Jasper crossed the threshold and came to a stop, marveling at the scene above.
The rocks were painted over with a beautiful skyline that looked as real as any they had seen outside. A sun hung with its own mystic light, and in the evening it transformed into a moon. There were more bungalows too, and dwarves walking the roads between them. It was just like the outside world, but within the caves.
“How do they do it?”
“Why, is what I wonder.” Melegal took her by the hand. “Shall we take a walk through the painted meadows?”
“Lead the way. After all this time, I still can’t find my way around this place as well as I would wish. Everything looks the same, but then it’s different.” She squeezed his hand. “I never knew dwarves had so much imagination.”
Glancing up at the dawn-colored ceiling, Melegal said, “Agreed.”
It took thirty minutes to get back to the room that hosted Elypsa. Melegal shoved the door open and led Jasper inside. The coals were dimming in the fireplace. Elypsa’s bed was empty, and the dwarvess caretakers were nowhere to be found.
Something scraped over the floor.
Melegal’s neck hairs stood on end. He shielded Jasper behind him and drew a knife.
“What’s wrong?” she said.
“Be silent.”
Towing the woman behind him, Melegal crept through the room. He glanced into the pewter tub. Two dwarvesses were submerged in the water. Their squat and lifeless bodies were shriveled up like prunes. His skin crawled.
Jasper’s fingers tightened on his. Her voiced trembled. “W-What happened to them?”
A scuffle caught Melegal’s ear. He spun around with his dagger ready.
Elypsa was crawling across the floor. Her face was swollen and bleeding. “Not me,” she said. “Not me.” She passed out.
CHAPTER 5
“What do you see, Brak?” Jarla rode up beside him.
Brak sat atop his mount, looking through a spyglass. There was nothing but miles of tall grasses ahead. He lowered the spyglass from his eye. “Grass.”
“Unlike your father, you’ve a bridled tongue. Sometimes I like that, but most of the time I don’t.” She snapped her reins. “Ride with me. Talk with me.”
With a squeeze of his knees, Brak launched his horse forward through the belly-deep grass. “You know I’m not much for talking.”
“I’m sure you have some stories to tell. So tell me. Your father was full of stories. Full of slat too.”
Brak didn’t care for the way Jarla kept bringing Venir up. It wasn’t that he didn’t like to hear about his father, quite the contrary. He just had the feeling Jarla was gloating about it. Lording something over his head and reveling in their strange relationship. He wasn’t as old as he seemed, but she didn’t understand that. Or she ignored it.
“Speak up, Brak. My patience thins.” She gave him a threatening glance. “I’ve shared all with you, and I believe you should share all with me. I have to trust you if you are to be my commander.”
Brak glanced at the leather bracer strapped to his arm. It had an insignia of a sword and arrow branded on it. It had previously been worn by Gondoon Stoneskin. “I didn’t ask for this.”
“No,” she said with excitement. “But you usurped it! Gondoon was crushed by your own hands. These men, they fear you. There is great power in that. Learn to use it!”
Brak pulled his shoulders back a bit, sat taller in the saddle, and nodded.
Looking up at him, Jarla said, “You are a fine specimen. I can teach you much. Just be more willing.”
“I would be more willing if I had some time with my friends,” he said to her.
“You lazy-eyed fool. You need to break those attachments. Friends are weaknesses in this world. Look at me. I don’t have any friends, and I roam around doing whatever I want, whenever I want. Nothing holds me back.”
Eyes on her, he said, “It sounds lonely.”
“You can’t trust anybody, Brak. They’ll always let you down.”
He nodded. “I understand.”
“Good. Then tell me a story, Brak. You did not get to be what you are without some trials. I want to know more.” She rode her horse over to his. “And perhaps I’ll let you speak to your friends. Perhaps I’ll give you something else.”
“Perhaps.”
They rode on.
