He poked the gnoll skeleton's figure with his sword. The weapon seemed like a toy in his hand. His lost hunting knife would have felt much better. The claws on one of its feet were still intact, a potential weapon. It might help, and the dead gnoll's chain mail armor looked like it would fit him just fine. He knelt to get them. The sound of a bull crying out echoed from somewhere. He couldn’t tell if it was close or far away. He started working faster.
He ripped the head and arms from the gnoll in order to tug the chain mail from its carcass. A foul smell of rotting fresh caused him to gag. The chain mail had preserved some of the flesh. Venir began to realize that this gnoll may have been eaten recently, just a few days past. Blood red and bloated larva-like bugs almost as big as his fingers were still eating what was left of the humanoid. He recoiled when one bit deep into his hand. He smashed it. Red gooey juice squirted out.
“Blast!”
The armor was worthless to him. It would take at least an hour to get all of the bugs out. The sound of the minotaur was getting closer, or was it something else. A strange clicking sound caught his ears. He knew it. His heart pumped faster. Only one thing made that clicking and clacking sound. He squeezed the small sword in his white-knuckled grip.
Striders! Bone!
Chapter 77
He was back, back in Lord Almen’s secluded study and ready to stab a knife into his skull. The Royal Lord sat at his desk, toying with Tonio’s sword. Its keen edge was razor sharp, without the slightest knick on it. The Royal was testing the balance in his right hand, cutting the air with short pen-like strokes. Say something, or kill me. Melegal could hear the air filtering in and out of the hairs inside Lord Almen’s snobbish nose. It was heavy, annoying, and getting old. So was standing for an unnecessary and prolonged amount of time.
The past few days had been horrible enough: beating an innocent serving girl had left him numb. A fresh callous began to harden around what was left of his humane side. He wondered if he would feel much worse the next time. He was shaking his head inside his mind. Doubt was assailing his thoughts. Enough!
Melegal spoke.
“Have you decided what you want done with Tonio? Does it involve me? I’ve got Slerg business to attend to, unless you have changed my priorities.”
Lord Almen looked at him like a hawk that was ready to snatch a mouse.
Go ahead, kill me.
The man’s thin lips under his high cheek bones began to rise up into a smile. For a moment, Melegal thought it was the last smile he would ever see. Lord Almen stood up, sword in hand, tip pointed his way. A gentle bend found its way back into Melegal’s knees. You won’t catch me off-guard again.
Lord Almen replied, “What do you think I should do with my son: bring him home, or kill him?”
It was a shocking question. Kill him! His son deserved nothing less than death. He was one of the worst that the Royals had to offer. Of course, Melegal had to wonder where that came from. Like father, like son. Hmmm … Kill him, and then kill yourself. Even the living dead can dream.
“Your son didn’t appear to be worth saving. I saw no humanity in him … only a danger of the most unpredictable sort. Whatever he is, he’s more monster than man.”
The tall form of Lord Almen glided over and bounced the tip of his sword on his chest. The slight pressure of the blade began to dig right where his heart was pumping like a frightened rabbit. Just do it, or let me leave.
“I’m sure it would break his mother’s heart to see him so, but still … I am curious.”
Curious what the Lorda will do to you when she finds out you turned him into a monster. I’d like to see that. Almen turned away and began slicing the blade back and forth over the floor. Melegal could tell the man was having trouble dealing with this dilemma. If Tonio could be controlled though, it would be a formidable weapon in his hands. No doubt he would want to have another powerful ally under his control. Who could be more loyal than his own son? Still, it didn’t seem like a reasonable option.
Almen leaned back from his desk and stuck the longsword into the stone ground. The man’s tight lips seemed to take forever to part as he said, “I tell you what, Detective, I don’t think I am going to be the one to decide his fate. I think I will leave that to his mother.”
There was a long silence, but that was better than having a sword rammed through his chest.
“Tell me your thoughts,” Almen demanded.
“I think you are very wise. Shall I have someone send for her, Lord?”
