The Darkslayer: Book 03 - Underling Revenge

by Craig Halloran

  He listened, but heard nothing. His eyelids were half closed, two slits blocking out the daylight. He sniffed the air; an odor of charcoal was faint and then gone.

  Thump!

  He felt his body shake from inside the muddy hole he had bedded himself in like a pig. Slowly he pulled the leaves and twigs from his face.

  Thump!

  Tiny balls of mud were falling loose like an avalanche on the other side of the bank. Venir’s heart began to thunder behind his breast. Danger was near. He felt a strong desire to make a dash for the river and swim. He sat up, head peering around. There was nothing to see from his mud hole. He crawled over the grit and through the mud and peeked over the lip of the gulley.

  Thump!

  He didn’t make anything out. The suns were rising into his face. He held his hand over his brow but it didn’t help. Whatever it was, it was coming. He felt it was close. It was monstrous in size possibly, the kind of thing that could swallow him in a single gulp. The sensation in his fingertips was tingling now. The numbness of his slumber was wearing off. His alert senses had been dulled, but now they were sharpening like knives scraping the stone. Wake up!

  Then he saw it. A huge man taller than the trees, walking up the bank from down river. They had found him. The giants had come. If he had only woken up sooner he could have taken his chances swimming the river. Like a fool he had rested instead. Bone! He hunkered down inside the trench. The river was only thirty yards away. His best chance was to slip inside the river. Maybe he won’t see me. Just wait for his head to turn.

  THUMP!

  The giant was getting closer now. A cloud blotted out the sunlight overhead and moved on. The light was there, gone, and back again, except the cloud wasn’t a cloud.

  WHUMP!

  WHUMP!

  WHUMP!

  SNORT!

  Venir’s joints locked up, and a sliver of ice coursed down his spine. The dragon swooped downward from high above, breast scraping the trees nearby, then up and out of sight. Venir envisioned himself swimming, only to have himself snatched from the water like a fish snatched by a hawk, a huge hawk with scales, black ones. He got down on his belly and low crawled toward the water. No choice. Swim or die.

  Clank!

  He crawled over something buried in the mud. He tugged at it, the leather texture familiar to his fingers. It was the sack. Venir didn’t even think as he opened it and reached inside. Something wriggled violently in his grip. He jerked his arm out just in time to watch Eep the imp’s mouth open wide and bite off the fingers on his hand. The pain raced up his arm and pierced deep inside his brain. He wanted to scream, but bit into his lip instead as he slammed the imp into the ground.

  “Die human!” it screeched.

  Venir saw its eye fixate on the shadow in the sky above. It hissed a laugh, its serpent tongue licking its nose, his lost fingers dangling in-between its razor sharp teeth. The imp gulped and swallowed.

  “Death comes for you, Darkslayer!” Eep blinked, disappearing from his grasp, leaving Venir alone with his two bloodied finger stumps.

  THUMP!

  Slat!

  He plunged his arm back into the sack and felt a hard rim of steel. He drew out his shield. The ornate banding was a welcome sight, like a lost friend that had returned home. Helm, came out next. The warm leather chinstrap fit snug under his chin. The next object he drew from the sack was the most welcome of all. The shaft of the axe in his bloody hand made the loss of his fingers seem insignificant. Only the tips were gone from his lower fingers, but his hand still held the axe just as tightly as it would a sack filled with gold. He felt inside the sack again, but there was no girdle, nothing else.

  “BROOL!” he yelled, holding it up high over his head.

  The dull sheen of steel glinted in the light of the two suns. Venir’s mind was tickling with fire underneath the awareness of the helm. If it was his time to perish, then this was how he wanted it. He was ready to meet his fate, without fingers, or toes for the matter; as long as he could swing steel he would be just fine.

  “Come on, Giant! Come on, Dragon! I’m ready for you!”

  The giant stepped into the mouth of the trench. It towered over him, close to twenty feet tall. The black dragon was circling in the air from high above, its yellow eyes like sparkling gems filled with fire. The giant’s face was set in anger. It had a strange tilt in its stance. Its voice was as deep as Dwarven Hole as it spoke.

  “YOUUU!” the giant said, pointing his stump of a hand his way.

