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

by Craig Halloran

  “Georgio?”

  “I know, Brak. I’m already going.”

  He nodded, and his eyes popped open. Did I just do that? He nodded again. A thrill went through him. He was trying not to think about it, to accept his condition, but it wasn’t easy when he had these moments. Sometimes, he swore he could feel his fingers and toes. In his dreams, he walked again, but that wasn’t very often. Most of the dark dreams were gone.

  A little girl in a white bonnet carrying a fistful of flowers walked over to his cart and said, “Can I have a ride?”

  “Uh,” Brak said, staring at the girl, “well…”

  She hopped up on back of the cart and started toying with the hay. “Where are we going?” she said in a sweet little voice.

  “To the falls,” Brak said.

  “Are you going swimming?”

  “No,” Brak said, “I can’t swim … right now.”

  “Huh,” the little girl said, kicking her legs up and down. “I can’t swim either. My hands and feet are so small that I can’t paddle.” She held them up. “See?”

  “Er … yes.”

  “Whoa,” she said, looking down at his hands. She grabbed one and lifted it up. It fell back down again. She picked it back up. “This is the biggest hand I’ve ever seen. Are you a giant?”

  “No.”

  She looked at him. “A small giant maybe? Like the ones in the park?”

  “Uh … Nikkel? Do you mind?”

  “Who’s Nikkel?” she said.

  “Never mind, uh, listen, do you think you can go away now?”

  “I can, but I don’t want to. I want to go for a ride first and then I’ll go.”

  Brak rolled his eyes. It wasn’t that the girl was unpleasant or anything, but he wasn’t very comfortable around people. Especially in his condition.

  “Who’s your friend?” Georgio said, holding a handkerchief of food. He dumped it into the wagon.

  “I don’t know. She wants to go for a ride, she says.”

  “Yes,” the girl turned and nodded. “A ride, please.”

  “Tell you what,” Georgio said. “Feed him, and I’ll take you for a ride. One lap around the plaza. A deal?”

  “Georgio, no!” Brak moaned.

  “Sure!” she crawled into the back and set herself up beside Brak. She grabbed a biscuit and shoved it at his mouth.

  Brak kept his lips sealed.

  “Oh, let me feed you. I like this game.”

  Brak could hear Georgio and Nikkel giggling, and the cart started moving. “I’m gonna kill you guy—ulp!”

  The girl stuffed the biscuit in his mouth, and he started to chew. The lap around the plaza was the longest of his life, and she talked the entire time. As soon as they finished the lap, the little girl hopped off.

  “Thanks,” she said, smiling and waving.

  Brak smiled back.

  Thunk!

  A crossbow bolt struck her in the head, toppling her over. A cry of alarm went up, and the plaza exploded into chaos. A pointing man cried out a warning. “Underlings!”

  Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!

  His bolt-riddled body spilled on the ground.

  Brak gasped for breath.

  Red death came swiftly, from a surge of hacking blades. A squad of gemstone-eyed underlings made a bee line right for them. A wave of underling warriors tore through the plaza, cutting down every person in their path. Screams of terror exploded, gurgled, and died.

  “Get Brak out of here, Nikkel!” Georgio yelled. He barred the path of the oncoming underlings and ripped out his sword. “Now!”

  Clatch-Zip!

  Clatch-Zip!

  A bolt rocketed into Georgio’s leg, spinning him back.

  “Dirty underlings!” Georgio screamed. He ripped the bolt out and charged into the fray, colliding with the throng, driving his blade into the fiends. His other fist popped one in the face.

  “Ee-yah!” Nikkel shouted, snapping the reins.

  “No, Nikkel, no!” Brak yelled. “We have to help Georgio!”

  “No, I have to get you to safety!”

  The sky lit up, and lightning cracked down. The cart exploded beneath Brak, sending shards of wood and splinters everywhere and toppling him out.

  Brak lay face to the ground. He could smell smoke and hear fire and slaughter. And most striking of all, the little girl’s bonnet smoldered by his head as death and chaos cackled around him.

