Chapter 51
A ten-foot-tall shambling mound of rock and dirt emerged from the ground. It was shaped like a man, just two tons heavier. The horses were already galloping away as Fogle Boon prepared a spell. The fear inside him caused the words of power to falter on his lips. Mood was yelling.
“Get away from this thing!”
Mood stood between him and the living rock pile, axes crossed before him. Ox the mintaur stood by his side, his own hand axes ready. The brave figures in front of him seemed insignificant as the elemental creature blocked out the rising suns. The ground shook as it stepped forward.
Mood dashed in, taking a swipe at its knee, rock debris scattering from the blow. The creature roared as it struck, hitting the ground hard as the Blood Ranger dove between its legs. Mood was chopping it from behind now, causing the elemental to turn away.
Fogle rubbed his hands together as he formed a spell on his lips. It was coming, mystic power flowing into him as from an opened dam. He caught a glimpse of Mood getting punched flat to the ground. He raised his hands up and let the spell go. A burst of brilliant white light formed between his hands in a ball of swirling energy and shot forth in a jagged bolt of lightning. It blew a hole in the center of the elemental, bringing forth an enraged moan. The elemental turned on him, its black eye holes dark and angry in its shambled face.
Fogle Boon staggered back. His head was dizzy as he tried to recall another spell. He moved backward on quivering legs, stumbling as the elemental's steps shook the ground. Fogle Boon was frozen with fear. His spell should have destroyed the monster. It can’t be! If that spell couldn’t do it, then he didn’t know what would. Move or die. That’s what Venir had told him, but he couldn’t move. Instead, he watched in fascination as the elemental rambled forward. Two powerful arms were dragging him away. It was Ox. Pull me faster, Ox! He could barely think, and his tongue clove to the roof of his gawping mouth. Is this how I die? Run, Ox. Save yourself!
The elemental was closing in. Ox let Fogle go. He fell back onto his elbows as the mintaur rushed ahead. All he could do was watch. The elemental, with a gaping hole in its chest, clamped its rocky hands around the chopping Ox, picking him up like a child’s doll. Fogle watched in horror as he heard his friend’s bones cracking inside the elemental’s grip. Ox’s eyes bulged out from the sockets as his ram face cried out like a dying sheep. Ox, his servant all of his life, was nothing more than a rodent to the elemental. Fogle shuddered as the elemental slammed his friend horns-first into the ground. The mintaur was dead, his body no longer humanoid, but a bloody pulp of flesh.
“NOOOOO!” Fogle Boon screamed.
Mood was on his feet again, limping toward the monstrous hulk. His axes began to carve out the backs of the elemental's knees. Fogle Boon gathered to his feet, stared at the mangled body that was his friend, and summoned everything he had. You will not die in vain, OX!
His mind became as sharp as a razor as he recalled some words of power he had never used before. The air began to swirl around him, fluttering his robes like flags in the wind. His mind intertwined his brilliance and emotion into a single focal point. He raised his arms above his head, and a sphere of scintillating color ebbed above him. The elemental knocked Mood to the ground again.
“OVER HERE, CREATURE!”
The elemental whirled on him and charged. Fogle Boon let it all go. The rush of the entire realm of magic at his command was exhilarating.
The sphere shot out like a boulder from a catapult. It smacked straight into the rocky body, wedging itself inside the gaping hole in its chest.
“FOR OX!” Fogle shouted as he clapped his hands together.
The sphere exploded in a burst of black energy. The elemental was blasted into gravel that scattered like drops flying from a rock dropped in a puddle. Fogle Boon could feel the rain of tiny rocks all over his face. That felt good! He could still feel the energy inside him, simmering like a bad temper he had never let out. His grandfather Boon had told him,
“It’s not what you know, it’s what’s inside you that matters most.”
There certainly was something inside of him, and it felt good letting it out.
He looked around and saw a pile of rocks moving. It’s gathering itself. Mood emerged from the element's rubble. Fogle sighed. The giant dwarf was covered from head to toe in brown soot with little evidence showing of his red beard. The big figure limped over to him.
“Are you all right?” Fogle asked.
