The Darkslayer: Book 02 - Blades in the Night

by Craig Halloran

  Lord Verbard seemed less concerned than his brother; at the moment, his silver eyes were absorbed with the spectacle of the two urchlings before them, who were beating a captured human to a pulp. Urchlings were half-sized underlings with limited intelligence. They wore no clothing, had hunched backs, coarse body hair, knotted muscles, and white eyes, yet they were every bit as malicious as other underlings. Right now, their shrieks and chittering made Catten long to jam a spike into their heads to stop their wails of twisted triumph.

  Bored at last, Verbard dismissed the two from his chamber with a sharp chit, and the urchlings dragged the disfigured and bloodied corpse of the man out of sight, much to Catten’s relief.

  “Did you not enjoy the show I arranged for you, brother?” Verbard inquired, leaning back in his throne.

  Catten remained silent and brooding.

  “Come now, Catten. You use to adore that! You have been quiet for weeks. If you will not talk, you may force me to return to my mate. I do not wish that. You know how it is when they are pregnant.”

  Verbard scratched his chin and ground his teeth.

  A slight smile came and went from Catten, then he said, “I sometimes think your mind is gone, Verbard, you are so unfocused on our task. I fear Master Sinway has lost patience. We need to see this deed done. Yet you sit watching urchlings and mocking your mate.”

  “Patience.” Verbard got up from his chair. “I will not let this task consume me. Besides, if Master Sinway wished, he would have castrated or eaten us already. No.” He wagged his finger. “He needs us. For we know our common enemy best.”

  “Perhaps. Still, I think you are being a bit of a fool these days. People realize that you have changed, and this may be taken for weakness,” Catten said.

  “Ah … but am I not giddy about my heirs to be? Besides, the woman has been in an unbearable state of pregnancy for almost a decade. I cannot be in the same room with her.”

  Verbard’s round and wicked face seemed to recoil at the thought.

  Catten could not avoid another smirk. His brother did have a way of cheering his own dark heart. Underlings were not without personality and emotion, though no one on Bish knew much about their lives in the Underland, for none cared to risk finding out. Of all the races on Bish, only the underlings were entirely bent on causing destruction and mayhem. Catten did not like waiting for Master Sinway to call, but he had no choice but to wait until he did. Then he could plan for vengeance again. In the meantime, he was determined to survive alongside his agitating brother. He needed him, and he’d have to make the best of it, for now.

  “Come, brother,” Catten said, getting up and floating down the dank corridor. “Come and stay with me. Let’s go.”

  Verbard clapped his hands together and followed.

  CHAPTER 4

  The lust for revenge was all that Detective McKnight had to keep himself alive. He had been captive for an unknown time in a place entirely foreign to him and Tonio, his fellow prisoner. McKnight had done without food, but was somehow sustained. Lying on his back and immobilized from head to toe, he could see and hear little, but just enough to turn his stomach foul. The smell of rot filled his nostrils. He wanted to puke but could not. Darkness was his constant companion, but he was not without company.

  McKnight had no idea how they had come to be where he and Tonio were. Yet he remembered what he had been doing before they became captive: they were dying. Were they not dead already? At times, he wondered if indeed this was death. Thoughts of revenge somehow reassured him that they both were still alive.

  For revenge burned inside him like black fire. If they ever managed to escape their horrifying predicament, he would track down and destroy Venir and Melegal. Their blood would flow no more. McKnight figured—at least, hoped—that this thought was shared by Tonio, the son of Royal Lord Almen.

  Now, though, McKnight was more concerned about escaping from the wiry silken cocoons covering them. Up to their necks they were sealed—and they had been captive for an unknown length of time.

  It seemed like forever since McKnight’s services had been requested by Lord Almen, after Tonio had unknowingly crossed paths with Venir and paid a dire price for his arrogance. The young warrior had everything in life, McKnight knew, but his pride had cost him it all. What the detective did not know at the time was that Tonio had been set up. Other enemies of the Almens had actually struck down the young man.