Ahead, brigand scouts on foot snaked through the grasses. Behind them, brigands followed in two columns. Large mules carried Jarla’s tent and other heavy packs on their backs. Brak spied Jubilee trudging through the grass, head down, with a pack over her shoulder. He missed her.
“Well, it’s a long ride,” Jarla said. “Are you going to spin a savory story or not?”
“I’m thinking.”
“You’re stalling.”
“I’ve never told a story before.” This was true, but he’d heard many stories―from Venir, Billip, and Mikkel―but none of them had a knack for it like Venir. Brak hadn’t really ever thought about sharing one. The best stories he’d heard were the ones told about his own feats while he was berserk. Most of the time they scared him. He did horrible things. “I suppose I can try.”
“Something simple might be enough to please me.”
Nothing would please you.
Brak’s concern was Fogle and Jubilee. He had to protect them, even if it meant him doing something he didn’t want to do. Jarla was right. Having friends was a weakness. But friends made life worth living. “As I understand it, my friends, well, I’ve almost killed all of them. Even the wizard.”
Jarla perked up. “Oh? Tell me more.”
Brak took a deep breath. “We were in the tower in the City of Three, trying to rescue Kam…”
***
Jarla pulled her horse to a halt. The breeze stopped bending the grasses. The scouts up ahead were gone. She scanned the horizon on all sides. Something moved in the meadow, flanking them from the left to the right.
“What is that?” Brak said.
“Be silent,” she whispered, drawing her sword.
Underlings popped up by the dozens and charged right for them.
Chitter! Chitter! Chitter!
Sword high in the air, she circled it around. “Ride behind me! Ride, brigands! Ride!”
CHAPTER 6
Dwarves by the thousands. It was the biggest army Venir had ever seen. The dwarven army stood in rank and file in the Outlands above Dwarven Hole. He stood alongside Mood in a high rocky place. The neatly organized ranks were lined up in boxes before him. There were several battalions defined by different banners. Red-colored banners showed the dwarves with axes. Purple and green banners were the spearmen. Black and white were the colors the dwarves in full plate armor carried along with their pickaxes and hammers.
“So many in one place,” Venir said to Mood. A stiff breeze blew his hair in his eyes. He pushed it away. “Is this every dwarf from Dwarven Hole?”
“Just about,” Mood said, puffing on a cigar. He pushed his sleeves up over his thick, corded forearms. “They needed some air.”
Venir took in a breath. The hot suns on his back felt invigorating. Being inside the odd comforts of Dwarven Hole had been nice, everything provided for. But he needed to roam the Outlands.
He scanned the ranks. In the far rear of the army were small siege machines. By the looks of them, they were catapults. There was another battalion of dwarves on horseback too, at least five hundred, if he were to guess. Their lances pointed toward the sky. Another host of a hundred stout dwarves carried battering rams with bearded faces carved in front.
A horn sounded, deep and loud.
All at once, the dwarven ranks pumped their fists into the sky and saluted Mood.
He saluted back and spoke in a voice of thunder that carried with a life of its own. “Our time has come to defend the Outlands once again, for a plague is upon us. Not just upon us dwarves, but upon the entire world of Bish. Our enemies are many. Our enemies are without mercy. Our enemies are the underlin
gs―and all who would aid them. We will crush them, or we will die. Dwarves, are you with me?”
“Aye! Aye! Aye!” the army responded.
“And I am with you!” Mood nodded.
A horn sounded again. Together, the dwarves all pivoted on their heels and turned away. The horn blared again, and they began marching southeast.
The ground stirred under Venir’s feet. The thump of boots and stomp of hooves sent a fire right through him. “I’m ready,” he said to Mood. “Where exactly is this army headed? If I were to guess the direction, I would say toward Bone.”
“Aye,” Mood said, slapping Venir’s back. “And there’s going to be plenty of trouble when we get there. I hope you’re ready to lead it.”
Taken aback, Venir said, “Me? I’m no dwarf.”
Mood faced him, squeezed his shoulders, and said, “No, that’s for certain, but there’s going to be more than just dwarves in this army. The jung are coming, the striders, and some renegade Royal soldiers. They’ll need a leader.”