“Ha!” Almen laughed as he came over and put his hands on Melegal’s scrawny shoulders and squeezed. “No, I’ll be leaving that honor to you … Melegal.”
“Me?” he said, the pitch of his voice going up as Almen’s fingers dug deeper into his shoulders, somehow causing him to twitch with pangs of pain in his neck and arm.
“Yes, you. Not only are you going to tell her that you found him, but you are going to get the honor of telling her how you came to find him. You’ll be certain to leave out the entirety of my part in this.” Lord Almen chuckled. “I must warn you, Lorda is very perceptive, so make sure your lies are good ones.”
Lord Almen let go, pulled the sword from the stone, and sheathed it. He tossed it to Melegal.
“Here you go. You’ll be needing this. Good fortune on your quest.”
“Uh … what about the Slergs, Lord Almen?”
“See to my wife first, and if you survive you can go after the Slergs,” Almen said as he sat back at his desk. “It’s your day to be the hero or the goat, depending on how you sell it.”
Melegal nodded, backed away, and opened the door. When he closed it, Almen was hunched back over his desk. He made his way to the top of the steps and took a deep breath. What did he mean, ‘survive’?
He grabbed some dishtowels as he passed through the kitchen, to conceal the sword. A hundred lies were running through his mind. It was the first time in days he felt like he had some control, but to what end? The Lorda was no fool. The slightest bit of mistrust of him would relieve him of his head. As he made his way down the corridor, two sentries were coming his way, carrying the bleeding and sobbing serving girl back to the kitchens. She looked away from his gaze. He could see the gentle hand that had been so deft at caring for him days ago. The pair of sentries gave him seedy smiles when they went by. Melegal felt hollow. Gotta move on. Put it behind you. His hatred for all things Royal refilled him. Sefron was shuffling his way as well.
“And where do you think you’re—”
Melegal lowered his shoulder into the sap of a man, knocking him to the ground, and kept going. He could hear the foul cleric yelling obscenities, but paid him no mind. He headed up the stairs, past the portrait of Tonio, without a solid plan in his mind. I’m gonna die anyway, but not before I take that bastard and some more with me.
Chapter 78
As far as Boon could figure, he had been living on the underside of Bish for years, maybe even decades. He had stopped counting after it began to seem pointless. He wasn’t going anywhere. Now, as he watched Venir battle for his survival, he shook his head. It seemed that brutal contests such as this would be beneath the giants. They had proven to be obsessed with them, however, and he didn’t understand why.
He found the giants fascinating, but short sighted. They could do everything that men or underlings could do, with power beyond his own dreams, yet all they did was doddle and twittle with their days. It was as if their minds were as small as that of a man’s, regular brains hosted inside barren cave-like skulls. Big, tricky, and stupid. He sighed.
All the giants had focused their eyes on the man below, wanting to catch and discern every desperate movement. Their lazy eyes glimmered with anticipation. He had seen that look before, that sporting hope that someone might survive their game. Of course, none ever even came close, but then again none had made it much farther than Venir. He just wished he could somehow help the man fighting for his life below. But what could he do.
I need the
sack.
Rubbing his lips and short fuzzy beard, he peered back and forth between the giants and the man. Do they have the sack? It wasn’t likely they would pay attention to such a small thing. They were more obsessed with ornaments of jewels and metal. The giant man beside him held the rail, clicking the wood with a gold bracer that would fit around Boon's neck. He didn’t understand the value of that.
The sack … where is it?
Boon couldn’t go anywhere while the fight transpired, they wouldn’t allow it. He would have to wait until Venir was dead. He was torn, wanting the man to live, but also wanting to continue his search for the sack. It had to be his key to freedom. With a numb heart, he watched the man fight on. It was only a matter of time before it would be over. He sighed. All but the giants are doomed. He felt ashamed.