  McKnight eventually discovered that Tonio had been drugged with inducers. It led to the arrogant young man being mauled by Venir’s giant two-headed dog and left for dead. The powerful magic of an underling cleric named Oran kept Tonio’s beating heart alive. But he suffered, a large shred of his humanity lost, and now Tonio lived with only a single thought: to kill Venir. McKnight never pitied the man—had always hoped to be rid of him on their quest—but now he was his only friend, and maybe the last he would ever see.

  The swarthy detective, a long-tenured servant in Royal Lord Almen’s service, had been sent out to track Venir down. Accompanied by Tonio and the cleric Oran, they’d set a trap. McKnight tried to remember himself then. He’d walked tall in his cloak, black boots, and a wide-brimmed hat. He was dangerous, cunning … and overconfident. Venir’s friend Melegal had somehow undone McKnight. This ate at his insides.

  McKnight and his allies had tracked Venir and Melegal far south into Two-Ten City. In the Great Forest of Bish, they’d sprung their trap. It was perfect, he mused. Yet it had failed, and he and Tonio had been left for dead.

  In fact, McKnight had been sure he was dead until he awoke into his current nightmarish situation. The tingling in his body confirmed that it was real, which was horrific and healing at the same time. He could move his head a little and wiggle, but that was all. The little his eyes witnessed in the gloom turned his stomach. He squinted in the dimness.

  In the eerie light that illuminated the dark cavern around them, he could discern no ceilings, walls, or floors. He made out vast cobwebs stretching in all directions. Piles of web-like cocoons of every shape and size lay scattered around. Inside were carcasses, he believed, some as big as horses, others as small as rabbits.

  Scurrying around and over him by the thousands were spiders of varying sizes. This place, he thus deduced, was their pantry and he was trapped inside. McKnight could feel and see the spiders crawling over his prone body and head. He could not get used to their hairy legs probing and crossing over his mouth.

  Even worse, he could sometimes hear powerful sucking sounds nearby. The life juices of once vibrant, living bodies were being extracted by force, he knew. The sound was sickening and unforgettable, as if the marrow were being wrenched from inside their bones.

  A cacophony of moans and even screams from tormented men and beasts continued for long hours through day … or night. He knew not which. McKnight found little relief that it was not him. He had sobbed his last teardrop long ago and now only vengeance filled his head and heart.

  It appeared to McKnight that he was getting what he deserved: a fate worse than death. But he knew that he and Tonio needed only one chance. And soon he would have it.

  McKnight looked again at a glint of steel nearby. If he could only get a fighting chance, he would take it. He noticed Tonio’s head facing that glint as well, as they were entwined side by side. Tight as his tacky web-strung bonds had him sealed, McKnight finally managed to move just a little. He found it odd that he felt fine. The poison that had taken him in the forest seemed to have disappeared from his system. He felt rejuvenated. But then maybe it was only a hopeful delusion from his imagination.

  McKnight began discussing another impossible plan with Tonio. The man never responded with little more than a grunt. Idiot. Indeed, there was little else to talk about and he said nothing he hadn’t said a hundred times already. But just saying it gave McKnight a reason to survive. Then he waited, hoping that his captors would soon come for them as dinner. His vengeance could not be kept in check forever.

  Soon some
thing came his way. The spiders crawled off. McKnight felt his body bounce up and down as something approached. His blood turned cold as they came.

  CHAPTER 5

  Lord Catten was in his cavern castle, looming over his desk and engrossed with his studies. While his brother Verbard was being entertained by Catten’s family, Catten chose to spend long hours of planning.

  The underling’s home ran deep beneath the rock that made up the mountain ranges of Bish. Scintillating and colorful minerals formed magnificent swirling patterns in the walls that stretched from cave to cave. Though the entrance to his home was small with no discernable door, the inside was as vast as any great castle in the City of Bone. Some of the caverns were natural formations, but most had been carved out by enslaved hands or powerful magic long ago. Unlike the outer caves of the Underland, here there were no dripping stalactites overhead or troublesome stalagmites on the cavern floors. Stairways and catwalks of metal, wood, or stone traversed the spaces, leading in and out of dark holes, crisscrossing from high to low. To one who lived topside, it would have been either an engineering or magical marvel that appeared to wind from everywhere to nowhere.

