CHAPTER 7
Slom paddled the gondola down through the dark stream. Zurth sat in the front, holding a lantern that glowed with a pale-green light. In the middle, Melegal sat in the small craft with Jasper tight at his side. She clung to his arm. Her dark eyes were wide in the light.
“Almost there,” Slom said, letting out a soft, hoarse chuckle.
Jasper’s nails dug into Melegal’s arm. “Are you sure you want this?”
“I thought I did,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.
“It’s not such a bad swim back,” the half-orc added. “Just follow the light, and watch out for the snakes and underlings.”
Melegal’s neck tightened. Thanks for reminding me. He’d only made his way down to the Nest a couple of times. He hadn’t stayed long either time. “Just row.” He eased his arm around Jasper’s tiny waist.
She shivered. “Is it much farther?”
“The trip in is always longer than the trip out,” he said, listening to the paddles dipping into the waters. “A few more minutes at least.” I think. He glanced up at the faint lights that twinkled high above. He liked the dark at night, but the dark underneath the belly of the city was different. There was only water below and ground above and nothing but blackness in between. His Adam’s apple rolled. A thief’s got to do what a thief’s got to do.
“Archway ahead,” Zurth said, holding the lantern high. The big man glanced back and smiled. “Almost there.”
The craft glided through the black bricks that made up the archway. The tunnel was long and narrow. Slom did well to squeeze the craft through without touching either side.
Suddenly, Jasper sneezed. “Achooo!”
The sound echoed off the hard walls.
“No surprise now,” Slom growled.
“Sorry,” Jasper said. “Sorry.”
“It’ll be fine,” Melegal reassured her. Assuming you didn’t wake up any underlings. Women.
The craft slipped out of the mouth of the tunnel and into the lake that surrounded the Nest. The subterranean city was a grungy star amidst the gloom. Torches decorated the waterfront city’s storefronts. Behind it, a tremendous smokestack of red brick breathed fire and smoke from its holes.
“What do you think, little witch?” Slom said, digging the oars into the waters. “We’re gliding over a graveyard now.”
Jasper glanced over the side.
“I wouldn’t do that,” Zurth said.
“Why?” she asked.
“The dead don’t like you gawking at them,” Slom replied. “Huh-huh!”
“The dead can’t see,” she said, shifting in her seat. “Can they?”
“Just get us to land, eh, Slom?” Melegal said.
“Sure, Boss.” He coughed. “Looks like they’re ready for us. All of them.”
Melegal noted the bodies lined up on the waterfront and docks. It looked to be two hundred thieves or more. Sharp steel glinted in their hands and at their hips. A small fleet of watercraft cut through the waters. Armed men rowed along their sides, flanking them. Slat.
“Is something wrong?” Jasper said.
“Can’t say for sure,” Melegal said. Slom slowed his efforts. “Keep rowing. I’d rather make it to land than die in these waters.”
“Why did you say that?” Jasper said.
“Because it’s true.” Another craft cruised in behind them. “No turning back now.”
Their craft butted up against the dock. Cutthroats seized hold of the ropes and tied them down. Melegal took Jasper by the hand and led her onto the dock. He glanced at the oily faces of the men. Fingers drummed on pommels. Teeth shined with silver and gold. As Melegal approached a short flight of steps, a lanky man with long, greasy hair barred his path. A bandolier of knives was strapped over his chest.
“Those are sorceress markings,” the man said, looking down at Jasper. “Her kind is not—”
“My escort is no concern of yours. Now step aside, buffoon,” Melegal said, “before I put a dozen holes in you.”
The man’s face drooped. He eased out of the way.
Melegal made his way up the steps, onto the main dock. The crowd of cutpurses and kidnappers were hard-faced men, taciturn dwarves, broad-nosed half-orcs, curved mintaurs, and the most surly-looking halflings he’d ever seen. The path to the waterfront was cut off by the oily throng.
“That’s far enough,” a dwarf said, stepping out of the crowd. His brown beard had many bands with metallic links in it. “Don’t take another step.”
Melegal stopped. He heard metal scraping out of scabbards behind him. “Breathe easy,” he said back to Zurth and Slom. The metal hilts clicked back into place. “I’ve stopped, now what? Shall I dance?”
