Darkslayer: Book 04 - Danger and the Druid

by Craig Halloran

  “You pardon, Detective.”

  “Take your hounds and get some air.”

  The man nodded, rounded up his green-faced men and departed.

  Sam the barkeep gave Melegal a curious look. He was certain that Sam’s memory was as keen as his business sense, so it wasn’t likely he’d forgotten his face, no matter how long ago it had been. Sam’s eyes lingered on his brooch and then on his eyes.

  “Don’t ask,” he said, pointing to the top shelf. “How about some wine?” He looked around. “White.”The barkeep reached below the bar, saying, “The good stuff is down here.” He plunked a crystal wine glass on the bar and filled up half the glass.

  “Tell me what happened, Sam.”

  Sam rolled his sleeves up over his thick forearms and said:

  “A man came in here, tall and blond, as out of place and ugly as an orc. He was like nothing I’ve ever seen: face split with a jagged scar …” Melegal stopped drinking. “ … but he had coin, plenty of it. His armor had the insignia of a Royal. He could barely sputter a word, so I gave him some grog.” Sam made a sour face. “He smelled like death. We cleared everyone out just before the City Watch came.”

  It can’t be. Tonio’s out butchering grown men like children. Can the man be stopped? Are my own rumors true?

  Sam kept wringing the rag in his meaty hands, and sweat dripped from his brow.

  “Detective, he was that Royal, the one you and your brawny friend tussled with. I thought I’d never see another night like that night.”

  Slat. The barkeep's eyes flitted to the floor where new planks had yet to blend in with the old. Melegal could have sworn that thunderous crack had broken Tonio’s back when Venir slammed him to the floor. Instead, it had only raised his ambitions to a new level. He never understood what possessed that man about Venir.

  Sam poured himself a drink and continued.

  “Not until tonight, anyway. It was a nightmare gone mad.” The barkeep was a hardened man, a retired soldier, but he was choked up when he spoke. “He mutilated those men. Fast and powerful strokes. Even when they clipped him with a blade or stabbed him, he still moved without hesitation, unhindered by pain and showing no mercy.”

  The barkeep wiped his brow and refilled Melegal's glass.

  “What did he do after that?”

  “I’d never been so scared in my life, not even on the battlefield. After they were all dead, things got really weird.”

  Melegal leaned forward, careful not to catch his sleeve on any blood, and asked, “How so?”

  “He screamed his name—Tonio. That’s when I knew for sure the monster was actually him. Then he asked me where he could find Venir. He said he was going to kill every straw-headed man in Bone until he found him. I’ve got a brother with blond hair. He shaved his head weeks ago.”

  “Pah! He is the one killing all those people?”

  “I suppose, but he’s a Royal, right? Why would a Royal—”

  Venir is not even here, and he still causes me trouble. Melegal whisked his blade under the man’s double chin. In a very audible whisper he said, “Listen to me, Sam. If you want to live much longer, you will forget Tonio’s name. Understand?” He said it while pushing the blade farther up into the folds of the man’s chin.

  The barkeep croaked in acknowledgment.

  “Another thing … who drugged Venir that night he came back, Tonio?”

  “He paid me. I didn’t want to do it, but he gave me little choice.”

  It was probably true; Melegal was confident about that. But it wasn’t the first time Venir had been removed from a bar under another’s power. Something else was bothering him about the barkeep, though.

  “The night of the challenge, you were part of that. Was Tonio acting on his own will? It seemed very uncharacteristic for the Royal to take up matters with a commoner.”

  “Er … well...”

  Melegal drew a thin red line on the man’s neck.

  “Yes.” Sam stammered. “There are lots of Royal houses here. Their brats come in and make sport of my women and other patrons. But the Slergs and Klings set Tonio up. I already told the other Detective—the one with the hat—the same.”

  Hah! McKnight held back from Almen. I can’t believe it! The Klings have a hand in this. The plot thickens. Dead big hatted bastard had some stones after all.

  “Not a word of this, Sam. Because if you think Tonio is scary, you don’t want to meet his father.” He could feel the barkeep's Adams apple roll over the blade just before he pulled it back and walked out the door. Melegal had things to do. The Coming of Age Games were later today.

