“I must find it,” he hissed.
He reached behind his back and scratched at a bloody bump where his wings once were. If he were home they would grow back. He snorted. His tiny black heart beat with anguish and fury. Head down, he slugged over the bridge and down the steps that looked to lead to a bright inferno. There was no heat, just a bath of brilliant cold light, no flames, just bright flickering lights. Sticking his claw inside the spectrum, he felt something soft to the touch. The entire area wavered under his stroke.
“Ah …”
The sack had walls after all. He just had to find a way to tear them down.
Chapter 85
Some of their bellies lapped over their belts. Massive tankards of ale had been sloshing around and spilling onto their beards. Boon noticed the intensity building in the air from the battles below. The giants — one and all — were engrossed by the scene. How many battles had Boon watched like this, knowing the end, the inevitable outcome? The tension would build as they all watched for the guillotine to fall, the drop floor to open beneath the noose, or the moment before the man screamed as he was quartered by a team of horses, and when it was over, the giants would remain as stoic, odd and cheerless as they had been before it started. Why did they do it?
They hated men. Men were craftier than they were. Men tricked the giants time and again, and this was how the giants avenged themselves: snatching men, dropping them in the maze, and watching them suffer. It was pointless.
Boon shifted on the rail. He didn’t want to watch, but was compelled to do so. The man had been valiant in his efforts, brave and honorable. It stirred something inside of him: that old feeling he had from the times before, when he had battled underling after underling during his own personal war. His hands opened and closed into fists at his side as he ground his teeth. He had been the giants' stooge, a personal pet of sorts, helping them as needed. He was more fortunate than the rest, but he hated it. Times like this he felt really bad. He had felt much worse though, after he lost possession of the sack decades ago. He had become little more than a drooling and rambling madman of sorts. He couldn’t relate to others anymore. No longer fit for society, he had read from a scroll, and then a giant came and he wound up in the Under Bish.
He had an inspiration. He glanced up at the giants, their faces intent above their bearded faces and big noses. Glee filled their eyes over the formidable man who was about to die. Venir was his only attachment now to his humanity. A reserve of strength flared inside him. Am I a man, or a giant’s imbecile?
Boon didn’t have his spellbook, but he still had powers. The giants were aware, as they sometimes used magic, too. He had even taught some of them how to harness it. As long as he didn’t write any spells down, they let him be. Still, he had some that he kept to himself, written in his mind where they could not see. Many other spells had been committed to his memory, where they had remained for years, even decades. He always figured if the underlings could do it, he could do it. It was sorcery, a discipline of its own kind.
He focused. One spell in particular—that the giants often allowed—might be of a different use to him today. His thoughts began running through the courses of magic. Focus. In the back of his mind, he couldn’t shake the feeling the giants would catch him. They caught everything else. The thought of them squashing him like a bug revealed itself in his thoughts. The magic began to die down inside him. Be brave, Boon! He took another glimpse at the battered man down below. That old fire inside him began to burn. Fie upon the giants!
All fear was cast aside as a wave of magic coursed through his mind. Eyes intent on the struggling warrior, he unleashed the spell. His hands trembled as the magic finished running through him, sapping his strength. He gave it all he had and was glad for it. He tilted up his sagging head. The giants hadn’t noticed his efforts; all eyes were transfixed on Venir. He could see their grins beginning to rise on their faces. Boon hoped his efforts were in time. Either way, he’d get caught and most likely die inside their bone-breaking hands. Or in the maze? At least I know what to expect. I just wish I could have held that sack one more time. He shrugged and looked back over the rail.
Chapter 86
Fogle could have sworn Mood’s green eyes were watering when the big dwarf turned away. He rubbed his sleeve across his face. It was a depressing thing when his lifelong companion, Ox the mintaur, was squished like a rotten fruit. It was another thing seeing something once vibrant now living as a husk of what was. He took a tentative step forward, but a growl arose from the two-headed dog.