The dwarf’s hard eyes set on him. His thick fingers combed through his beard. “So, yer the slayer of Palzor? The man who removed his skull from his head? Huh.”
“I think that’s been established.”
“Huh. You’ve brought the wrath of the wizards upon our heads. Huh.” The dwarf twitched.
“And I suppose I’m to blame for the underlings as well.”
“Absolutely,” the dwarf growled. He slid a dagger with a finely crafted brass pommel out of his belt and approached. He pointed the blade at Melegal’s chest. “And yet, huh, things have never been better.” He hoisted the blade high in the air. “All thieves hail the slayer of Palzor!”
The brigands hoisted their weapons high in the air and chanted, “Aye! Aye! Aye!”
The dwarf extended his free hand and said, “I’m Jubbler, the ranking thief of this nest. Come, we’ve much to talk about. I’d have met up with you sooner, but we’ve been busy getting those black squirrels out of our nest.” He eyed Jasper from her toes to her forehead. “Not a spark, lass, hear me?”
“Aye.”
“Good.”
The gathering of thieves parted, and Jubbler led them up to the wharf. The small city was a network of shanties and small wood, brick, and stone buildings. Most in the Nest were men, but there were women and children too. They stood in windows and leaned over the railings of the balconies. Their eyes were wide with interest.
Melegal noticed Jasper covering her nose. A foulness lingered heavily in the air, made up of the rank waters, burning trash in the Smoke Stack, and a mysterious sulfurous smell. She asked for it.
“You’ll get used to it, huh, lass,” Jubbler said. “And one day, huh, the fresh air will be a pleasant poison to you, huh.” He marched them down streets that weren’t so different from any other small city Melegal had been in—other than the constant night. Jubbler pushed his way through the double doors of a tavern. “This’ll, huh, better suit you, huh.”
A bar, tables, and chairs. Men played cards and drank. Women, a small sorted bunch, winked and waved as they sat on the laps of others. Melegal tipped his cap. Jasper dug her claws into his ribs. As the room began to quiet, Melegal noticed something disturbing behind the bar. Overhead, mounted on a wooden plaque, was a rotting head. It was mostly skull with dry skin and hair on it.
Palzor! “Awfully macabre, don’t you think?” he said to Jubbler.
“A reminder, huh, or a trophy perhaps. I thought you, huh, might like it. The others do, huh.”
“I don’t need any reminders, but perhaps the men do,” Melegal said, scanning the room. “Over the bar seems distasteful.” He pointed his dimpled chin. “Perhaps over one of those mantels would be better.”
“Huh. It shall be done.” Jubbler snapped his fingers. Pop! A pair of rogues rose from their chairs. The dwarf pointed at the head. “From there to, huh, there!” He made his way to the stairs that led up to the balcony. A man stood at the top with a crossbow in his arms. One eye was missing. All of his hair was gone. “Eh,” Jubbler said, looking back at Slom and Zurth. “Just the, huh, three of us?”
“I’m not very keen on the disadvantage.”
“Well, sir, you’ve, huh, never had better protection, huh. You are, huh, heralded.”
Melegal strai
ghtened his cap and motioned to his two goons, Slom and Zurth. They sidled up to the bar.
“Give them, huh, whatever they want,” Jubbler said to the barkeep. “We’ll be, huh, gone for some, huh, time.” Up the steps he went. The bald man with the crossbow backed up and knocked on the lone door at the top. Knock. Knock. Knock-knock.
The door swung open, and Jubbler led them inside. There was a great table accompanied by grand chairs. A fireplace with a large mantel burned along the wall. The decorations were exquisite and unique. Paintings, rugs—and stacks of gold, silver, and small piles of gemstones on the table. A man sat there. He was slender and long-haired. His shoulders stooped a little.
“Please, huh, sit if you wish,” Jubbler said.
Jasper’s eyes were like saucers. The firelight reflected in them. Another man sat in front of the fireplace, slumped over in his chair. His hair was ratty and robes dingy. He mumbled.
“That’s Palzor’s, huh, son, Palos,” Jubbler said.