  Brak let out a moan of helpless anger.

  CHAPTER 6

  Lefty huffed through the foliage, mile after mile, league after league, never looking back one single time. The wart-nosed dwarves would track him, but they’d never catch up. Or so he hoped. His big feet splashed through a creek, and he collapsed on the other side, gasping for breath. Panting. His small fingers dug into the wet dirt, and his little chest was heaving.

  Please be freedom. Please be freedom!

  He collapsed on his back and tried to blink away the ugly image of Hoknar’s wart-filled face from his mind. He hated those dwarves. They were cruel.

  So glad he’s dead.

  Then he remembered them bragging how thick their skulls were.

  He’d better be dead.

  He gathered his legs under him, sat down, and dusted the grime from his fingers.

  Where do I go?

  He’d avoided the roads that led to and from Hohm City, opting to stay in marsh and mist. The fog left a dampness all over him that he’d gotten used to, but all the squawking and burbling sounds disturbed him. He glanced over his shoulder. A mosquito bigger than his hand sucked on his neck.

  Smack!

  “Blood-sucking fiends. Is there nothing on Bish that doesn’t want blood?”

  He crossed his right foot over his other knee. A long gash burned along the bottom, and a thorn was lodged deep in the muscle. He plucked it out, wincing. His feet were tougher then hide leather, but they weren’t made of steel. He was vulnerable. He began plucking burning needles from his arms and legs.

  “Why is life such an agony?”

  He got up and began a renewed trek through the woods. His legs ached in a manner he’d never experienced before, and his feet throbbed and burned. He half limped and half walked. The rush of the flight now gone, his blood had simmered down.

  “Is this how the old feel?” he sobbed. “I’m beyond my years already.”

  He plucked a stick from the ground and put his weight on it.

  Small and ghostly, he wove through the moss that hung from the tree branches. He yawned from time to time, and his eyes became heavy.

  Keep going. I must find the sunlight. Keep going.

  He walked another half day until the fog became dim and blackness overtook the marsh. The rattle of lizard necks echoed in the eerie jungle.

  I can’t travel in this.

  He scurried up a tree and nestled himself among the branches.

  Please don’t let one of those monstrous snakes consume me. He huddled in closer. Oh, no one listens. If I die before I wake, well, I just hope it’s quick and painless. A moment later, his heavy eyelids closed, and he did not stir again until something stirred beneath him.

  Lefty’s eyes snapped open.

  Creepy sounds tickled his ears. It was daylight now, and the fog was a pale yellow. Lefty gently stirred in the branches, and dew dripped off his face.

  Thank goodness I still breathe.

  Soft footsteps crunched over the mossy ground below, and he bent his neck toward the sound. A figure scurried across the marsh floor, and footsteps waded through the shallow water nearby. He shimmied down for a closer look, tearing the dewy webbing away as he climbed down. Nearing the bottom, he froze, and his heart thundered in his chest.

  No!

  Underlings stood below him, chittering in low voices. Their hair was coarse, black, braided, and greasy. Armored in leather and other dark hides, they carried jagged spears and swords. One, wearing a narrow metal helmet and carrying a javelin, rode by on the back of a spider. Lefty’s belly twi
sted inside.

  Go! Go! Find those dwarves and kill them! Not me!

  He slipped and caught himself. Dew droplets pelted the underlings, whose necks snapped up.

  Please don’t see me! Please don’t see me!

  The underlings chittered back and forth, and one began climbing up his tree.

  Why me? Why me?

  A sharp whistle cut through the air.

  The underling climber froze just on the other side of Lefty. He could feel its breath on his fingers.

  Churt! Churt!

  The underling groaned and made his way back down the tree, joining the rest. In a rush, they quickly departed.

  Bish, that was close!

  Lefty waited several minutes, and then, with trembling hands and fingers, he made his way down the tree. He guessed there were at least a dozen underlings in the party.

  Where there’s one, there’s twenty. Bone!

  Body stiff, he picked his way through the marsh again with his eyes and ears wide open.

