The Darkslayer: Book 03 - Underling Revenge

by Craig Halloran

  “Did you hear me? Speak up—I’ll not be feeding a giant boy that acts like a mute!”

  His throat was dry as he said, “Yes …”

  “Your father and I had an arrangement—so to speak—but he didn’t really have a choice. You see, a bunch of men were coming for him, and I warned him. If he chopped them down, I’d owe him. It’s a political thing really, something a boy from the farms wouldn’t understand. As it turns out, Venir did his part and killed them all.”

  Brak was all ears now.

  “They were a dangerous sort, more so than that City Watch coming to harass you. No, these men were killers, like your father, but without a code.”

  “Code?” Brak asked.

  “Ah, that’s two words. I can’t wait to see you put it all in a sentence. Yes, a code. I’ve known your father since he was about your age. Even then he was different. He wasn’t one to do things for personal gain … like the rest of us. No, he just did what he had to do to survive. Anyhow, I gave him my word. He did his part. I’ve searched months to find him, but now he’s gone. You already met his counterpart, Melegal, but never trust a rogue.”

  The man leaned back in his chair, causing it to groan.

  Brak watched as the man needled his chin with is fingers, and then he resumed looking back down. He wanted to hear more about his father and this Melegal. Brak had learned little from his mother, Vorla, about his father. He always felt like she held something back from him. Somewhere in his adolescent mind her reluctance had made sense, but it still made him mad.

  “What do you want with me?” he asked, raising his eyes to meet the man’s.

  The man cocked his head and said, “Well, I’m not sure, but I will tell you this, you won’t survive out there much longer without some help. As a matter of fact, it would be better for you if one of my men just slit your throat. A quick death is better than a long miserable life.”

  Brak’s heavy shoulders began to shudder and he found it hard to breath. He wanted his mother. He wanted out of this city. He looked around, but there was nowhere to go. He was bound, helpless, and crying.

  “Ah … get him some food! A lot of it, too!”

  The man pulled his chair closer to him and said, “No more of that crying now, Brak. Your father never shed a tear, even when I, er … they took the lash to him.”

  Brak’s body stopped and his tears dried up.

  “Now, you can stick with me, for now, and see how it goes, or you can … well, you can’t really do anything, but get thrown in the dungeons to die. I’ll teach you how to survive and fight, and you just do as you’re told.”

  One of the man-urchins returned with a plate of food and set it on the table. Brak could smell the cooked roast and baked bread. He licked his lips, and his tummy groaned.

  The other men snickered.

  “I see you’re pretty hungry, Brak. Oh, and by the way, my name is Leezir … Leezir the former Slerg. Now stand up.”

  Brak did so.

  “So, do you agree to our arrangement Brak, or do I turn you over to the City Watch? And before you answer, remember, your father was a man of his word. Can I expect the same from you?”

  He nodded.

  “Excellent, now as I promised, I will teach you how to survive. In Bone, in order to survive, you must fight. Let's see what you can do without three feet of steel in your grasp. If you want that food over there, you are going to have to fight them. They win, they eat. You win, you eat. Simple, right?”

  Two man-urchins stepped between him and the table with their hands clenched into fists. One was punching his fist into his hand. A chill washed over Brak like a bucket of ice water. He fought the urge to pee. All he wanted to do was run away.

  Leezir whispered in his ear, “Don't hesitate when I cut you lose. Those two are just as hungry as you.” As soon as the knife slit his cords the man-urchins charged.

  Chapter 68

  He turned red and purple, his muscles bursting underneath his shirt like tree roots. The chain held fast as Venir listened for the groan of twisting metal. He roared, throwing more weight and back into it. His teeth were clenched while sweat was pouring from his brow and blue veins rose under his skin like snakes. He tugged away ten seconds more; hoping for the sound of snapping chains, but it never came. He let go, gasping for breath, chest heaving, and arms trembling.

  He noticed Boon breathing heavily at his side. Beads of sweat had lined the man’s wrinkled forehead. The man had a look of surprise in his face when he caught his eyes.