  Venir noticed its toe was missing as well. It was the same one from the ravine; the one that had fought him and the underlings.

  “ME!” Venir shouted back, holding his war-axe over the blades of his shoulder.

  The giant’s brows deepened over his nose as it sucked in its breath to speak.

  “HOW … DID … YOU … GET … HERE …?”

  Venir didn’t want to talk; he wanted to fight. Still …

  “I came through the mist, where you did!” He shouted.

  The giant was considering his words.

  “IM … POSS … I … BILE …. ONLY … OUR … KIND … CAN … CROSS … THE MIST.”

  Venir eyed the dragon in the sky and then focused back on the giant. The giant's gaze remained transfixed on him with a murderous intent. The hostility was clear in its voice. Yet, it hesitated.

  The giant took a deep draw of air into his nose as it stretched out its arms. It clutched its fingers in one hand and looked at the stump on the other.

  “YOU … HAVE … OUR … BLOOD! … WE … WILL … HAVE … YOURS!”

  Venir rolled his shoulder. It was feeling better. The heat of battle was running its course through him, making him stronger and more alert. The giant was two steps from him, unmoving, his big brown eyes fixated on the axe. Good, Venir thought. It knew he could hurt it. The giant reached over, grabbed a tree in its hand, ripped it from the ground, and came at him.

  The bottom roots of the tree smashed into the ground as Venir backpedaled away. The giant growled, swung, and busted a man-sized crater into the ground. The enlarged man was quick; his tree trunk descended over and over like a hatchet. All Venir could do was back away from each blast of dirt that shook him from his feet. The sound of the cracking wood and splintering branches was loud, but the giant's voice louder still.

  “ONLY TIME … LITTLE MAN! YOUR BLOOD WILL NOT SAVE YOU!”

  The giant’s words, steps, and swings were coming faster. Venir didn’t follow the meaning of ‘your blood’, but he had no time to consider it.

  CRACK!

  The next blow snapped the tree in half. Venir scrambled to his feet and made a dash for a grove of trees. The giant’s hand knocked a massive scoop of dirt from the ground, clipping the heels of his feet. Venir scrambled up and dove behind another tree. The sound of the giant’s angry grunts was softened by the leaves and branches. He pressed his back to a gray trunk and fought for his breath. There was a moment of silence followed by the sound of the rustling leaves.

  Venir had the sack draped around his arm with the shield. He was determined not to lose it again. His fingers he could live without, but not the armament. He looked around the trunk. The giant stood at the edge of the grove. He could hear it laughing.

  “NOT SMART. COME OUT, AND I’LL MAKE YOU A DEAL. SURRENDER AND I’LL LET YOU LIVE. I’LL TAKE YOU BACK HOME. YOU’LL LIVE LONGER INSIDE THE MAZE. IF YOU MAKE IT OUT AGAIN, YOU CAN GO BACK TO BISH.”

  Venir knew little about giants. He had doubted their existence until recent events. Yet, he saw no reason to take the aloof race by their word. Legend said men had tricked them before. Maybe he could, too. He would do anything to increase his chance of survival and get what he wanted more than anything: to go back home. Still, he was glad to be alone here: his fate would be his, and his alone. He waited.

  “NOTHING. YOU HAVE NOTHING TO SAY?”

  Only the billowing leaves offered an answer. Think or die! Well, come to think of it, maybe he wished Moo
d was with him. The Blood Ranger knew all about giants, especially how to kill them. Mood had told him that the best way to kill them was to get in close.

  “FINE THEN … I’VE GOT ANOTHER OFFER FOR YOU.”

  He heard the giant whistle. A black shadow hung over the sky.

  WHUMP!

  WHUMP!

  WHUMP!

  SNORT!

  Above him, something began to suck the air from the grove. What’s it doing? A roar of fire shot from the black dragon’s mouth, engulfing the tree tops in flames. Venir moved away from the fire and the giant. Another blast of fire came, scorching the other side of the grove. The entire top of the grove was ablaze, a fiery inferno that dripped down the trees like lava.

