Like most orcs, he was mean, bullish, proud, fearless, and tough. He was the talk of the tavern. Ugly orcen women sat on the bed of rotten straw, hanging on his filthy words. The entire tavern sang and tussled, serving each other with pleasure and without shame throughout the night.
The tavern was the most uncivilized of them all and the scene was overwhelmed with debauchery that would make the seediest trollop from the City of Bone blush. No woman from any other race would be caught in the Ogre’s Nest. As she entered, Jarla’s stomach soured at the sight and smell of it all. But she held her head high when she strode in. Silence fell over the tavern with each passing step. When she reached Brandoff’s table, all that could be heard was the sound of a dripping keg behind the bar. Jarla could feel their yellow eyes on her. Their breath was hot on her back. She wanted to leave but it was too late to turn back now.
Nightmare.
She pulled her dark hair from her face and said, “You owe me a challenge, orc.”
CHAPTER 33
The Void was a place in the universe where a great deal of immortals could be found. As the infinite beings pursued the endless vat of space, they all came across the Void. It was here that Trinos hoped to find the meddler who had diminished her sparkling gem world called Bish.
Her fury over the matter seemed to move her across the black star-laden expanse with the speed of a thousand dawning suns. Much was destroyed in her wake, past and present. She was reckless. In an instant, she was there.
The scene was stark at the end of her journey. The Void was not a place she cared to frequent. Her trek ended in front of the great mouth of blackness. The Void was more than just a star or galaxy, but rather a dark monolith that could swallow moons, planets, stars, and galaxies as easily as a giant swallows a gnat. There it was, larger than anything else in the universe she knew but still just a speck inside of it all. Her concerns seemed minute in its ominous and foreboding presence, and she lost all track of why she was there for a moment. She was not alone.
Scattered all about the edges of it were tiny glimmering snowflakes that resembled stars. They were infinite ones such as herself that gathered here. It was the one place they all became curious about from time to time. At first it seemed to only be a few. As the depth of space continued, the few began growing beyond all she could see. Each had something discernable from the other. One just had to know what to look for. It was her kind’s way.
She knew they were there for a variety of reasons, such as study, discovery, companionship, or curiosity. There were darker reasons as well. The infinite ones struggled with their tedious and meaningless lives, and every so often, one of those glimmering snowflakes would float into the black space and disappear forever. It was suicide; they didn’t call it that, but Trinos did.
They had tried everything imaginable within their power to test the inner sanctum of the Void. Everything that went in, no matter what the size or substance, never ever came out again. Some were even so brave as to tether others and lower them inside, but none of them were ever pulled back. It was as if you lowered your fellow over the cliff into a foggy mist, and once you lost sight, the rope went slack and they were lost forever.
Trinos scoffed for a moment as she remembered another time when they’d tried to enclose the Void. It worked out about as well as trying to put an ocean in a fish bowl. So many infinite beings with no answers, some resigned while others lived on. She would rather live.
She scoured the Void for a burning red flake and soon she found it. It was Scorch, teetering close to the edge. What is he doing? She wasn’t going to let him go anywhere. She wanted answers for his transgressions and she was determined to get them.
CHAPTER 34
Lord Almen slouched over his desk within his exquisite bedroom chamber. It was one of his favorite places within the safety and confines of his glamorous castle. He rummaged over parchments and ran his long fingers through his thick locks of dark brown hair. The papers were nothing more than ordinary business. The more important records were kept within the realms of his devious and calculating skull. That was what his father had taught him. If Father could see me now, he thought.
Despite the stern countenance, he was poised, even in moments when a great deal was about to happen. He stretched back his broad shoulders, thinking about his most recent orders. He’d signed off on … something. Lord Almen was looking forward to another triumphant day.
He stood up and strolled over to the bay window overlooking his grand courtyard. A whimsical smile crossed his face. Below, his soldiers prepared to venture into the city on new business.
“I know that smirk,” a woman said from his side.
He smirked at the strong and pleasant voice that he knew so well. She wrapped her arms around the waist of his black terry cloth robe.
“You do, do you?” he asked. “And might I ask what that might be?”
“It means you are thinking about last night and this morning, yes, dear husband?”
Her voice was like a purring kitten, turning his smirk to a smile.
“My dear wife, you couldn’t be more right, as usual.”
He turned and pulled her soft body into his then kissed her. It was one of his finest qualities, she always said, but it was she who had no equal. Her hungry lips aroused him, but he pulled away. She was bewitching to him sometimes, as she was tall, slender, elegant, and beautiful. Her auburn hair was wet and hung just below her neck. Her amber eyes were like a cat’s; her nose small and pointed. He knew she loved him, and his feelings were mutual, though there were things that he loved more that he’d never admit to.
She had little idea of the havoc he wreaked behind closed doors. All that mattered to her was the glory of being an Almen. What she did know, she never led on about. He was okay with that. She was his loyal wife and friend. She gave him the companionship he needed. She also maintained much of the politics and display as the matriarch of the castle. She had been with him a long time, and he knew that she knew he was up to something. She just liked to play with that knowledge—another fine quality.
