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

by Craig Halloran

  The underling almost cleared the gorge and faded into the woods. There was a flash.

  Boom!

  Something exploded in its path.

  They all jogged up to see what happened.

  Brak greeted them. He wore a buckskin jerkin and matching boots. He towered over all of them, near seven feet tall. He dragged the underling over the ground with one hand and had the glowing white cudgel, Spine Breaker, slung over his other shoulder.

  Venir started laughing when Brak said, “I might be slow, but I deliver.”

  ***

  A campfire crackled, its warm glow lighting the faces of all the weary men. It had been over a year since Venir returned to the Magi Roost, and they’d been back in the hunt ever since. He watched Brak skin a rabbit, gut it, run a stick though it, and set in on the spit with the others. Barely sixteen, the man-child was a stack of hard muscles.

  “There should be bigger rabbits,” Georgio said, holding his groaning belly. “And trees should grow meat on them. And cheese.”

  “And bread,” Brak frowned.

  Brak’s sullen eyes glanced at Venir and then away. They’d gotten to know each other better, but it was odd. Venir felt guilt about the loss of his boy’s mother, Vorla. It angered him. He leaned his heavy shoulders back against the tree and glanced over at Nikkel. The thought of not seeing Mikkel again didn’t sit well either. The big man had always been there for him. Venir hadn’t been there for them, but that was Bish. That was Bone. It didn’t used to bother him so.

  “You misfits get some rest,” Venir said. “I’ll take the first watch.”

  “You always take the first watch, and end up staying up all night,” Georgio said, tearing off a piece of rabbit. “You get some rest. I’ll take first watch.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Venir said. He banged on Helm with his knuckle. “The two of us can handle it.”

  Georgio shrugged.

  “If you say so.”

  A few minutes passed, and things began to settle. Above, the sky was clear. One moon was bloody, the other a bright light. An hour went by, and the young men were all fast asleep. No blankets. No pillows. No anything.

  Billip slipped over and sat down beside Venir.

  “They’ve adapted well,” the archer said, rubbing the hair on his chin. “Better than I’d given them credit for. They mind you. Well, I’m not sure if it’s you they mind, or that get-up you put on. I’m glad you’ve got it back, though. Takes me back to times when.”

  “Aye,” Venir said. He rubbed his calloused hand up and down Brool’s hardwood handle. The moment he had reached into the sack those many months ago, its warmth had brought him back. The aches, pains, and doubts were gone. His worn-down self had been renewed. Oh, his fingers and ear were still missing. The black scars from this battle with the Vicious still burned from time to time. And the hitch in his step and aching shoulder weren’t gone. But he was 100% better. “Aye.”

  “Don’t you think it’s time we headed back? It’s quite a bounty of skulls we’ve collected.” Billip popped his knuckles. “And I’m a bit tired of creek water. Not that I’m complaining.”

  “I’m sure Joline misses you, too.”

  Billip pulled his shoulders back and said with a grin, “And why wouldn’t she.” He huffed a quick laugh. “It’s not just that though. I worry. I worry about ‘you know who’ coming back. He said he would.”

  Bish already had its problems. Dealing with the likes of Scorch only made it worse. Underling forces amassed all over. They pressed north now. They had become a menace south of the City of Three, but unlike at Bone, the leadership of Three had responded. Venir had responded as well. For over a year, he and his comrades had kept the underlings at bay. But how much longer could they hold it together. The royals were a dysfunctional mess. Venir wouldn’t deal with them or their armies. The way they ran things, it wouldn’t be long before they ran out of men, if they didn’t get their act together.

  “We’ll head back tomorrow.”

  Billip brightened.

  “Really?”

  Venir glanced over at the boys.

  “I’m tired of hearing all those tummies rumbling. They’ve almost gotten us killed more than once.”

  “Ha,” Billip said, “I know.” He patted Venir on the shoulder, moved over to his spot, and closed his eyes. “See you in the morning.”

