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

by Craig Halloran

  “What?” Kam said, looking at Melegal. “You never mentioned that you saw Venir.”

  Melegal narrowed his eyes on hers. “You didn’t ask.”

  She blanched. “I’d expect you’d be more forthcoming with such information.”

  “And I’d expect you’d show more concern. But not a word.”

  “Neither a word from you!”

  Fogle stuck his hand out. “I think we are all guilty, but Venir comes and goes as he pleases. I think we are all accustomed to that by now.”

  Melegal agreed. There wasn’t much of a reason to worry about Venir. There was no point in it. Melegal addressed them all.

  “Let me clear the air. I ran across Venir in a place called the Snake Pit, where I was by divine appointment.” He glanced at Jaen. “It seems the Royals are bartering with underlings these days. They needed a courier of sorts, so I was whisked into her tower and the return of Quickster was brokered.”

  “You barter with underlings!” Kam said. “And my father knows of this?”

  “They all know,” Jaen said with a shrug. “And things were fine until your friend spoiled it.”

  “Ha!” Melegal said, slapping the table. “You mean to tell me that the underlings require you to rid them of the menace, Venir? Ha!”

  Fogle laughed at his side, and even Kam’s flustered look cracked a smile.

  “This isn’t a light matter,” Palzor said. “Citizens die in the streets because of him.”

  “Because of him?” Kam said, standing up. “Oh no no no! Citizens are dying because of you! Because of them! They are underlings, you fools!”

  A dagger snaked out of Palzor’s sleeve and appeared under Kam’s neck.

  Melegal’s hand slid inside his tunic. That was fast!

  “I warned you about the insults,” Palzor said, pressing his blade against Kam’s neck. Her eyes widened. “Seal your lips, else I seal them forever.”

  “If,” Kam said, regaining her composure, “you don’t want to hear what I have to say, then you shouldn’t have come into my tavern.”

  “Perhaps we need to take a breath,” Fogle suggested.

  In a blink, Palzor sheathed his blade. “A breath it is, but careful, all of you. Your breath lies in my hands, and as I said, I won’t hesitate to kill you. Especially when I am insulted for trying to do us all a favor.”

  Kam started to stir, took a breath, and thought better of it.

  “How so?” Melegal asked.

  “Your comrade, this Venir, the underlings want him dead.”

  “That’s nothing new,” Melegal added.

  “Well, your formidable friend can be an ally to us. We need you to go down below the city and pull him out of there. Talk some sense into him.”

  “You have The Nest.” Kam said. “Why don’t you have your ilk do it?”

  “My ilk can offer aid below, but the guild operates a bit differently these days, now that my son is no longer in charge.” He eyed Kam. “They are a bit more independent.”

  “So,” Fogle said, “you want us to save the underlings from Venir.”

  “I want to save this city,” Palzor said. “For every underling he takes, they take scores of our citizens. You’ve seen it. Heard it. Someone has to talk some sense into the man.”

  “I think someone needs to talk some sense into you,” Fogle said.

  “These matters are—”

  “Beyond my understanding?” Fogle interrupted. “Are you joking? I’m a mage of the highest order. I’m well versed in all the rat-and-maze games you play. If anyone is being insulting, it is you.”

  Palzor’s lips curled. “I could have you wiped out with—”

  “A whisper?” Fogle said, cocking his head. “I could wipe you out with a thought.”

  Palzor huffed.

  Fogle leaned forward with a formidable look on his face. “I was top of the class in all my schools. I even bested some of my teachers. However, I learned nothing from them compared to what I learned out there, fighting underlings.”

  Palzor blinked.

  Fogle’s face became a sneer. “And I faced the best underlings. Masters of their craft. Those fools in the towers pale in comparison. And now in their arrogance and foolish ways, they find themselves in too deep with something more dark and fierce than they ever imagined. And you come here to blame us?”

  Palzor’s eyes flashed. “You think too highly of yourself, Fogle.”