  The air was getting thin, and Venir began coughing. Above him was only smoke and flame; the intense heat became unbearable. The burning wood was turning to char and ash, filling his nose and lungs with sooty smoke. He fell to his belly and began to crawl. Burning branches were falling around him now. He had never seen fire that could burn something so fast. It was unnatural.

  Venir couldn’t handle the thought of being cooked alive. He needed to get out. The smoke was thick, and the flames were bright. He couldn’t discern a direction to go. The hairs on his arms began to dry up and curl.

  “No!” he cried and coughed.

  He could still sense the giant nearby. He pulled his shield in front of him and charged. The small forest was collapsing around him now, fiery branches bouncing from his shoulders. He couldn’t see or hear a thing as he burst free of the clearing.

  SWAT!

  It felt like it had the last time the giant hit him, only worse. He flipped head over heels more than once before crashing into the meadow. The thick grass did little to cushion his fall. He lay still, sprawled out on his back, Brool clutched in his bloody fingers. His shield was still strapped to his arm. He did not move.

  Venir coughed and fought to suck in more air. His watery eyes could barely make out the naked sky. He felt the ground shaking beneath him. Get up! His body didn’t want to move. GET UP! He saw the giant’s face first, then its hand. He pulled his shield over him just in time to catch the full force of its fist. The blows kept coming, smashing him deeper and deeper into the ground. There was nothing Venir could do but take it. He felt one shoulder give way, then the other. Pain began to bite into his innards as his ribs broke. The next blow knocked out a mouthful of blood. His mind cried for the giant to stop, but it didn’t.

  Chapter 95

  “Swing! Swing! Swing!” a hammering voice cried. “Stab! Stab! Stab!”

  Brak was pouring with sweat. His arms felt like they were made of iron. He didn’t know how much more he could take, the agony of it all.

  “FIGHT!” the man screamed in his face. He chopped at the man, a sluggish blow. He winced.

  Smack! Smack! Smack!

  The wooden sword rang his head like a bell. He collapsed to the ground. He knew what was coming next.

  “Oooph!”

  The kick to his gut was fierce. He fought for a breath of air only to find the boot tip attacking his stomach once again. It was torture. His life had been nothing but torture since his mother died. He tried to fight, but all he did was defend his own life. The sound of the wooden sword clattered across the stone.

  “He’s a dolt! A brainless brute like his father! I can’t knock a lick of sense into him. Leezir, this experiment is over. I’m done!”

  “Not so fast, Hagerdon. I think you have underestimated your efforts. He still lives, doesn’t he? You beat him harder every day, yet he stands up for more.”

  Hagerdon looked at Brak with a sneer. Brak could see the contempt on the man’s face. Hagerdon the Slerg was unlike the rest. His face was clean and charming, a polished marble stone in a rat's nest. It was clear the man had been bred for life above the ground, not below it in the damp and filth. Leezir seemed to be the more civil and adjusted of the two, however.

  Brak watched as Hagerdon drew a long sword he called a rapier. The man’s brown locks of hair bounced as he thrust and cut in the air, making patterns that Brak’s eyes could barely follow. He knew the man didn’t care for him. It had something to do with his father, based on what he overheard. Even the rotting bandaged faces of the ragged man-urchins had more civility to offer.

  Hagerdon made him uneasy. He was always restlessly watching his back for Hagerdon when Leezir wasn’t around. The Slerg was very reluctant to be his mentor, or friend for that matter, leaving him to wonder what his father, Venir, had done.

  “What do you expect to do with him, this overgrown turd? He’s too big to steal and too stupid to fight,” the wiry man said. “Hah!” Hagerdon executed a thrust, stabbed a rotting apple on the table, and flicked the apple into Brak’s unsuspecting face.

  Leezir hopped from his chair.

  “You don’t believe what we told you, do you? This man …er, boy … chopped a throng of men into dog food. With a bolt sticking in his arm! His father would have been proud that day,” Leezir said, poking Hagerdon in the chest. “You would have been frightened chicken.”

  “Pah!”

  “Pah, hah! Those men he took weren’t amateurs or urchins. They were of the guilds — nothing to snivel at.”

  Hagerdon slammed his blade back into its sheath.

  “He was distraught, a temper tantrum gone awry. He simply caught them off guard, is all.”

  Leezir rubbed the sandy hair atop his head.