Melegal recalled everything Kam had related about the incorrigible man. His hand slid to his dagger. He should be dead.
CHAPTER 8
“I’ve a thousand years on you, Sinway,” Sidebor said. He was shackled to a cave wall by mystic black links. “I know him. You need me.” He tugged at his bonds. “So crude. A sign of weakness.”
Sinway sat on his pewter throne, rubbing his finger under his lower lip. At his feet were two cave dogs, and behind him a pair of Vicious. He took a swallow of port, wetting his dry throat. Months had passed since he’d taken Sidebor prisoner, but it only seemed like a day to him. Now he was ready to address his mentor.
“I should have finished you off the last time. It was an error of mine. I showed mercy.”
“Pah, you did not show mercy. You honored me.” Sidebor’s deep-red eyes burned with everlasting fire. “You knew the day might come when you needed me, and you need me now.”
“No, I don’t need you. No one needs you. I’ve proven that for centuries.” He glowered at Sidebor with his iron-colored eyes. “You’re barely a footnote in our history now.”
“Yet these dripping walls whisper my name. You need me.”
“Your suggestions are futile, Father.”
“Oh, are they now, Son? These are not vain remarks. They are saving remarks.” He eyed the lustrous black robes that Sinway wore. “You’ve stolen my robes, my creations. Common thievery is how you beat me. Why don’t you once and for all try to earn something rather than take it?”
Sinway’s nails dug into the pewter. “None can match me. Not now. Not ever.”
“I can. Scorch can. I’ve seen power that you will never understand.”
“I’ve experienced him firsthand. Don’t take me for a fool.”
“Then you know that in order to take what he has, we must do it together. Together, we can not only have this world, but we can have others. Not to mention immortality.”
Sinway took a breath and eased back into his chair. His father was right. He’d felt more. The world of Bish was changing. Growing. Getting stronger. It had a life of its own. He wanted to harness its power before its power harnessed him. “Ready the inferno.”
The Vicious stepped away toward a nearby furnace. The large metal bin clamped shut like a great mouth. One of the cat-like monsters grabbed a chain in its clawed hands and—hand over hand—started pulling the loop of chain. Hot warmth washed over the grey fuzz of Sinway’s skin. A bright-orange glow illuminated the dim room.
Sidebor glared at the firelight. “I offer a truce. I believe you should take it. It’s only a matter of time before Scorch comes back for you. He won’t tolerate any threats, and you and I are threats.”
“He does not want to run the Underland.”
“Don’t be a fool. He wants to run everything, and he’ll ruin everything as we know it, too.”
“Well, Father,” Sinway said, “you won’t have to worry about it once you’re dead.” He glanced at the Vicious. “Take his eyes and throw them in.”
CHAPTER 9
Creed dug his spoon into the bowl and finished off his last bite with a grunt. He’d given up keeping count of the days, but if he were to guess, it had been a couple of months since his situation had improved, maybe three. He swallowed down some water from a bucket and scrubbed his teeth with his finger.
Why do I bother?
He slid the metal plate through the bars and banged it on the floor. “Where’s my next course? My next course! I need three at least, if not four!” A rat bigger than his foot scurried across the grimy stones on the floor. He leaned back his head and started laughing. “Ah-hahahaha! That’s it, rat! Fetch me some sweet cakes, and give the galley my best!” He banged his head into the bars. “Ah-hahahahaha!” He rubbed his forehead.
That hurts a bit.
He pulled down his ragged sleeves and crawled over to his bed. It was a pile of fresh straw covered with a cotton sheet. The guards had even brought him a heavy green blanket. He crawled underneath it and fluffed up the straw where he rested his head.
Much better.
Clasping his hands over his chest, he stared up at the ceiling. There were 742 stones in the roof. Five archways kept the roof in place. The crack that brought forth the light of the day shone on his fingers. There was little warmth to it, but it was something. It was hope.
“You know, it’s not so bad,” he said to himself. “For one thing, I don’t have to listen to anyone stupider than myself. I don’t have to bathe, either. I hated that as a child, but it wasn’t half bad with a woman.” He screwed up his face. “Bone, I can’t even picture one right now. Perhaps that’s a good thing. The last one got me into trouble, I think.”
