The Darkslayer: Series 2 Special Edition (Bish and Bone Bundle Books 1-5): Sword and Sorcery Adventures

by Craig Halloran

  Venir had thought the journey back to the City of Three would be quick and easy. It was anything but that. The man who once thought he could handle anything wasn’t so sure of himself. His ribs were busted. His jaw rattled. One ear was sawn off. Over the past few weeks he’d had the living snot beaten out of him and had lived to tell about it. Talking only made it worse. The threshold of death sang to him. Somehow he dodged its embrace. He should feel joyous. Triumphant. The survivor that survived it all. But the fires inside were gone. And, he missed Chongo. He’d found him only to lose him right after. Mood and Slim were gone too.

  Suck it up, Venir!

  Now, he felt naked in the Outlands. Raw. He knew the terrain as well as anyone, but he knew it better with the Armament. With Chongo and others.

  We should have stayed with a caravan.

  Pride had prevailed. He could cross the landscape faster than any man. Lead Melegal and Haze through the wilderness. But after a day, he doubted himself. And there were things Melegal had told him. About Georgio, Billip, and Mikkel. He had a son by a woman named Vorla. He’d really liked her. She’d died looking for him. And Kam waited for him in the City of Three with their baby daughter. So much had happened since he departed, he didn’t know what to feel.

  They’ll probably wish I hadn’t come back once they see me.

  His booted toes stopped on the edge of a sink hole that started to form. He stretched out his axe, stopping Melegal. He pointed to rocks that lay nearby.

  “Toss one in there,” he said.

  Melegal ambled over, drawing one sword, picked up a rock and eyed him.

  Venir nodded.

  Melegal tossed it in.

  A sand spider erupted from the ground. Sand-colored with black stripes, tiny red eyes and dripping fangs. Its body the size of a large hound.

  Venir chopped into its legs.

  Hack! Hack! Hack!

  It spit webs. Spewed acid.

  “Argh!”

  Venom sizzled on Venir’s forearm.

  Hack!

  He brained it.

  Its eight hairy legs juttered and it sunk back into its sandy hole.

  Melegal’s hips twisted back and forth, sword ready.

  “Should I expect more?”

  Venir shook his head, grimacing. The skin on his arm was red and bubbling.

  “You alright?”

  “Could be worse. Just stay behind me.”

  Another half mile they went. Trotting. The brisk winds started to blur the tracks. Venir ignored the burning in his arm. Hid his worry. There was a good chance that if they lost the tracks, they’d lose Haze altogether.

  “Maybe we should move faster,” Melegal said.

  “Maybe,” Venir replied. “But if we hit a spider pit, it’s over.”

  “If we don’t find Haze, it’s over.”

  “We’ll find her,” Venir growled.

  A hundred yards later, he came to a stop. The tracks were gone.

  Melegal rubbed his forehead, shaking his head, facing down.

  “We keep going the way we were headed,” Venir said.

  “What’s that?” Melegal pointed.

  In the distance, strange objects jutted from the ground. Mud houses shaped like bee hives. A faint smell caught Venir’s nose. He sniffed.

  Melegal yawned.

  “Bone!”

  It was the same smell he’d awoken to. Like coffee. A little sweeter. He yawned. His instincts fired. His eyes caught Melegal’s. That’s why they’d slept so soundly. That smell.

  Melegal started his march forward.

  Venir stayed him with his hand.

  “I’ll go—”

  “You aren’t—”

  “—first!”

  They approached.

  The structures weren’t particularly large or many in number. Dome shaped entry ways, a few feet high, made out of dirt, rock and wood, held together by a white pasty substance. Venir touched it. It was hard. Didn’t stick. He guessed the threshold was there to keep the light out and the dirt from filling in. He peered down inside the tunnel. The coffee smell wasn’t strong, but it was from there.

  “Pretty dark in there,” he said, kneeling down. “Maybe we should wait them out.”

  “We don’t even know what they are.”

  Melegal reached inside his cloak and withdrew a coin wrapped in cloth. A bright burst of light winked from it.

  “I’m going in,” Melegal said, creeping toward the entry way.