  Boon said, “I thought you were going to explode. For a moment, I even thought that chain might snap. I’ve never seen a man pull so hard before, and they all pull. There was a minotaur in here once, but not even he could break it. I swear, you almost did.”

  “Even if I did, there would still be nowhere to go. The door would be impossible.” Venir thumbed in the direction of the barred cell door. The steel was thicker than his wrists.

  “The door is unlocked.”

  “What?”

  “Yes, and you can leave any time. There just isn’t anywhere to go. Let me show you something.”

  The man stepped behind him. Venir felt something sliding from the metal collar on his neck. Boon waved a pin and bolt in front of his face, and smiled. The older man reached behind his neck and removed a similar pin and bolt.

  Venir walked over to the cell door and pulled it open, then turned back around.

  “Why don’t you leave? Or escape?”

  “There is nowhere to go, Venir. If you leave, that dragon will only find you and bring you back. I have tried to leave, but the dragon is immune to my little tricks. My powers are limited as well, the giants saw to that,” Boon smiled at Venir sheepishly.

  Venir looked up and down the corridor. Its girth reminded him of the stables in the City of Bone. It was strange indeed that there were no guards about.

  “Bring me back to where? What is this place?”

  Boon said, “You are inside Giant’s Home. That’s what I call it, anyway.”

  “Where on Bish are we, Boon?”

  Boon’s shoulders slumped and his chin dipped as he let out a sigh. He mumbled, “I hate this part.”

  “What was that? You hate what part?”

  Boon’s eyes rose back up to meet his and he said, “You are not on Bish, not as you know it. You are where the giants go, on the underside of Bish.”

  “And what if I want to get back to my side of Bish?”

  “Heh, heh … Venir, I wouldn’t worry about that. No, you probably won’t live to see the light of another day,” Boon said in a morbid voice.

  Venir’s battle heat came on him as his survival instincts began to catch fire. The surrounding bars and cells of the prison began to fade before his eyes. He saw now that he was inside a damp dungeon. The chains and steel bars were gone, replaced with slick stone, mold, and stagnating muck. The cavern was large, but not enormous. Wrought-iron candelabra hung from the stone above, where a few candles burned. A foul stench began to fill his nose. He looked down at the tray of food that he had eaten. It was the skin and bones of a fat river rat. The metal pitcher was there but filled with something else, milky and thick. The loaf of bread was hard and molded in parts. He held his stomach.

  “Sorry Venir, but you had to eat. You are going to need your strength if it’s going to be an entertaining fight.”

  Venir lashed out, hands clutching at Boon’s throat. Boon stood his ground, and Venir's hands passed right through him.

  “Bish!”

  Boon was on the other side of the room now; arms crossed over his chest.

  “Venir, I am not your enemy. I am a prisoner as well. The giants have us all. They brought you here to fight and die.”

  “NO GIANT BROUGHT ME HERE!” His wild instincts were taking over, like those of a trapped animal. He dove at the illusionist again. Boon was gone and standing elsewhere when he spoke.

  “Venir, save your strength. If you live, you can fight another day, but I must
ask you, how did you get here, then?” Boon said.

  Venir’s emotions began to subside. Something honest about Boon’s words settled in him. He had been more than willing to die in the Mist, not so long ago. At least it sounded like he had an option.

  “Fine! If you must know, an underling threw me into the Mist.”

  “Where?”

  “Leagues south of Hohm, north of Dwarven Hole.”

  Boon stood at his side now. Venir poked him in the chest, knocking him back two full steps.

  “How did you get from the Mist to here?”

  “I walked … for an eternity.”

  Boon had a bewildered look on his face when he said, “So, a giant didn’t bring you here?”

  “No, but I stabbed one who fled into the Mist. That’s where I got thrown—”

  “You are the one who stuck Gorfelm! You!?”

  “I suppose.”

  BRAWWWWWWW!

  It was the sound of a hundred battle horns that blasted the interior of the walls. Venir couldn’t help but cover his ears.

  BRAWWWWWWW!

