“So, what do you two ravishing women have to say about two-headed dogs? My ear couldn’t let such an interesting story pass.” he said, his polished voice just short of a demand.
“Aw, it’s just a little girl’s tale. There are no such things here. Now, Rayal must be going, and I have some gardening to do. Of course, you heard that already. Rayal, can you see yourself out?”
“Yes, Lorda Almen.”
“Don’t be silly, Rayal. It would be my pleasure to escort you out, and you must tell me this tale of Elizabeth’s. I find such stories fascinating.”
Melegal watched all their feet walk away, and then grabbed the sword and stepped from his pitiful hiding spot behind the tiger roses. Looking both ways, he headed down the corridor and into the kitchen. Three women servants were there, paying him little mind as they worked like ants to clean up the kitchen. He sat down at a servants' table. A pitcher of milk and a plate of biscuits greeted him, but he wasn’t hungry. He was nervous. Make it short, Melegal.
Chapter 65
Venir’s eyes peeked open. Bars. Steel bars. A rough-hewn stone floor complemented the rest of his surroundings. A thrill rushed through his arms and legs. I’m home! He had woken up and thought he was back underneath the City of Bone. He sat up, rattling the chains that bound him to the floor. Something wasn’t right, though; it was different. The smell of rot and mold wasn’t there. The cell was illuminated by a strange torchlight high above, beyond his reach. The eerie illumination revealed something more: he wasn’t alone. Another man was in there, chained and huddled in the opposite corner of the over-sized cell. The man appeared to be venerable, his skin and hair blending in with the gray walls. The old man seemed oblivious to Venir's arrival.
He realized he was pinned inside a cage, steel bars rising twenty feet high to the left and right. There were others in the adjacent cages. There were dwarves, orcs, and gnolls, but mostly men. It couldn’t be Bone, but somewhere else. The dragon? How had he gotten here? Venir didn’t remember a thing. He ran his hands over his body and found nothing but his shirt, trousers, and boots. A metal brace was clamped around his neck, connected to a long chain that was mounted to the floor. He stood up and walked.
If he was imprisoned, it was the biggest cell he had ever been in, thirty feet wide, deep and tall, something not meant for a typical man, but something else. A giant, maybe. He pressed his face to the outer bars. There were more cells to his left and right, as many as eight, maybe ten more. The other figures sat in the silence, their eyes fixed on something else or closed. It was that odd quiet so many had before the guillotine fell, or the noose stretched the life from their necks. Venir rubbed his throat.
The smell of food drifted into his nose. He'd been so busy marveling at his prison that he hadn't noticed the tray of food at the foot of the cell’s door. A roasted bird the size of a turkey was there, along with a loaf of bread and a metal carafe of something. Venir’s mouth began to water. He looked over at the man in the corner. The man’s eyes were peering at him now from underneath busy white and gray brows.
“Eat,” the figure’s eccentric voice said. “The food is good. The comforts are not.”
Venir’s eyes went from the food, to the man, to the food. He made an impulsive decision. He fell down on his knees, tore the leg off the bird and took a big bite out of it. It was good, and there was nothing extraordinary about it. He gulped down a few more meaty bites, then put the pitcher to his lips and drank. The water slid down his throat. He pulled off a hunk of bread and stuffed it in his mouth. His growling stomach became more satisfied with every bite he washed down. His senses had been on full alert, but now they seemed to relax. The world he was in was real, hard, cold, and tangible. The strangers in the prison only confirmed that he was alive and not in some odd fantasy world. Maybe it wasn’t Bone, but it was real.
“Goodness, you ate that entire pheasant.”
Venir whirled around. The old man in the corner was standing over him, green eyes bright with cunning and curiosity. The old man wore nothing more than a short-sleeved set of ragged blue robes. His forearms were corded with muscle above his bony wrists. He had a chiseled face underneath a stiff white and gray beard. The older man seemed younger than he appeared as he spoke in a fluid voice.