  Venir’s head throbbed. He longed for the helm. It had made the night seem as bright as day. He’d been without the armament before, but it had never bothered him so much. He hadn’t been so long without it. It was almost as if he’d lost everything. He needed to get to the City of Three. Reunite with the others. Sit by a fire. Drink.

  “Melegal,” he said, laying a hand on Melegal’s bony shoulder.

  The skinny-faced thief with the scraggly beard paused and looked right at him.

  “Fight or die,” Venir said.

  Melegal huffed.

  “What else would we do?”

  CHAPTER 5

  Brak swung the fireplace spade into Darleen’s nearest goon’s face.

  Wok!

  The man screamed, his nose crushed beneath the metal.

  Darleen squalled. Ripped another knife out.

  “Yer gonna regret that!”

  She lunged at Brak. Tripped over Billip’s foot and crashed to the floor.

  The other thug tore a dagger at Billip’s chest. He twisted out of the way.

  Georgio socked the man in the jaw. Drove a fist in his gut, doubling him over.

  Brak smacked the same man in the head with the shovel again. The spade bent and the man went down cold.

  Billip twisted the blades from Darleen’s hands and kicked them away.

  “Enough of this, Woman!”

  “I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you all!” She squealed like a pig.

  “Brak!” Georgio said.

  The other thug had Georgio’s curly head in a lock at his waist. The heavier man held him locked in a vice. Georgio’s face turned red.

  Brak was there in two strides and said, “Let him go!”

  “Let her go,” the thug said.

  Brak slugged the man between the eyes with a sledge-like punch.

  The man blinked a few times. His head rolled on his fat neck. “Try that again—”

  Whop!

  The thug melted onto the planks.

  Georgio coughed and rubbed his throat. He looked at the man on the floor.

  “They don’t miss any meals.”

  Nikkel appeared. Wide eyed. Worried.

  “What are you doing?”

  Billip had Darleen’s arms behind her and his knee in her back.

  “We’re wrestling trolls,” Billip said, struggling. “What’s it look like we’re doing?”

  “Who you calling troll?” Darleen spat. “I’m going to rip that goatee off your face, Billip!”

  Brak had never wanted to hurt a woman ever, but he wanted to now. Or at least make her disappear somehow. Darleen was a menace. Hardy. Annoying. Stupid. Dangerous. She fit in the Magi Roost about as well as a sow with make-up. He shook his head. He was hungry. Tired. Angry. He kneeled down and grabbed a handful of her hair. Pulled her face to his. Looked her dead in the eye. She reeked of alcohol.

  “Shut your mouth.”

  She fell silent. Her body slackened. She sobbed.

  “Why don’t you like me?”

  All the men sighed. Billip rolled his eyes.

  This wasn’t the first time Darleen had a fit. They all looked at each other. Georgio was shaking his head. Darleen brought this up all the time. Who liked her and who didn’t. So far, only a handful of people hadn’t admitted to it. That was all the men in the room other than the thugs on the floor. They’d suck the dirt from her toes if she asked them to.

  Billip eased off her back and slapped her big rump.

  “Cause your ornery like an orc.”

/>   She rolled over, tears filling her eyes.

  “I’m not an orc,” she moaned. “I’m a woman.”

  “A woman with a poor disposition.”

  Darleen sat, slack jawed, swaying on the floor. She scrunched her face. Her ferret eyes thinking.

  “So I’m brassy,” she moaned. “Lots of folks like brassy.”

  “Yes, well,” Billip said, reaching out and helping her into a chair.

  “Brazen like an ogre is more like it!” Georgio said.

  Darleen’s eyes narrowed on Georgio. “You muffin headed bastard! You started this!” She started to rise and spit on the floor.

  Brak and Billip stepped between the pair.

  “Nikkel! Is there any coffee ready?” He turned to Georgio. Whispered, “Get your arse out of sight.”

  Darleen and Georgio were oil and water. Brak would never forget how it started. A day after they arrived, they’d all sat a table reuniting. There was a feast. Loaves of bread. Stacks of meat and cheese. Soups of many varieties. The serving girls were polite and very pretty. Darleen was even cheerful. Coarse, but entertaining. Then Georgio had asked Kam why they kept a woman with a butt like an ogre. The grudge match had been going on ever since.