  The Slergs. All but extinct now. The Klings. The 2nd most powerful house in Bone. And they wanted the Almens dead. This card will be worth something.

  He made his way down the street, thinking of Venir, the man behind it all. His son Brak was scheduled to die today, and Melegal had no way of saving him. Seems the mute galoot won’t have the fortune of his father.

  Tonio, a dead madman walking, was on the loose, still seeking vengeance on his missing friend. Can the impudent bastard even die? Perhaps it’s time to reunite him with his gorgeous, succulent and vile mother. I could arrange that today. By the way, Lorda Almen, your son is the murdering bastard. He’s in that alley.

  And on top of all that, Melegal knew something else: there was indeed a key that would cut him for the grasp of the Almens. He just didn’t know where it would take him. Not that it mattered. I see no reason to let Sefron live a day longer. Perhaps he’ll find his way into the deadly arena as well.

  He removed his hat, fanned himself and made his way into the shade of the alleys. Blasted suns. It was one of those days, just as hot inside as out. He noted a grey cat pinning down a large brown rat that was inches from a sewer drain. Almost. A small tickle ran unseen fingers up his back as a hooded man in a cloak cut off one end of the narrow alley.

  Gaghk! What is this?

  He slipped his hat back onto his head and slowed his pace as the big man came his way at a brisk pace, along with a gleaming piece of steel. Perhaps another course would suit me better.

  He spun back the other direction on the heel of his boot and was greeted by more twinkling sharp steel coming his way. He thought of the assassin that had hemmed him in months ago. The day the halfling saved him. Not again. He was pinned in with nowhere to go but up, and that wasn’t possible. Or, cry for help. Blasted thieves! He whipped out his short blades, the Sisters. Perhaps I’ll scare them away. The appearance of his blades only prompted a lowly chuckle and a charge.

  CHAPTER 58

  “This beast is magnificent!” Cass exclaimed for about the tenth consecutive time in a day. “I find it impossible to believe that it serves a man. A warrior, you say? Warriors are hardly known for good character. Nothing but sweat and seed spouting louts that swill too much ale and boast impossible tales.”

  Fogle rubbed his neck and smiled. “It seems you’ve already met with Chongo’s master then? Hmm … or maybe you’re referring to the brutes that kept your tent in the mountains? Maybe your true feelings for big sweaty men are beginning to surface.”

  Cass shot him a dangerous look from atop Chongo’s saddle as they traveled south from Dwarven Hole. Then she turned away. Please ignore me. The trip couldn’t be any more unbearable. He’d become accustomed to the cool settings below the ground, so the burning sunlight was already wearing him down. He had been picking at Cass and she picking back for the past day. There was little thanks for his part in their efforts at renewing Chongo back to full health. He’d expected some gratitude but was granted only further disappointment. Women!

  The woman and Chongo led the journey, to where, he did not know. All he could do was watch Cass’s sensuous figure sway in rhythm with Chongo’s gait. The big dog's thick pelt of brown hair had returned, and its tongues hung playfully from its mouths. Cass was right: Chongo was a magnificent creature, padding across the toasted landscape, stiff black tails whipping back and forth in the air. Witho
ut having any idea where he was going, he had a feeling Chongo did know.

  “Mood,” he said to the giant dwarf that was riding a horse along his side, “do you really think Venir is in the South? I’d think we’d be heading north, towards the Mist, where we saw him last, and let Chongo sniff out his trail.”

  “The pooch knows where he’s going, I figure,” Mood added along with a plume of pale blue cigar smoke.

  “You figure?”

  “Aye. Whether Chongo’s tracking er huntin’ it’s all part of the 'venture.”

  “Well, what would he be hunting if he’s not tracking?”

  “Underlings.”

  Fogle stiffened as he pulled his horse to a stop.

  “Whoa. Now, let’s go over this, Mood. I want to find Venir. I don’t want to hunt underlings.” His bookish voice began to rise. “Which is it? I don’t want to be prepared for one thing only to be dragged into another. I just want to find the man and go home.”

