The Darkslayer: Book 03 - Underling Revenge

by Craig Halloran

  He let himself slide a bit, but the combined weight of him and his dwarven-scale armor was more than the loose dirt on the hillside could hold. He slipped and then tumbled down the hill, rolling, clutching, screaming, and snarling. It was a lost cause. He fell like a drunken orc playing King of the Mountain. Down he went, rolling off of a ledge and landing hard another twenty feet below.

  “Oomph!”

  His head bounced off a rock, cracking the stone and almost knocking him cold. Venir felt woozy, and blood flowed into his eyebrows. He could hear laughter, underling chitter, echoing in his helmet. He looked around through a bloody haze. He was in a ravine. He saw his knife lying on the ground near his side, a fortunate break. He grabbed it, spying the path of the ravine, looking for somewhere to hide. It was too late.

  A robed underling landed three dozen feet away. It was dark, bigger than most, gold eyes blazing like an inferno of power. Venir felt like an underling army stood before him. He sensed its power like a man senses an oncoming storm. The hairs on his arms stood on end. His helmet boomed another warning. He turned. The other underling appeared behind him, just as far away. It had round flashing silver eyes, short-cropped black hair, and a twisted sneering face. Venir’s hands felt cold and empty without Brool. The knife was all that stood between him and death. Fight or die!

  He tried to fight the rage that was building inside him, beckoning him to attack, pushing him into the slaughter. There has to be another way. The air began to thicken around him. The hands of the narrow-faced underling with golden eyes started to radiate. The girdle around his waist began to throb. Venir saw a stone bigger than his head on the ground and felt the urge to pick it up and throw it. Jamming his knife in his sheath, he grabbed the rock, pulled it behind his head and slung it like a skipping stone. The small boulder sailed straight and true, soaring toward the astounded underling before it ricocheted off an invisible shield, knocking the underling to the ground.

  Great Bish!

  Venir was charging toward the stunned creature when he felt two cold hands squeezing his heart. He cried out in pain as he fell to the ground. Looking over his shoulder he could see the underling's silver eyes shining like polished coins. Its hands were squeezing something in the air, its face straining with hatred. Venir gasped for air. He was suffocating. He kicked and twitched. Then he couldn’t move. Little bright spots started to coat his vision.

  The underling he smote with the boulder rose to one knee, its face filled with fury. The underlings nodded at one another, coming closer. One’s fingers were clutching with energy and the other looked to be crushing something in its clawed grasp. Venir knew that it somehow had a hold of his heart. He watched them come closer and knew his end drew near. He heard them both cackle, and inside his mind he screamed.

  Chapter 7

  “Enter.”

  Melegal took a breath before he did so, opening the door and closing it with a light clatch behind him. He stood before an ordinary desk of hand-carved mahogany wood, hands behind his back, hat tucked inside his vest. Lord Almen sat quietly hunched over the large desk, his complacent face in study. The Royal Lord looked foreboding, his chiseled features shadowed by the candle and torchlight. Even seated, the polished man seemed tall; his shoulders seemed to match the breadth of the heavy desk. Melegal had trouble measuring up the man. Almen’s stern expression told little of the mind inside, but he always felt like he was in danger when he was near the Royal.

  “You seem to be running a tad late this morning. What happened?”

  Slat! Let the lying games begin. “Apologies Lord Almen, I had an unpleasant surprise from that cleric, Sefron.”

  Lord Almen hadn’t even looked up at him yet, eyes still intent on the documents before him. Melegal counted the jeweled rings on the man’s long fingers. It seemed like the man wore a different set every time he saw him, each ring worth a small fortune.

  “Oh, I see. Is it anything I need to be concerned about?”

  “No, Lord Almen.”

  “Good, I’d hate to have to intercede on your behalf again.” Lord Almen then looked up at him and said, “I know that Sefron can be a jealous nuisance, but he is of value to this house, Detective … as are you. He does what I expect him to do, so make sure you don’t entertain his petty rivalry. It can be deadly.”