  Catten’s home was dry and comfortable, every bit as luxurious as any in the world above. None would have guessed that such a malevolent race could have such an appreciation for finer things. On the wall hung paintings of exquisite beauty, among others so horrifying that no human eye would be able to look upon them. Indeed, the underlings were much like humans, but their hearts had been twisted inside out.

  Catten’s intense gold eyes darted over an ancient scroll spread across his massive onyx desk. His study held his most treasured possessions, most of which were records of dark magic. For he knew the more magic one controlled, the more power one wielded, and he and Verbard were already in a league of their own.

  The blue glow from his fingertips illuminated and moved the parchment he was studying. He sought assistance to capture or destroy the Darkslayer. For Master Sinway, ruler of the Underland, was on his way to visit Catten’s home, an unprecedented event. So Catten needed answers and a convincing plan. Thus far he had nothing.

  Sitting atop a scarlet pillow on his black oak chair, Catten closed his eyes. Magic failed to track the Darkslayer. He was like a ghost. But Catten knew that he was a man, a warrior—yet his armaments had to originate from a mystic source. Catten scowled—his lack of understanding infuriated him.

  Time and again he’d scoured the few records he had. The underlings were irresponsible in their documentation of history, just as the rest of Bish. This bothered the underling wizard, who now spent more time recording magic on scrolls and studying them than anything else. Nowhere could he find mention of the weapons and armor of the Darkslayer—nor of the man himself, other than what had passed from others’ lips in the past few years. It was all a great mystery.

  Catten concluded that more than brute force would be needed to destroy the Darkslayer. Once again he and Verbard would be required to venture out into the dazzling landscape of Bish, which he dreaded. He slumped down in his chair, face inside his hands.

  His festering hatred—along with his brother’s—helped drive Catten’s determination to pursue this detestable human yet again. He wanted the Darkslayer destroyed, but at the peril of his own life? That he did not know. This time he would see to it that they would be better prepared and more careful. But first they had to track him down.

  Catten rubbed his eyes just as Verbard strolled into the study. His brother was accompanied by Catten’s own mate and twin daughters. He watched in agitation as they chatted and smiled at his brother’s comments.

  The women didn’t wear dark robes like the men; instead the females all wore dresses of sheer white silk, displaying their nubile bodies. Their long fingernails were painted to match the colors of their radiant eyes, which were framed by long, seductive lashes. He frowned as the three women smiled more than he had seen in quite some time.

  “I see they’ve been taking good care of you, brother,” Catten said, hiding his disgust.

  He rose from his chair, walked over, and pulled his mate away from Verbard, his eyes averted from hers.

  “Now let us gather our thoughts before Master Sinway gets here!” Catten said.

  “Your family has treated me quite well, thank you,” Verbard said. “So I do feel able to focus on our task, now that my head is cleared of ominous thoughts of my overbearing and pregnant mate.”

  As Verbard scowled, the females snickered at this bit of knowledge. Pregnant underling woman underwent a startling transformation during their ten-year pregnancies. The transformation was extreme, as they bore no resemblance to normal female underlings. Their faces became monstrous and their mouths fanged, and they experienced supernatural growth that left them bedridden.

  Urchlings were called upon to be the unfortunate caregivers, a dangerous task, as pregnant underlings became violent, moody, and unpredictable. They would eat anything, including urchlings. Some underlings, Catten included, enjoyed their women like this, but he knew Verbard loathed it.

  “You’re faint of heart, brother,” Catten said, squeezing his mate.

  “Sorry, but I prefer our women beautiful,” he said, hugging his nieces, who stroked his cheek in return.

