The Darkslayer: Series 2 Special Edition (Bish and Bone Bundle Books 6-10): Sword and Sorcery Adventures

by Craig Halloran

  Creed had never seen an underling turn pale before, but they did today. Their chitters fell silent. Their expressions were lost. The human had just torn their champion brute’s arms off in spectacular fashion.

  The other prisoners chuckled. The air in their dugouts got hot. The fight sent new fire racing through their blood.

  Venir flung the urchling’s arm into the stands. The underlings split apart before it hit them. They rose in their seats. Rage spread through them like wildfire. Angry speech spewed forth out of their jaws. They shouted at Kazzar. He gave Venir a disappointed look and opened the cage. Two more urchlings came out. Their fingers were tipped with the full-length claws.

  Creed swallowed down the lump in his throat. The claws were as hard and sharp as steel knives. Venir didn’t bleed yet, but he would soon.

  The urchlings prowled around Venir on all fours like monkeys from the wild. They clicked their sharp teeth, spat, and made unnerving hoots.

  The underling audience was on their feet. Every visage was a mask of hatred for the man that had just insulted their brood. Creed didn’t speak Underling, but he understood their chitters demanded death.

  Venir spun in a slow circle. In his strong voice, he said, “Come, dark little hounds. What are you waiting for? An invitation?”

  With their legs coiled underneath them, they sprang from either side of Venir. With the ease of a jungle cat, Venir leaned backward. His big hands scooped the flying urchlings up from behind their heads. He brought them together with fierce impact. The creatures flopped on the ground. They rolled stupidly for a moment. Venir dropped in behind them. He caught them both by the neck in the nooks of his rippling forearms and squeezed.

  The urchlings’ eyes bulged out of their sockets. Their toenails scraped over the floor.

  Venir turned up the pressure. “Hurk!”

  The urchlings’ sharp fingers tore through the flesh on his forearms. Blood dripped on the floor as they fought like wild animals.

  Venir’s iron limbs crushed deeper into the savages’ necks. Their tongues flicked outside of their mouths. There was a loud crack and pop. The urchlings’ bodies went limp as fur pelts. He cast the broken fiends aside. With his blood dripping over his fists, he said, “Got any more?”

  The underlings’ jeering fell silent. Creed wasn’t certain what was happening at first. He thought Venir was going to pick up an urchling and sling it into the crowd. He hoped for it anyway. But there was new activity in the stands.

  A female underling entered the arena. Her long hair was white as gossamer, her dark skin as fair as a beautiful moonlit sky. Her body moved with sensuality and curves the likes of which he’d never seen. Her hips swayed, two fine swords clinging to them in finely crafted scabbards. Her perfect bosom was barely covered in a silk shirt and jiggled with her steps. Creed lost his breath.

  I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.

  “I’d die to put a kiss on the lips of that ravishing thing,” one prisoner said. The men were murmuring. They tried to sort out if it was an underling woman or not. “Perhaps not all is bad that the underlings have to offer,” another prisoner said.

  Venir’s gaze froze on the woman. She was accompanied by another underling in robes, with a commanding presence. His eyes were citrine and hard like quartz. The other underlings bowed at the both of them. The newcomers sat in the spot sectioned off all by itself.

  Kazzar signaled to the underling soldiers inside the arena. They hustled Venir back into the dugout and closed them inside.

  “Who is that woman…thing?” Creed said. “You seemed to know her.”

  “Yes,” Venir said. One of the prisoners started wrapping gauze over his bleeding forearms. “Her name is Elypsa. I don’t think she recognized me. Kazzar, rather Altan Rey, doesn’t know I know her. I want to keep it that way. Listen, Creed. If you fight in front of her, don’t show off.”

  “Why?”

  “She’ll kill you.”

  “That little thing?”

  “That little thing is the fastest thing with steel that I’ve ever seen.”

  Creed’s brow arched. “Really? Faster than you?”

  “I had the armament. She still almost killed me.”

  CHAPTER 36

  Melegal felt naked for the first time in a long time. The dart launchers no longer dressed his wrists. His floppy cap that kept his head cool on the hottest of days had been snatched. The ring that zapped his enemies so intently that they soiled their trousers no longer graced is delicate fingers. It was him, all him. That was all he ever needed. Until today.

