The Darkslayer: Book 04 - Danger and the Druid

by Craig Halloran

  “Is that all you have, Fiends!”

  He snapped up his shield as a small barrage of black missiles assailed him from the robed underling on the left.

  Tink. Tink. Tink. Tink.

  They reflected away and sizzled into the ground.

  “Hah!”

  Another urgent warning came to his mind. Power coursed from the other mage's hands, sending a streak of energy searing downward. Venir stepped into it, shield first, and laughed. The mage’s power slammed into the shield with blue and white energy, rocking him back, his feet sliding back in the dirt before the power faded.

  Venir flashed the two underlings a fierce grin and charged their retreating forms.

  “Now it’s my turn!”

  He ran and leapt high in the air. The first creature howled as Venir's fingertips caught the bottom of its cloak and pulled it to the ground. A pair of clawed fingers left a burning gash under his chin as he pinned it to the ground and choked the life out of it in his mighty grasp. The other underling continued its hasty retreat towards the camp and out of sight.

  Thwwhip! A cord of web caught his shield. He sliced it away.“Blasted insects!”

  The giant spider with its basket full of underling warriors had arrived. Venir held onto his shield as the spider began to reel him in. The monstrous beast's fanged mouth dripped with acid that sizzled the ground, and its beady red eyes were filled with hunger. A javelin glanced off the side of his helm. Another stuck in the ground by his foot.

  “I’m going to kill your pet! I’ll kill you all! HUZZAH!”

  He was an inferno. His mind, metal and magic one. Underling destruction was his game. Venir was his name. And no spider, no matter how big, was going to stop him from slaughtering them all.

  Venir charged. Bolts and javelins assailed him, glancing off his armor and web covered shield. He didn’t feel a thing. Covering the thirty feet between him and the spider in an instant, shoving Brool down to the handle into the spider’s brain. Its enormous body lurched and bucked, tossing the underling riders to the ground before it collapsed. Something sizzled Venir’s skin as he chopped more hefty strokes into the huge arachnid’s brain. Then he whirled on the scrambling pack of underlings, each face aghast and angry. It fed him.

  Two, armored in leathers and chain, rushed up from behind, swords clipping at his sides as he dove over the spider's twitching legs and rolled back to his feet.

  “There’s no insect bigger than me!”Keep moving! Venir still had his consciousness as he parried their darting strikes that clanged from his shield and clipped the dwarven scale mail. He fought on as all of the underlings closed in, waiting for a blinding rage to consume him. One hard chop followed another, faster and faster. His massive iron-willed thews struck in powerful cobra like stokes.

  Slice!

  Brool removed a yellow-eyed underling's head from its shoulders, black-red blood spurting into the sky.

  Crunch!

  He chopped the knees from beneath another, while catching a wild sword stroke swinging into his shield with a loud clang. Venir wrought death, anticipated every move, weaved in and out of harm’s way, every strike a death blow. A taloned eagle fighting sparrows. He cracked an underling's head open with his shield, cutting its attack short. He kicked another in the groin. Spiked another in the neck and cut the last one in twain at the waist.

  Venir labored for his breath. His oily sweat mixed with blood and gore, some his, some theirs. Underling bodies were scattered on and around the enormous spider, making up a revolting sight. The stench of baking death was heavy in the air. The fight lasted less than a minute, but it seemed to go quicker. Venir jabbed Brool’s spike into the heart of an underling that was twitching nearby.

  He ripped it out and said, “Seven’s a good start!”

  He swung his helmeted head around at the familiar sound of battle. Steel crashed on steel, cries of mayhem and triumph roared inside his helm. He’d never seen so many fighting underlings before. The dusty smoke from horse hooves rolled over the camp with a flair of mystic energy cracking in the air. The fight inside him propelled his legs forward over the wasteland, of his own will this time, not the helm's, yet Venir felt stronger than ever. Today was as good a day to die as any, especially if you were an underling.

  Faster!