Dusting himself off, Mood said, “Aye, I’m well. That was somethin’ else you did, Mage. I’ve fought an elemental before. It takes time to whittle one down, but you did it in no time … impressive.” Mood started looking around. “Where’s yer mintaur?”
Fogle didn’t see the busted body at first. Then he noticed a pair of hooves sticking up from under the dirt. A great feeling of sadness settled over him when he realized he would have to dig his friend out.
Fogle nodded and said, “He’s over there. It was awful, the worst thing I have ever seen. That monster squeezed him like a piece of ripened fruit.” He started to tremble, and his eyes teared up. He closed them and turned away from Mood.
“Tis a shame. I like them mintaurs. Much like us dwarves, with hooves and horns. He gave his life for ya. No better kind of friend than that.
Mood’s words sunk in. Fogle Boon had never been really sure what the mintaur was to him, besides a servant he had all his life. Never once had he called him friend or even thanked him for what he did. He just suspected that was what mintaurs did. In the end, Ox had given Fogle Boon the only thing he ever had … his life.
“Would you like me to dig em’ out and bury him for you?” Mood asked.
“No … I’ll bury him. It’s the least I can do.”
“I’ll fetch the horses, then. They won’t be too far away.” Mood limped away.
Fogle Boon got on his knees and scooped away the dirt with his hands. It didn’t take long before he had Ox outlined. All of the dirt did a good job coating all of the blood on Ox’s smashed form. Mood returned with the horses just as Fogle picked the broken body up from the ground. The mintaur was even heavier than he imagined. It was like carrying water-filled saddle bags, and he could feel Ox’s parts sloshing around inside his skin. On unsteady legs, he headed for the stone grave where the dead underling once laid. He set Ox down inside it.
“I’m gonna need your help with this next part, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure,” Mood said.
“What do you do with your people's dead?”
“We carry em’ back to Dwarven Hole. We’ve got tombs there, deep in the ground. Funerals are important to us. Dwarves that die in battle are highly regarded, and most prefer that to aging to death. That’s why we like to fight so much. Of course, we all live a pretty long time, anyway.”
Fogle nodded and began picking up some of the small rocks and filling them inside the tomb. Mood worked on the bigger boulders. After a couple of hours it was done.
“It’s a good burial, better than most get,” Mood said.
“I don’t even know if Ox had any family. If I met them what would I say?”
“He died saving your life. They’ll be honored by that.”
They both stood in silence, the wind whipping through their hair.
Fogle spoke. “What now, Mood? Are we going to track Venir, or that underling that crossed his words?”
“I’ll not be following that underling into any dark holes. We lived. He ran. No sense in crossing that one again, not without Venir at least.”
“Where do we start, the Mist?”
The King of the Blood Rangers didn’t say anything. Instead, he stood staring into the mist. It was the most mysterious thing he had ever seen, endless and penetrating. The longer Fogle looked at it, the more lost he seemed. He felt small in its presence and wanted nothing more than to get away. It made him long for home, the City of Three. What was the right thing to do? What would Ox have done to find him? Would he have t
he courage to do the same?
Chapter 52
Melegal ducked under Jeb’s right cross. As another punch flew at him, he had little trouble dodging away. The man’s eyes gave away everything he was going to do. Still, Melegal was no brawler. He was way out of his comfort zone. Don’t get hit.
Across from him, Jeb was worked up.
“Come on, take a swing!”
Good, use your breath.
The crowd was booing and yelling obscenities now. They wanted blood, but he was determined not to spill his own.
“Fight him, Chicken Man!”
Jeb rushed in with a flurry of punches. Melegal simply held up his iron gauntlets, batting the blows away. Still, it stung his delicate hands inside the over-sized armor. His hands were hot with sweat inside and he could smell the funk, like the sweat of a hundred rotting men. Gonna need a lot of soap. He kept his eyes on his opponent's. Here he goes. Every attack was telegraphed ahead by those eyes. Drop the shoulder. Upper cut. Blink hard. Body shot. Snort. A haymaker’s coming.
