“Save your breath if you want to beg for mercy, Slerg.”
“And save your breath for your orc-faced wife. I’m sure she’ll enjoy it as much as a roasted gnoll's gonads.”
The guard lowered the point of his spear again, saying, “Why you—”
The door popped open.
A glow of light and the feeling of warm air wafted over Brak, giving him chills. There was the smell of food and what he believed was perfume. The guards prodded him forward. Bleachers greeted his eyes, three rows deep going up, plank after plank forming a circle. Most seats were filled with the rumps of people in elaborate clothes, chatting back and forth and muttering as a strange silence began to fall.
It seemed like every eye was on him. It made him uncomfortable. There was a wall inside the circle, higher than his head, guards posted every few feet at ground and bleacher level. Below them were small men, plus a few notably bigger, in polished armor, pointing in their direction with shining blades, laughing. They weren’t men, more like boys, his age possibly, maybe a little older. There was something sinister in each and every one of them. Cruel, cunning and sneering, young hunters wanting that first kill. Brak could tell each of them was hungry for the glory of his death. One of them, bigger than the rest, spat on the ground, glared at him with steely eyes and said, “I’ll be gutting that barrel headed galoot as soon as we finish beating him into a bloody rug. His head's going over the mantle, the big mantle!” The others' shrill laughs pierced his ears. Something about the young man frightened him. His body began to tremble as he hunched down behind Leezir. Mah! I miss my Mah!
“Welcome to the Royal arena,” Leezir said under his breath. “Your final resting stop in Bone.”
CHAPTER 64
There were three of them, taller than trees, throwing boulders like skipping stones at the band of dwarven men. Fogle’s horse reared up as they were showered with rock and dust, and another boulder tumbled by. There was no sign of Cass and Chongo.
“Cass!” he cried. “Cass, where are you?”
Ahead, Mood and the other Blood Ranger, Eethum, were closing the gap between them and the giants. A rumbling cloud of dust was behind them, and ahead the band chopped at the giants' knees. Fogle blinked hard. They’re real! He pictured the statues in the former grand square of the City of Three in his mind. He knew the stories, how the magi tricked the monstrous men into building their city and trapped them. He assumed, like so many other things, they were tales to tell children, legends, like dragons and even underlings. It was time he grew up; he should have known better by now. What had Mood said? “Bish happens.”
He pulled the reins on his mount, bringing the noble beast to a stop. A giant’s club, a heavy piece of carved wood, came down on the head of a dwarf, crushing it and shaking the ground. Fogle was less than fifty yards away when he summoned the energy inside him and let it fly. Two streaks of coiled energy sprung like geysers from his hands. He spoke the words, harnessed the power and guided it straight into the giant’s chest, knocking it from its feet and to the ground with a tremendous thud. A cry of cheers arose as the persistent dwarves piled on.
A wave of nausea filled him as his power winked out. Bright spots flashed in his eyes, and he held his aching head.
“Where’d that come from?” He muttered, fighting for his breath.
The giants, hairy chested men wearing little more than a fur cloth about their waists, stood fifteen feet tall, hammering at everything in sight. The one he felled rose to its feet, angry, and shed dwarves like water before stomping them into the ground. “It’s not dead?”
A shadow fell over him.
“Move, Fool!”
A lithe figure knocked him from his horse a split second before a spiked club crushed the beast into the ground.
Cass was on top of him, then him on top of her as they rolled out from under the next devastating blow.
“Do something, Fogle!” she screamed inside his ear.
Energy filled him as he summoned his next spell. This time he opened the gate inside him further and let loose the words of power. A ball of swirling energy, a brilliant red light, formed in his grasp. He threw it at the giant’s gaping mouth.
Clonk!
The giant batted it away like a stone, sending the ball of energy into the rocky hillside where it exploded in a brilliant flash of light.
“Oh no,” he muttered as the big giant smiled and raised his club high.
“Run!” Cass cried, trying to pull him up. Fogle couldn’t move. He watched the giant’s head descend back down towards Cass. His razor sharp mind told him it was too late.
