CHAPTER 13
Out on the inland lake beneath the City of Three, more small underling boats glided toward the Nest. There were eight in all now. Dark blots in the blackness. Gemstone eyes sparkled with an eerie glow.
Melegal took a head count. There were four underlings to every craft. Thirty-two. We have numbers, at the moment.
“What do you think they want?” Satchel said, squinting his eyes. “They hoist a flag. Do you think they wish to parlay?”
Melegal’s skin crawled. “Those cockroaches aren’t here to parlay. Of that I am certain. What means does the Nest have to defend this place?”
“Our location has always been our defense, huh.” Jubbler said. “No one has ever, huh, bothered us down here.”
“The underlings aren’t no one. Slat! Have you any range weapons? We need to shoot them. We need to shoot them now!”
“Maybe we should hear them out,” Satchel suggested.
Melegal gave him an exasperated look.
“Why don’t you paddle out there and ask them?” Jasper said to Satchel.
“Watch your tongue, little witch. I don’t take sass from women.” Satchel sneered at her and walked away, his footfalls silent on the planks.
The rogues of the Nest were all gathered along the piers and docks. Some steely eyed men sharpened weapons. Stone scraped on steel. Others were silent. A little wide-eyed. No rogue had ever felt unsafe inside the Nest. Not until now.
Another underling craft emerged from another archway. Melegal’s skin prickled. Many of the underlings were covered in armor from head to toe. Others wore mage robes. This is bad. Very bad.
“What do we do, huh. What, huh, do, huh, we do?”
Flee or die. “Certainly this hive of cutthroats has options, eh? I find it hard to believe this place is defenseless.”
“It’s every guild member for himself, huh. “ Jubbler said, raking his beard. “We don’t have a militia, if that’s what you’re calling for. Huh.”
Melegal scratched his chin with the back of his thumb. Maybe the underlings did want to parlay. It wouldn’t hurt to find out what they wanted. “Are there other ways up to the streets aside from the waters?”
“The smoke stack, huh. But it’s dangerous that way, huh,” Jubbler said.
“Get the women and children out,” Melegal said. He glanced at Jasper. “You should go too.”
“No.” She folded her arms over her chest. “I’m staying.”
Another underling craft drifted out of one of the black pipes.
“Get moving, Jubbler.”
Jubbler spoke Dwarven to another dwarf. In seconds, a small group of rogues divided up and disappeared into the small city that rested on the docks. Weapons started to rustle on hips.
“Can we stop them from coming in?” Melegal said, eyeing the distant archways standing in the lake. “Certainly you can seal those tunnels?”
“That we can do, huh,” Jubbler said. “But we’ll have to get through them to, huh, do it.”
Melegal faced Jubbler. “You muster some defenses. I know you have something somewhere. I need a hundred men on crafts in the water behind me. I’ll do the talking.”
“Huh.”
“Just round them up, Jubbler, and I’ll address the throng. In the meantime, you put some Dwarven ingenuity to work. I know you have something.”
Minutes later, Melegal stood on the dock, encircled by a knot of gritty faces. I hope they buy this bullslat. He smoothed over his cap, and his head began to tingle. “My fellow cutpurses, it seems the black fiends are among us. You can follow your instincts, run and hide like the women and children, or you can defend the Nest with me. We can do it with steel, cunning, and our wit. After all, underlings can’t swim.” A lie. Or truth, perhaps. “I’ll take the first craft out and engage. I need the rest of you at my back.”
The men murmured. Some nodded, others shook their heads.
“I need a pair of oarsmen.”
Zurth and Slom pushed through the crowd and stood by his side.
“You wanted a leader,” Melegal said, pulling back his shoulders. “You have one. Now man your craft, ready your ready, and be prepared to spill black blood into our stagnant waters.”
Zurth slapped his hands together. “You heard him. Let’s move.”
Melegal rested his hand on Jasper’s hip. “Will you stay?”
“No, I’m going.”
“Stubborn, stupid, or both.” He slapped her on the rump. “So be it. I just hope you can swim.”