  I bet an underling army waits on the other side of this fog. That would be my fate. Ha! A well-deserved one.

  As he ambled by another willow tree, his senses caught fire. He tried to spring away, but it was too late. A pair of strong hands seized him and pushed him to the ground.

  CHAPTER 7

  Georgio’s blade sheared an underling’s head from its shoulders.

  Slice!

  Black blood spurted from the clean cut, and it wobbled to the ground.

  “Who’s next?!” Georgio said, waggling his sword. “Come on, roaches!”

  Through the corner of his eye, he caught a pair of underlings trying to tear a screaming woman in half. He charged, screaming in rage, “RAWR!”

  The underlings dropped the woman to the ground and drew their jagged blades. Their dark well-knit figures wore vests of chain mail. They flanked Georgio, chittering back and forth. The first smaller figure moved inside, sword striking at Georgio’s thigh.

  He parried.

  Clang!

  He countered with his own cut.

  The underling ducked underneath the swing, and the second underling jabbed its blade into Georgio’s same thigh.

  “Argh!” Two handed, Georgio took wide, arcing swings back and forth.

  The underlings spat at him, their chitters a mockery. Quick, confident, and sure handed, they darted in.

  Georgio swung hard.

  Swish!

  The underlings jumped back, and Georgio spun off balance. The underling blades found a home in his back.

  Jab!

  His eyes lit up, and he cried out. Eyes watering, Georgio swung on against the pain.

  The underlings were skilled soldiers, better than many he’d fought. Swordsmen. Seasoned. Sinister.

  Slice! Clip! Rip!

  ***

  “What happened?” Nikkel groaned. Blood dripped from his head, and he lay sprawled out on the cobblestones, numb and confused.

  Fire roared from plaza storefronts. People ran screaming. Bolts, darts, and javelins cut through their bodies. Underlings chopped down every person that breathed.

  Fighting the numbness in his head and shoulders, Nikkel crawled toward the shattered and burning cart. The pony was dead, and his club lay beside its hooves. On hands and knees, he crawled over the road and wrapped his hands around Skull Basher.

  Something is going to pay.

  A shadow passed through the air. Nikkel’s head snapped up. An underling in dark robes hovered there, sending shards of fire into the people. A man and woman erupted into flame, clothes burning and smoking. Underling soldiers cut them down where they stood.

  A guttural moan caught his ear. A man’s large foot lay underneath the burning cart.

  “Brak!” Nikkel sprang into action.

  An underling cut him off. Its ruby eyes fixed on him. Its black lips taunted him. Sharp steel wove around its body.

  “Challenge accepted,” Nikkel replied. He twirled the club once, stepped forward, and brought the weapon down with all his fury. The heavy weapon smashed the underling’s blades down and cracked the fiend’s skull. “YES!”

  Too-wah! Too-wah! Too-wah!

  Into Nikkel’s neck and face zinged darts that burned like fire.

  Nikkel whirled on his three new aggressors. Two had blowpipes in hand, and the third’s handheld crossbow lowered on his chest. Nikkel turned his shoulder toward them.

  Clatch-zip!

  The bolt zipped into the meat of his arm.

  “Blasted fiends! Come! Fight me!” he said, rushing straight for them.

  The underlings dropped their ranged weapons and went for their swords.

  Using his one good arm, Nikkel bashed in the nearest underling’s face. Quick as a cat, he spun and attacked the next underling. Skull Basher clobbered its narrowed chest with a nasty smacking sound. He faced off with the last, feeling woozy. “You poisoned me!”

  The underling raised its sword and chittered.

  Furious, Nikkel swayed, teetered, and toppled backward in front of the cart. All of his limbs were numb.

  No! It can’t happen this way! No!

  The underling glowered over him and lowered its sword on his neck, taking aim. It chittered and spat on his face. Raising the saw-toothed blade, it hissed a fatal warning.

  A loud, angry moan erupted underneath the burning cart.

  Oh no! Brak!

  The underling cocked its head, staring at the cart that stirred.