  The tide was turning on the valiant Royal Riders as the monstrous spiders closed in on the camp and sprayed them down with webs and anger. Chittering underlings were still spewing from holes in the ground. Venir’s powerful legs lengthened his stride, closing the gap at the pace of a galloping horse. He couldn’t get there fast enough, and his black eyelets steamed behind his helm. Ahead, an underling mage reappeared, and he wasn’t alone. Ten pale white creatures scurried beneath him, all heading his way on all fours, cutting him off from the battle, where he was certain he was needed. Albino urchlings, nostrils flaring and fangs gnashing, closed in on him with the speed of wild wolves. They were the same vicious beasts that had almost killed Chongo. Venir’s head exploded in rage as he raised his axe high in the air and screamed …

  CHAPTER 62

  Hemmed in like a rooster in a chicken coup, Melegal pointed his blades at the opposite ends of the alley, which was becoming smaller. The big one that blocked his original path raised a club over his towering head while the next man brandished a pair of knives. Hunting knives. Completely inferior to my blades, but the man’s forearms are strung like a fighter's. And there's another one behind him, to boot.

  “Drop those blades before you hurt yourself, you bloody rogue, or I’ll have your hands for trophies,” the short man in a forest green cloak said. “Hah, a man swinging steel thicker than his arm, now that’s a laugh.”

  Melegal fought the smile of relief that was cracking open on his otherwise stern expression while the other man’s baritone voice rumbled.

  “Ho! This can’t be the man we seek; surely it’s an illusion. Melegal would never play with swords, unless he stole them.”

  Melegal couldn’t believe his eyes when Mikkel revealed his cheery face and leaned his club along the wall. Billip pulled back his hood, his crafty features still hard, as he stuffed his knives under his belt and began popping his knuckles. Oh, how annoying. But who was the other man? Soon enough.

  “It’s good to see you both, “ he said, sheathing his swords and bumping wrists with the men. “What are you doing in Bone? And who is that?”

  “It’s me, Me!”

  He didn’t recognize the deep voice, but he knew the tone. Georgio’s curly brown hair was down past his shoulders when he revealed his hooded face. The extra meat he had carried was gone from his pie face, and his broader shoulders suggested solid muscle underneath. The boy, now a man, was at least a foot taller and fifty pounds heavier than last he saw him.

  “Where’s Quickster?” he snapped.

  Georgio’s happy face turned into a frown. “Ah, don’t start, he’s—”

  “My pony’s fine,” Billip intervened.

  “He’s mine and always has been!” Melegal almost yelled. “Where is he?”

  Georgio wasn’t finished.

  “You gave him to me.”

  “No, I gave him to Lefty. Where’s Lefty?”

  An odd silence ensued.

  “What?” Melegal asked.

  Mikkel slapped his big hand on Melegal's shoulder and said, “Listen Me, Lefty’s back in Three. When we heard about all the trouble in the South, we decided to head back down to get my son, Nikkel. That’s why we’re here. Stocking up for the final leg.”

  The four men stood in the alley looking at one another for answers to many questions. Melegal had the most, as he’d not seen Billip or Mikkel since the hunt for the Brigand Queen more than five years ago. But they still hadn’t answered the primary question.

  “Where’s Quickster?”

  “Same place you’d expect him to be,” Georgio answered.

  “I can only hope you’re not still eating his food. It appears you’ve still been eating plenty.”


  Billip had to hold Georgio back as the man-sized boy came after him.

  “You better shut your rat hole, Me! I’ll pummel your skinny arse. You can’t hurt me, but I know how to hurt you!”

  Melegal let out a shrill little laugh. Slat! The boy’s changed, indeed. His threat’s far from idle. “I don’t think so, Boy,” he replied, making a quick cutting motion across his throat. Georgio’s eyes widened and his body softened.

  “You’re still an arse, Melegal,” Georgio said, turning away.

  “What is this on your cloak … Detective?” Billip said, grabbing the brooch pinned on his cloak.

  Melegal snatched it away saying, “Long story, men. I only have time for you to get me up to speed. How’d you wind up in the City of Three? Where’s Venir? And how in Bish did you find me in this pit?” He sat down on a crate that was sitting against the wall. It felt good to sit among old friends for the moment, but time was pressing. “And give me the short version.”

