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

by Craig Halloran

  Fogle was geared all the same, his armor a pale green. It wasn’t heavy, but it had heft to it and it didn’t clank when he walked. His heart pounded in his chest.

  “I can see them,” he said, eyes closed. “Almost at the spot right now. Can you see them?”

  “Aye, I can,” Boon said. “I can already taste their blood in my mouth. Time to kill them.”

  Fogle readied his swords. Peered through the black Dimension Door. This is crazy!

  Boon nodded and dashed through.

  Fogle took a breath and jumped in right after.

  In a flash, they went from one part of the Outland to another. Bright sunlight greeted them, casting shadows over the backs of a dozen underlings.

  One in the back turned just in time to catch Boon’s blade through its chest. The next that turned lost its throat.

  Sling!

  “Keep swinging until they die or flee,” Boon roared, ramming his mystic blade through one chest and another.

  Fogle froze.

  “Attack, Fogle! Attack! I cannot do this alone!

  Fogle rose his blades and charged, yelling at the top of his lungs.

  In an instant, the underlings spread out, their jagged teeth filled with angry chitters. A pair in dark leather armor, small bucklers and wavy swords flanked him. Fogle chopped, shearing through one’s sword and arm.

  It howled, watching black-red blood erupt from its arm.

  Zip! Zip! Zip!

  Tiny crossbow bolts zinged off his armor. Fogle threw up his arms and stumbled back.

  “They can’t hurt you, Fool! Fight!” Boon yelled. Fogle didn’t hear anything.

  The underlings pressed. Necklaces of tiny bones and metals jangled. Blades flashed and crashed into his armor. They hit his belly, head and legs. How many times he didn’t know. One squeezed his legs together. The other knocked him over, stabbing at his face.

  “No!” Fogle screamed, flailing his arms. The mystic swords he’d formed were gone. He flailed with weaponless fists. Blow after blow the underlings hammered at him. Gemstone eyes glittered with hate. Claws ripped at his mystic helmet. It felt like the weight of the entire underling army was on him. Exhausted, he gasped for breath.

  The underling chittered in his face. Jabbed a dagger at his eyes. The blow skidded off his face but he felt it.

  Think, Fogle. Think. They cannot hurt you!

  He willed a dagger into his hand. A sharp blade of green fire erupted in his palm. He slammed it between the underling’s ribs.

  It lurched upward. Its knife fell loose from its grip. Fogle struck again.

  Zing!

  An ear came off, exposing the skull. It howled and caught a sharp jab in the belly.

  A pair of underlings jumped on his arms. Another appeared over Fogle’s head with a big rock. Its wiry arms brought it down full force.

  Crunch!

  Fogle’s Mystic Armor splintered and cracked.

  The underlings chittered in triumph and brought the rock down again and again.

  Flecks of green metal splintered off and dissipated in the air.

  “Boon!” Fogle screamed.

  The rock came down again.

  Crack!

  The green shield over his eyes was gone. Underling claws dug into his arms like knives.

  Up the rock went and down it started.

  Zing!

  A bright blue blade cut the underling’s arms off at the elbows. Blood sprayed the air. Underlings screamed.

  Boon shoved his blade into the one hanging on Fogle’s arm through the back. Fogle summoned his energy and screamed. A full-length blade erupted from his hand. Through the underling’s spine it went.

  Zing!

  ***

  “How are you holding up, Grandson?” Boon said.

  Fogle eyed his grandfather.

  The old man didn’t seem so old at all now. He’d shaved most of the white hair from his head and his beard was gone, leaving only a frosty mustache over a square jaw.

  Fogle grimaced, stitching up the gash in his arm with a hook needle and biting off the thread.

  “I still have my arm, no thanks to you.”

  “Hah,” Boon replied. He buried his face in a stream of water. Jerked it out and shook his head like a dog. “It was exciting, now, wasn’t it?”

  “I don’t know about that,” he replied. His voice echoed.

  They were in a cave illuminated by the orange glow of some very strange bugs Fogle had never seen before. Boon called them Lantern Bugs. Fogle didn’t care so long as the bugs the size of his hands didn’t crawl all over him. He wasn’t fond of bugs or caves. The caves especially. They just made him think of underlings.