  “Ye’ve forgotten how to use the gray matter in that melon head of yer’s already, haven’t ya? Ye can’t be prepared fer everything. You survive with what you got. Now, the land's crawling with underlings. If Venir’s in the land, he goes where the underlings go. If Chongo is in the land, it’s the same. Chongo will sniff out the black little fiends. If we kill em’ first, it’s a good thing. Besides, why you think I brought me kin along? To protect yer eccentric lady? If ye want ta’ go home, then go. Ya can drink all yer mother's milk ya want when you get there.” Mood snapped his reigns. “Yah!”

  Fogle sat as glum-faced as ever while the rest of the party trotted past him on ponies that looked like Clydesdales: ten grim-faced dwarves with notable scars, beards hanging down to their bellies, dressed in chainmail, partial plate and leather armor. Bringing up the rear was the biggest one of them all, a Blood Ranger like Mood, except his skin was dark brown and his beard looked like a burning bush. The dwarf’s deep blue eyes met his as he stopped his horse and stared. Fogle noted the two swords that crossed his broad back and the enormous crossbow that hung from the saddle.

  I guess we’ll be dining with underlings after all.

  “Alright, Eethum, I’m going,” he said, digging his heels into the horse and trotting forward. Saddle sore already.

  As he made his way back toward the front, his gaze wandered to the small of Cass’s supine back. The woman, pale as cotton linen, chose to wear little more than her abundant hair draped over a tight rose-colored travel tunic woven by the dwarven women. The garment enhanced her excellent features, adding a more rugged tone to an otherwise soft looking woman. As if in a trance, he made his way up beside her.

  “Ahem.”

  She left her chin high, pink eyes forward, delicate hands rubbing two of the massive dog's four ears.

  He cleared his throat again.

  She glared at him and huffed, “Oh … what is it, Flippant Fogle? Have you come to insult me some more? Make light of my yearnings? Boast about your moments splashing in a Dwarven bath?” She turned away. “Please, my sweet, layer it on.”

  He blushed. My Sweet. Had he actually said that? It seemed like the entire world had heard. The strangest thing of all was that he was positive he’d never even used the word in conversation before. He didn’t even have a sweet spell component. Once again he found his tongue thickening in his mouth. Blast!

  He fell back.

  “You fool!” she said, whipping her neck around like a striking snake. “Get up here!”

  “But, you didn’t seem like you wanted to speak with me,” he stammered.

  “I just spoke to you, did I not, Fogle Fool!”

  “Well …”

  “And we are talking now, are we not?”

  He dipped his chin and shook his head saying, “Yes.”

  “Then say what you must say. The journey is long, and I don’t think the dwarves will be providing much conversation.”

  Fogle wanted to say everything and nothing at the same time. The woman captivated him like a string makes a cat watch and angered him like a bee stinging a raging bull. I have no idea where to start. I wonder what Venir would say. Ah … I can’t do it. I can blast an earth elemental to smithereens, but I can’t spit out a single word to speak to a woman I’ve slept with before. Speak or die.

  “Well, did I ever tell you that your eyes are as pretty as a bed of pink roses?”

  Cass’s body lurched as she let out an abrupt chuckle.

  Chongo’s massive right head loomed his way and growled. His steed nickered and stammered.

  “Easy, Boy,” Fogle said, rubbing the horse's chestnut neck. He could feel the horse's heart thundering the same as his. I guess I should have expected the laughter, but I didn’t think it would piss the dog off, too. Now what? He stooped over in the saddle and trailed a little further back.

  “I’m still listening,” Cass said as she stretched her slender arms in the air.

  He noticed a tiny grin forming on the corners of her mouth. I think she liked that.

  “Er … your hair is more lustrous than the twilight moons. As brilliant in the day as in the night.”

  She flipped her hair over her shoulders.

  “When I see you, I can think of nothing. When I can’t see you, I can think only of you.” Oh, that’s horrible. Here it comes. More giggles. What will she call me now, Fogle Failure with Pleasing Words?.

  She gazed over at him with a twinkling curiosity in her eyes and said, “Is that true?”

  He shrugged and said, “I suppose.”

  “Hmph. I like it.”