“I guess a big man like you needs to eat a lot. Still, I’ve never seen one consume the entire bird before.”
“It was good,” Venir said as he rose from his knees, licking the greasy bird from his fingertips. “You wouldn’t happen to have a napkin, would you?”
The old man looked like he had swallowed a fly. He started fanning his hands in the air and said, “Oh my, oh my … was that a joke?”
Venir allowed himself a smile as he shrugged.
“BWAHH HA HA HA HA!” The old man was clutching his belly as he dropped to one knee on the floor. “Oh, my sides are aching … I’m too old for this,” he said, as he kept on laughing.
With a belly full of food and the sound of another human voice, Venir began to feel like his old self. His head was clear, no longer throbbing with the incessant need to kill. The chronic fight for his survival had subsided as well. The guilt was gone. Wherever he was now, his friends were not. The farther away from him, the better off they would be. Despite the shackles and the surrounding bars and gates, Venir felt free.
“Say, Old Man, when you finish, maybe you can tell me where I am?”
Hack. Hack. The man had his hand on his knee, while the other clutched his head.
“Sure …, sure, just give me a second.” The man took a wheezy draw in his nose. “Whew! I can’t remember the last time I laughed. So, do you have a name, Stranger?”
“Venir. And yours?”
The man blinked, raised and eye, pinched his finger and thumb on his chin, and gave pause. A few odd moments had passed when the man snapped his fingers.
“Boon … but I haven’t been called that in a long time.”
Venir remained silent as his blue eyes searched the man’s face. Fogle Boon had mentioned his grandfather before, but the man had little resemblance to his friend. Fogle had a large oblong head that sat on a skinny neck and narrow shoulders. This older man stood tall and broad, with a formidable way of carrying himself.
“You know,” Boon continued, “I’m not used to looking up to many fellas. I’m pretty tall myself, but by a man’s standard you are quite large.” Boon reached out and squeezed his arm. “A brute … heh, heh.”
Venir looked at the metal collar that was secured around the man’s neck. A long chain kept Boon secured to the floor as well. He noted some other things. The large cobblestones on the floor seemed absent of any filth, much unlike the prison holes he was accustomed to. It just didn’t seem natural that an area of incarceration would be so tidy. He grabbed the length of chain and began to pull.
Boon’s eyes lifted as he bit his tongue and rubbed his bearded chin. He said, “I don’t think you can pull that out. Those chains were meant to hold more than just men.”
Venir paid him no mind as he tugged away. The rope of chain had links of steel thicker than his thumb. He squatted down, dug his boots into the crevices between the cobblestones, and began to really pull.
Chapter 66
He felt like he was in a dungeon, chained, but without shackles. The walls of Lord Almen’s study below the kitchen were closing in. Melegal had followed the man’s scowling face down the stairs, every step as uncomfortable as the last. He had the feeling that the Royal Lord was not in good spirits today. He stood straight, one hand holding the sword, the other behind his back. His hat was still on.
Lord Almen was leaning back in his chair, speaking with an irritable tone. “So, Melegal, have you brought me a gift?”
His throat was dry when he replied, “No, Lord Almen, evidence.”
“By the looks of you, it looks like this evidence was hard to come by. Such marks on a man’s face can draw suspicion, as well as many questions. Make sure you avoid my family, detective. But, it is good
to see you putting your back into the job. I’ll be very interested to hear what you have to say.” Lord Almen leaned forward, and his body seemed to rise up in his chair. “Every bit of it.”
“Yes, Lord Almen,” he sputtered, once again feeling an invisible vise begin to squeeze his chest.
“Well, out with it! Let me see what you have and hear the tale behind it. I don’t have all day to watch you stand like a slack-jawed crane.”
Melegal unbound the leather cords that held the cloth around the sword. He set the object on Lord Almen’s desk and stepped back. Eyeing him, Lord Almen peeled the cloth off Tonio's sword. There it sat, scabbard and hilt, with tiny encrusted gems twinkling in the candle light. He could see Lord Almen’s eyes flicker and enlarge. Something about the sword disturbed the man. There was a moment of weakness in his eyes, as if he didn’t have things under control.