“I’ve never led an army before.”
“That’s because you’re a one-man army. I suppose with you in the get-up we’ll have at least two armies. Those underlings are in for a reckoning.”
Venir nodded his square head. “No, it will be worse than that.”
A dwarven emissary approached Mood and took a knee. He held up a small rolled parchment.
Mood took it in hand, unrolled it, and read. His bushy red brows buckled, and he snorted. “We’ve got trouble. Come with me.”
***
Melegal ground his teeth. His hands were shackled behind his back. His feet were chained to the tub. He was still inside the room where he’d found the dead dwarvesses.
Jasper had gone for help, and he’d been keeping an eye on Elypsa. The dwarves had come quickly, brown-bearded guardsmen in padded leather armor carrying short heavy-bladed swords. Upon seeing two of their own dead, they had blocked the exit and secured all three non-dwarves.
Jasper sat on the floor with her knees pulled to her chest.
Elypsa lay on the table where care had been given to her before. Her eyes searched out Melegal’s. “I am not responsible for this.”
“Then who is?” Melegal said to her. “You were here, were you not?”
“Something knocked me cold. The dwarvesses were dead when I woke up.”
Melegal laughed. “So you were hiding when I entered?”
“Yes, I feared for my life.”
Melegal eyed her. There was a bump on her head. “So you have full use of your limbs now? You’ve made a full recovery.”
“I am weak, but I can move my upper extremities, and I now feel my legs. I am grateful to those dwarvesses.”
“That’s quite a remarkable recovery!” Jasper said. “A busted spine to practically walking upright in days! She’s a black fiend, Melegal. Do not fall for her lies.”
“I’m far from that, dearie.” Melegal scanned the room. He’d seen the handiwork of the dwarvess healers before, at the Warfield. They’d done excellent things for him as well. Could they fix a broken back so fast?
I suppose anything is possible.
All about the room were bottles, vials, and jars of various concoctions. A cupboard had been knocked over and some clayware broken and spilled.
Perhaps Elypsa’s injuries were not as severe as they appeared to be. If she can move, she can certainly kill.
“You are the only one with motive, Elypsa.”
“It was not my desire to come here. I was brought against my will.” She curled up on her table. “I am certain everyone wants me dead. After all, I am what I am, an underling. I am here, and I’m here alone. I only did my master’s bidding, and he is dead now. I am relieved.”
“She almost killed all of us once, and she’s starting up again,” Jasper said. She shook her chains. “We should take her out now.”
“I’m sure dwarven justice will be swift,” Melegal said.
The wall of dwarven guards parted in front of the exit.
Mood and Venir entered. The King of the Blood Rangers went straight for the tub. He reached into the waters and one by one he picked the dwarvesses up and set them down. His face sagged. “This is my family. Only true justice can make amends.” He turned and faced everyone in the room. “Imprison all of the outsiders until we get to the bottom of this.”
“Outsiders?” Venir said. “Mood, you can’t possibly think my friends had anything to do with this.”
There was a strange gleam in Mood’s green eyes when he said to his men, “Take them all, I said.”
The dwarves surrounded Venir. Two more entered with shackles.
“Mood! You’re arresting me? I was with you!”
“I said all outsiders! That’s you!” He pointed at Venir and Jasper and Melegal and Elypsa. “All of you, the women too!”
CHAPTER 7
Fogle had made it about a hundred yards out into the grasslands when the tide turned. Jarla and Brak were galloping back toward the forest. She was barking orders to the brigands, who rallied to her side. All of them stormed his way.
He was still gagged and bound.
What in Bish are they running from?
In the distance, underlings popped up above the tall grasses and gave chase after the brigands. They hurled javelins and fired small bolts. Fogle made a quick count and gave up. There were dozens of them, chittering away.
Slat! I’ll be slaughtered!