  “Loosen up,” Boon said, rinsing the black blood of his robe in the stream. The well knitted old man was packed with the lean muscle of one half his age. “Plenty more fighting to come. Don’t overthink it. You did well.”

  He’d done well not to die at least. Hours ago, he’d used Inky his ebony hawk to track down a pack of underlings. Boon had set up an ambush. Two wizards attacking twelve. Boon’d had them both cast the Infinity Armor spell.

  Fogle found the entire event exhilarating and terrifying. Seconds into it, he’d been pinned down. Dying. What happened in seconds had felt like hours. His arms still trembled. Invincible or not, fighting hand to hand took great effort. His body, though hardened of late, was far from prepared for it.

  “What now?” Fogle said, sticking his hand in the creek and washing the blood away. He grimaced. “Are we going to take down all the underlings a dozen at a time? It’ll take years. Decades, assuming we live.”

  “But it would be fun, now, wouldn’t it?”

  “No.” Fogle said. He rubbed his neck. “Can’t we just go back to the City of Three? I’ve had enough adventures to last a lifetime.”

  “You don’t really feel compelled to go back there, do you? Hmm?”

  Fogle didn’t reply. It wasn’t the City of Three he’d been thinking about. It was Cass. The crazy woman had abandoned him for a Dragon. Now Mood was gone and so was the beast Chongo. He felt bad. He didn’t like the thought of never seeing them again. Even Cass.

  “Well, you won’t take us into the Mist?”

  “Oh no,” Fogle said, eyes narrowing. “I’ve had all the Under-Bish I can handle for a lifetime.” His voice became serious. “You don’t understand, Fogle. Life is much easier up here. The world is twisted down there. Giants, the ones you saw. There are bigger. They toy with the races like rodents.”

  “You survived.”

  “Aye, but there’s always survivors. Just not many of our kind down there.”

  Fogle wasn’t so certain he believed his grandfather. He was almost convinced Boon didn’t want to tell. And it was more likely he just wanted to kill underlings. He was so enthusiastic about that, he almost had Fogle looking forward to it.

  He swatted a Lantern Bug from his sleeve.

  “We can’t keep this up, Boon. The underlings will figure us out. They have plenty of magic at their disposal too. What happens when we show up and they’re waiting?”

  “They’ve already ambushed us once,” Boon moaned. “Don’t be such a whimper face.”

  Fogle laid his head back in the soft cool dirt with a sigh. They’d been doing more than ambushing underlings. They’d been spying on them. Taking notes. Measuring their forces. Boon said this was what he did back when. During the days when he had wielded the mantle from the mystic sack. Decades ago. Boon’s comments haunted him when he whispered, “I’ve never seen so many before. Do they now breed like rabbits?”

  Fogle closed his eyes. Rested his burning wounds and aching muscles. He could hear Boon munching on nuts or something in the background. The two of them had become quite connected over the past two weeks, feeding off one another’s magic. When Fogle summoned Inky now, Boon could see through the bird’s eyes too. From the clouds above they kept watch on the underlings. Armies of them headed from the Mountains of the Underland caves and marched east tow
ard the City of Bone. Fogle shuddered at the thought of it.

  Their warriors donned the finest dark metal armor. Their weapons were jagged edges, sharp as razors. Squads, rows, columns of them traversed the harsh landscape like a black plague. There were spiders, huge and enormous. Cave dogs bigger than horses pulling chariots. Alongside the ranks, Underling Magi and Clerics walked. Some floated. What fled was hunted down and destroyed. Wherever they went, blood and death followed. What stood its ground died … horribly.

  “Boon,” Fogle said, “I’m not very well versed in the military. All I’ve ever known was when it came to fighting Underlings, there were always a lot more of us than them.”

  “So we have always believed.”

  “Have you ever seen armies of men that big?”

  “All at once?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t think. Maybe.”

  “That doesn’t sound very promising

  “Some say there’s more room below the ground than above.”

  Fogle propped himself up on his elbow. Boon was crunching on a Lantern Bug. The goo on his chin glowed. Ugh! I am not related to you! His stomach turned.