Jeb's face was full of frustration. Melegal could see how hard it could be to fight something you couldn’t touch.
“Come on, Girl, fight like a ma—”
Smack! Smack! Smack!
Melegal loaded Jeb’s face with three striking jabs, cutting open Jeb’s cheek. He scored first blood. The crowd went wild. A thrill went through his spine. People were cheering him on, and he liked it. He shook his loose hands. That hurts! The gauntlets were cutting into his knuckles where the leather was long gone.
Jeb wasn’t dazed for long. His eyes were still sharp and focused. He crashed his gauntlets together and came on, fists lowered. Melegal stabbed him in the mouth, rocking back his head. The man came on like an angry bull. The crowd screamed just as Jeb stepped into another mouthful of iron. Still, Melegal felt like he was stabbing a rock. Knock him in the chin, Fool!
When Melegal got distracted by the sounds of coins clinking in his favor, his opponent slipped in and almost snapped his own head back. Melegal dodged just in time. Slat! Jeb pressed on, eyes wary, but full of fury. Blood was dripping from the man’s face, and his busted lips were beginning to swell. The circle of people surrounding them seemed to get tighter as Melegal continued to step away and jab.
Melegal was surprised at how heavy his arms were getting. Every fiber of muscle started to knot in his back and shoulders. Jeb began swinging again, landing heavy blows on his arms. Melegal winced as he balled up and danced away. The iron gloves were up above Jeb’s chin and his punches became more persistent. The man’s lower body was open, begging for a heavy blow, but Melegal didn’t have that kind of strength. He side-stepped an uppercut and drove his fist into the man’s kidney. Jeb groaned, punched out, and backed off. A series of boo’s followed.
He punched into the man’s stomach again. The man was rugged and hard though, every bit the solid soldier he appeared to be. The man’s iron gloves stayed up, a bloodied grin on his face.
“Take him, Jeb. He can’t hurt you!”
It seemed true. The man had forty pounds on him, if not more. Jeb was a fighter and a good survivor who had made it this far. Melegal's alert eyes didn’t blink. He knew the man was planning something.
Jeb stepped back and beat his hairy chest with a mailed hand.
“Come on, Coward!”
Jeb beckoned the roaring crowd by rolling his fists in the air. Melegal edged closer. Keep that chin out there. The thug leapt inside at him, a flurry of punches coming his way. Melegal twisted away, heavy handed blows landing along his back and ribs. The punches that landed hurt as they cracked into his side.
“You got him!”
“Finished him!”
Melegal slumped over, clutching at his side, shuffling away from the flurry of Jeb’s iron fists. He could see the man’s eyes light up as he came in for the knock out. Jeb’s jaws were clenching as he dropped his shoulder.
SMACK!
Melegal hit Jeb in the chin with everything he had. The man wobbled backward. A collective gasp filled the room. He waited for the man’s eyes to roll up in his head as he fell to the floor on his arse. Jeb grabbed his blood smeared chin, shook his head and howled.
Slat!
Jeb hopped back on his feet, laughed, and came after him faster and stronger than before. Melegal had given the man his best shot, but the man’s jaw was as sturdy as a dwarf's. He let on a flurry of jabs, cutting into the man’s face, but the man shrugged it all off like rain drops. He felt something hard glance across his bony ribs, causing him to suck the air in his teeth. Then he felt like he was being beaten with a giant meat tenderizer. Something hard slammed into his ear, and the sound of the cheers was gone. Blood was dripping in his eyes and a snarling figure stood before him like a wolverine. Melegal had been beaten by many things, many times before, years ago, but he didn’t remember it feeling like this. The thunderous blows were painful, like mallets used to drive spikes. His body quivered, and his strength left him. He tried to cover up, but he ended up falling down instead, blacking out as soon as his head hit the floor.
He woke up to the smell of coffee, followed by a great deal of pain rippling through his body. Opening his eyes ached, and one was swollen shut. He was in his apartment, lying on his cot. At Melegal’s table sat a woman, Haze, stroking the black fur of a muscular feline, Octopus. He tried to sit up and say, “What are you doing here?” but his jaw was too stiff. He let out a muffled grunt, forcing his feet to the floor. It felt like his muscles were tearing inside of him.