  “Venir, I am sorry, but your time has come. I must go, but tell me this, where on Bish did you come from last? I’ve missed my home a long time. ”

  “Your grandson Fogle, too?”

  “What? How did you know that?”

  BRAWWWWWWW!

  “You’ll only find out if I live.”

  “I am sorry, but that is unlikely,” Boon said with a sigh.

  Something unseen assailed Venir, and his eyelids grew heavy. “Just find my pack!”

  He rubbed his eyes and staggered. His eyes fluttered and closed as he collapsed to the ground. Boon shook his head and disappeared from the dungeon.

  Chapter 69

  Verbard woke up feeling refreshed. He stretched out his arms and yawned. The insect box was still playing along with cave drops plopping into the Current. He looked over at the empty bottle of underling port and rubbed his hands together. He was thirsty, and cave water wouldn’t do. Maybe I’ll try something different this time.

  “I wouldn’t get too comfortable if I were you,” an icy voice said.

  Verbard’s silver eyes almost emerged from his head and his fingernails dug into his palms. NO!

  His feet floated off the ground as he spun in the direction of the voice. A male underling stood with his leg propped up on a storage chest, wearing black underling mail. The intrusive underling’s eyes burned like copper ore. A pair of longswords was strapped along the underling's back and waist, as was a bandana of knives. The underling was as tall as Verbard, thick-shouldered and round-faced. His hair was cut only a half inch from his head. A pair of silver earrings were hooped in his ears, and a matching medallion hung around his neck. It was Kierway, one of Master Sinway’s own sons.

  Verbard replied, “What a pleasant surprise, Master Kierway. How can I be of some service to you?”

  How did I miss you? Verbard was distraught in his error. There had been no evidence of anyone else in Oran’s lair. He had checked. No other barges or canoes were about, only his own. Still, there could have been another entrance, and there were other means of traveling the current.

  Kierway’s thin black lips curled up over his sharp teeth. The intruder rolled Catten’s eyes between his palm and fingers. Verbard was uncomfortable at the sight of that. He began to focus on snatching them from the underling master’s hand. He kept a spell in mind as he watched Kierway’s lips begin to move.

  “I see your brother, Catten, is vanquished. I can only imagine how worthless you must feel without your brother. Are you sad, Verbard? Is that why you came here, to drown your sorrows?”

  Verbard hated Kierway. Catten hated Kierway. Kierway hated them. Master Sinway’s son was not the formidable user of magic that they were. Instead, Kierway was given other gifts in order to compensate for his weakness. Master Sinway was known for gloating over the underling mage brothers, much to the public shame of Kierway. A dark rivalry had loomed between the three for centuries, but Catten and Verbard’s exploits forever cast Kierway in their shadow. The loss of Catten put Verbard at a disadvantage. To Kierway, he was vulnerable.

  “Carrying out your father's orders has a price, but completing them is worth all the glory.”

  Kierway stiffened at the remark as his clawed hand began to linger near the hilt of his sword. The underling son’s failures were well known in the Underland, his ego only matched by his incompetence in the field. It was so bad that his own father, Master Sinway, had to remove him from the field altogether. Now Kierway was little more than a stooge near the throne.

  “It seems your brother is the only one that paid a price … Verbard,” he said, staring at the eyes. He then began juggling them one handed. “I like your brother in this state; he’s not as annoying.”

  Kierway stopped to stare tauntingly at Verbard’s glowering face. Verbard let his hatred of the underling grow as a tendril of power reached his fingertips.

  “YOU are hardly one to mock my brother’s demise! I’d set those eyes down if I were you!”

  Kierway allowed for a chuckle with a short chirt. Two figures emerged from one of the surrounding caves.

  Verbard made a sharp sucking sound through his teeth. His blood ran cold. Each figure was a hulking mass of muscle underneath a thick layer of ebony skin. Their evil countenances were intelligent and cunning, and their nostrils flared on their feline faces. Their clawed hands looked like black spear tips as they clutched in and out. The legends of death were back. The Vicious! How can that be!? He almost didn’t realize that both of his hands were glowing now, the light reflecting from all of their faces. If he was going down, he would take Kierway with him. He raised his arms up.