Chapter 79
Dwarven Hole was a marvel. It was a network of iron and stone bridges and stairways that crossed, twisted and spiraled down the mouth of its tunnel and into the ground. Every time Fogle Boon thought he began to grasp the purposes of its internal makings, something else turned his mind inside out. One bridge in particular spanned well over a mile without an arch or steel cable to hold it. There was nothing artistic or beautiful about any of it, only the fact that the sound structures stood in defiance of everything he understood. It has to be magic, he thought. But it wasn’t.
He stood on a terrace looking across the massive hole in wonder. The grim and hardy faces of the dwarves moved in a steady cadence all around. Their short stout frames moved with an intent gait that reminded him of how others worked with song and rhythm. Fogle had hardly spoken to any of them, being a stranger in their land, but they didn’t seem to mind him, either. He had visitors, though. The pleasant faces of their women were appealing when they stopped by. Still, he preferred to keep to himself. He found himself wondering about Kam and how she was doing.
“Ya still trying to figure it out, Wizard?”
Fogle flinched.
“How do you do that?”
“It’s what I do, now come on. We got places ta go.”
Mood had taken him to many different spots of late. There were ceremonies, meetings, and even the King’s chambers, an abandoned throne room of sorts. It was big: more than a hundred yards long and just as wide. Solid pillars make from a variety of rock, minerals, and ore held up a ceiling way up high. At the end was the King of the Blood Rangers' throne, one ton of molded gold, rich with gems as big as his eyes. Mood told him he had never sat in it once, but the big purple cushion seemed to suggest he had.
Now he followed along another mind-scrambling trek. One wide corridor straight as a rail, and another that was narrow and twisting like roots. After he traversed up one set of stairs, he found himself traipsing down another. He was grateful for the small torches that burned with light. Even so, it was a labyrinth to him, a challenge to his brilliant mind, but Mood explained how it made perfect sense. Still, the Blood Ranger insisted he never travel outside of his quarters alone. Fogle was sure he could make it back, but the dwarf insisted he shouldn't try.
His legs became tired on these journeys, but he had gotten used to working through his weariness as he trudged along. Mood stopped at the foot of another door, simple in design and made of wood, and pulled the metal ring. The door swung open without a sound. Fogle fanned the air in front of his nose. The smell was unexpected.
“What is that — ”
“Sshh. We can’t be waking him if he don’t want to be woken,” Mood warned.
The room was dimly lit as he peered inside. It was a cave, filled with rows of stables, each big enough for a horse. There must have been a dozen of them, but he didn’t see or hear any beasts.
Fogle whispered, “Wake who?”
Mood didn’t say another word as he took a long burning torch from the wall and headed down between the stables. The light was dim as Fogle tried to catch a glimpse of anything inside the stalls. There was nothing, not even a single strand of hay. Mood stopped and looked inside that last stall. He heard something rustle inside the stall, something big. Mood nodded him over. What special thing does he have to show me now? A winged horse? That would be impressive. No, probably a winged goat, knowing the dwarves. He stopped at the stall's edge and looked inside. Deep sadness fell upon him. It was Chongo. Venir’s beast was no longer what it had been.
Chapter 80
Clicking their mandibles, the striders rounded past the wall. The mauls on their ant-like faces opened and shut with a stomach-turning sucking sound. Their nut-brown bodies were like that of men, but they crouched down on two very long legs. Each held a barb-headed spear longer than a man. Venir tensed as they both poised to throw, but they clacked their mandibles back and forth instead.
Striders were not an evil race, just dangerous hunters. Venir had fought with and against them before. Their ant-shaped faces were dark and smooth, with coal colored eyes like men. They were fast, long-legged and slim-limbed. Their extra-long legs had two sets of knees and thick muscular thighs. Their feet were long and narrow. The pair of striders wore leather armor chest plate as well as arm, knee and shin guards. They were prepared. Venir wasn’t.
Venir waved his short sword at them and took a step forward. One strider drew back. The other lowered his spear to meet the charge. Slat! He couldn’t decide whether to run or charge. The closet strider beat his chest with his fist. Venir's fighting instincts over-loaded his reason.
