“There’s only one way to find out,” Melegal replied.
Frigdah’s head tilted. “You said something mean, didn’t you?”
“Did I?” Melegal dragged a body out of the wheelbarrow. It hit the ground hard. He struggled to pick it up. “Do you mind, farm girl?”
Frigdah picked the body up like a sack of cornmeal and flung it into the pit. She labored through all of the bodies one by one. Her coal-black hair matted to her face. “Let’s go, Meanlegal.”
Melegal kept his inner chuckle to himself. She does have a mind of her own. Delightful. I could possibly hold a conversation with her for five entire seconds. He did give the remaining motley girls credit for one thing—they knew how to survive. Hauling the reeking dead to the furnaces turned into a crematorium was a very smart move. The underlings wouldn’t pay them any mind so long as they worked in the worst of places as well as plain sight. Not as stupid as they look. A fine gift for the foolish.
They stayed busy running the course. Melegal’s lower back burned. His arms were shaky when they stopped at the end of the day. The city watch dismissed them. He walked away stooped over, holding his back and limping. Once they were out of sight, they slipped into the sublevels beneath the streets, found the alcove where they slept, and waited. Frigdah handed a waterskin they stored from the Everwell to Melegal. He wiped the neck off and drank.
Frigdah watched the shadows above cross over the grates. “Do you think we’ll ever be rid of them?”
“I don’t know.”
“I miss Haze,” she said.
“I know.” Melegal handed the waterskin back. They were waiting on Sis to return. She was trying to find out information about Venir. The one advantage that the citizens had over the underlings was the fact that underlings, in most cases, didn’t speak the common language. It was easy for the citizens to talk with one another, so long as they didn’t over do it and draw too much attention. They kept the talking short.
“I don’t like Sis being gone.” She gulped down some water and mopped her face with her sleeve. “Every time she leaves, I fear she won’t come back. I’ll be alone.”
“You won’t ever be alone. You’ll always have that big arse with you.”
Frigdah swung the waterskin at him. He slipped his head aside. “None of that now. You’ve a thicker hide than that.”
“I’m just having some fun.” She leaned closer. Her eyes became hungry. “Say, would you like to fool around while we wait? It might be a while.”
“Frigdah, I believe you’ve severely overestimated your desirability. Yes, we are in a sewer, but this is as low a point as I’m willing to go.”
“I was just asking. You didn’t have to be rude.”
“True, but it’s important that I deliver my point with absolute clarity. I’d hate for my thoughts to be misinterpreted.”
Frigdah pulled her knees up to her bosomy chest, and her head sank between her knees. “Yeah, yeah.”
The awkward silence went on for another hour before Sis finally appeared in the alcove. Melegal was waiting with a dagger he’d pinched from a city watchman, and Frigdah had fallen asleep. He tucked the dagger away. “What did you discover?”
Sitting on her knees, she said, “I started with the servants at Castle Kling, like you said. They said that fighting men from all over have been brought in there. Some from the streets and some from other castles.” Sis cleared her throat. “They say a man like Venir and a redhead were spotted inside. Hard to miss ’cause they mentioned that V-shaped tattoo on his back.”
“What about an amber-eyed underling wearing mage’s robes? Was he there?”
Sis nodded. “He runs the event it seems. He’s notorious for snatching able-bodied men from the streets. Now what?”
Melegal smoothed his hair over like he would when the floppy cap was there. “I’m going to get my stuff.”
“What about Venir?”
“Perhaps him too.”
CHAPTER 33
Once Venir was all painted up, they were taken to a large dugout holding area with built-in stone benches just outside of the arena. There was a long rectangular portal window that allowed him to see out to the arena. Venir’s fingers clenched. The royal arenas were all the same, places for competition and entertainment. There was a high wall that shielded the audience from the action in the pit. Underlings with spears guarded that eight-foot-high perimeter. Venir envisioned his youthful days—the brawling and the beatings he went through at the hands of the royals. This would be worse. These were underlings.
Craning his neck toward the dugout holding area on the other side, Creed said, “What do you make of this? I’m no stranger to this venue, but my bones are tingling.”