  “I understand.” Yes he did indeed. Stay out of the castle, the place where you are entitled to sanctuary and pleasures you only dreamed of. Avoid all of it on account of a rotten fat-bellied cleric who licks the paws of dogs. I don’t think so.

  Royal Lord Almen stood up, tall and foreboding. He walked around to the front of his desk and half-sat on the top. The man was always exquisite, Melegal noticed. Thick brown hair, almost shoulder length, parted neatly in the middle. Almen’s clothes were simple and refined, a brown and tan dress coat with squared brass buttons running from chest to waist. Melegal never noticed the man carrying a weapon of any sort, but there was a slight bulge about Almen’s waist and chest. Daggers, knives … oh what could it be?

  Royal Lord Almen’s next question had a harsher tone. “Anything else you would like to mention, Detective?”

  The muscles began knot in the small of his back. Does he know I talked with the Lorda? Did she set me up? Did they plan this? Was it a test? Time was ticking, and a delay in his reply might be fatal. If he could only turn into a rat, he would be more than happy to scurry off into a hole. Without hesitation, he replied and said, “Yes, I had a brief conversation with the Lorda. It was unavoidable.”

  Royal Lord Almen could not hide his peaked interest as the thick brows lifted on his face. Almen began to stand up, but opted to stay put, uncertain. “I can only imagine what my wife may have demanded of you. She enjoys being involved with my servants. I also realize that her promptings are impossible to say no to. But remember Melegal, I am the Lord of this house, and what I say goes as far as you are concerned.”

  “Yes, Lord Almen.”

  “So, out with it, Man … What did she ask of you?”

  To lie, or not to lie, that is the question. Melegal could feel his palms turn clammy. He pictured a candle in his mind and blew it out. His fingers became dry as a bone. I might as well be dead anyway. “She showed me a picture of your son, Tonio. She asked me to find out if he was alive or dead.”

  Melegal couldn’t see the anger in Lord Almen’s face, but he could feel it.

  “She also asked me not to mention it to you.” There, have some truth for breakfast, Royal Lord. How does that feel?

  Oddly, Melegal didn’t feel any better. Instead, he expected either the Lorda to pop up or Lord Almen to scream for the guards. He briefly wondered what his head would look like decorating a castle wall spike. Lord Almen’s stoic expression leered down on him as the man stood up, fists clenched. Melegal felt himself breathe as the man walked back behind the desk and sat back down, causing the chair to creak. His back was still as tight as a spring in the growing silence. Well? Say something! Do I live or die? Can I at least have breakfast first?

  Lord Almen leaned forward on his desk after a few long moments.

  “So … my wife still misses her dear boy, Tonio. Hmph. This isn’t good news, Detective, but telling me was the right thing to do. Of course, I am curious as to why you didn’t tell me this at first. It makes me wonder if you weren’t holding it back to begin with.”

  “I was merely reporting the events as they occurred, Lord Almen. I pride myself on being accurate … and wise.” Melegal could only imagine what would happen if Lord Almen didn’t buy into his tale. He thought of Venir. His burly body guard gave him security on occasions like this. It was a stark moment, all alone, not an ally within the city. The lout used to always be near when I needed him.

  Lord Almen was needling his strong chin, eyes cast upward at the support beams. Melegal noticed something odd up there, a glimmer of steel. Lord Almen caught him looking as he cast his eyes away at the ground. He noticed Lord Almen’s hands stretching out, reaching for something und
erneath the desk, a weapon, perhaps. Melegal allowed a gentle bend in his knees even though he had nowhere to go.

  “Come closer, Melegal. I have something I would like to show you … a prized possession.”

  “I would be honored,” Melegal said, taking a step forward, using his toes to feel for a false bottom under the floor. Plenty solid—No strange holes in the desk—looks to be clear.

  Lord Almen rested his fist on the desk and opened it up. A small brooch of pewter, gold and steel now sat on the table, with a small insignia of Castle Almen on it. Melegal instantly knew what it was; it was special.

  “This, Detective, will gain you access to many places in the city. Some protection comes with it as well. Take it, and don’t lose it.”