“Just gimme a sec,” Mood said, producing two purple fruits.
Mood stopped a few feet away and rolled the treats toward the beast. The dwarf then stepped back and lit up another torch inside the stable. Fogle got a better eye-full of Chongo, and despair filled him.
Chongo had been one of the most vibrant things he had ever seen. Now, the beast’s thick red-brown coat was matted and mangy. The dog lay on its side; it’s once lustrous undercoat now only a thin patch of hair. Neither head touched the fruit, nor gave it so much as a sniff. One head was still a healthy brown, trimmed in black lines with its red tongue hanging out. There was a blank look in its eyes, sadness, as it licked the other head on the left.
The other head of Chongo was pitiful. Once the more robust of the two, it would have licked the bark of a tree if it thought the tree would pet it. Now, it had whittled down to what seemed to be half the size of the other. Its once bullish neck now seemed too thin to hold up even the shrunken second head, which sagged onto the straw floor. The fur around the second face was mostly gray, with a little brown. Its eyes were closed, and the rest of the head was unmoving.
Fogle dreaded his next question.
“Is he dead?”
He heard Mood release a heavy sigh through his nose. Oh no.
“No … he still lives, just not very much.”
“What happened?”
The giant dwarf walked alongside the other head. Chongo bared his teeth and his throat began to rumble.
“Ssssh, Boy, it’s just me. Ye know I won’t hurt yer brother,” Mood said, as he slid down along the dog’s healthy head and managed to put its wounded head in his lap. He tried to put the fruit in the dog's healthy mouth, but Chongo turned toward his brother. “That wound, the one the underlings inflicted, was graver than we thought. My kin told me the dog kept bleeding, long after our healing, but them was just soldiers who’re used to less mortal wounds, not a woman among them, and Chongo’s not like most dogs. He’s different. No one thought the bleeding would ever stop; it only slowed, despite all they did. When they made it back to Dwarven Hole, the bleedin’ stopped, but the damage had been done.”
Fogle wasn’t sure if a dwarf could sob, but the sudden jolt in Mood’s body suggested that one might have.
“What damage?”
Mood’s meaty hands were scratching behind Chongo’s healthy floppy ears as he replied, “They told me he lost too much blood in his mind. His second brain began to choke and die. There’s no one around here that can heal something like that. I’ve seen many falls from it before, mostly on the battle field. We usually put em’ out of their misery when they can’t speak or eat, but it’s the family’s choice. Just a tough way to live, not being able to feed yerself.”
It was deep. Fogle had seen a few men in such a condition, but never were they put out of their misery. He had an older cousin, a mage like him, who had failed to pronounce a syllable on a powerful spell that had turned his mind inside out. All the man did was shake and drool. The City of Three was renowned for its healers, but even their efforts had failed. Fogle never did find out what became of his cousin, and had never given the man another thought until now.
As bad as Chongo looked in his starving condition, the other head looked far worse. Fogle tried to imagine what it would be like to have a dead head on his own shoulder. If that were ever the case, he was sure he would insist someone cut it off. Now didn’t seem like the best time to su
ggest that, however.
Mood continued saying, “I never expected this. When we got back here, I thought I had it all figured out …”
“Figured what out?”
“Finding Venir ... I was sure that Chongo could find him; they are bonded, but now I fear that without Chongo’s help he may be lost forever.”
“You still think he’s in the Mist, don’t you?”
Mood nodded.
We still have Inky, Fogle wanted to say. Of course, deep inside he knew his creation was of no comparison to such a magnificent living creature as Chongo. The massive dwarven setter was a legend in his own right, much like his master. Now, with the pitiful sight of both Mood and Chongo, it began to sink in that Venir might be forever gone as well. He thought of Kam. How did that happen? Shame on me. Mood’s mutterings saved him from further selfish thoughts.
“I know yer depressed, Boy, without yer brother. I know ya miss em.’”