Haze came over to him and said, “You need to be still. You don’t want to tear the stitches.”
What? Stitches?
He started with his face. He could feel three rough bumps over his face, two long and one short. It didn’t feel like too bad of a job though. They were tight, done by a deft hand.
“The scars won’t be bad, if any at all, depending on how good a healer you are."
Melegal realized his shirt was off as his fingers tested the welts and bruises along the rest of his body. His ribs were sore, and his back felt broken. He wriggled some looseness back into his jaw. He was starving and had an awful headache.
“Coffee,” he managed to say.
Haze poured him a fresh mug as Octopus rumbled on the table. The cat had been spending more time in his apartment lately. Melegal had seen to it that the cat had a way in through the window. He had nothing there to steal. His belongings were elsewhere now. Besides, the apartment was a difficult place to get into. Only someone that really wanted something would try, and Melegal didn’t have anything that people wanted. He was sure of that.
He took the coffee from Haze and had a painful sip. Still, it was good coffee, almost good enough to give him a reason to live.
“So what happened, and how did you get in?”
She sat back down at the table and started stroking the cat again. Her shoulders were pulled back, a small smile on her lips. He knew what she was thinking, that he somehow owed her one, but he would put an end to that. He wouldn’t have her roosting in his nest for long. She tossed her greasy black hair with a whip of her thin neck. Her eyes were flickered with pride.
“It was a good fight until he caught you. He was good, even better than I thought. Turns out he’s used the iron gloves before … many times. I think the fix was in on you. They don’t like you here anymore.”
He rolled his shoulders and said, “Octopus does.”
“Hmph … maybe so. Anyway, as I said, it was a good fight. But when he clipped you good, there was nothing left in you. POW! Your eyes rolled up in your head and that man was all over you. I don’t know how you kept your feet so long. The crowd was so loud a chandelier fell from the roof. Of course, a pair of midgets was hanging off of it, but it made for a great effect.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
Haze waved her hands at him and said, “Oh no I didn’t. A lot of people didn’t. Seeing you get beat to death is hard to watch. I thought for sure you would either be de
ad or have a cracked skull. That man, Jeb, he tried to stomp on your skull, but Frigdah covered you up as the bouncers pulled him away.”
What?
“What? OW! That tub of lard laid down on me. You didn’t stop her.” He didn’t know which hurt worse, saying it, or imagining it.
“She’s hard to stop. Don’t worry though, not too many people were laughing. Well, I mean, not everyone was laughing that is. At least not us, anyway.” Her eyes darted away from his.
It was the most humiliating thing he had ever heard about himself. Shielded by a fat woman, twice my size. I’m sure she’ll want some gratuity, too. He forced himself back onto his feet. Good, they work. His chest tightened as he patted down his pockets. My hat’s gone.
“Here it is,” Haze said, twirling the cap on her finger. “I took it out when I was looking for your key. The barkeep told me where your room was, but I already knew.”
He walked over and snatched the cap off of her finger. He noticed his key lying on the table. He folded it inside his cap and tossed it onto the cot.
“You’re welcome,” she said.
He gave her a look.
“How’s the coffee?”
“I’m still drinking it, aren’t I?”
Haze was beginning to bother him, not because she was there, but because he didn’t seem to mind her being there. She was all smiles now.
“Where’s the sword?”
Haze pointed to the corner by the cupboard. Something was wrapped up and bound in cloth. He picked it up, undoing the bindings. There it was, scabbard and all. When he pulled a portion of the blade free, the steel shined in the dim light. The jewel-encrusted hilt was unlike any he had ever seen. He had never held it before, but it was clear to him it was special. It was the gift that Venir had given to Georgio, the blade that pierced the hide of the Vicious at the Warfield. It was funny how, if not for Tonio’s longsword, Venir would have been dead. Now that blade was about to play another big part in his own life as well. He could still feel Lord Almen’s strong grip around his throat. Hopefully, this sword would put an end to all of that tension.
The Darkslayer: Book 03 - Underling Revenge Page 23