“It’s the City of Three,” she said, following him off the dock and into the boat, “we can all swim. I just hope you’re not lying about the underlings.”
Slom and Zurth helped them into the craft. Their eyes were heavy on Melegal.
“Let’s go.”
With the two of them digging the oars into the water, the small craft took the lead. Ahead, a lone craft with three underlings separated itself from the small fleet. A small, bare-chested underling stood at the fore. His hair was braided, and his body was knotted in dark muscle. He wore a necklace of bones, teeth, and metal around his neck and held a white cloth in his hand.
“This will do,” Melegal said. Behind him, three dozen crafts full of thieves were ready. Some stood with harpoons and fishing spears, while others sat.
Twenty feet away, the underling glared at him.
Melegal spoke first. “What do you want?”
Nothing was said.
“I don’t chitter,” he continued. “So speak up. I know you understand me.”
“We’re here to trade,” the underling said. He rolled a small blade between his fingers. “Your lives for your home.”
Sonuvabish! I thought so. Arms folded in front of his chest, Melegal said, “No.”
The underling chuckled. “Then our blades will drink your blood.”
“That’s your counteroffer?” Melegal said, shaking his head. “Are you in charge of this, uh, fleet?”
“Yes,” the underling said with a frown. “Don’t be coy, human.”
“I’m not being coy. I just want you to sweeten the pot a little.”
The underling’s eyes became narrow, bright-green slits. “We did not come to barter. We came to slaughter.”
“So you say, but you’ve been buying off men since you arrived in the City of Three. You’ve bought the wizards and the Royals, yet you have nothing to offer us?” He dusted his nails on his vest. “I’m insulted.”
“I don’t care. Surrender or die.”
“You really are a horrible negotiator. I wonder what Catten and Verbard would have to say if they were still around.”
The underling’s eyes widened, and his jaw dropped. A whisper of chitters erupted behind the leader.
“Yes,” Melegal said, cleaning his nails with a thumb knife. “I was there, in Bone, the day they died.” He only knew pieces of what Venir and Fogle spoke about them. “They screamed so loud that it shook the foundation of the castle.”
The underling’s face tightened up. He started rubbing the thin grey fur on his arms. “You speak lies.”
I speak partial truths. Now for another bluff.
“And this fair city behind me, I don’t think you can handle who’s in there. It’s his lair.”
The underling rose up on his toes and looked past Melegal’s shoulder.
“Whose lair?”
I can’t believe I’m going to say this. “Why, the Darkslayer’s.”
Underling Badoon
CHAPTER 14
“It’s a rare thing,” Foxmire said, stuffing a hunk of biscuit into his mouth, “making an outsider a Bloodhound. Never seen it in my life, but they say it used to happen, long ago.”
Corrin shuffled through the kennels, feeding the dogs and refilling their water. “Can’t say I know what to think of it, myself.”
Foxmire, a man in his forties, shadowed him. “Well, I know what I think of it. I’m glad.” He slapped his heavy hand down on Corrin’s shoulder. “You’ll make a fine
Bloodhound. The beasts really take a shine to you. Have you picked one yet?”
Corrin scanned the cages in the kennel. They were fuller these days. Several of the big dogs had found a new place since they’d lost their masters. Corrin saw the sadness in their eyes. He’d never had a thing for people, animals, or anything living, but being with the dogs had changed some of that. Trinos had, too. He tossed a ham bone into Creed’s dog Manx’s cage. The shaggy beast didn’t move. “I haven’t given the matter any thought.”
“There will be a ceremony,” Foxmire added. He picked up a bucket of water and refilled a dog’s bowl. “I think it’s all for show. A morale booster. The other Bloodhounds are fine with it, which is good for you. However, they’re downcast, overall.”
Corrin turned and faced Foxmire. The affable man made for good company, but sometimes he talked too much. “I’m honored. I really am. I’m just not used to ceremonies or accolades. I’m not used to having a family, either.”
Foxmire smiled. “Well, you know what they say. Families that slay together, stay together. Haha.”
“You made that up, didn’t you?”