Her smile, though, suggested she had more playful things in mind. She was hard to resist but more pressing matters had to be attended to first.
“My dear, I am needed elsewhere. Do forgive me?”
He hugged her and kissed her neck.
She pouted but he knew she understood; she always did.
“Of course, my love,” she said. “But it will cost you.”
He felt her soft kiss on his cheek and then watched the sensual sway of her hips as she strolled away.
“Enjoy the markets, my dear,” he said, biting his lip.
“I will.”
But then she turned back toward him in the doorway.
“Dear, do you happen to know if our son Tonio will ever return? I miss him. How much longer must he remain serving in the outposts?”
As seductive as she’d just been, now he fought the urge to slap her. The question was warranted as a mother but out of line as a wife. His nails dug into his palms. She was the only person he hated lying to. She had put him on the spot, though. He walked over and grabbed her hands, looking deep into her eyes.
“I have word that he is doing well and will be gone only a few more weeks at most. Be patient, my love, and focus on those others that need your spoiling too.”
“As you wish.”
She nodded and walked away. After returning to his desk, Lord Almen grabbed a sharp letter opener and jammed it into his desktop. He didn’t know if she’d believed him or not. He hoped she didn’t ask again. What would he tell her next time?
As knowledgeable of current events as the Royal lord was, he had no idea if Tonio was even alive—or McKnight for that matter. Lord Almen assumed Tonio lost or dead; he just had not proven it yet. His firstborn was sacred to him and adored by his wife, so the thought provoked anger and some anguish within.
Teku had been busy gathering the facts of Tonio’s likely demise, and even Sefron the cleric had
assisted as well. The Royal lord now questioned his own judgment by risking an alliance with an underling called Oran. He couldn’t help but think that the underling may have betrayed them all. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, to be sure—but at what cost?
Almen was only mere hours from a reckoning. It was time to put more of his enemies to rest. He was confident, but in the world of Bish, some things you couldn’t plan or prevent.
CHAPTER 35
Melegal glided out of the back stairwell and headed down toward the dim alley below. The suns had diminished over the horizon, leaving only a black corridor before him. He considered taking a few rooftops first, rather than the streets, but that would require more time and he needed all the extra time he could muster.
Despite the deterrents his former mentor McKnight had offered, Melegal was still confident that he could locate his fingerless little friend. He didn’t count on the aid of the Motley Girls, either, but they could at least serve as a possible distraction to his enemies, perhaps drawing attention away from himself or Venir.
Looking down into the dark pathway, Melegal considered that Venir had his own way of doing things, much different than he himself. Still, they were plenty savvy when it came to dealing with the complexities of the deeper secrets in the City of Bone.
He dropped ten feet down onto the narrow road without a sound. He stared deep into the main street in the distance, allowing his sight to adjust. Nothing seemed unusual so he moved on, his mind a torrent of thought.
For most, this hunt would be in vain. The City of Bone was enormous and crowded. People kept to themselves if they wanted to stay out of trouble. The myriad streets, alleys, catwalks, and building tops would have a newcomer lost within minutes. The colorful and flamboyant banners that marked off the districts did help. But not every portion of the city had an assigned district. The Drunken Octopus was located far from the closest sanctuary. Moving along the city from here, then, was an ominous task. Plus, getting from one outer wall to the adjacent counter wall would take miles of trekking. It was easy to get onto the monstrous roadways that crisscrossed between them all in straight lines. Those who could afford it often traveled on horseback or pony. Personally Melegal liked the mess. It was easy to disappear in when one needed to.
He treaded gray as a ghost over the hardened road, feet missing puddles of muck along the way. He could see activity toward the distant end of the confined alley. Cats, rats, and other rodents were busy hunting in the grime. The sounds of arguing and pleasure could be heard from the tiny apartment windows scattered just above him.
There was always risk of a swarthy purse cutter to challenge him. It wasn’t likely, as they all knew him. Anyone else, though, was open game. He was halfway up the alley when an ominous figure stepped out of the shadows a dozen feet before him. He froze, his spine tingling in alarm. Scented oil he did not know filled his nostrils, mixed with something else. This wasn’t a common cut purse. It was someone dangerous.
Melegal squinted, making out the tall image before him. The man was olive-skinned and wore long white robe-like garments and high-strapped sandals. He didn’t appear to be carrying a weapon, as his arms were concealed behind him. But then, Melegal knew better: whoever it was had something to hide.
His mind searched for answers and escape. Was this man here to kill him? If so, why? His nerves burst like sparks in his veins. He remained still, calm, waiting for his assailant to act. Must be an assassin. Dangerous. Not from Bone—but hired into Bone. He breathed in through his nostrils. Kitchen spices.
Melegal scanned the alley.
Evade. Evade. Evade.
No sooner had he thought it than twin blades flicked out and flashed his way. Get to the street. Disappear. He backpedaled while dodging the two blades that licked out toward his neck like a serpent’s tongue. Man, he’s fast. Can’t get pinned at the back wall. Inevitable. Must parry, dodge, run … or be dead.