“What’s the plan then?”
Mood huffed.
“I plan to keep up a search. One never knows. Still, it’s gonna be harder without Chongo. It just doesn’t seem right, Chongo without Venir. They need each other, like fish and water. This pooch has got to get better.”
“Maybe we can find someone else that can help. A druid maybe.”
“Sheesh … you are out of your mind. It would be easier to find Venir than a druid. Trust me, I’ve looked before.”
“Did you find one?”
Mood rolled his bearded neck from shoulder to shoulder and said under his breath, “Yeah.”
Fogle knew that the dwarf was holding something back when his broad body began to stiffen.
“So, what are we waiting for?”
Mood was silent.
“You know where one is, don’t you, one that can help Chongo?”
“Aye,” he said in a solemn voice, “But druids are tricky, and slippery as salamanders. Catching one won’t be easy.”
“Catch one? Can’t we just pay one to come here?”
“Do you know anything about druids, Wizard?”
“Just that they can heal almost anything.”
Mood wrapped his arms around Chongo’s bullish neck and said, “That’s only a small part of what they can do. Ye better hope ya don’t learn about the rest. Now, leave us be.”
Fogle had a funny expression on his face.
“Go on now, Wizard. You can wander the hole alone. If ya get lost, me people will get ya found.”
Fogle gave the dog and dwarf a final look and walked away.
As he approached the door, he heard Mood add, “We leave tomorrow. Don’t fergit to close the door, either.”
Tomorrow? What have I become, an adventurer? Ha! But he had, indeed. Fogle left the odd stables feeling taller. An uncertain path was about to open ahead, and he was ready to test out the strength in his new abilities. That raw power he had felt against the elemental, he wanted to feel that again. The ability to wipe something out with a single thought filled him with elation. He hoped one day he could return to the City of Three as a great wizard.
He began to wonder if Venir could beat him in a mind grumble now. I wouldn’t mind a rematch. Such thoughts were what got him into trouble in the first place, and now they brought back his grandfather’s words, which hung in his mind now. The old man Boon had said,
There is always someone stronger than you. You don’t want to meet them, either. Remember that if you want to live … long.
He found himself sweating on the long winding trek back to his room. He grabbed his sack, pulled out his spellbook, sat on the edge of his huge bed, and crossed his legs. It was comfortable. He thought of the hard ground that awaited him out on the plains of Bish, where the beating suns would be waiting, too. He realized that he didn’t have to do this. He had enough stories to take home with him now. Still, something inside of him was pushing him forward. This is what he had asked for. He opened his spellbook.
One. Two. Three. Keep it simple, Fogle. Stay prepared and live. Get sloppy and die.
Chapter 87
Venir jerked away, catching the descending hoof in his unwounded shoulder. It should have caved his face in, but for a few more seconds the Darkslayer was going to live. The left side of his body felt like it had been beaten with a meat cleaver. His bones were rattling around his core. He staggered to his feet as the minotaur gathered itself for another charge. He growled, letting his will to live take over. Using every bit of the fight left in him, Venir ran for the short sword and snatched it up.
“Finish me off, then! Let’s go!” he bellowed, brandishing the blade.
His entire chest was wracked with pain. He didn’t care. The short sword shook in his grip as he spat a mouthful of blood to the ground. Let it end. At least he wouldn’t die at the hands of an underling. The creature turned and snorted. The spear was still deep in its chest, and an angry look was in its eyes. Venir braced himself on unsteady legs one last time.
His blue eyes flared when he said, “Come on.” It hesitated.
It’s getting weaker, Venir thought. A strange sensation overcame him. His body became rigid, and his stomach turned to mud. The minotaur looked up at him, snorted, mooed, and charged. Venir braced himself for the impact, but something was off.
Crunch!
He looked down as the beast crashed into his knee.
“WHAT IS THIS?” he said, his voice sounding like thunder.
SWAT!