Lord Almen picked up the sword and pulled half the glimmering blade from the scabbard, asking, “Where did you get this?”
This was the part Melegal hated … the lying. He didn’t mind lying, but getting caught in one by Royal Lord Almen would equate to nothing less than torture before death. He could feel a noose tightening around his neck already. To lie, or not?
“I took it from the people who led me to him.”
Lord Almen slammed the blade in the scabbard and stood up.
“He lives?”
“Yes, and I have seen him myself. I can take you to him—”
“No! Tell me where he is! What is he doing?”
“He is below the grounds of the old prison, locked behind a solitary door, in part of the old city.”
Lord Almen was silent, his stern face covered in shadows. Melegal knew that a hundred thoughts were racing through the man’s mind, his death probably being one of them. He also got the feeling that Lord Almen didn’t want his son alive. He must have been telling Lorda something else over the past few months. Will he let his son live or have him die?
“How did he look?”
“Terrible. Unnatural.”
“Hmmm, was there anyone else in this prison?”
He’s wondering about McKnight. “No, Lord Almen, just him.”
Lord Almen stood before him, eyes glaring, and said, “So tell me then, how did my son come to be locked up in a remote dungeon in Bone?”
Believe me! Believe me! Believe me!
His head did not begin to tingle or warm. He was certain that Lord Almen knew more than he let on. He had to be careful. It was impossible to know what Lord Almen was thinking. He was certain that Lord Almen knew McKnight was dead, and suspected him, but how much more did he already know? Maybe he already knew where Tonio was. His stretched story was all on him.
“I combed the streets, asked a lot of questions, and shook some people down. Some thugs in the Drunken Octopus accounted for his presence.”
“Interesting, seeing how that is where you live.”
“Yes, well it’s a popular place for troublemakers, like me. It seems that Tonio and McKnight were working together, trying to find someone, a man with a bounty on his name.”
Lord Almen turned away and sat back down.
“Continue.”
“I made a challenge for more information,” Melegal said.
“I take it you won?”
“I lost, bad, but that was my intent. They had the numbers and wouldn’t have told me a thing. I took my beating then followed them later. A pair of them led me to Tonio.”
“I see,” Lord Almen said, “and if I were to confirm your story with these men, where might they be?”
“Still at the Octopus I suspect, just ask for Jeb,” he said.
No doubt you won’t like him.
Lord Almen ran his fingers through the thick locks of his brown hair. A crease of concern grew on his brow. Melegal was certain the man was about to call him out and have him throttled or whipped. Lord Almen was very specific about the time he came and the schedules he had kept. For all Melegal knew, he had a dozen detectives working for him.
Spotters! Yes indeed, how the Royals loved to use spotters. A simple bribe would garner good information or bad. Melegal began to suspect that there had been a spotter in the Drunken Octopus watching him all along. Still though, spotters weren’t entirely reliable. They didn’t always see the things they said they did. Melegal began to realize he needed to be even more secluded in his affairs. Maybe I’m a rat after all.
He watched as Lord Almen rubbed his face and inspected his nails. The man sighed again and again. This is unusual. Melegal swallowed just as the Royal Lord looked back up at him.
“How secure is my son, Detective?”
“Very, unless the thugs let him out.”
“And why did they lock my son up instead of kill him?”
Let the lies buy you time.
“My suspicion is that they tried and failed. They trapped him somehow ... I presume.”
It was all such a bad lie. He tried his best, but only produced his worst ever. If anything, he wished Lord Almen would cut his tongue out. It was serve him better in the long run. How did I get into this? Venir and that brat, Tonio! A simple skim gone out of control!
Lord Almen stood back up and said, “Come with me, Detective.”