  “Try some,” Boon suggested. “Tasty.”

  Fogle sighed and resumed his thoughts. The idea of Bish being filled to the belly with underlings horrified him. He could see them pouring out of caves, sewers and every nook and cranny.

  “When are we going to tell somebody what we know? Shouldn’t we have done that by now?”

  “We will.”

  “When? The longer we wait, the more people will die.”

  “Most of them are already dead anyway.” Boon grunted and lay down. “Now try to get some sleep. We have much fighting ahead of us.”

  Fogle lay back down.

  If I wasn’t learning so much from you, I’d go back to Three and let you do all the fighting.

  CHAPTER 10

  Creed’s grip was white knuckled on his hilts. He could see and feel everything about the underlings. Their hatred. Cruelty. How they punished men. Ripped them to shreds. There was no good in them.

  He stepped in front of Corrin. He could hear the blood dripping from his soaked shirt. Moments ago, he had felt the painful bites of sharp metal jabbing through his chest. Up and down, the blades had gone. He’d not been able to stop them, nor even to scream. In agony, he had died. His entire life had flashed in front of his eyes. Every triumph. Every failure. Moments later, white fire had coursed through his body, causing even more agony as felt the burning sensation. But then he had heard his muscles and bones mending. Burning like fire. Felt the open wounds in his skin sealing. With scorching pain. Now he was back. Pure. Clean. Terrified. Angry.

  He sliced his blades in front of him.

  Swish! Swish!

  “Come on then,” he beckoned with his blades.

  The first pair advanced. They struck fast. Swords licking out in flashes.

  Creed parried both.

  Clang! Clang!

  And opened their throats.

  Slice! Slice!

  Two fell and three came. Their chitters were angry. Hateful. Their efforts were muted by Creed’s speed and skill. Children wielding sticks fighting a swordsman of another kind.

  Slice! Slice!

  He ducked. Parried. Chopped.

  An underling hand came off. The fourth fell, then the fifth. The third picked up his severed hand and ran.

  A circle of death surrounded him. Creed sensed every move. Every tactic. Countered and jabbed.

  Glitch!

  He lanced two hearts and ripped his blades out with gore coated to the hilt. Dark blood filled the cracks in the cobble stones. The sixth fell, and the seventh. But more and more were coming.

  I can’t keep this up!

  Creed’s chest burned. His arms tired. The shroud crooned inside his skull, pushing him from one new limit to the other. The eighth, ninth and tenth fell.

  “Argh!”

  Something slit his back. Stabbed his shoulder.

  Lightning fast strokes struck at necks beneath glittering eyes.

  Swish! Swish!

  Underlings dove at his legs. They screeched and hung on despite his stabbing blades. Two underlings in heavy armor appeared, swinging battle axes. Three more pointed small crossbows at him.

  Clatch-Zip! Clatch-Zip! Clatch-Zip!

  Bolts buried themselves in his arms and shoulders.

  “No!” Creed yelled.

  He ducked under a battle axe. Parried another.

  Clatch-Zip!

  Creed lurched. A bolt buried itself in his back and burned like fire.

  No!

  His swings were wild. His arms like lead. The underlings swarmed him. Claws and blades ripped at his clothes, skin and armor.

  “No!”

  He busted one in the teeth with his hilt. Cracked another nose. A long blade slipped into his heart and it beat no more.

  Not again! NOOOO!

  ***

  “Creed!” A deep voice bellowed. “Creed!”

  Twack! Twack! Twack! Twack!

  Castle Bloodhound attacked. The small gate in the front opened and a squad of Bloodhounds in heavy armor poured out. Packs of attack dogs surged out before them.

  Above them from the small parapet, archers fired with deadly accuracy. The underling ranks were dissected by the aerial attack and the bigger men in heavy armor. The ones that fought, died. The ones that didn’t, ran. The underlings were fast, but the big dogs were faster. Their jaws locked on necks, arms and legs and the Bloodhound soldiers finished them off with heavy swords and war hammers that cracked skulls and bone.