  Mikkel opened his mouth to speak, but Billip put him off.

  “He said the short version.”

  “Mine will be short.”

  “Yours are as bad as Venir’s.”

  Mikkel bristled.

  “And yours are as boring as Georgio’s.”

  “Huh … what?” Georgio came over, a bit confused. “I tell good stories.”

  Mikkel and Billip laughed, but Mikkel stepped aside with a graceful bow. “Fine, I just want to go eat.”

  “Me too,” piped Georgio.

  “We know!” the three other men said.

  Billip began.

  “First, fortune favored us finding you, as we weren’t even looking for you. Georgio caught you ducking into that tavern. Our ears have been filled with stories about the Yellow Hair Butcher. We were snooping around, thinking Venir might have returned. You haven’t seen him, have you?”

  “No,” Melegal said dryly. “Not since the last time I saw Quickster." Slat! A little bit of guilt swelled inside his belly. Georgio had been tormented, for all he knew by Tonio. It would shake the boy up if he knew the foul man still lived.

  Billip caught him up on how they arrived in the City of Three to begin with, which was surprising as they were southerners. Melegal found it difficult to hide his amazement as he learned about their liaisons with Jarla on her hunt for Venir and the trip to Dwarven Hole, where they all last parted. The falling out between Lefty and Georgio left him hollow inside. He missed the time he’d spent with them both. Billip told him about Kam, a woman he’d consider the journey to see, and Venir’s daughter, Erin. Spreads his seed like a dandelion. Then he remembered Brak and his upcoming engagement.

  “It’s all fascinating, but I’ve no part in this now. I’ve got my own troubles,” he said, tapping his brooch, rising to his feet and unfolding his arms. “Mikkel, traveling south is impossible right now. A death trap they say. You’d be lucky to make it alive to the Red Clay Forest. The Royals are up to their elbows in figuring out how to deal with the underlings.”

  “Venir will take care of it, ” Georgio interjected.

  “It wouldn’t surprise me if the big lout was behind it,” Melegal shot back.

  “You better watch what you say about him. He saved your skinny neck plenty of times.”

  “And he’s almost gotten me killed ten times more, Foolish Boy. You too!”

  Georgio fell silent, but Melegal continued on.

  “I’d say there’s a good chance your son fled north. For all you know he’s right outside these gates. You’re bound to see a familiar face or two if you scour the crowd.”

  Mikkel landed another heavy slap on Melegal's shoulder, saying, “Good advice, thanks.”

  “Aye, if we find him maybe we can collect that bounty on this yellow haired butcher,” Billip said, his greedy eyes dancing with thoughts of more gold.

  “Stay out of that,” Melegal warned.

  “You’ll not be collecting what I can collect for myself. Care to put a wager on the bounty, Melegal?”

  I’m an idiot. Should have just sent them away. Billip was just as greedy as was he, but of a different make-up. The man had hunted for hefty bags of underling bounty, so a bounty on a man would give him little to fear.

  Mikkel frowned at Billip and said, “I’m not getting into that, Billip. I told you that once already. We find Nikkel! If he’s not here, we’re heading south. That’s what we agreed on.”

  “Fine. Melegal, for the time being Georgio has led us to the place called The Octopus. We’ll be there if you need us.”

  Perfect.

  Melegal’s steely eyes were dancing behind his lids.

  “That’s a pretty dangerous hole during these times. I had to leave, no thanks to a man called Jeb. Beat me silly in an Iron Hands contest.”

  “What?” Mikkel, Billip and Georgio were all incredulous.

  “Took my room and my table, so I’ve heard.

  Mikkel’s guffaws of laughter echoed up and down the alley.

  “You expect me to believe you fist fought someone? And lived?”

  Billip clutched at his stomach.

  “I gotta see this guy.”

  “Pah! Both of you sots will fare worse than I did.”

  Mikkel was leaning against the wall, bowled over in laughter.

  It’s good to see some things never change. Georgio was frowning at him as he walked away. “I’ll get down there to see Quickster, Georgio. Stay close to those two. Bone is more dangerous than ever now. And there’s one more thing that I’d like to say.”