  Venir sat a little longer, staring into the fire. He didn’t want to go back to the City of Three. Not because of Kam. He missed her warm body at his side, her soft lips pressed against his. Her fiery moments, he could do without. Well, some of them. He smiled. Erin, his daughter, seemed to double in size every time he returned. He looked forward to that. Every time he went back, it became harder to leave. But the Outlands called to him. The winds whispered in his ears. Come back, Warrior. Come back. The Outlands was his mistress. He had to defend her.

  As soon as Billip’s breath eased, Venir grabbed the armament and slipped into the darkness. The stark Outland horizon greeted him. The wind whistled by Brool’s blade, making a low eerie howl. He slung the shield over his shoulders and buckled Helm over his head. Venir’s senses came to life. An awakening. Underlings were out there. He knew he should stay close to the camp, but Helm’s hunger overtook him.

  Let’s go hunting.

  CHAPTER 2

  Melegal strolled through the streets with Quickster in tow. The City of Three was an adjustment, but not a difficult one. Its pleasantries were far better than those in the City of Bone. There were more flowers and colorful banners dancing in the wind. The people spoke more often to one another, and there were many races: mostly men, but also dwarves, halflings, and the odd-looking mintaurs. There were some others of repute. Soldiers of fortune. Brigands. Mercenaries and thieves with half-orcs among them. Those were the ones Melegal enjoyed watching most.

  They think they’re so clever.

  Flipping Quickster’s reins over a post, Melegal watched a carriage rumble by. After a couple of minutes, he eased his way in between a pair of fruit stands and fingered the produce of the vines. The merchant haggled with a pair of elderly women over the price of gourds. They held no interest for him, but a rough-looking bunch of sell-swords did. They walked through the streets swinging their broad shoulders and giving the women heavy looks. They smiled, bowed their heads, and asked for directions. They’d been hard at it the past few days, pestering the locals.

  Melegal took a pear in hand and began peeling it with a fine knife resting his narrow shoulder against the store post.

  “Pardon me, ladies,” the storekeeper said, glaring at Melegal. He rolled up his sleeves and stormed over. “That’s not free.”

  Melegal produced a small silver coin and stuffed it in the man’s meaty hand.

  “Sorry,” he said, “but I could not contain myself. One for me and one for my pony.”

  “Take it, and take it now, then,” the store keeper shot back, wiping his hands on his dark green apron. “And don’t be loitering. I’ve had enough of that. I’ll call the Watch.”

  “Do I look like a loiterer to you?” Melegal said, brushing his hand down the front of his clothes. This Three garb was tighter than the loose-fitting clothes he was used to. He could still conceal things, but it was more difficult. The fabric was also more refined. Kam and Joline had insisted. It had taken some convincing, but he had finally accepted that the best way to maintain his anonymity was to look like everyone else.

  “No, but you’re a stranger.”

  “I’m a customer now, am I not?”

  The old women in big hats started calling after the storekeeper. His shoulders sagged, but his head tilted up and back. Shaking his finger at Melegal, he said, “My customers shop here more than once. Feed your hairy mule and go.” He marched back to the ladies, with a forced smile on his face.

  Melegal grabbed another red pear and walked over to give it to Quickster. He scratched Quickster’s ears.

  “Can you believe he called you a mule?” He sn
eered at the storekeeper. “He looks more like a mule than you do. Fuzzy headed—”

  Quickster nickered.

  “You said it,” Melegal said. He leaned over Quickster’s saddle and continued peeling his pear, chewing up sliver after sliver. The sweet and succulent fruit was something he’d gotten accustomed to. The orchards in the City of Three were amazing. Great fields, miles of them, stretched into the lands beyond the Three Water Falls as far as the eye could see. Not only did it make for wonderful fruit, but excellent wine as well. “I think we’ll get a drink next. But first, we’ll see how this plays out.”

  A woman in a dazzling dress walked by, staring at him.

  “My pony requires special attention,” Melegal said, tipping his cap.

  She turned her nose away and marched on.

  “I might need to discontinue our conversations, Quickster,” he said, watching her walk away.