  “Get them both inside!” a man ordered. He wore a steel breast plate and helmet and had a thick grey beard.

  Two Bloodhounds dragged Creed’s bloody corpse over the road and inside. The others followed suit and grabbed Corrin. Someone made a sharp whistle and the panting dogs headed back through the tunnel with bloody maws panting. The door was shut. The crossbar dropped.

  Glitch!

  Mauk howled. A small dagger was jammed straight through his shoulder.

  “You might hang for this, Mauk!” the grey bearded man said. “This is no time for children’s grudges!”

  “I’s only following orders, Grom,” Mauk the Gatekeeper whined.

  Grom ripped the dagger out and punched Mauk in the face.

  Mauk howled and fell to his knees.

  “That’s Lord Grom!”

  ***

  “He’s dead,” Lord Grom said.

  “He breathes,” a woman said. Her old voice rattled in her throat.

  “I’ve no time for your games, Hag.”

  “I play no games with you, Lord. Your grandson lives!”

  Creed lay still. He could hear everything they said. Once again, he felt the healing white fire rushing through him from head to toe.

  “Impossible!” Grom said. “He’s got gashes clean though his armor. I saw him fall. With mine own eyes. Do you dare tell me they play tricks!”

  “Lord, Creed breathes, but not on my account.”

  Her bracelets rattled on her bony wrists. Her breath was like putrid honey. Creed knew the hag well. An ancient woman, even when he was a child. Her frizzy hair more white than brown. His family called her Haggie, but she seemed to accept the name as if it honored her. Haggie wandered the halls like a banshee in the night warding off evil, she said. Creed always figured she was evil. ‘Never trust a woman with hair like that’, his father always said. “Nor one that eats rats, either.”

  The life in Creed’s limbs returned. He sat up.

  “Great Bish!” Lord Grom said, staggering back. “Creed! Is that you or is this some fiend’s trick?”

  “It’s me, Grandfather.” He groaned and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I live.”

  Lord Grom pulled out a dagger. Pointed it at his chest.

  “Open it!”

  Creed jerked back.

  “Grandfather, open what?”

  “Let me
see those wounds. I need to see if you are a man or a wraith.”

  Creed slid out of his blood-soaked armor and dropped it on the floor. There were white scars that hadn’t been there before. He coughed and spat blood.

  Haggie poked him with her crooked fingers.

  Grom’s hard green eyes were filled with wonder.

  “He’s a regener,” the hag said. “A great gift.” She tugged at the scraggly hairs on her chin. “But I don’t recall him ever mending ‘fore. This swordsman been cut many times. Several times I’ve stitched him, I have.”

  “A regener?” Lord Grom said. He slid his dagger back inside his sheath. “I’ve heard about that. A great gift indeed. Is this true, Creed? How long have you known?”

  “Uh,” Creed started, scratching his ear. He’d kept the nature of the armament a secret from everyone in his family. He couldn’t trust most of them. Only Corrin and Lorda knew. But there was no explanation for what happened to him either. A regener? Go with it, Creed. “I noticed this healing a few weeks ago when I was sparring with some Royals. “I got clipped good. But I only bled for a second.”

  “Hah!” Grom said, slapping him on his shoulders. “You Ducker of Death! My own Grandson. Leave us, Haggie, and send for some wine. And not a word of this. Too many Bloodhounds might envy his blood.”

  Haggie scowled at him.

  “I don’t converse with you mutt-lovers.” She jerked her raggedy robes. “I’ll tend to the rest of the wounded. Fetch your own wine, Hounds.” Teetering through the door, she snickered and slammed it closed.

  ***

  Creed swayed through the halls of Castle Bloodhound, humming a dark tune. At his side, a tall shaggy grey hound followed. He bumped into a table, hiccupped, and steadied himself against the walls.

  “I don’t remember these walls moving?”

  Castle Bloodhound was nothing like Castle Almen. There was no marble. No great magnificent halls. The heavy plank floors creaked in some spots and the wooden beams above showed cobwebs and dust. The paint on the plaster walls was chipped and most of the furniture was covered in dogs. Urchins, young and old, scurried from one room to another, bowing as they passed.