Boom!
Knocked from his feet, he tumbled to the ground. Everything was loud and dusty. The giant, bald-headed, bearded and ugly, raised its club once more. Fogle had just enough time to look over where Cass once was. All he could think of was Ox the Mintaur being squeezed to a bloody pulp.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, reaching out, but there was no sign of her. The giant's club was coming back down.
He muttered another word of power that added a translucent shield before him. The club glanced off the shield, drawing an angry grunt from the giant. Fogle felt like his elbows were about to break apart when another blow came, then another. It was like when he dealt with the snow ogres, but two tons worse. He’d already spent most of his energy this time. Pinned down and with nowhere to go, he tried to yell for help, but his voice was muffled when the giant raised its booted foot and stomped on him like a snail.
***
“Go for the toes!” Mood ordered back to his men.
There was nothing that got his dander up more than the hill giants. They were a cruel race that was crafty and cunning. His hatred for Horace, his recently dispatched foe, would never settle, nor would his anger ever subside. Most of the giants were as bad as ogres and trolls most of the time. No exception for most hill giants, either. They treated the dwarves like snacks, and sometimes snatched them and enslaved them like pets.
He hunched down at the sound of a powerful energy that slammed into the giant nearest by, felling it like a tree. The dwarves poured over the giant, axes and hammers chopping into it like a piece of wood.
“Eethum!”
The black Blood Ranger and two dwarves swiped at the flesh on the other giant's ankles. Eethum ducked under the giant's clutching grasp, missed a swing at its wrist with his axe and watched in horror as the giant snatched one mailed dwarven warrior up and crushed it in his hands. The dwarf didn’t even scream. Mood heard its bones crack and pop.
“Eethum! Over here!”
Eethum waved his battle axe back and forth over his head, catching the giants’ eye. It swung its monstrous head around and roared.
Clatch-Zip!
Clatch-Zip!
Rocking back on its heels, the giant cried out in fury. Two large crossbow bolts, one in its right eye, the other embedded in the bridge of its nose, were buried deep.
“I’ll be a halfling’s uncle; I missed one!” Mood said, tossing his crossbow aside and charging into the fray.
The giant flailed its arms and legs, roaring like thunder, scooping up dirt and debris and showering everything close by with rocks. The third giant jumped into his path, jaw jutting, both hands coming together and smashing Mood like a fly. His ears popped. His bones clattered, and half a dozen ribs busted as he sagged to the ground. The last time he’d taken a direct hit like that he'd lain on his back for weeks.
“Get up and fight, King of the Dwarves!” he growled to himself.
All he could see was Eethum, hacking with fury into his monstrous assailant's knees. Hunks of skin, fingers and muscles scattered the sky as the giant teetered back and wailed. Mood raised himself up, pulled his shoulders back and charged the one he had shot. It was regaining its composure and closing in on Eethum. Feeling like daggers pierced his chest, he side stepped the giant’s charge and chopped his axes into the back of the giant’s knees. He cut a tendon and could feel it snap like a bowstring. The gia
nt pitched forward, smacking into the ground and rock. The giant began to push itself up, but Mood scrambled up its back and brought both his blades down with all his might. The first blow cracked open its skull. The second pierced its brain. Despite his victory, his instincts suggested they were losing. Something wasn’t right. Weary, dizzy and body wracked with pain, Mood wiped the blood from his face, tumbled from the giant’s back and fell face first into the dirt.
CHAPTER 65
There it was. A scintillating rainbow of colors encircled a strange view that hung in mid air before them. Verbard heard Kierway let out a sharp gasp as the view cut through windows, people, walls and doorways like an apparition of lightning. Jottenhiem’s rugged chin hung over his shoulder, his nostrils snorting over the back of his neck. The mighty fighters of the Underland gawped in amazement.
“I’ve never seen so many humans before,” the Juegen commander said.
Kierway swallowed hard. “Nor I, either. But that’s just more to kill for me.”