  Melegal picked it up and slid it beneath his clothes, saying, “Thank you; I won’t lose it.”

  Lord Almen nodded.

  “Now, as for my wife, go ahead and entertain her quest. I’ve already charged you with making sure that not a word is mentioned of my son, Tonio. I’ve heard nothing; you’ve reported nothing, which is what I expected. But … can you find him, or do you already know where he is?”

  Melegal had no idea, and he didn’t want to know, either, but he was pretty sure where he could find out something.

  “No, I have not seen him, and I don’t know where he is, but I can take a deeper look into it.”

  Lord Almen’s voice lowered, “Find my son, or evidence of his whereabouts, but limit the search to Bone. Don’t approach him, just keep me informed. As for my wife, avoid her. If she catches up with you, just lie. I’ll handle the rest.”

  Melegal didn’t care for how the man said the last words, but he would go along with anything just to get out of there.

  “Yes, Lord Almen.”

  “So, is there anything else you would care to report? Any other encounters while you were strolling about in my castle?”

  Only that your serving girls would make some of the finest whores in Bone, which I’d like to thank you for, but I’m not.

  “Nothing else, Lord Almen.”

  “Good. Now, have you had the good fortune of tracking down any of the remaining Slergs?”

  Ah yes, the unfortunate Slergs, possibly a whole deadly handful of them at most. Whatever will you do Lord Almen? “The man-urchin guilds are quiet, Lord Almen. Activity is infrequent at best. It seems the elimination of the Slergs was quite thorough,” Melegal said, remaining perfectly still.

  Melegal was already aware that Lord Almen knew he was once an urchin in the service of Slerg Castle. As a matter of fact, Melegal had been able to readily identify many of the Slergs that Lord Almen had captured after their raid on that castle. It had been the same night that Melegal dispatched his former mentor, McKnight, and the last time he had seen Venir, Georgio, Lefty and Quickster. He had found a good bit of satisfaction in seeing there a few Slerg faces that had tormented him when he was younger. There hadn't been that many left to begin with, but the handful of prisoners managed to name the few that were missing. The twins Hagerdon and Creighton had escaped, and Leezir. Venir had a deal with Leezir, one that the Slerg would never have to repay now that Venir had left Bone, but Melegal had an interest in trying to collect Venir’s debt. A purse of gems, I believe.

  Lord Almen’s tone was harsh as he said, “So, you have nothing, not a trace after two months. I am beginning to wonder if you are taking your charges seriously, Detective Melegal. Perhaps I should find someone better suited.”

  Melegal remained calm.

  “Lord Almen, I know these streets better than anyone, but they are vast, and I am only a single man. I have been focusing more on gathering information on the other threats to your great throne. The Nippert Castle’s latest plot I had delivered straight into your hands. The slaving guilds had shaved you many servants before I had their injustice undone. I apologize for my failure with the Slergs, but it is due to the pressing matter of more imminent dangers. I will find the location of the remaining Slergs, and your son Tonio, as soon as I leave your castle doors.”

  Lord Almen’s expression did not change, but he sensed the man’s agitation. At this point, Melegal would say anything to get out of the room, which seemed to be shrinking with every breath. Just dismiss me. Let me go.

  “I am well aware of your successes, but my expectations are high for managing my affairs. The next time you come, you had best bring better news. You are dismissed.”

  Melegal made a slight bow and made his way for the door. Finally! He grabbed the handle and just as his thumb began to press down on the latch, he felt something powerful around his throat.

  “Urk!”

  He was being hoisted from the ground, by his neck, like a small child. A pair of strong hands were squeezing his throat. His toes were inches above the stone floor. How!? But he had a more pressing matter to be concerned about. He couldn’t breathe.

  Chapter 8

  Joline made her way back to the kitchen, with an unsettling look on her face. “We have customers … er … rather a customer.”

  Kam was leaning with both hands on the table; her head was starting to ache.

  “Anything you can’t handle? I’d like to lie down.”

  “Well, I’m not sure I can handle this one. Pretty unpleasant and demanding. I think I better get some more food ready, and quick.” Joline got out of her way and continued with her baking, oven doors opening and dough rising. Kam had a feeling it was going to be a long day.