  Underling women were the most beautiful creatures on Bish, yet none had ever been above the surface. Their dusky skin and gray fur gave them a deceptively soft, gentle appearance. Yet despite their exotic beauty, they were demanding and calculating—intense and vicious when competing for the men at the top positions in society. Such was their nature.

  As skilled as their men were in weapons and magic, the women were skilled in more subtle means of survival and conquest. They used their own magic to create potions and toxins, and to make themselves charming, hypnotic, and irresistible. And just like Catten and Verbard, these three women were proficient and powerful. At Catten’s gesture, they departed without a word. Verbard snickered, watching them go. Then he flopped into a chair at the black table.

  “Your mate and daughters are as delightful and devious as ever, brother,” Verbard said, checking his pointed nails.

  Catten fought the urge to slap his face. “I am glad you enjoyed their company. Now let us get on with the task at hand.”

  “Ah, but first you must tell me their names,” Verbard said.

  “No, brother, never! We will not go down this road again,” he said, turning away, face down toward the table.

  Part of the underling courtship culture was for the male to discover the female’s name. It was a puzzle. Once a male had figured it out, she fell under his full authority and became his mate.

  It was rare for underlings to have mates, as these brothers did. A name might be discovered through a variety of means, sometimes to the detriment of the female. Hence, Underland society allowed open relationships between males and females, and many underling houses had several women and children under their guard, yet no husband-and-mate relationship.

  Underling women received names from their father. Not even a mother knew her daughters’ names. It had always been this way.

  An underling who wished to court and mate with an underling daughter needed to learn her name from the daughter herself. A father could bestow the name as a gift, but this was rare. A daughter would never give up her name to another underling. Instead she gave clues, often decades apart. Underling courtships could therefore last a hundred years or more, but great power was gained through such unions. Catten, in fact, had received his mate’s name from her father.

  “Just teasing, Catten, loosen up some. I unburdened again. Now let’s go over whatever it is you want,” he said, sitting up and pulling his chair to the table.

  Catten sat on the table, looking down at his brother.

  “When Master Sinway arrives,” Catten said, “we need to be very forthcoming. Make no bones about our plans …” He wagged his finger. “I will propose that we venture above once more. First we will take the current below Bi
sh, but not unaccompanied. We need to decide who should join us. Last time we failed to take the Darkslayer by force. So this time we will have to show more patience.”

  “We will take him by force this time!” Verbard almost shouted. “We’ll blow him into bloody chunks and pieces. We had him last time!” he said, clutching his chest.

  Catten could see the anguish in Verbard’s face as he remembered the fatal wound from the Warfield not so long ago.

  “He should be dead!” Verbard finished with a rap on the table.

  “I agree, brother. But there are forces in the world we don’t understand. He is one of them. If we can separate him from his armaments, I think we can put an end to him. But it’s going to take patience and cunning.”

  A quiet moment passed as he watched his brother consider the plan.

  “Agreed. Besides, I think this is how Master Sinway prefers us to go about it. We will do this, brother. The Darkslayer will die,” Verbard said.

  Catten looked deep into his brother’s eyes and felt they were united by a single burning desire: to see the Darkslayer dead. He watched as Verbard froze in his place as his silver eyes widened. Then Catten’s shoulders felt cold, as if an icy stare lingered on his back.

  No … Not yet!

  Catten turned and saw Master Sinway’s foreboding presence fill the doorway.

  CHAPTER 6

  Lord Catten dropped to one knee, head bowed, alongside his brother. Master Sinway and a dozen Badoon warriors now crowded his study. Master Sinway wore thick black robes with an inlay of dark patterns and mystic signs. He towered over the others, a full six feet in height.

  Catten peered up, spellbound as always. Sinway’s chiseled face was aimed at him—the ominous eyes beneath a thick head of receding black hair. His master’s furry hands waved long fingers, with marvelous rings and razor-sharp nails. The underling overlord’s feet skimmed over the marble surface with each step, never touching the ground. It made Catten feel even smaller. The shadow-walk came naturally to some but not all. Catten looked down again as he felt his master’s robes pass.