The man pressed inward with his two long butterfly knives dancing in a foreign cadence. The long arms and the long blades fully defended the alley against Melegal slipping past the attacker.
Whistling cuts sliced over Melegal’s ears and under his chin, over and over again. His shoulders and feet shifted between stabs and undercuts like he was a small boxer. The flurry came at him from all directions. He never took his eye off the man that surged at him. The assassin’s white smile was confident. It was only a matter of time before he cut the thief to ribbons. Most men would have been dead seconds long gone, but Melegal was far better at dodging death than most would presume.
Dozens of cut-and-thrust combinations executed to perfection came his way. He dodged the blades like a fish in water. He could see the sweat furrow on the man’s brow, could hear the laboring in his breath. His own lungs were on fire. He fought the urge to place his hands on hips and rest.
The strange man stopped his assault, nodding at Melegal. Not so easy to kill, am I? He wanted to make a run for the wall and scramble up to the roof. But the man was too fast. He watched as the assailant angled around, then lowered the tips of his knives near the ground.
The thief felt cornered for what seemed to be the tenth time that day. It didn’t set well with him. It was tight situations like these that he went out of his way to avoid. Now he had no other choice. Pull out the Twins. No time for games. Wish I didn’t have that last drink. Pull one out. Or two. No. Yes! No! Yes! His pride caved in to survival and he drew two black-hilted and razor-sharp short swords. They would be a quicker match for the heavy butterfly swords.
Melegal always considered the twin swords to be an inferior option. But it had come to this: a brutal last ditch effort to save himself. Yet it still almost felt like surrender to him; he’d rather avoid the heavy hardware. He knew he was still overmatched, but some swordplay would buy him more time. Okay, girls, he thought, twirling the twin blades, it’s time to play.
The rings of clanging metal filled the alley as the assassin laid into him like a conductor of death. Melegal parried like a defender of life. The heavier blows of the robed man were beating down the lighter blades over and over again. Melegal’s cherished swords, though, popped right back up with their own ferocity. His clothes were sliced here and there, but his blood remained in place. Can’t kill what you can’t hit.
The sharp clangs in the alley came quickly, over and over, both pressing the advantage, back and forth, ducking, dodging, and jumping like skilled acrobats trapped in a cage of vipers. Melegal’s arms were tiring, though. Oh, man, this is getting old. Gotta try something new. Arms feel like fire and lead. He now labored for breath, a thin film of sweat glistening over his hands. Too much booze. Should have stayed in bed.
He avoided grappling swords with the larger man. The man wanted to suck him in and cut him down. The fighter whirled before Melegal, tireless and cold. Melegal wanted nothing more than to gouge out the man’s eyes, but he couldn’t take the risk. The butterfly blades banged down over and over, jolting his arms as he struggled with his grip. It was only a matter of time.
Then the unexpected happened: the assailant backed off, winded. Melegal didn’t press, though, only keeping his guard up. He eyed the man, whose mouth opened to reveal filed teeth. Now why would you do that to your teeth? Oh, yeah … he’s an assassin. I guess that’s why. Better not bite me. I don’t want to die by biting. I won’t be buried with bite marks. Gotta get out of here.
Melegal waited while the man backed farther away. What is he up to now? He watched as the man took off his robes. Why would he do that? Pervert. Oh, wait … that’s why.
The man stood before him, a polished figure of slender corded muscles and white tattoos, garnished with an array of throwing knives. Melegal’s hopes of survival sank all the way to his toes.
Along the man’s colored forearms were bracer-like contraptions. Son of a Bish! Melegal recognized the dart launchers that many warriors coveted but could not afford. I knew I should have gotten some of those. He knew right then and there he could not dodge them all
. So he tried a new tactic.
“I assume you are hired to kill me only, not capture me?” Melegal asked.
The man nodded, checking his dart contraptions.
He’s got the drop on me. I’m looking at dodging about ten poisoned darts. No way. Not in this condition.
The alley seemed to shrink before him. His path barred, Melegal knew he was unprepared and overmatched. The dart launcher was a powerful weapon. Fast and accurate. He had seen one work before and this guy had two of them. Retreating was his only option, but it was a terrible plan. His last moments on Bish would be spent in a meaningless alley of muck. His life would end as meaninglessly as it began. Melegal lowered his blades. It’s just as well. I’m tired of the hassle. I wish I could have helped save the boy, though. But even that thought seemed out of character for the usually cold and uncaring Melegal.
He watched the assassin’s long slender arms take aim. The man even had a throwing blade ready to go in each hand as well. Not leaving anything to chance. Melegal pulled back his shoulders, chest out. This is it: my final move. Melegal bent his knees while loosening the grip on his swords. A familiar sound caught his ear. He cocked his head.
“Eh?” the assassin said, casting a crooning ear over his shoulder.
I hope that’s what I think it is.
Melegal listened.
Whirl …
Whizz ...
Whop!
The assassin’s chin buckled into his chest, then he dropped to his knees. A large sling bullet echoed off the cobblestone. Melegal was already running before it hit the street, hurdling the man like a giant greyhound, clearing the assassin before he could blink.
The Darkslayer: Book 02 - Blades in the Night Page 17