  “No, I know my limits. It is you and the Royals who do not know yours, and now the underlings have you by the nuggets.”

  The air became ripe with tension.

  Good show, Fogle. Good show. Melegal had to admit, the mage did have some grit to him. And it was clear in the eyes of the women that they could see Fogle’s grit.

  “Well then,” Palzor said, “it seems I’ve found the perfect man for the job.”

  “How so?” Fogle said.

  “Jaen,” Palzor said, cocking his head. “Tell them.”

  Smiling, she pulled back her shoulders and started to speak.

  Melegal caught a flash of movement from the corner of his eye. Senses dulled by wine, he couldn’t move in time. His fingers stretched out toward a large pellet Palzor had dropped on the table, but not before he saw it exploding into a smoky yellow mist.

  Kam collapsed on the table face first.

  Melegal’s vision faded and obscured. His sharp mind turned sleepy, but he could hear Palzor’s soft laughter.

  Slat!

  CHAPTER 14

  In the subterranean world below the City of Three, a small group of underlings stood watch on the shore of the underground river. With a torch burning at each corner, a small barge drifted through one of the tunnels.

  “Look,” one underling said, tapping another’s shoulder.

  The other underling twisted around.

  They all had dark-red gemstone eyes, wore dark mail, and had dark swords belted to their hips. Their hair was long and coarse, pulled back in braids. They were Badoon warriors. Man hunters. Extremely deadly.

  “Be ready,” one said, slipping his sword with its jagged edge from the scabbard.

  Weapons bared, the underlings returned their gaze to the barge drifting in the water. The craft, big enough for a dozen men, drifted along the slow current of the dark river. The heads of the torches were huge, casting off rank yellow-orange flames.

  “What is it that burns so foul?” one said, cocking his head, watching the barge glide by.

  An underling shoved another one toward the water. “Fetch it.”

  It paused.

  “Go!” the underling ordered. “Fear is death.”

  “I have no fear,” the underling said, wading into the water with his sword ready. He stopped and glanced back.

  “Fear is for humans,” the Badoon leader said.

  Chest deep in the water, the underling pressed on until he stood alongside the craft. He grabbed a rope and towed the small barge up onto the shore as far is it would go. “No fear!” he said to the leader and let out an angry chitter.

  The underlings surrounded the craft and closed in.

  “Look,” one hissed, pointing toward one of the torches.

  It wasn’t a torch at all, but a burning underling skull.

  They all chittered, looking back and forth at each other and sliding back away from the barge.

  “Cowards! Do underlings fear the dark now?” The leader stormed forward, hopped onto the deck of the barge, and spat into the water. He turned and looked down inside the craft. Flies buzzed all over underling corpses. He let out a sharp chitter and staggered back.

  At least a dozen underlings lay dead in a pile if caked blood and flesh. Bodies were split open. Arms and legs missing. The eyes were cut out of some.

  The underling commander’s jaws clenched, and his fist became tight on his sword. “Get up here!” he yelled, frothing from the mouth.

  Underlings had been popping up dead, and rumors among them were running wild. Talk of The Darkslayer had been
renewed.

  One by one, the underlings climbed onto the barge and gawped.

  “We have been betrayed, brethren,” one said, “by the world of men above.”

  One of the underlings pointed to a corpse slashed through the chest with his rib cage opened.

  “That’s the cut of an axe.”

  The leader cut through the dead and swatted the soldier across the cheek. “Do not speak of fables.” His wiry muscles flexed. “The Darkslayer is dead.”

  “The Darkslayer never was,” said another.

  “You,” the leader pointed, “stand watch.” He pointed to the underling that doubted and said, “You, unload the corpses.”

  “We should take them. Show them to the others. They will want to know of this.”

  “They will know,” he said. “And for every underling that dies, a score of theirs will die. We must make ready a proper burial.”

  Something twitched in the pile of death.

  “One lives!”

  “Quick! Fish him out!”

  The underlings set down their blades and began lifting bodies from the pile.