“So be it then!” he yelled.
Venir charged, raising the short sword high in the air. The inadequacy of his weapon didn’t matter anymore; he just needed a part of his arm that could cut and stab. The strider closed in on him with the speed of a panther, its spear lowered like a lance. The other remained at bay, spear hoisted high over its head, its mandibles clacking away.
Clang!
Venir swatted away the tip of the spear that jabbed as his heart. He plunged his blade into the strider's belly, only to see it twist out of harm’s way. Venir squared back up on his opponent, determined to work inside its body. He ducked away in time to avoid a metal tip jabbing at his neck, deflecting it to cut open his cheek. The strider had drawn first blood, and both creatures yelled like a pair of busted horns.
For whatever reason, Venir again felt like he hadn’t fought in years. His reflexes seemed aged and slowed. He spit blood. Stop thinking so much! He kept his head on a swivel as the striders flanked him, their spear tips licking out at his legs. Venir’s blade slapped away at the spearheads as he dodged in and out of their trap. Every strike at his person became closer and deadlier. He knew they wanted to immobilize him and pin him permanently to the ground.
“Gah!” he cried, as a spear tip took a chunk of flesh from his side. “Bone! This is getting old!”
The striders were patient and cautious, content to wear him down. The sword in his hand seemed useless against their long spears designed for creatures as big as elephants. They had plenty of room to work those spears, too. If this were one of the countless crowded alleys of Bone, the fight would be child’s play, or if he only had Brool.
He flung the sword at one, causing it to duck. When it did, Venir jumped on its spear, fighting to rip it from its grasp. It howled as he kicked it in the side of the face with his bare heel. It wouldn’t let go. The two of them rolled back and forth together, grappling over the ground. The creature held strong, with its long black fingers wrapped around the spear shaft like coiled snakes. Venir’s back was on the ground. He held one end of the spear, and the strider stood over him, pulling the other end away. The shaft began to bend.
Snap!
The shaft broke in the middle, leaving Venir with half a spear in each hand. The creature lost its balance and fell. He tossed both pieces over the wall. The other strider was bearing down on him, screeching with fury. The tussle on the ground had cleared Venir’s head, and now the strider seemed to slow down. He sidestepped the pointed head of the spear and punched the strider hard in the throat. He heard something crack
le as it dropped to its knees with its mouth clutching open and closed. He grabbed at the spear, but the creature's grip remained firm.
Out of the corner of his eye he caught the other one diving for the sword. Venir ran and leaped on top of it as soon as its hand grasped the hilt. Venir’s dense weight drove the lighter creature to the ground. The strider was pinned beneath him, wriggling like a man, but striders were known for their speed and skill, not their strength. Venir wrapped his muscular forearm around its neck.
“How’s this necklace feel!?” he said, cranking it up.
The mandibles clacked in a flurry of desperate signals. They began to slow. Venir spied the other, still prone on the ground, kicking at the dirt. It rose up, one hand on its throat, the other still clutching the spear. Blue veins rose along Venir's arms as he increased the pressure of his choke hold. The strider shuddered, arms and legs flailing, until its neck snapped with a loud pop. Venir jumped away as a spear sailed over his head.
The remaining strider dropped to its knees, clutching its busted throat, mandibles clacking for air. Venir picked up the short sword, walked over, and rammed it through its throat. It fell face first to the ground. Venir wiped the blood off his face as he fought to catch his breath.
He noticed loud, bellowing exasperation above. He picked up the spear that was stuck in the ground and waved it in the air, its tip pointed at the giants. He thought he saw one of the giants clapping, but heard nothing.
Venir stripped the armor and gear from one of the striders. The leather breast plate was too small, but he could strap thigh and shin guards over his triceps and forearms.
“Better than nothing,” he said, adding the short sword back to his arsenal.
The Darkslayer: Book 03 - Underling Revenge Page 32