“It’s probably the war paint. The sweat will wash it off.” Venir’s eyes flicked around. Underlings filtered into the stands from the entrances above. They came in packs, solemn and silent. All of their faces were etched in a permanent visage of evil. They wore dark clothing with more gold and silver laces than Venir was used to seeing, and the seams around their hemlines sparkled.
Human women waited on the underlings. Their flimsy garb barely covered their nakedness. They trembled when they walked. Their serving trays were filled with wine bottles and port jugs. The underlings passed the wine around, chittered, and drank heartily. They pinched the women, drawing blood and sniggering.
“They are worse than royals, aren’t they?” Creed said.
Venir fixed his attention on the dugout across the way. His holding area was lit by torches; the other dugout was almost pitch black. Penetrating eyes intent with murder stared back from the darkness. Venir’s blood stirred. In a few moments, he would be face to face with his mortal enemies. They outnumbered him one hundred to one. He didn’t have the armament either. It was just him versus them. All he had was skill, thick skin, and macabre red, black, and white paint to protect him.
Under his breath, Creed said, “Do you see the one called Sinway?”
“No,” Venir replied. The underlings had taken their seats in an orderly fashion. It all appeared to be very well arranged. Not all the seats were full, but one small section stood out. It was a bare spot on the benches, surrounded by underling security that wore black scale-mail armor. Venir was certain they were the red-eyed juegen known as the saints of the underling sword. The steel on their hips appeared as sharp as a scalpel. “There.”
Altan Rey, disguised at the amber-eyed underling, Kazzar, made his way into the arena alone. He wore blood-red robes trimmed in black. Once the audience settled, he spoke loudly and in Underling. The fiends chittered and jeered with hisses and strange clapping they did with their fingers. On order of the sharp underling language, two underling soldiers entered Venir’s dugout. They grabbed the man whose head had been shaven and who had eaten the grubs.
The man’s appearance was formidable compared to the underlings he towered over. He had girth and packed muscle underneath meaty folds of skin. The war paint gave him a more empowered look. He beat his fist on his crimson-colored chest. “Come on, underlings! Give Gorth your best shot!”
Kazzar spoke in Common to Gorth. “These battles will be flesh on flesh. No wood and no steel. They will last longer and be more entertaining this way. Fight with all your skill. Perhaps the audience will spare you from your enemy. Do you understand?”
Gorth spit between Kazzar’s legs. “Me against the likes of you? I like those odds. Bring those grayskins on.”
Kazzar’s nose crinkled. The underling crowd jeered.
Venir could envision a vicious pack of well-defined muscle slinking out of their dugout. Kazzar gave a chitter. Something entirely different came out instead. A short, primordial underling-like creature teetered out of their holding area. It was about four feet tall, and muscles bulged from its hunched back. The lower jawline protruded, and its brows were heavy.
Gorth stared at it for a long moment. “What is this, an underling monkey?”
“Urchling,” Kazzar said. The mage ste
pped inside the dugout. Two underling soldiers armed to the teeth remained in the arena. They closed the barred doors to the dugout. “The fight has begun, so fight, human.”
Gorth circled the urchling. The creature didn’t measure up to the man’s formidable build. It looked to be half the size of the broadly built man.
The urchling’s nails had been clipped where they were typically long, but its teeth were another matter. They were sharp stones. It snapped at Gorth.
“Let’s fight then!” Gorth balled up his fists. The urchling stood still. “Good, stand right there so I can pop you.” He landed a downward punch in the urchling’s face. His fist smacked loudly into bone. He shook his hand. “You’re a hard little thing, aren’t you?”
The urchling’s shoulders swayed side to side. Its eyes narrowed. It grunted like a gloating beast.
Rubbing his knuckles, Gorth hauled back and kicked it square in the crotch. The urchling launched itself into Gorth’s body. The little beast’s oversized fists balled up. It hammered Gorth in the face with animal-like savagery. Blood sprayed out of Gorth’s nose. The big fighter hammered recklessly into the urchling’s bulging back.