  Suddenly, the cart toppled over and Brak emerged. His blue eyes were glazed over and full of berserk fury. He picked up what was left of the flaming cart and hurled it into the shocked underling.

  Yes!

  Brak glowered down at Nikkel. His nostrils flared. His broad chest heaved, every fiber of his being now a monstrosity. He picked up Nikkel’s club and raised it over his head with bloodlust in his eye.

  No! Don’t kill me!

  Ssszram!

  A bolt of lightning smacked Brak square in the chest, knocking him from his feet. Nikkel saw the underling mage hovering above.

  Oh no. Where did Brak go?

  A moment later, Brak reappeared with the cart wheel in his hands. He hurled it upward. The wheel struck the mage full in the chest with a bone-crunching smack.

  Yes, Brak! Yes!

  Brak found the club, and with the power and speed of berserker rage, he launched out of sight and into the fray.

  Nikkel could hear the screaming, but it wasn’t just people, it was underlings as well.

  Kill ’em, Brak!

  ***

  Mind no longer his own, Brak waded into the blood-slicked streets.

  Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack!

  The first underling to cross him became a pile of leather armor and goo.

  With speed impossible for his size, Brak hurled himself into a squad of dark bodies. He smashed heads together, shattering skulls. His fists were bone-crunching mallets, the club Skull Basher a weapon of doom.

  “RAWR!”

  From underneath the pile of bodies, an underling scrambled and tried to scurry away. Brak snatched it up by the boots and slammed it with a sickening smack face first into the ground.

  Too-wah! Too-wah!

  His neck snapped around, and his eyes located the aggressor at his back. In two giant strides, he closed the gap, grabbed the hair on the underling’s head, and shoved the blowgun down its throat. He shoved the dying underling to the ground and stomped it with his feet.

  Movement flickered. Two underling blades flashed nearby.

  Brak picked the corpse up from the ground and launched it into the two assaulting figures. One by one he hewed them down with his sword in bone splintering chops.

  Clatch-Zip! Clatch-Zip!

  Bolts zinged into his back.

  He reached behind himself and ripped them out. He found the assailants and bore down on them.

  Underlings were fast, but not fast enough.

  Brak pounced on one, crushed its body beneath his great weight,
and drove the bolts into its eye sockets.

  The second underling rushed in with a sword, chopping straight at Brak’s belly.

  His hand lashed out, catching the underling by the wrist and jerking it to the ground.

  Whop! Whop! Whop!

  Brak punched its face in.

  He let out a blood-curdling howl and tracked down every dark fiend his battle-fueled eyes could find and killed them all. One by one.

  ***

  Georgio ran his sword through his final attacker. The underling twitched on the end of his blade and slid off with a hiss. Heart racing, Georgio eyed the plaza-turned-slaughterhouse. Dozens of people were dead. A dozen underlings were dead, too.

  “Bish!” he exclaimed.

  Splattered in blood, Brak lumbered through the ranks of the dead in a daze with shafts protruding from his body and gashes scoring his flesh. The oversized young man collapsed on the ground.

  Georgio rushed to his aid. “Brak,” Georgio said, rolling his friend onto his side. He plucked a pair of darts out of his back and laid him down. Brak’s face was smeared in blood, yet he still breathed. “Can you hear me?”

  Brak shook violently, let out a throaty growl, and fell silent.

  Georgio’s head filled with questions. How did Brak walk? Where did the underlings come from? And where was …

  “Nikkel!” he called out. “Nikkel!”

  Through the smoke, he located his friend lying on the ground, blinking his eyes. Georgio plucked darts from him.

  “Hold on. These things take time to wear off.” He wiped the sweat from his eyes. “Did you see Brak?”

  Nikkel blinked once.

  “He survived. We all did,” Georgio said, looking around. The dead were everywhere, and the lamentations of the survivors began. “Too bad for all of them. Now that the underlings have started, they’ll never stop.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Lefty’s struggles were muted by the iron grip that held him fast.

  Figures!