His enormous hand caught the beast in the face, knocking it off of its feet and slamming it into adjacent wall.
“HA!”
He realized his head was almost at the top of the wall. The sword, his armor, and his clothes had all grown as well.
“YES!” he said in a booming voice.
The odds were better now. He felt the strength of a hundred men coursing through him. He saw the minotaur pulling itself up on its legs. Venir jabbed his giant short sword into the roaring beast's heart, pinning it to the ground. The creature still fought on, but its efforts began to fade as Venir stepped on it and ripped the sword free. The blood gushed out, and then gushed no more.
He looked up, and the giants no longer seemed so far away. Boon sat on the rail. The sorcerer saluted and winked. Venir saw the mage mouth the word “Run” just as he was hit by a giant’s fist and fell over the rail to disappear into the maze.
“Hey! Hey you!” A female voice barked in his ear.
The rat-woman had crawled up onto his shoulder. Her furry face was hairy and exotic. She yelled, “Don’t hurt me and I’ll show you the way out!”
“Pah, I’ve got giants to kill,” he said, pulling himself up on the wall.
“Don’t be a fool! You won’t stay so big much longer, and then what will you do?”
She had a point. Above, the giants faces were filled with fury. They were still twenty to his one, but he was out of reach. He had pulled himself on top of the wall now, and was looking down in the maze. There were monsters from all walks of Bish below, screaming and screeching at him. The maze was an endless network of walls and corners. Boon was right; there was no way out of there. “All right Rat Lady, I’ll follow.”
She hopped down onto the wall. It was six feet wide, but Venir had to tight rope his steps. His massive strides gave him little trouble in keeping up with her, but she was quick. He couldn’t believe how big the maze actually was. There must have been miles of twists and turns. So far as he could tell, he must have been placed at the center. Despite his current size and strength, a feeling of horror still crawled in his belly. He owed Boon a debt of gratitude.
They made it to the outer wall of the maze. Venir could still see the giants pointing and shouting his way. He wondered if they would come for him or send something else. He jumped off the wall and almost landed on the rat-woman.
“Watch it will you! Now come on!”
He pushed through a door. She was running down the corridor at full speed. Venir still ached all over. His wounds hadn’t healed, but the bleeding
had seemed to stop. His perspective within the walls of the Ziggurat had changed. The halls were lifeless, cold and unattended, but the décor reminded him of some of the castle walls in Bone.
She yelled up at him, “Will you run!”
He could barely hear the words coming from her tiny voice. He ran, and in a second was almost on top of her. She jumped onto him, her sharp claws digging into his skin. She was on his shoulder again.
“Sorry about that,” she said in his ear.
“Where to?”
“Just keep going straight and out those doors … way up there!”
It must have been a giant’s mile or more. How big is this place? He kept running, but it was agony. His ribs felt cracked, and his lungs were burning. He was certain his shoulder was busted. He barreled down the corridor. He had no desire to stay here any longer. The maze was a certain end for any man.
“You got any idea where to go once we get out of here?” he asked.
She yelled in his ear, “No, but there are some places I can hide.”
“You can hide? What about me?”
“Hey, I only said I could get you out of here. What you do after that is up to you.”
There had to be some type of life between the mist and the ziggurat. Venir had seen a bridge and a river. A black dragon was there as well. What if he fell asleep again? It had already happened twice before.
“What is it that causes the sleep?”
“Oh that. Well, that’s a spell that the sorcerer would cast. I don’t think you have to worry about that anymore.”
“But it happened when I walked out of the mist.”
“Did you see a dragon? Blackie? Wait a minute, did you say you walked out of the mist?”
“Yes.”
“Where did you come in from?”
“Leagues south of Hohm City. An underling dropped me in there.”
The rat-woman’s pink and black eyes were as wide as saucers. “I didn’t think that was possible, to cross the mist and all.”
The Darkslayer: Book 03 - Underling Revenge Page 34