  An image of Octopus formed in his head. He figured the blind eight-clawed cat would be fine, but he did miss its company. Getting reacquainted with Quickster over the past year had been good for him. Quickster, quiet and resilient, neither argued nor pestered. He just breathed, ate, dumped, and did what he was told. It made him a lot more tolerable than most people.

  Melegal reached down and rubbed his pony’s shaggy black belly.

  “You’re a true friend …” he noticed another woman—fishing through the fruits close by— staring at him. He tipped his cap. One that listens and doesn’t judge.

  Not many had much appreciation for Quickster, nor for Melegal’s fondness for him. Quickster was a pony that looked more like a mule. He ran as fast as a horse, but looked slow. The shaggy grey-black gelding had lazy eyes and bent ears. His furriness made him look fat, which said ‘slow’ to most people. Melegal liked that deception about the creature.

  In reality, Quickster was even faster than Chongo. He ate like a horse and kicked like a mule. The kick had gotten Melegal out of a jam or two. He chuckled and kept scratching Quickster’s ears.

  Stupid Billip.

  Years ago, when he and Venir first arrived in Two-Ten City, Melegal had needed a mount. Billip was the one who sold it to him, not realizing Quickster’s full value. Melegal hadn’t known a thing about ponies, either, but Billip hadn’t seemed interested in parting with any more horses, and Melegal hadn’t wanted to part with any more silver. The two of them haggled for over an hour, finally settling on twenty coins of silver. Billip departed the stables cracking his knuckles. He had chuckled until a few days later.

  Bish is full of surprises. You were certainly one of them.

  Melegal, Venir, Billip and Mikkel had taken on a small mission delivering rare spices to a smaller city leagues away. This was long before Venir had the armament. Underlings ambushed them. Quickster kicked one in the chest and trampled another. Outnumbered five to one, they fled, back toward Two Ten City. Melegal had never been on anything so fast before. Quickster and Melegal were the first ones back. The others caught up almost an hour later. The underlings never came beyond the edge of the city. Venir was furious they fled. But Billip was the angriest of all. His horse, a great brown, died from a wound tainted with underling poison. Quickster had the same wound as well, but nothing happened. Ever since then, Billip had been trying to take Quickster back, but no matter how much he offered, Melegal never parted with him.

  “Alright, move along, will you?” the storekeeper said, sweeping his porch and eyeing him good.

  Melegal tossed the pear core on the porch and said, “It was good, but there are better ones down the street.” He took Quickster by the reins and moved on, following a group of rough necked men in light arms and weapons. They had a woman hemmed in with their helpful comments. They reminded him of the thug named Jeb, back in the Drunken Octopus. He clenched his fists, and his slender face ached a little. He and Quickster rubbed past them.

  “Watch where you’re going,” the tallest one said. He had a longsword strapped over his back and tattoos all over his bare arms and hands. The rest were about the same. Buckskin boots and tanned leather armor. Chains and jewelry about their greasy necks.

  “Could any of you tell me where the nearest winery is?” Melegal said, eyeing them all, “I’ve a package to pick up and deliver, and I fear that I’m quite late.”

  “I can show you,” the woman said in a nervous voice. Her eyes were pretty, her skin soft and light as her cotton knit clothing. She had a lithe frame like Haze. “It’s near.”

  “That would be splendid.”

  The men crowded around her, shoving themselves between him and her.

  “It’s down there,” the tallest said. “Now get moving.”

  “Down where?” Melegal said, looking around. “You didn’t show me anything. You just said, ‘Down there’. Down where?”

  The thug came closer and leered down at Melegal. His voice was low and threatening.

  “Down there,” he said, pointing down the street. “Now get moving.”

  Melegal’s eyes scanned all directions.

  “I don’t think ‘down there’ is a direction. Could you be more specific?”

  The mercenary slipped a knife out of his belt and said through his yellow teeth, “Get going.”

  “Oh,” Melegal said, aghast, “are you threatening me? Over simple directions. Well, we’ll see what the City Watch have to say about that.”

  The man grabbed Melegal by the collar, lifted him up to his toes and said, “I am the City Watch.”