  Castle Kling was a fortress made from alabaster stone. The walls were high and sheer. There was only one way in from the front gate. Underlings and men stood in the ten-foot-high archway. The soldiers were everywhere that Melegal could see from the apartment window where he peeked out. Servants came and went in a timely fashion, pushing empty carts out and returning later to go back in.

  Heh, I don’t think I can craft a disguise that would fool anybody.

  Normally, he’d wait until nightfall. He’d wait for an opening in the patrolling ranks, scale the walls, and drop into the gardens. This was different. There were spiders crawling along the walls—many of which were bigger than him.

  The things I do for things.

  “Have you figured a way in yet?” Sis asked. She and Frigdah were chewing on strips of jerky and drinking coffee. A woman cowered on a sofa in the small apartment with her son. Sis glared at her. “Woman, we are on the same side. Stop quivering.”

  “I don’t have any money,” the woman pleaded.

  “We don’t care. We are just staying here a short time. Sheesh.” Sis set the coffee mug on a wooden table. “Do we look like underlings to you?”

  “Evil takes many forms.” The woman covered her young son’s eyes with her hand. The boy pulled her fingers apart, peeking. “Stop that. Close your eyes, son. They will curse you.”

  Sis shook her head. “I don’t understand people. I’m trying to help.”

  “Some people just scare people. Consider it a gift.”

  “I suppose.” She squeezed her body out the window. “Echt. Those spiders are icky. How are you going to get in?”

  “I don’t know yet. Be quiet while I figure it out.”

  In the past, Melegal had worked for Castle Almen. Behind the castles was another network where the supply trains ran from castle to castle. There was another entrance typically used for service that was shared by the neighboring castles. Now, these were sealed off but not abandoned. He was counting on using that avenue but not if it was a dead end.

  Only one way in and one way out. There must be another way.

  He pushed Sis aside. “Do you mind? I’m thinking.”

  “I’m thinking too.”

  “No, you’re breathing on me. Focus on breathing somewhere else. And not so loud. You wheeze from your nose sometimes. It really bothers me.”

  “Eh.” Sis moved away.

  About an hour later, two women wheeled a fairly big cart out of the gateway. The cart was empty. The underlings took a good look at the women’s faces. They hissed at the women, who grabbed the four-wheeled cart and hurried down the street.

  “That’s it. Come with me, flea bags.” Melegal caught up with the women pulling the cart in the nearby markets. They hauled the cart over to the back of a small barn filled with hay and manure. Frigdah stood at his heels. She was breathing on his neck. “Do you mind?”

  “Mind what?”

  Melegal shook his head. “Listen to me.” He grabbed an old blanket lying on the ground underneath a vegetable stand when the owner wasn’t looking. “Listen closely. I’m getting in that cart while they fill it. Sis, you distract those women. Frigdah, as soon as I get in, you start shoveling whatever they are buying. Let them think you work there. Do you understand?”

  They both nodded.

  “When they push the cart back, the guards will thoroughly check the cart. Distract them. Do something clever, not dang
erous, as soon as they check the cart.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Flash them your bosoms. Perhaps it will blind them.”

  Sis got after the women hauling the cart. Melegal tucked himself under the blanket. Frigdah shoveled heaps of manure all over top of him. He left himself a tiny peephole overlooking the side. Several dozen shovelfuls later, the cart was moving down the streets and right back to Castle Kling.

  Melegal pinched his nose. This stinks.

  The cart rambled over the stone road, down the streets, back toward Castle Kling. The clack-clack-clack of the wheels was muffled but distinct enough that he could make out the surrounding sounds. He managed to cup his ear and give himself a little breathing room. The air was stuffy. Underneath the blanket was sweltering hot. He spied the main roadway that ran in front of Castle Kling. The cart came to a stop pointed toward the castle.

  Ack.

  There weren’t any signs of Sis or Frigdah in the streets. There wasn’t any commotion anywhere. Only the voices churned and harassed the lady servants. One of the castle sentries said, “Let’s give it a poke then. Hah, I need a longer spear. This pile smells fresh as the afternoon.”