“Let’s go to the galley and get a drink, eh?” Foxmire took the bucket of dog food from Corrin’s hand and set it aside. “The ceremony’s tomorrow, but I say we celebrate tonight. Besides, I’m hoping to get a closer look at Lorda. My, she’s something else. Makes all the other women so jealous. Have you ever heard them squabbling about her?”
“I haven’t noticed.” I’ve heard more than you, I’m sure.
“It’s titillating.”
Corrin eyed him.
“What?” the husky man said. “I’m an eavesdropper. You know that.”
Well, be careful what you hear. It might get you killed. “All right, a few drinks, then.”
“Excellent. And we can try to guess what the other surprise will be tomorrow.”
“What other surprise?”
Foxmire slapped him on the back. “That’s what we’re going to talk about.”
***
“I know you,” Creed said to the behemoth of a man in the cell across from him. “But it’s been so long. “You’re that boy, aren’t you? The mute. The laborer. You had a name. Aw, what was it?” He fingered his chin. “Of course, I can barely remember mine some days. Sometimes I have to make myself say it. Creed. Creed is my name, but it comes funny from the tongue, doesn’t it?”
Shaggy head down, the mute sat on a bench with his back against the wall. His big sausage-like fingers were clasped in his lap. His corded forearms looked bigger than Creed’s legs.
“I can’t imagine what you might be in here for. Usually they just banish laborers.” Creed remembered seeing the man as a boy. Big for his age, he had used a mallet to bust block and stone beneath the case. He had helped in the forge sometimes too. He never said a word. “Do you understand what I’m saying? Nod once for yes and shake for no.”
The man didn’t move.
“Oh, please.” Creed banged his head on the bars. “I’m dying for some conversation, and this is what I get?” He rubbed his head. “I probably shouldn’t do that. I want to look my best for my hanging or whatever tormenting death it will be.” He sat back down on his straw bed.
Across from him, the imposing figure moved.
Creed scurried up to the bars and said, “Did you say something? Eh? Anything?” He studied the man, and in a flash of memory he said, “Lunk! That was your name, wasn’t it? Lunk! Ha! At least that’s what they called you anyway. Please nod, shake, do something!”
Lunk remained still and seated.
“You could at least tell me which one of us is going to die tomorrow? Surely you know.”
Nothing.
“I guess I’ll find out in the morning, then. I better get a fine meal if I’m hanging. Maybe another glimpse at Lorda would be nice.”
Lunk’s head rose. His eyes found Creed’s. The man’s eyes were the brightest of blues, his gaze penetrating. Creed eased back. “You know that woman I’m talking about, Lorda? Lorda, uh, Almen?”
The man rose from his seat, stood at the front of his cage, and locked his hands on the bars. He took a sharp breath, set his feet, and began pulling the bars. The metal groaned and started to bend.
Creed’s jaw dropped. Marveling, he said, “Are you here to set me free?”
The man shook his thick head. His face became deep red, and veins rose like roots on his neck. The metal gave. Lunk stopped, leaving an oval hole between the bars. He huffed a breath, eyed Creed, pointed at him, and made a disturbing gesture.
Creed swallowed hard as the odd man ran his finger across his throat.
CHAPTER 15
The black dimension door closed a second after Venir stepped through it.
Brak grabbed Fogle by his robes and jerked him up off the ground and screamed in his face. “What happened!”
“I can’t say.”
Brak shook him. He was no fool. “You’re lying.”
“You have to trust me, Brak,” Fogle said, hanging by the young man’s thick wrist. “It’s for all of our own good. Now put me down.”
Brak, feeling light-headed from the suggestion, lowered Fogle back down onto his feet. “Why did you…” He stumbled backward. He shook his head. Blinked his eyes.
“Listen, Brak. Your father is a distraction. I need you to be strong for the next step.”
“What?”
“Venir should be as fine as a cat in a birdcage. I wish I could see it.” Fogle began gesturing with his hands and muttering unintelligible words really fast. Another black door in space appeared beside him. “Come now, Brak. Quickly. Time is pressing.”