“Get off me! Get off me!” Gorth screamed.
“Sonuvabish,” Creed exclaimed. “That little thing is beating the slat out of him.”
All of the prisoners’ eyes were wide. Their faces pressed against the portal bars. Gorth was getting slaughtered. The urchling beat the man senseless. Gorth collapsed. He balled his big body up. The urchling wailed on him. Its fists beat on the man’s head like mallets. Gorth’s strong limbs loosened. The urchling pounced on the man’s exposed neck. Its jaws locked on the man’s throat and ripped it out. The urchling didn’t stop biting and beating. A sharp whistle halted its actions. Fresh blood dripped from its face. It ambled over to the back wall and sank down.
A bloody smear followed Gorth’s body as it was dragged across the arena and dropped through a trap door in the center.
The underlings chittered and clapped. Kazzar came back, pointed at Venir, and said, “You’re next.”
CHAPTER 34
“Fogle! Forget about your book! We have to get out of here!” Billip yelled. Underling soldiers were bearing down on them. “Follow me!”
The underling had Fogle’s spellbook in one hand and a dagger with a wavy blade in the other. Its dark blue eyes locked on Fogle. It hissed. His single focus was getting the spellbook back. Losing it now, to the underlings, would be catastrophic. He rushed the underling. The underling struck fast. Fogle caught the underling’s wrist and drove the fiend to the ground.
“Give me my book!”
The underling head-butted Fogle in the chin with its forehead. Fogle held on to the little monster’s wrist. He put all his strength and weight on the underling’s wrist and banged it into the street. The underling lost its grip. Chittering with rage, it bit down on Fogle’s shoulder.
“Gah!” Fogle clawed at the spellbook. The underling slugged him hard in the jaw. Blue spots burst before his eyes. His body quavered, and he sank flat on his back. The underling snatched up the dagger. It raised the dagger over its head. Fogle’s fingers feebly stretched out for the book. I’m going to die without my spellbook. The dagger plunged down.
A living snake of emerald energy burst out of the underling’s chest. The underling’s eyes turned green. The snake weaved in and out of the underling’s body, and the spellbook fell to the ground. Fogle rolled over and picked it up.
“Will you move your arse!” Kam said. Her eyes were bright-green moons. She and Billip stood just inside a nearby alley. The green snake dipped in and out of the street, chasing after the underlings. “Now!”
Fogle labored to his feet on legs like noodles. His strength grew with every stride. He followed after Kam, passing Billip in the process.
“Way to get us all killed, mage.” Billip sprinted in front of them.
They cut through one alley after another. Underlings came at them with a howl. They scraped their weapons over the stone in dangerous pursuit, creating more terror. They fled down a narrow channel between the city blocks. There was only a dead end in sight. Billip spun around on his heel and backed toward the dead-end wall. “This is it.”
“No, keep running,” Fogle said.
“Run? Where?” Billip replied.
“Just do it!’
Fogle connected with Inky. The ebony hawk soared above. He commanded it to land on a rooftop as he summoned a spell, lips muttering in intricate perfection. A black doorway expanded from nothing at the end of the alley. He, Billip, and Kam jumped through it. They were on a rooftop where clothing hung on a line. Fogle turned to close the dimension door. Two underlings popped through as it collapsed. They bore down on Fogle, eyes filled with rage.
A green shard sharp as a razor zipped over Fogle’s shoulder. The shard tore through the nearest underling’s throat. Billip caught the other underling in the chest with the sharp end of a dagger. Both underlings died gurgling their own blood.
Billip wiped the blood from his dagger on the underling’s chest. “Slat, that was close.” He glanced at the spellbook gripped tightly in Fogle’s arms. “You’re getting pretty good with that.”
“I’ve always been good. I just needed more practice. Thanks, both of you. The truth is, without this book, we’d be dead. We need it.”
“I agree,” Kam said. “Where are we?”
“Middle of the city,” Billip said, pointing. “The castles are on the far wall, which is good. It’s not likely this strange landing will be spotted by the eyes in their towers. We’re a lot farther than where we left too. You did well, Fogle. I think.”