  Melegal saw the man from the chest down to his knees. He had a spear in hand. He wasn’t sure, but it sounded like someone scuffled on the other side of the wagon. Something else was jabbing into the manure.

  “No,” the sentry with the spear said. “You don’t jab at the top. You have to run it through until you punch the wood. Like this, see.” The spear dug into the wood at the foot opposite of Melegal. He was curled up in the fetal position at the front end where the handle was pulled. “See, jab it like that. I’ve shown you before. Do it right or the underlings will poke that stick through you. Got it?”

  “Aye,” a younger-sounding sentry said. He started to vigorously stab into the manure. The jabs were coming closer to Melegal’s position. “Is that better?”

  “Yes,” the older sentry said. “Just like this. Have some fun with it. We have little to look forward to.” The man stabbed down hard. The spear point punctured the blanket. It pierced Melegal’s forearm. It ripped out again. “Hmm, that sounded funny,” the older sentry said. “Dig into that spot, there. It felt odd.”

  Bone!

  CHAPTER 37

  The atmosphere in the battle pit changed. Kazzar chitter-spoke back and forth with several of the underlings in the stands. Several more underling soldiers entered the arena seating area and spread out among the audience.

  “It looks like they are having a change in strategy,” Creed said. “I think your mauling of those deformed little monsters changed their wicked hearts.”

  “Those urchlings are expendable. The one thing they value is their own. We learned that the hard way,” he said, referring to Corrin.

  The underlings started dragging out the weapon racks from their dugout. It was all royal-made weapons—swords, hammers, axes, picks and flails, and polearms.

  “I think you spoiled the easy rounds of the contest. They want more blood now,” Creed said. “Perhaps there would be a different outcome if you hadn’t ripped the arms off.”

  Kazzar came over to their dugout. “The audience isn’t pleased. They’d like to see more skill in the ring. The fights may or may not be fatal. We’ll let the audience decide.”

  “I thought there would be food if we won. We are supposed to advance when we win.” Venir growled. “What happened to that?”

  “There are no guarantees, Venir,” Kazzar said. “We have to let things play out. My advice: survive as long as you can. Creed, you’re next.” He gestured with his hand. “Come out front and center.”

  The underling soldiers opened the cell door, and Creed took his place. Kazzar worked up the crowd in Underling. He articulated strange signals. The signals made Venir uneasy. It seemed too natural for a man who’d transformed himself into an underling. Kazzar moved to the weapons rack and fingered the variety of arms one by one. He held up a spear. The underlings chittered in dissatisfaction.

  Kazzar moved to another rack. He picked up a war hammer made with a heavy head of steel and hoisted it with effort over his small head. The underlings chittered with high approval. Kazzar dropped the unwieldy weapon at Creed’s feet. The hammer had the small head of an anvil on it.

  Creed picked the awkward weapon up and frowned at it. He looked at Venir and shrugged.

  Venir said to him, “Remember what I told you.”

  Creed nodded.

  The arena became stuffy. The underlings’ faces glistened. Moisture made a sheen on the walls. Elypsa and Kuurn sat side by side. His hand was on her bare thigh. She leaned forward, placing her delicate chin on her fist as if she were bored. The other prisoners’ eyes hung on every movement. Survival was supplanted by lust.

  Kazzar opened the underling dugout. A ruby-eyed warrior stepped out in chain armor with a leather tunic over the links. The sword it carried filled both of its hands at the handle. The blade was unusually long. It cut the blade through the air in quick, graceful circles. The sword seemed to be one with the underling’s body.

  Creed’s chest sagged. He was about to fight a master swordsman with the equivalent of a sledgehammer. He lifted the head of the war hammer up. His boots ground into the floor. He put a gentle bend in his knees.

  Kazzar closed himself inside the dugout. He let out a loud chit. The underling crowd chittered in elation as the swordsman waded toward Creed. The fiend stabbed at Creed’s knees. Creed jumped back clumsily.