“But…”
“Must I hold your hand? Fogle grabbed Brak’s wrist and pulled him along. We want Ruut.” He held up his hand. An image of the envoy appeared. “If you see him, grab him.” He pulled Brak through the portal.
The world went black.
***
Hot with fire, Venir sprang. Brool sang. Slice. A head flew through the air. It was an underling. Its face spun in mid-air with a frozen stare in its glittering azure eyes.
Helm throbbed a warning.
Venir leapt aside. Lightning skipped over the floor and blasted through a stone column. Venir gathered himself along the wall and hunkered down.
Mages. Men. Underlings. A coven of them. The walls were smooth as glass and made from emerald and stone. There were many high-back chairs made from brass with their backs against the oval walls. Anger and confusion in their faces, the men shrunk away. The underlings attacked.
An underling howled. His fingertips flared. Snakes of lightning crawled over the floor, striking at Venir’s toes. He hopped over a streak and bore down on the underling. It floated up. Venir jumped, caught the hem of its robes, and dragged it down. With a vice-like grip, he crushed its throat.
Ssraaaz!
A great shock struck him in the back. Tiny needles poked up and down his spine. “Argh!” Venir twisted away and popped his shield up. Bright darts of red light ricocheted off the metal and clipped a human mage who soared through the air.
The man screamed and crashed into the emerald floor. Others came to his aid. Venir pounced on the nearest underling. Its hands turned brighter than stars. A blast shot from both hands. It knocked Venir from his feet, sending him sliding across the floor. He shrugged off the bone-jarring impact, gathered his feet, and sprinted for the exit, barring everyone’s path.
“No one is going anywhere, you magic-sucking jackals. Tell me where Kam is!”
The robed men and underlings backed off. There were ten of them. Some wrung their hands. Others clutched their robes.
“One more time—where is Kam!”
“Kill him,” one of the underlings said to one of the wizards. “Prove you’re loyal, and kill this vermin.”
Blood dripped from Brool’s blade and splashed on the floor. The air around Venir began to shimmer. Helm pulsated. Jaws clenched, he sprang into action. He smashed into a row of
mages.
Whop!
The ginger-limbed men crumpled under his girth. He socked spell casters in the mouth with his fist and shield. He didn’t shed the blood of men unless he had to, unless given no other choice. “You picked a bad day to pick a fight, you men in dresses!”
Zing! Zing! Zing!
Glowing missiles glanced off his helmet and shield. Something burrowed deep into his body. Blood racing like fire through his veins, Venir let loose. Lifting Brool high, he dropped it like a hammer.
Split!
The razor-sharp blade severed off a man’s shoulder.
Slice! Slice! Slice!
Hands, fingers, and legs were loose. Blood ran like water on the emerald floor. Venir was speed. Terror. He tracked down two remaining underlings and pinned them in a corner. Mystic blue shields of energy popped up around them. They hissed and chittered. Brool’s well-honed metal collided into the shields with awesome force. The magic barriers cracked and dissipated.
“Chitter now, mangy dogs!” Venir jabbed the great axe into one underling’s throat. He ripped it out and aimed for the other. The underling crouched behind his arms. “Die, black-hearted fiend. Die.”
“That’s quite enough!” A commanding voice shook the entire room like thunder, rattling Venir’s bones.
Limbs frozen, Venir’s grip on Brool’s shaft quavered.
The underling lowered his arms and grinned.
Venir’s grip became white knuckled. “No, it isn’t.” He rammed the axe spike straight through the underling’s chest. Glitch.
“Drop the axe, fool of a man!”
Venir jerked the axe out. The underling sagged, black blood running freely on the floor. Venir turned.
The man who had spoken was strongly built for a wizard and wearing crimson robes trimmed in gold. His hair was auburn and wavy.
“I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“No, Venir, we haven’t. I’m Kam’s father, Kavell.” He made a quirky motion with his fingers.
The Darkslayer: Series 2 Special Edition (Bish and Bone Bundle Books 1-5): Sword and Sorcery Adventures Page 48