  The man’s statement wasn’t outside of the realm of possibility. Many of the City Watch had been deployed, leaving the streets in the City of Three a bit more risky. Men such as this mercenary-type were preying on women whose husbands were out fighting or had been lost in the battles beyond.

  “I see,” Melegal said, “I think I can find it on my own. Thank you.”

  The man let go of his collar and said, “Get going then. You’re running late, aren’t you?”

  Melegal nodded and caught the woman’s pleading look. He winked at her and followed it with a clicking sound. Quickster’s back hooves exploded into the mercenary’s chest. The big man sailed off his feet and into the others. Cries of alarm went up, and steel ripped out of leather. The woman ran one way. Melegal and Quickster darted another.

  What in Bish am I doing?

  CHAPTER 3

  A ghost in the darkness, Venir felt free with the hot Outland air on his face. Liberated. He covered the gritty ground in long strides, distancing himself from the camp. Helm throbbed on his head. His enhanced senses pulsated, fingertips tingling with warmth as if he sat at a fire.

  There are many. Always many.

  There didn’t used to be so many.

  Lathered in sweat, he slowed on a hillcrest that overlooked a deep valley and took a knee. Dozens of figures scurried in the darkness below. Through Helm, he could see them. Warm bodies and dark outlines. He could feel them. Smell them. It lingered in the air. Everywhere. He laid Brool down in the dirt beside him.

  Soon, my friend. Soon.

  Venir didn’t understand why, but Helm no longer felt like a boiling pot on his head when underlings neared. It beckoned. It drove him. But the madness that had consumed him before did not have the same hold on him. He could still feel Helm’s strength and power flowing through him. Its edge was far from gone, but now Venir was in control. Perhaps all he’d been through, all he’d survived without it, had made him stronger.

  Maybe we both need each other.

  Maybe.

  Down there, the underlings were a regiment of scouts. Dozens of them. Well-armed and well armored. Hundreds of royal soldiers from the City of Three had fallen the past several months, trying to track the underlings down only to meet with fatal results. Venir had tried to warn them, tried to explain the underlings’ tactics to them, but the royals weren’t interested in listening.

  Fools.

  Venir eased his way down the hill toward a pair of underlings digging holes in the dirt. The digging sounds of their
shovels stirred his blood. He hated that sound. Metal spades crunching into the dirt. He slipped and came to a stop. Rock debris tumbled down the hill.

  The underlings stopped digging. Their heads snapped. They dropped their shovels, drew their blades, and ran his way. Their dark jewel eyes looked right through him, up down and beyond. They wore dark leather armor, and their wavy swords glinted red in the light of the moons. They stopped ten yards short of Venir, chittering softly back and forth. One pointed right at him with its sword.

  Keep talking, fiends. My friend Brool has something to say to you, too.

  Helm moaned. Urged him forward. His veins filled with fire. Brool throbbed in his palms, imploring him to strike. Venir choked his hatred down.

  Go!

  When I’m ready.

  The nearest underling picked up a rock and tossed it up and down it its clawed hand. It chittered back to the other one that pointed right at Venir.

  This pair is on to something.

  Noted.

  Venir never understood why the underlings couldn’t see him or how he appeared to them. He just knew that as long as he only slowly crept up on them, they never saw him coming until it was too late.

  The underling chucked the rock.

  Tink.

  It bounced off Helm and landed on the ground with a plop.

  The underlings’ eyes widened. They shuffled back. The one in front chittered an order to the other.

  “Warn the others,” it said with a hiss.

  What? Did I just understand what it said?

  “Warn them about what?” the second one chittered. “That you can’t throw a rock?”

  I swear they’re speaking Underling. And I understand it!

  “Get moving,” the other one said. “It could be a ghost. They say the Outlands are spooked.”

  “There is nothing there, Fool.”

  “They say he’s returned.”

  “Hah! That was never true. They say much to you, because you always believe them. That’s why we’re always digging.”

  The first underling picked up another rock and tossed it to the second. “You throw it.”