He made some sword-like motions in the air with his finger.
“I wonder how much my skill has deteriorated.” He replayed his battles, stroke by stroke. It was the one thing he clearly remembered. All the rest he assumed he’d just forget about. It was steel that mattered. He made a tight fist. A vision of his grandfather came to mind. “I’d do anything for another stroke with a sword.”
He coughed and cleared his throat. After the fever passed, the food had started to come. One plateful a day, then two. Then one, and none for days again. Today was a good day. “Somebody somewhere still fancies the likes of me. I only wish I could thank them. I think. Tee-hee.”
Focus, Creed.
Inside, he didn’t burn for vengeance, but he simmered enough to keep him alive. Just enough that he might see his grandfather, Lord Grom, again. Run a blade through him. The bloody thought came and went.
Could I do that? Murder one of my own?
He slid off his bed and started doing push-ups. “One. Two. Three. Four—” He gasped and collapsed onto the cobblestone floor. Wheezing, he crawled back onto his bed of straw and closed his eyes. “I think I’ll call it a day. Perhaps I’ll meet with death tomorrow.” He closed his eyes and dozed off.
Clankety-clank. Clankety-clank.
Creed’s eyes popped open. There was no sound more distinct than the door to the dungeons being opened. He rubbed his languid eyes and grabbed his spoon. He noted the crack in the wall had dimmed. He sniffed the air.
I don’t smell dinner?
He started toward the metal bars and sat back down.
Don’t look desperate. You’re the best swordsman in Bone. Well, the former best swordsman in Bone.
One of the Bloodhound guards led the way. He wore a studded leather tunic dyed red. He’d been the one to bring Creed most of his meals and had even offered almost ten words of conversation.
What’s this? His hands are empty!
His arm with the spoon in hand sagged. Behind the guard, another man followed down the stairs. Lumbering like an ox, the man was built like two. Chains rattled on his ankles. His very presence filled the room. Shaggy, dark hair hung over his face, covering his downcast eyes. His hands were cuffed and bound, huge and meaty. Behind him was another Bloodhound with a halberd pointed at his back.
The f
irst guard unlocked the biggest cell in the room, located at the back wall, across from Creed. He pulled the creaking cell door open and said, “Get in.”
The behemoth of a man stooped down and stepped inside.
The guard closed the door behind him and headed back toward the stairs without a word.
“Pardon,” Creed said to the guard. “Pardon, but if you can barely manage to feed me, how do you expect to feed him?”
“We don’t figure to feed the both of you,” the second Bloodhound said. “Because one of you is going to hang on the morrow. Heh-heh.” He glanced back at the new man in the cage. “And I don’t think a rope will hold that one.” He winked at Creed. “So it might be your death that’s due.”
Creed sank back on his bed, watching his former brethren go. “Perhaps I will meet Death tomorrow after all.” He shot a look at his new cell mate. “But I want to live.”
CHAPTER 10
“What do you mean, Fogle?” It was Joline who spoke up. “Sit, tell us, what’s a lie?”
Fogle made his way over to the table and took a seat beside Brak, across from Venir. The warrior’s face was creased in a frown. He cleared his throat. “I’ve been investigating the matter at hand on my own. The Order of Wizards is not operating in accordance with its own laws. They are subverting the system.” He pulled the sleeves back on his arms, revealing a nasty blister on his forearm. “I paid for what I’ve found, and I’ll pay more. We must go. All of us.”
“All of you, maybe,” Venir said. “I wasn’t nosing in their business. Don’t bring your sorcerous treachery down on all of our heads. Perhaps you should go.”
“Venir,” Joline said, “at times like this we need to stick together. What of these lies? What of Kam?”
“I haven’t seen Kam in a month,” Fogle admitted.
“A month?” Brak said. “All this time, I thought you were visiting.”
“I’ve been trying, but I’ve not been permitted. Not since the last visit anyway. She was well cared for, at least it seemed that way. She’s strong.” He glanced at Venir. “If something’s wrong, she won’t admit it. Seriously, we need to go. I came to warn you.”
The Darkslayer: Series 2 Special Edition (Bish and Bone Bundle Books 1-5): Sword and Sorcery Adventures Page 46