  The underling toyed with the imposing man painted in war paint. Its blade kissed the steel of the war hammer’s head. The blade cut at Creed’s fingers. The sharp weapon chopped high, low, left, and right. Creed parried with desperation. The underling swiped. Creed leapt backward, the blade an inch from disemboweling him.

  “Curse these fiends!” Venir spit in the arena. “This is not a fight. It’s a jest! Give the man something he can fight with!” He caught Elypsa looking right at him and averted his eyes. Bone! He’d forgotten how loud he could be. It was possible she might have recognized his voice. He pressed his forehead to the bars, kept his eyes down, and watched Creed fight on.

  The underling pressed Creed around the arena. The crowd started to jeer. Their mannerisms became raucous and filthy. They hissed, screeched, and hollered underling vulgarities.

  Creed planted a foot and cocked back to swing. His opponent slashed him across the thigh. Creed cried out as he fell. He lay flat on his back with the war hammer cocked behind his head. The underling poised its sword for the kill. Groaning with wild pain, Creed suddenly sat up and brought his arms forward with wroth force. The war hammer slipped free of his fingers and cracked the underling square in the forehead.

  Venir pumped his fist. “Yes!”

  The underling’s legs became noodles. The sword fell free from its fingers. Its eyeball had burst, and black blood oozed from the crack in its skull. It crumpled, quivered, and died.

  Creed fought his way back to his feet. He pressed on the nasty gash in his leg. The underlings sat back in their seats, hissing as he limped back toward the dugout. On a signal from Kazzar, the underling guards let him back in.

  “Possum, eh?”

  “Yeah,” Creed said, grimacing. “I paid for it too. I didn’t see another way out. That thing would have chopped me to bits. Praise my dogs I pulled it off.” He sat down on the stone bench, grabbed the gauze, and wrapped up his leg. “Do you think the underlings are underestimating our skills? I hope I have them fooled.”

  “Stay on guard. We’d be fools to believe so.”

  CHAPTER 38

  The older sentry jabbed the spear into the manure again. The tip bit into the wood. Melegal inched a little farther back. I’m going to get hit. Two spear tips started stabbing into the pile.

  “Woohoo!” a voice called out from far away. “Woohoo!”

  “What’s this?” the older sentry said. He moved away from the cart.

  Melegal let out a
sigh. He couldn’t see what was going on, but something had caught the sentry’s attention.

  “Look at that,” the older sentry said with excitement. “She’s cute for a bigger gal.”

  “You think she’s cute?” the younger sentry said.

  “You’re too young to fully appreciate the arousing attributes of a woman. You’ll understand better when your my age. Whoa! She took her smock off. Heh, she’s got some big ones. I think she likes me.” The older soldier patted the cart. “Get this thing out of here. I’m due for a break. That maiden on the rooftop is calling me.”

  “It seems a tad suspicious in broad daylight, and somewhat…disturbing,” the young sentry added.

  “Just cover for me. I’ll be right back. If there’s something suspicious, I’ll find out about it.”

  “You shouldn’t leave your post.”

  “I know but, hah, you only live once. Besides, there isn’t that much left to live for.”

  The older sentry moved out of sight. The cart was wheeled into the gates. It turned. Melegal caught a glimpse of the man crossing the roof. He had just enough of an angle to see Frigdah had partially covered herself and was waving to the sentry. Good, motley girl. Very good. The gate closed. He was inside the castle courtyard. The women servants pushed the cart to the stables located in a barn in the westward quadrant of the castle.

  Melegal had shoveled manure for the royal castles when he was younger. Thinking of it made his back ache. He’d shoveled it into stables and mixed it with hay beds. He fertilized their gardens with it. He swore once he got out of doing it, he’d never do it again. Yet here I am. He thought of Georgio. He’d gotten the young boy to do all of his chores. Sad he’s gone.

  For whatever the reason, it seemed that the underlings, despite their diabolical behavior, were willing to maintain a status quo in terms of operating the castles.

  Melegal waited until the women left. The only sound he heard was the occasional nicker of horses. Carefully, he pushed his way out of the manure, managing to hardly get a flake on him, hopped out of the cart, and hung the blanket over one of the stable doors. His eyes went to the rafters. There were old cobwebs but no spiders.