  “Hurry!” one hissed.

  They stopped and gazed at a greasy, hulking mess of bloodstained flesh at the bottom.

  “What is this?” the commander said, leaning in closer.

  Eyelids snapped open, revealing burning blue eyes. A knife blade uncoiled from beneath the dead flesh and struck.

  “Urk!”

  The Badoon commander’s hands clutched at his oozing bowels as he sank to his knees.

  A large, primal form exploded into action, wearing a spiked metal helmet on his head. His blade lashed out again.

  Slice!

  Blood gurgled from the second underling’s neck.

  The third underling went for his sword.

  Venir stepped on his hand, plunged his long knife into its skull, ripped the blade out, and slung it into the chest of the fourth underling, who had started a sharp whistle.

  The underling toppled over into the water with a splash.

  Broad chest heaving, the towering man faced off with the Badoon commander, who was fighting to keep his bowels in place. The Darkslayer slid a huge axe out from under the dead and held the metal before the dying underling’s eyes. “I live, you all die!”

  The whistling blade known as Last Call came down, splitting the underling from skull to belly.

  ***

  Venir let out a triumphant howl and chopped Brool into the meat of the barge.

  Thunk!

  He hopped into the water, dragged up the underling that had his hunting knife buried inside its chest, and ripped it out. He then heaved the underling’s body into the barge of death and let out a ragged sigh.

  “I don’t think I’ll ever do that again,” he said, fanning the flies from his blood-grimed face. He glanced at the split skull of the underling commander. “Yet again, it was worth it, to see the looks on their faces.” He stowed his axe and gear, shoved the barge back out into the Current, and watched it drift away. Wouldn’t mind seeing the rest of them after they get wind of this. “Soon enough, vermin. I’ll have you all soon enough.”

  After the battle with the troll, Venir had wandered the water beneath the streets with his foot throbbing and wounded. He had found a nook, crawled in, and slept at some point and had woken up with the throbbing subsided. He thirsted for the world above, but his thirst for underling blood was greater.

  No one will miss me up there anyway, he surmised. The burly loner had settled for the armament. Besides, the enemy is down here … for now.

  Every day after he woke up, he encountered more underlings. They combed the tunnels. Helm burning on his head, he popped up out of the water behind them. Tore their backs out. Crushed rib cages. Chopped arms off. It was a beautiful thing, hunting them. Putting fear into the fearless. He smiled at the thought, resting Brool on his shoulder as he walked along the dark shore, whistling.

  Let them hear me. Let them come.

  He’d sniffed out a few of their key locations underground: small garrisons made of stone, perhaps by dwarves, he did not know. They holed up in there as thieves do, moving fast and in larger groups. They dashed to the surface back and forth. They ran goods—and honorless men assisted them.

  Those jackals can die too.

  Venir, covered in grime, left it be. He liked the tactic, even though he realized the armament offered protection from the sight of underlings, but not from that of men. He’d gotten accustomed to the tactic. And if he didn’t have the armament—after all, he’d lost it before—he’d need an option that would do. Besides, the underling stink made him hate them all the more.

  Better than the smell of my own entrails.

  His blood started to cool the farther he headed down the shore. He stopped at an abandoned dock. He knew the City of Three as well as many, but the magnitude of the network below it was something he had never imagined. It was a network of rivers, lakes, and tunnels, the destination of water coming from the Great Falls. Small buildings, docks, and shanties cropped up here and there where the poor and decrepit thrived. He caught some of them fishing on occasion. A pastime he missed.

  Above, in some places but not all, were markings that gave off a strange green illumination, and Venir had figured most of it out well enough to find sources of food and good water. His stomach groaned. He licked his cracked lips. The water with the slow current was foul for drinking, but there was fresh water not too far ahead. He stretched out his stride and headed down the shore, weaving along the sandy path.

  Almost there.