“Pah, I’ll take ten of those white devils to your five any night, Kierway.”
Eep, slow it down!
Verbard ordered, shrugging off a wave of nausea.
“Kierway, what is the name of this human you are dealing with, again?”
It was strange, underlings dealing with men, but it had been done before. Even he himself had indulged in human encounters, though he lamented it. The humans were weak and greedy, as easy to bribe with shiny objects as a newborn taken to mother's milk. It worked on some, but not all, however.
“A shabby man, as pathetic as the rot between an urchling's toes,” Kierway hissed. “A practitioner of dark healings, named Sefron.”
“And how did you come to know this man? How long ago?” Verbard said in a demanding tone.
“We’ve always had our spies among them, searching for what my father seeks. That and other things. Didn’t you and your brother discuss these things?”
Lies. Verbard held a spell on his tongue that would turn Kierway’s eyes inside out. Save it for the mission. He fought down his bubbling anger. Everything was wrong. Every gesture of Master Sinway’s son made him uncomfortable. His words had been accommodating, but not convincing. Now, he, Lord Verbard, one of the most powerful underlings, had just learned that he was not privy to a secret mission that had been going on for decades, if not centuries, beneath the City of Bone. And within as well. He wanted to kill someone. Save it for the humans.
“There were many things we didn’t share with one another, Kierway, but one thing we did always share was our displeasure of your company. Now, tell me, where does this Sefron reside? Certainly you’ve been there in some shape or form.” Verbard turned his silver eyes on Kierway's tightening face. “Oh, I forgot, you’re but a fighter, incapable of hiding from anything but a fight.”
“Watch your words, Verbard.” Kierway warned. “I’ve had high ranking heads for less.”
Verbard’s eyes narrowed as he rose from the ground. “And I’ve destroyed Underland’s most powerful enemy of all. Remember that the next time you shove your steel into sleeping men, crying women and one-armed children, you little gnat. Now answer my question!”
The hulking Vicious bristled behind Kierway’s back as Kierway’s sword flashed from its sheath.
Clang!
Inches from carving a chunk from Verbard’s face, Jottenhiem caught the blow on his sword in a shower of sparks. Excellent, Verbard thought, floating backward but leaving up his shield. He twisted the enchanted metal ring. One can never be too careful. Thanks, Brother.
Clang! Clang! Clang! Blades licked in and out like serpent tongues as the blows got faster and faster. Single handed, they exchanged blows back and forth, one striking, the other counter striking, the next counter striking the counter strike. If only they both were on my side. Ah, what splendid devastation they’ll wreak on the humans.
Verbard brought his clawed hands together with power.
CLAP!
The entire cavern shook.
Kierway and Jottenhiem stopped.
“Save your energies!” he said in an angry hiss. “We’ve more planning to do.”
The Juegen leaders sheathed their blades and nodded, iron and ruby eyes still narrowed as they backed away. Verbard could see the tiniest glimmer of sweat on both their brows.
“Castle Almen,” Kierway said, snapping his fingers. A pair of robed underlings scurried up with a heavy rolled up parchment that looked to be part paper, part quilt. “A map of the entire city,” Kierway said, motioning to the underlings who quickly began unrolling it on the ground.
“That will do,” he said, turning his gaze back on Eep’s vision.
Almen? Almen! Hah! Was that not the name of the human Castle that had given Oran the whereabouts of the Darkslayer? Underling Oran the Cleric had dealt with these men before and had even kept records of it. Still, there was nothing mentioned of a key. He'd known Oran had previous dealings with Kierway, and as he recalled, it had been the Almens who'd been bribed in taking over Outpost Thirty-One. Perhaps Oran knew of the key, and maybe Eep knew something as well.
Eep!
Yes, Master.
Did Oran ever mention a key to you?
No, Master.
Are you certain?
Yes, Master.
I see.
Verbard felt the spell beginning to drain him. He looked down on the map and focused on the banner that Kierway showed of Castle Almen.
Eep, take us into Castle Almen, and find this cleric. We’ve little time.