Kam inspected Fogle’s bloody shoulder. “That wound looks bad. We should get it looked at before you turn into an underling.”
“Ha-ha. I’ve had worse.”
“Let’s get going,” Billip said.
Kam took a cotton shirt hanging from the clothes line, stuffed it through Fogle’s collar, and pressed it on his shoulder. “Keep pressure on it. We don’t want your leaking to draw too much attention.”
Billip led them down into the streets, keeping back in the alley and narrow passageway. As he did so, Fogle stayed connected to Inky, who graced the sky among the flocks of pigeons. He could see if there was any trouble coming their way, and they could avoid it. The worst part was the giant spiders that prowled some of the rooftops. They gave Billip a chill every time he saw them. He couldn’t imagine living in a city where those things creeped along day or night. He didn’t care what Cass or Slim said: spiders, no matter the shape or size, were scary.
They covered countless blocks before Billip found a tavern tucked behind the main streets. Garbage was piled up along the alley walls in neck-high piles. Kam pinched her nose, her eyes watering. The door to the tavern was painted black. The boards on the porch step creaked as they went inside. The place was muggy. The thick smoke and incense were like a slap in the face, but it kept the garbage stink out.
Men hunkered over their round tables. Wary eyes gave the small party the once-over. Billip found a table at the end of the bar and pulled out a chair. “Have a seat. I’ll fetch us some drinks.” He came back with a jug of wine and three clay goblets, set them on the table, and poured. “Let’s relax for a moment.” He took a seat. “Ah, that’s better.”
The tavern door opened. Two members of the city watch sauntered in wearing their brown caps with black bills. An underling was with them.
“Bish,” Kam said. “It never ends, does it?”
CHAPTER 35
The underlings shifted in their bench seats. Venir entered the arena, taking a long easy stride toward the middle. He stood where Gorth’s blood had stained the ground. Kazzar found his hard stare. The disguised mage blinked at him.
Kazzar started up a rousing speech to the underling audience. They chittered and pumped their fists. Many of them scooted to the edge of their seats. Unlike Gorth, Venir was bigger and layered with well-defined muscle. The underling
soldiers in the arena looked more like toy soldiers compared to him.
The urchling hunkered down with its back against the wall. It bobbed its head in and out, nibbled at its fingertips, and hooted. It licked its bloody lips and bared its fangs.
Creed held the portal window bars with white-knuckled fingers. The urchling’s claws had been clipped, but there was still an edge on them. They could peel skin away like knives. And the fangs in its mouth would rip flesh from the bone. Venir was out there without any protection.
The underlings in the audience chittered at Kazzar. Kazzar stepped into the dugout, closed the door, and blew a metal whistle.
The urchling rushed Venir on all fours. It flung itself headlong at Venir’s broad chest. Venir snatched the foul beast out of the air by the arm. He slammed it face first into the ground. Its teeth cracked on the stone. It shrieked and clawed at Venir.
Muting the savage strength of the urchling with his own size and natural strength, Venir locked up both of its arms. He stuffed the urchling face first to the ground and planted his foot in its back. By the wrists, he yanked its arms behind its back. His face turned red as an apple. The veins in his arms popped out like blue snakes, and he let out his own savage growl.
Sinew in the urchling’s brawny shoulders tore. Rip! The sickening sounds continued. Bones popped out of the sockets. Flesh began to tear. Venir’s arms, bursting with strain, became machines of iron. The urchling’s arms were wrenched back in an unnatural position. The popping and tearing sounds filled the air.
The urchling’s wails and wriggling soured Creed’s stomach. “Great Bish,” he muttered.
There was a rip and tear-like sound. Venir pulled both arms out of the underling’s shoulder sockets. Black blood spilled out of the body like oil. Dripping in sweat, Venir flung one arm at the underlings’ dugout, where Kazzar stood. Blood droplets splatted in the mage’s face. He held the other arm high over his head. “Which one of you underlings is next?”
The Darkslayer: Series 2 Special Edition (Bish and Bone Bundle Books 6-10): Sword and Sorcery Adventures Page 37