  “W-What?” Georgio stammered a little.

  He wanted to warn him about Tonio, but that might do more harm than good. He changed his mind.

  “Go back to Three and live. Stay in Bone and die.”

  “Aw!” Georgio turned and walked away.

  Melegal’s mind was already elsewhere.

  Keys. Keys. Keys. The Coming of Age games. Death to the Slergs and Brak. Slat. He felt more guilty now that ever. After all, the boy had a half-sister and father he’d never know. Stay focused. Live one day at a time. Kill Sefron!

  CHAPTER 63

  A river of blood stretched across Bish’s open landscape as far as he could see. One side of the bank was an endless sea of underlings; on the other side stood his father, Venir: razor sharp axe in hand, screaming with a maddening look in his blazing blue eyes.

  Whack.

  Brak jumped up, clutching at his side as the warden kicked him hard in the ribs.

  Whack! The ugly man did it again.

  “Get up, you big fat headed Slerg! It’s time for the end.”

  His stomach rumbled as he rubbed his blurry eyes. Leezir and Hagerdon shuffled by, wrists locked, ankle chains dragging over the floor. Leezir’s head sagged, and his shoulder stooped. Hagerdon, once proud and cocky, wheezed and coughed, his lips thin and pale, almost morbid.

  “You won’t have to worry about being hungry anymore after this, Boy,” Hagerdon said, “because soon you’ll be dead.”

  Leezir didn’t even look his way as he watched them go.

  The warden and two others shackled his wrists, ankles and neck, like the other men, and hooked him to the prisoner chain.

  “Criminy you’re a big bastard!” One of the guards said, looking up at him. “Warden, you ever seen this one standing before? He’s like a tree, just not as smart. Heh-heh.”

  “Shaddup, Morg,” the warden said, smacking a lash into Brak’s back. “He’ll be an easy target for the Royal wretches. Chopped into firewood soon enough. Now get the girl and get em’ moving. I don’t want to be late, and I’m hoping to get a look for a change.”

  There had been nothing but dread and misery in Brak’s brief life since his mother Vorla was killed. Each day had been worse than the one before. The smells, the food or lack thereof, his itching skin, the gummy taste in his mouth. His fingertips were bloody.

  “Come here, you little wretch!” The guard said from ahead, snatching Jubilee by the leg and dragging her from her ca
ge, kicking and screaming. “Oh … them boys will have great sport of you. Sad for such a weensy little thing.”

  They were all shackled now, moving forward, Jubilee sobbing and sniffling every step of the way. He felt her tears under his bare feet as he walked over them. Her grandfather, Leezir, got smacked in the mouth for trying to comfort her. It seemed that everyone making their way down the tunnel was broken, metal shackles and chains scraping over the cold stone. Brak thought of his father one last time when they stopped in front of a large wooden door. His stomach groaned so loud it made an echo.

  “Shame to see a man fight on an empty stomach. Maybe we should have fed him the girl. She’d make a delicious little morsel for somebody,” the warden said, playing with her hair.

  Brak could hear noises on the other side of the door. There were many people on the other side, and he had good reason to think they all were going to kill him.

  He heard Hagerdon say, “I can only assume I had this coming, but I never imagined my end coming in this manner.” He went into a fit of coughing. “Bish give me the strength to kill one Almen before it’s done.” Hagerdon looked back over his shoulder and said to Leezir, “You got anything left?”

  “Just a few rotting teeth to throw at them,” the once vibrant, now glum-looking man said.

  The guard made his way to the door and talked to another guard through a small sliding wood portal in the door.

  Hagerdon turned and offered Brak some final words.

  “Brak, I hate to admit it, but I wish your father was here. You’ll have to do. You see Boy, on the other side of the door is a death so certain, so inevitable I can already feel the heat blistering my bones in the furnace.” Hagerdon motioned to the big door.

  “I’ve been there before; your father’s been there before but not under these dire circumstances. Whatever you have left—Let … it … out! I deserve what’s coming, but you don’t. Fight … and die! Just take some of them with you.”

  Hagerdon fell to the ground as the guard jammed his spear butt in his belly.