  “You are a fool. So be it. I’ve a feeling he’ll save your arse one day. Now, get back on with it. See, he stands.”

  Brak wiped the apple from his face and rose to his feet with a groan. He ached from head to toe. Lumps and bruises were scattered all over his body, and his muscles were sore and tender. He looked at his new family, trying to fit his mah’s face in among them. It didn’t seem right, nothing did. His simple life had been overturned.

  The men, the Slergs, always talked like he was a painting on the wall. He didn’t say much, just listened and kept his mouth shut. His mah had always told him to do that when she wasn’t around. It wasn’t that he didn’t know what to say or have anything to ask, he was simply too scared. Fighting and eating were pretty much what his life had boiled down to. Mah.

  “Pick up the club, you big, pig-stupid urchin!” his tormentor said, picking up the wooden sword from the ground.

  One thing was certain; Brak didn’t like the name-calling. It was getting old. His mah had told him to just ignore it when others called him names, and walk on. He had never liked that; he always wanted to bust name-callers in the mouth. He wanted to bust Hagerdon in the mouth. The man was arrogant. His voice reminded Brak of the whining farm wives who complained about his sluggish effort. They would say, “I’ve seen three-legged cows move faster than that,” or “My cat knows more words than he does.” The muscles in his back began to knot. His youthful face gave away the painful memories.

  “Ah, look Leezir, he’s going to cry again. I can’t train a swordsman that cries. I can beat the Bone out of one, though.”

  Rap! Rap! Rap!

  Brak was lit up on his head and hands. He didn’t move and didn’t wince.

  “Block, you idiot! He’s the stu—”

  “SHUT UP!”

  Hagerdon raised his wooden sword just in time to prevent his skull from being crushed. The club deflected downward, catching the man in the shoulder. “Blast you, Br—”

  Clonk! Clonk! Clonk!

  Brak didn’t stop swinging as wood smacked into wood. Hagerdon was on the defensive now, struggling to find a place to escape. Brak chased him down, swinging hard and fast at Hagerdon’s every twist and turn. A look of desperation appeared on the cocky Slerg fighter's face. Hagerdon leapt over a small table as the club smashed through it. The man-urchins and Leezir were scrambling out of Brak's way. The room was small. Hagerdon had nowhere to go.

  Brak kept pounding away at the man’s stick. He saw the look in the man’s face as each blow jolted his arms. He lik
ed it.

  Hagerdon dashed away from one of his wild swings that caught one man-urchin in the chest, driving him wailing to the ground. It felt good, hitting something back for a change. He was in control, his lust for battle had risen to the surface, but his fury was growing. He cornered Hagerdon again and began wailing away at the man’s weakening arm. Something poked him, first in one leg, then the other.

  “STOP!” Leezir screamed. “STOP BRAK! STOP HAGERDON!”

  Brak stepped back. Something was burning in his legs. He looked down and saw blood streaming from the thighs of his pants. Hagerdon had his rapier out, blood dripping from the point. The man’s hair was matted with sweat, his face flushed red, and his chest heaving. Leezir had stepped between them, his white ash club glowing.

  “I think that’s enough for today,” he said with a worried smile.

  Hagerdon slung his sword across the room and exited through the door with an angry scream.

  Brak sat down on the floor.

  Leezir turned to Brak, looked down at his legs, and said, “He could have killed you, you know.”

  “I’m sure he wishes he had,” Brak said.

  “I agree.” Leezir kneeled down and inspected Brak's wounds. “Hmmm … these legs look pretty bad, Brak. You won’t stand much of a chance training tomorrow if you can’t walk.”

  Brak shrugged.

  “I can fix that. Do you want me to?”

  Brak shrugged again.

  “I’ll fix it, but tomorrow you will have to do as he says.”

  “I don’t like the names.”

  “Well, ” Leezir laughed under his breath, “I think Hagerdon understands that now. Still, this time, you caught him off guard. That won’t happen again. You can expect the worst and best from him between now and whenever. But at least we know this much.”

  Brak looked up at him.

  Leezir slapped his shoulder saying, “You’ve got the heart of a fighter. Let us teach you how to use it.”

  “What about finding my father?”