Melegal didn’t like the sound of Almen’s voice. A chill filled the air. Melegal wanted to ask the Royal Lord where they were going, but his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth. Lord Almen led the way, and Melegal cast a glance back inside the study. Tonio’s sword was the last thing he saw as he closed the door. Following the powerful vulture-like man up the stairs, Melegal shuddered within himself. He had never walked within the castle with Almen before. This can’t be good.
Chapter 67
Brak’s dream was a violent and bloody maelstrom. Everywhere, he saw his father’s image among carnage and death. His dreams were vivid, almost more so than the real world. He could see, smell, and hear things as if he was in the room with them, watching the events unfold. The dreams changed from one scene to another, but in every one his father’s peril was just as real as in the last. He could see himself standing in the midst of Venir’s fray, trying to bring aid to his struggling father, only to see him washed away in a tide of blood.
Something kicked him in the head, disrupting the dream. He was hit harder the next time, his ribs sore to the touch.
“Get up, Sluggard!” a rugged voice said.
He rolled up on his hips and allowed his vision to adjust. A pair of small lanterns sat on a hapless table in a dingy room. He suspected he was in a dungeon, even though he had never been in one before, except in his dreams. There were several figures about, all dressed in rags from head to toe. These were the men that had taken him by force, dragging him through the streets and down into the sewers. Somewhere between there and here he had blacked out. He could feel a knot throbbing on the crown of his head. He tried to reach for it, but his hands were bound behind him. He tried to speak, but he was gagged.
The same ragged man’s foot was about to lay into him. He closed his eyes as he cringed.
“Stop it! He’s awake, isn’t he?”
A man, shorter and stockier than the rest, lumbered over his way. A dark cowl hung around his neck. A rough hand grabbed him by the face and pulled out the gag. Two pale eyes met with his, leaving an uneasy feeling in his stomach. The others in the group began to bristle.
“Watcha gonna do with him, Boss? He’s too big to feed.”
“Yeah, let’s eat him. I’m hungry.”
Brak was frightened now. The thought of being eaten made him sick to his stomach. He tried to fight back the tears, but the drops streamed down his cheeks.
“Interesting, very interesting indeed. Somebody bring me a chair!”
Two of the man-urchins fought to bring one over, both dragging it across the floor. Scowling at them, the man sat down. Brak kept his eyes on the man’s feet as he started to shudder.
“Easy, Boy, no one is going to eat you. I would never do that to th
e son of the one called Venir.”
Brak’s sagging head pulled itself up to meet the gaze of the man.
“Ah … so it is certain, then. Good, very good. I had my doubts, but something in your eyes reminds me of your father. Interesting how things turn out.”
Brak had no idea what the man was talking about. He didn’t care, either; he just wanted out of the City of Bone. He let his head fall back down.
“Brak is it?”
He didn’t move.
“I’m sorry about your mother. She was a pretty one.”
Something began to stir inside Brak, anger and sadness mixing together.
“You avenged her quite well—Scared the slat out of me, along with the rest of us!”
The other men grumbled in acknowledgment.
“You took that sword of yours and butchered those men like dogs. You father would have been proud … a chip off the old anvil.”
Brak was pulling at his bonds now. Were these men part of the same group that killed his mah?
“Save your energy, Brak. We had no part in your mother’s death. We arrived too late. My agents failed to inform me of the pertinent news.”
Brak still didn’t comprehend a thing.
“In the tavern, I understand you had a conversation with a man, a rather thin and unpleasant man. We’ve kept tabs on that one.” The man ran his eyes up and down him, scratching his head. “Amazing … Boy, are you really only fourteen, as I have been told?”
He hated it when people asked him questions like that. Still, he nodded.
“Hah! That Venir’s got something special in his seed! The boy looks like giant-spawn!”
The dull room brightened with the seedy chuckles.
“Let me tell you something, Boy, and if you behave, I will tell you more about your father.”
There was a pause.
The Darkslayer: Book 03 - Underling Revenge Page 28