  Darleen sniffed. She craned her neck. “I hate him.”

  “Darleen,” Billip said, patting her knee. “He’s a young man. But a good worker. I can get good work out of him.”

  She shook her head. “You guys are just here for Kam. And that baby. Otherwise you’d probably leave me.”

  “We like it here. Just let us do the work and you enjoy it.”

  Brak nodded.

  Darleen scowled at him. “You’re an ogre, Big Face.”

  Brak had heard it all his life, but it didn’t bother him. He’d known he was different from the beginning. He was much bigger than people his age. Much older looking too. Always tall, thick and quiet, he never fit in. Just let Billip do the talking.

  “Darleen, let’s settle you in the sack. When you get up, I’ll have this all taken care of.”

  She nodded.

  Brak felt the tension between his great shoulders ease. They might even get something to eat earlier than expected, with Darleen down. She always wanted to take charge where she wasn’t needed, and it was Kam’s place, not hers. Of course, he’d spent little time with Kam and his, so far as he understood it, half-sister, Erin. He glanced at the entrance to the Magi Roost. He saw Kam staring at it from the balcony from time to time. He wondered if she was thinking what he was. Would his father, Venir, stroll through there one day?

  Nikkel returned with an urn of coffee and two metal mugs and set them on the table.

  Darleen shuddered a sob and said, “Thank you. Mmmm. Smells good.” She grabbed the metal coffee pot and poured. She bobbed her head and looked at Billip. “I think I’ll take your advice. It’s been a long night. Can I fill you up a cup?”

  “Sure,” Billip said. He grabbed his cup and held it out.

  Darleen swung the metal coffee pot into his jaw.

  Clang!

  Billip fell out of his chair clutching his face, stunned.

  Darleen raised the pot again and slung it at Nikkel.

  He ducked under it, swooped in and locked up her arms.

  “Let go of me!” she growled. Nikkel was big for a young man, but Darleen was bigger. Nastier. She drove her knee into his crotch.

  “Oof!” Nikkel said, buckling over.

  Brak went in for the bear hug. She slipped out of his arms like a wild animal and slugged him in the jaw.

  “Ow,” she said, flinging her hand, wincing. She launched her boot between his thighs. Once. Twice. Three times! “How’d that feel, you big-faced bastard!”

  Brak sagged to the floor.

  Darleen went for her knives.

  “Now I’m going to cut all your—”

  Georgio tackled her. Drove her into the floor. She started stabbing.

  Georgio howled.

  “How’s that feel, Pie Face!” She stuck him the leg again.

  “OW! You wart hog!”

  All the men piled on top of her. Billip wrenched the blade from her stabbing hands.

  “I’ve had enough of this!” Billip said. “Stop it!”

  She spat in his face. Kicked and flailed all over. “You haven’t seen the worst of me yet,” she growled. “Scorch! Scorch! Scor—mmrph!”

  Brak clamped his mouth over her mouth. She bit through the skin. He held on.

  “I hope you have a very good reason for this,” a voice said.

  The room went silent. Everyone froze. Ears perked. Eyes wide.

  Brak glanced over his shoulder. Scorch stood, arms folded over his chest. A look of disappointment on his handsome face. At his side, another man stood, hair black as coal and dark features. His eyes shone like red rubies.

  “They attacked me, Scorch!” Darleen said, wrestling back up to her feet. She shoved Billip’s face. “Tried to kill me.’

  “Humph, did they now?” Scorch rolled his fingers.

  Brak felt himself lift off the floor. A second later, all the men were careening toward the wall.

  CHAPTER 6

  Toowah! Toowah! Toowah!

  Creed dove under the barrage of darts and rolled against the wall. Bone! Riding on spiders whose fangs dripped with venom, the underlings scurried down the wall. Creed pulled the shroud over his head. Stupid. Slunk into the shadows and crouched. The underling riders scurried into the alley. Bright gemstone eyes, pale reds and yellows, blinking. There were four of them. They tugged at the reins on their saddles. On eight legs, the spiders swiveled around. Searching. Spider feet testing the ground.