  Kam made her way out of the kitchen and back behind the bar. Back in the corner, not far from a monumental granite fireplace, sat a lone figure. The Magi Roost was filled with ample light from its windows and cantrip-lit steel chandeliers above. The figure in the back seemed to have avoided the light and was somehow shaded in darkness. Kam could see a sword and scabbard on the table. The figure wore a dark gray cloak, and she could make out a head of short dark hair. It was mysterious.

  Time to be hospitable.

  With every step the figure became more ominous. Kam didn’t often feel nervous in her tavern, but now the tips of her fingers tingled. She prepared a defensive spell in her mind. She was only five steps away when a long slender hand made its way to the hilt of the sword.

  “No need for that, I’m the owner … just here to serve. What will it be?”

  “Food and wine, Prissy, and no chit chat,” said a voice as cold as water from the bottom of a well.

  A woman!?

  Kam was getting an eyeful now. The woman had thick black hair that looked like it had been cut with a knife. Her face was battered and bruised, with dark blue eyes, and a scowl.

  “We have everything here, can you be more specific … we aim to please,” Kam said, rubbing her head and neck.

  “What’s the matter, did your boyfriend bang you too hard into the bed board, Prissy?”

  Kam fought back her retort. She didn’t like this woman; something sinister and vile lurked behind her eyes. Still, the woman’s voice was polished, commanding, and refined. The woman’s words carried authority, not as much as hers, but authority nonetheless.

  “What will it be? Fine cuisine, wine, clear water or slop and dishwater. I have it all.”

  The woman’s hand slipped from her sword.

  “Heh … I’ll take whatever that is I smell, and that rose-colored bottle on the top shelf.”

  Kam nodded, turned, and walked away. She had a feeling the sooner she got this woman fed and out of here, the better.

  “And bring me some cold water, too … Prissy!”

  Chapter 9

  The underling mage lord had the Darkslayer right where he wanted him. Squeezing with all his might, Verbard could feel the man’s beating heart cringing in his hands. Concentrating on his mystic grip, he watched the man in the distance pitch forward with a groan. The Darkslayer’s heart was hard, like a throbbing rock, in his glimmering palms. His spell was a powerful one, the same one he had used on the creature from the current at Oran’s lair. He had the man where he wanted h
im, putty in his hands, while Catten was recovering from the other side and closing in on the man. His thoughts screamed in delight.

  All Verbard had to do was hold on and let his brother take care of the rest. Verbard’s eyes were elated coins of silver as the Darkslayer kicked and screamed on the ground. The man looked like a fish out of water. Verbard squeezed even harder. His hands were clutched together as if he were holding a glowing ball the size of two fists. His fingers and lightly furred forearms were corded with strain. He let his mind—filled with cold hatred and fury—enforce his efforts. The heart was pounding like a galloping horse, but it was beginning to slow. The man was writhing over the rough ground in a fitful seizure.

  Yes, Brother, he soon will be gone. Kill him with me! Let’s finish this and go home!

  Verbard felt his brother's reply, another surge of energy developing on the other side of the man. He wanted nothing more than to torment the man, bind him and flay him, cut off his fingers, toes, hands, and legs one by one. He wanted the man who cost his kind so much to suffer every day for a thousand years. It could be done.

  He could feel the rapid heartbeat begin to slow now, and the man’s spasms and screams started to subside. Yes! He had the man, paralyzed, suffocated, and catatonic. He took a quick breath and exhaled. It all seemed so easy. He watched as his brother's golden eyes flickered with power, mystic energy shimmering around him, hands black with fire. A black javelin of energy formed in Catten’s hand. Verbard watched as his brother threw it into the man, piercing the man in the leg. The prone man didn’t even howl. Another javelin followed, penetrating the metal scale armor, and driving deep into the man’s chest. The Darkslayer lurched up, black fire in his eyes. Verbard took a sharp breath. The man tried to cry out, but the effort was without sound. He pitched forward, bloodied hands clutching at the javelin jutting from his chest.