  “STOP VERBARD!” Kierway yelled.

  The underling mage hesitated. His eyes darted back and forth between the two Vicious. They stood quiet. He lowered his hands.

  “I didn’t come to kill you!”

  “Why else would you come? I’m not used to welcoming committees. Out with it Kierway, or I’ll let it loose!”

  Kierway held his hands up, palms out and said, “Relax, Verbard. My father sent me to track you … and assist you.”

  Underlings were notorious for lying to one another. It was something they all thrived on. The appearance of the Vicious was compelling, however. Truth or lie, the conversation was buying time.

  “How long have you been here then, and how did you come to know this place?”

  Kierway said, “Just over a week. I know a surface entrance. As for Oran, he and I have had an alliance for centuries, and his banishment did nothing to tarnish that. I even helped him out with his pickling business from time to time.” Kierway pointed toward all the odd jars. “It was a good excuse for me to exercise my steels, and it gave me something to do. There is nothing quite as exhilarating as plunging one's blade through the other races. It’s just so … satisfying.”

  Verbard knew Kierway’s exploits well. He had been the underling that trained the Juegen guards for centuries. His skills were better used in the field as a fighter than in command, though. He had pushed his men onward like blood-thirsty hounds, causing many unnecessary deaths. His father had no choice but to pull his reckless son from the field. He also knew that the only thing in the room faster than Kierway’s blades was his mind.

  Kierway began strolling around the room.

  “So, what of Oran? Has he perished?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hmmmmm,” the underling son said, slapping his hand on his hilt.

  “So, what is it that you came to assist me with?” Verbard hissed.

  “My father wasn’t confident of your mission. He shared this with me, and I offered him my services. He agreed. I must confess though, I didn’t expect to see you alive. The Darkslayer needs to be taken by steel, not mag—”

  “The Darkslayer is vanquished! By my power! My brother’s power!” Verbard began to rise from the floor. Kierway’s impudence had worn thin. “I had the man’s
heart in my fist! I crushed it! You, Kierway, you will never know anything as great as that! Now, don’t waste my time with your charades and stories about steel! I DON’T CARE!” The last syllables shook the room. Kierway backpedaled into a shelf full of jars. The Vicious coiled down like cats ready to spring, their feverish yellow eyes waiting for their master's command.

  Verbard’s head bumped into the cavern ceiling as he looked down on them all, but he wasn’t finished.

  “Do you think the Vicious could help you kill the Darkslayer? Did your father not tell you that the man chopped the last pair into bits! He tore through your precious Juegen like rag dolls! Did you not hear that? And you thought you came here to help me? My brother!? Why would we need a fool like you, Kierway? WHY?!”

  Kierway clutched his longsword hilts, his body taut, and his face full of rage. Verbard could feel his fellow underling's anger building within. The rivalry had sparked into a full blown feud.

  Pull them out Kierway! Pull them out!

  Their eyes burned into each other's for another long moment. Each underling was eager to kill the other, but that was not what they had been ordered to do. The order was to kill the Darkslayer, or never return home. As far as Verbard was concerned, the mission was complete. He noticed his brother’s eyes now sitting on the ground. They zipped into his palm, garnering a hiss from Kierway.

  The standoff was over. He allowed himself to float back down.

  “Now, Kierway, I shall return to the Underland and gather my glory. I am sure your father will be pleased with my exploits once again.”

  The underling son’s thick arms were now crossed over is chest. He said, “Aren’t you forgetting something? The Darkslayer’s head, perhaps?”

  “I have my proof.”

  “What about the man’s axe, is it in the folds of your robes? Up your sleeve? Where is your proof, Verbard? Without that my father will skin you alive!”

  Verbard floated toward the barge, and with a single thought he was sailing home. He could still hear Kierway’s voice echoing down the tunnel.

  “He’ll skin you alive. I can’t wait to see it!”