  Behind them, Corrin lay unmoving. An underling rider poked at his back with a spear. The man was stiff as stone. Paralyzed. Creed had seen the poisoned darts in action before, as well as living bodies dragged off like corpses by underlings and spiders.

  The underlings chittered back and forth. Readied their weapons: curved swords, spears and javelins. For two weeks, Creed had learned their tactics. They were quick and calculating. Ruthless and lethal. So far as he could tell, the humans they didn’t kill were tortured or were turned into spider food. He’d learned some things about himself too. The underlings couldn’t see him when he had the shroud on. At least not until he struck. The spiders he wasn’t so sure about.

  The tiny red eyes of two spiders were on him. They crept closer. The underlings held the reins tight. Creed could make out the underling faces clear as day. One’s head was bald and the other’s hair was up in a ponytail. They had strange marks on their faces. Small jewels in their faces and ears in rows. They sickened him. His blood charged with fire.

  Closer. Come closer!

  The shroud urged him. Pushed him. His blades throbbed inside his palms.

  Strike Creed! Strike! It beckoned him on.

  Closer the spiders and riders came. Eight legs. Sixteen. Twenty-Four. Spider Venom dripped and sizzled in a filthy puddle. Creed couldn’t contain himself anymore. He rammed his first blade into the nearest spider’s face.

  Glitch!

  Cut open the belly of the rider.

  Slice!

  Energy filled him. His body exploded into motion. Blades flashed like lightening.

  Slice! Chop! Hack!

  Another spider and rider fell.

  A javelin zipped over his ducking head. A sword ripped through his thigh.

  “Argh!” he sagged to the ground. Whipped his blades up and deflected a spear coming for his throat.

  A spider turned and spewed webbing from its rear, covering Creed like a blanket. A cord of webbing caught his feet and jerked him to the ground. He cracked his head on the block pavement. Dark spots formed in his eyes. Grogginess assailed him.

  The underlings hopped off their spiders and shrieked in triumph. Creed lay still. Snagged and coated in sticky webbing. The spider reeled him in with its front legs. Its dripping maw snapped open and closed. The underlings surrounded him. Yellow eyes on one side. Red on
the other. They poised sword and spear to strike.

  Creed fought against the webbing. Sawed at it with his blades. They started to dissipate, too late. Sword and spear struck in unison.

  Glitch! Stab!

  The metal went straight through his chest from one side to the other.

  Nooooo!

  Creed’s strength fled him. His body filled with pain. He could not move. Up and down the underling weapons went. Again. Again and again. Blood erupted from his wounds. Wicked chitters erupted from the underlings’ lips. Their gemstone eyes aglitter.

  No. Creed thought one last time as darkness descended on his eyes. I’m not supposed to die this way.

  ***

  Still as stone. Helpless. Feeble. Corrin watched the underlings stab Creed over and over. A slaughterhouse. Their chitters were low and wicked. They bumped the backs of their bloody wrists, hoisted their gory spears in the air and spit on the swordsman. At least he took two of them. All I managed to do was piss myself. His stomach twisted when the underlings and spiders turned on him. No, not this way.

  They grabbed him by the boots and dragged him flat on his back. Both spat on his face and kicked him. Spider legs pawed all over him. Poison dripped on his legs. Corrin struggled against his unseen bonds. Screaming. Water filling his eyes. Just kill me, you evil fiends! How many people had the underlings tormented like this?

  The underlings looked at one another, chittered, and poised their weapons to strike the final blow. Eyes glowing bright, they brought their weapons down.

  Glitch!

  Glitch!

  Bloodied blades burst in and out of their throats.

  The spiders reared up with an eerie screech.

  The underlings collapsed dead on the ground. Spider legs flew off in bits and pieces. A tall shrouded man struck them like a steel tornado, filling the air with rancid guts.

  Creed? Impossible!

  Green eyes smoldered under the hood. It had to be Creed. Who else could it be?

  The man stuffed his gory blades in his sheaths and dashed over. He scooped Corrin up in his arms and threw him over his shoulder. Corrin’s body bounced and jolted in and out of the alleys and through the streets. I hope he knows where he’s going.