Survival instincts kicking in, Fogle raced back into the forest. The two guards accompanying him charged toward the brigand queen. She was moving away from Fogle into another neck of the woods, not where they came from. He tried to spit out the rag that filled his mouth.
I need help! I need help! I need help!
Fogle never liked to rely on anyone, but he needed the brigands, anybody, now. He needed his limbs freed. At least then he could climb a tree and try to hide. He rammed his body through the brush and thistles and powered toward Jarla’s voice. He caught a glimpse of the brigands rushing through the trees.
Wait! Wait for me!
A clash rang out. Men screamed. Horses whined. Fogle froze in his tracks. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw more underlings advancing.
Where in Bish did they come from?
Fogle hunkered down and pressed his back against a tree below the brush.
I’m a dead mage. I’m a dead mage. I’m a dead mage.
A brigand in a leather breastplate dashed by Fogle looked over his shoulder and kept running. Two bare-chested underlings with coils of long black hair sliced through the woodland, cutting the distance quickly and pouncing on top of the man. The three tussled. The man screamed. Underling knives went up and down. Up and down. Red blood was flung in the air.
Heart pounding, Fogle flattened out on the ground and scooted deep into the brush.
Please don’t find me! I don’t want to die like this. I want to die fighting.
Chittering speech went back and forth. Soft footfalls came Fogle’s way. He could hear everything everywhere at once. Screams. Death throes. Skin being punctured and poked. He curled up into a ball and wiggled his fingers. It was instinct. Survival. Fogle did the best he could by his nature. None of it helped.
Chitter. Chitter. Chitter.
He could see their feet through the brush. The underlings had come to a stop several feet away.
They see me. They have to see me.
Fogle envisioned a javelin poised over his back, ready to pierce his spine. He squeezed his eyes shut.
Take it like a man, and don’t surrender to these fiends. Goodbye, Bish. For the most part it’s been awful.
A scuffle in the thicket caught his ear. The underlings chittered and dashed away. Fogle opened his eyes. The underlings were gone, but the sounds of slaughter still abounded. He crawled over to the tree and rose up on his knees. Something grabbed his waist and pinned a knife against his throat.
***
Brak’s horse went down, and he went dow
n with it. Face-first in the grass, he jumped back up to his feet with his sword in hand.
An underling rushed at him with a wavy short sword.
Striking out with his long arm, Brak split its head open.
Two more underlings crept at him with spears with strange razor-sharp heads.
Jarla, on horseback, charged out of the brush and trampled both of them. Bone cracked underneath Nightmare’s powerful hooves.
The underlings tremored and died.
Jarla shouted at Brak, “Stop gawking and fight, Commander!”
Tall and powerful, Brak waded into the tide of underlings surrounding the rugged brigands, who fought hard.
They screamed curses and oaths.
But the underlings were skilled and tactical fighters. They flanked every man with two or three and whittled them down into bloody ribbons.
Brak went up on his tiptoes. His back was aflame. It felt like fiery spikes were embedded in his back. He turned his brutish shoulders around and faced his attackers.
Two underlings the size of children in his eyes were spitting dart after dart at him. Another dart buried itself in his forearm. One dotted his forehead.
The blood in his veins turned to fire.
“Those bug bites won’t stop me!” He chased after the underlings.
The quick little fiends darted away and vanished into the trees.
Eyes narrowing, Brak surveyed the battleground.
A throng of underlings whittled down an orcen brigand with quick and precise chops. The orc died with his hands holding in his spilled guts.
Brak advanced on the underlings even as they reveled in their quick victory.
The black fiends faced off with Brak, swords and sharp teeth bared. One by one, they attacked.
Brak unloaded a windmill chop, taking the closest ruby-eyed underling’s arm off at the shoulder. He drove his boot into another one’s chest, lifted it from its feet, and kicked it into the grass. He paid for it.
The third underling sliced Brak’s upper arm.
The Darkslayer: Series 2 Special Edition (Bish and Bone Bundle Books 6-10): Sword and Sorcery Adventures Page 3