  The sound of water rushing over rocks caught his ear. He vanished into a tunnel wide enough for a small craft and emerged on the other side, where the sound became louder. Water cascaded over the rocks nearby, and Venir waded into that water. Scanning the area, he removed Helm, filled him with water, and drank.

  “Ah,” he sighed. He took another gulp and hunkered down into the water, leaning on the rocks. The cool water rushed over his aching body and rinsed the gritty film away. His eyes became heavy, and he yawned. Holding Helm in front of him, he ran his thumbs around the eyelets. “How long must this go on?”

  Helm remained silent.

  Venir knew how long. Until either he was irretrievably dead or all the underlings were.

  “I need sleep, good sleep,” he said to Helm. “And you don’t allow that, do you?” He tucked Helm into his lap. “Of course you won’t.” He wedged himself deeper into the rocks, closed his eyes, and fell into a deep sleep.

  ***

  Hours later, Venir’s haggard body slipped into the water. He woke up gasping for air and splashing in the water. He found his footing and pushed up out of the water with his broad chest heaving and swiped his hair out of his eyes.

  That was foolish.

  His fingers clutched empty air. Helm was gone. He didn’t see Brool either. Frantically, he searched through the water, finding nothing.

  “Looking for this?” a voice said from behind.

  He whipped around.

  An underling bigger than him had Brool in its grip and wore Helm. Its eyes flashed silver.

  Venir froze.

  “Come and get it, Darkslayer!” it said with a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth as it stepped off a ledge of rocks and waded into the water.

  Venir drew his hunting knife and faced off with the towering creature.

  “Die, Darkslayer! Die!” it said. The great war axe went up and came right back down.

  Venir’s limbs froze as he watched.

  ***

  “Aaaagh!” Venir yelled, jumping up out of the water. He thrust his knife out and whirled around. Nothing was there save him and the small waterfall.

  “Helm!” he said, rasping.

  He dropped knees first into the water and began searching. His head snapped up at the ledge where the underling in his nightmare had been. He took a breath and resumed his search until his fingertips found some metal. He jerked Helm from the water. “That was c
lose.”

  Next, he found the shaft of his great axe and held it tightly in his grip.

  “Too close.”

  He shook off the nightmare. It wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last. After all, life on Bish was a nightmare.

  He was wading back toward the shore when his instincts fired. Torchlight caught his eye. Small craft—barges and gondolas—were cutting through the water. The heavy breath of large dogs sniffed along the shore.

  Bish! Underlings work with men! Curse them all!

  A knot of dark bodies crept up the shore, holding the dogs back on leashes. That wasn’t all, either. There were angry chitters from more animal-like hulking forms with a pale glow to their skin. It was the albino urchlings. A force of them.

  They don’t have my scent yet, but they will.

  He strapped on Helm, and his instincts lit up. He could feel the hatred of dozens of underlings.

  They must have found the barge. How long did I sleep?

  Venir drifted back into the tunnel he had come through earlier, fighting the compulsive urge to battle. Clearing the arch on the other side, Helm reignited. Another massive hunting party waited on the other side.

  Slat!

  Underlings, Monsters & Mortals

  CHAPTER 15

  Splash!

  “Wake up,” a polished voice said. “Wake up, you have work to do.”

  Soaked by a bucket of water, Fogle lifted his throbbing head from his chest. He went to rub his temples, only to find his hands weighted down with metal gauntlets.

  “What?”

  “A precaution.” It was Palzor who spoke. “I couldn’t let those fingers be free after you bragged about the formidable force that you are. Tsk. Tsk. And taken down by a sleep pellet, at that. Albeit a potent one.”

  The room was sparsely furnished and dimly lit by candles on the dark oak walls. Melegal sat beside him, hands and arms tied as well. Across from him, Palzor sat behind a small table. Behind him were two guards, heavy in armor, and another pair of characters Fogle had not seen before, fully cloaked in dark hoods.

  I don’t even want to know.

  “Is this how we are to help you find Venir?” Fogle said. “By kidnapping us? To what end?”