  “Well, your bosoms are as—”

  “Fogle!”

  “What?”

  “You’ve said enough. Speak no more, or else ruin it.” She shook her head. “I think I shall savor that nectar that just crossed your lips for now.”

  She smiled at him, warm and welcoming, before turning away. A great bit of relief filled him. Maybe he was beginning to understand women better after all.

  Chongo stopped and hunkered down with a growl. The beast's shoulders rippled with agitated muscle, his snouts bared dripping canines, ears alert. A shadow shot across the sky, blotting out the suns for a moment.

  “What in the …,” he muttered, turning his head to the sky.

  A massive projectile of rock come crashing down to the ground, barreling into the small host of dwarven fighters. Dust and rock scattered everywhere, coating them from head to toe in dust and smoke.

  “Mood!” Fogle yelled, “What in Bish was that?”

  He could barely see a thing. Out of the dirty mist, Mood pulled his mount along his side, giant hand axes ready to go.

  “You take care of yer lady! Me and me men shall deal with the giants!”

  “Giants!”

  “Aye! Huzzah!”

  A battle cry rose up from the dwarves as the tiny army scrambled onto their mounts and forged ahead. Chongo and Cass were right behind them.

  “Cass!” he cried out, just as another boulder crashed into the ground ahead. He couldn’t hear anything but thundering hooves and bellowing dwarves intermingled with a woman’s terrified scream. Giants and dwarves and druids, oh my!

  CHAPTER 59

  The call. It had come after what had seemed like another eternity. Every moment away from Bish was as dull as dull could be. There was nothing of interest where he was, only other creatures as discontented as he, bored, lonely and isolated. He avoided them all, watching the world of Bish, waiting for the call. And when it came, he was thankful, if such a thing was ever possible for the imp called Eep.

  He hissed with joy as he said his first words on his return to the main world of Bish, “As you wish, Master.”

  Verbard, the entertaining one, had recalled him with a summoning spell. He’d grown quite fond of the Underling Lord, despite all the powerful mage had put him through. Lord Verbard didn’t hold his reigns as tight as his presiding master, the underling cleric Oran. Verbard respected his needs to kill and destroy and never made him hold back. And now, he w
as on a mission to kill again and this time his prey was not as typical as he was accustomed to.

  Kill! Kill! Kill!

  Eep salivated as he zipped in and out of the black tunnels that surrounded the Current. His large mouth hung open with razor sharp teeth waiting to devour his prey, and his powerful taloned hands clutched in and out. He could see and hear everything within a quarter mile as his bat-like wings hummed through the black. The sound came fast before it was gone, echoing over the waters, and when his prey turned, it was too late.

  A troll, twelve feet of monstrous mass, stood in the waters, a large stalactite club gripped in its hand. Eep’s large orb of an eye opened larger before narrowing as he zipped underneath the Troll’s clumsy blow and plunged into its stomach. Eep’s tiny earholes were filled with its wails and screams as he blinked his little muscular body—almost four feet of muscle and taloned fury—into the troll's belly and tore it from the inside out. He twisted the troll's innards, gashed its lungs and ate its heart before he clawed his way back out and watched the dying troll sink into the current. More!

  Troll’s blood wasn’t as delicious as a man's, and the smell, even to his hawkish nose, was quite awful as he sputtered the gore from his wings. It was the seventh troll he had killed today, and it never got old. He was hovering over the waters now, head looking back and forth, when he heard a voice in his head. It was Verbard.

  Eep, return!.

  His long serpent tongue flicked out when he said, “Yes, Master.”

  ***

  The battle with the trolls and the fish golem had taken its toll on the underling army, but those that traveled on foot reported back they had been unscathed. Verbard stood at the helm of the middle barge, alongside him Jottenhiem, his most vicious commander.

  Verbard’s silver eyes flickered in the blue lantern light as his clawed index finger scratched at the pale fur on his cheek. He scanned the surface above him, the tunnel once again opening up into a massive cave. Humans. He could feel their nearness. Thousands of them, soft, self-indulgent, weak but irrepressible. Now, he was going to get to lead the first strike into their very heart: The City of Bone. With no more than 500 underlings, at that.