One second the vision spiraled above the castle spires, the next second they were diving through the block, zipping in and out of corridors, lavish bedrooms and servant quarters.
“Slow your foul pet down, Verbard. I cannot make out an image, and my stomach churns with grubs,” Kierway said, clutching his stomach.
Eep’s eye glided into an arena where the faces of many men sat upright in their lavish clothes and women chatted soundlessly with painted lips and faces.
“There he is!” Kierway pointed.
“My, he is a slug, is he not?” Jottenhiem commented on Sefron’s flabby, half-naked form that was eyeballing a man as skinny and rigid as a rail. “Send me in, Lord,.” Jottenhiem pleaded. “I’m ready to kill them all.”
Verbard shifted his gaze to Kierway and sighed.
“This is your liaison to mankind? He’s the one to acquire this key, and for decades he’s been promising to deliver but has not? I cannot help but doubt your wisdom, Kierway.”
The underling Master shot back.
“The key’s in the castle. Of that, I am certain.”
“How can you be … certain?” Verbard sneered.
“Because Master Sinway told me so.”
I think your father has gone mad. Does he want the key, or the city? Or, is it the key to the city? Doubt subdued his thoughts as he let the scintillating image drift away. The underlings, thousands strong, were overtaking the land of Bish. All he had to do was wreak havoc and destruction from within. But it all still made little sense to him. The humans and the other races were bound to fight back at some point, were they not? Then again, perhaps Master Sinway was right. Perhaps now was the time to strike a blow from which the humans would never recover.
“Kierway, as I can see on the map, I believe the Current leads below this Castle which you are so fond of,” he said, his feet now lifting from the ground.
“Indeed, and your point is?”
“The point is,” Verbard clutched his fists, “you are going inside that castle to fetch the key. Take all the underlings you need.”
Kierway raised his voice, saying, “And what will you do while I’m gone?”
“I’ll do what I said I was going to do,” his voice rising to the level of thunder.
“I’m leading this underling army into the City of Bone! Death to the humans! Death to them all!”
A thunderous chorus of chitters rose up, shaking the streets above.
CHAPTE
R 66
Tunk. Tunk. Tunk. Tunk. Tunk …
It had been going on like this for hours. One peck after the other. Boon, once the mightiest wizard in the lands, so far as he knew, couldn’t help but envision devious children outside his metal cocoon, pounding away with hammers.
“Dear me,” he cried, but his words of desperation did him no good. The pecking would not stop, despite his angry urgings. He let out a long rattling sigh and resumed sucking the blood from his split lip.
The giants, of all the times for them to be tardy, had not come to his aid. When they did, he’d beg to be dropped in the labyrinth to let his suffering end once and for all. Of course, he wouldn’t be here if he’d just let Venir die. The might of the warrior gave him hope for escape from the Under Bish that—for all intents and purposes—he had banished himself to. But the sack, the mystical power it contained, he hungered for once more. With it he could escape, even destroy the giants if that was what it was meant for. Its power, so divine, unrelenting and unending was worth dying for.
Tunk. Tunk. Tunk. Tunk. Tunk …
“NOOOOOOO!” he moaned, but it kept on going. It seemed there was no escape. If he could will himself to die, he would. Boon was certain most of his sanity was already gone, and it seemed that losing the rest wasn’t far behind.
Tunk. Tunk. Tunk. Tunk. Tunk …
***
Barton was mad. He ripped an apple tree up, roots and all, and slammed it into the ground. For hours, days, he did not know how long, he’d been searching for the toys that Venir had hidden from him.
“Venir cheated! Venir bad! He make the game too hard!” The one-eyed boy moaned, ripping the branches from the trees. “Venir gonna pay for this! Venir will give me my toys!”
***
Boon's bloodshot eyes had been staring at the same grey tile—for how many hours he did not know.
Tunk. Tunk. Tunk. Tunk. Tunk …
He’d drifted off to sleep several times, only to be awakened by the same chronic sound.
The Darkslayer: Book 04 - Danger and the Druid Page 32