Chaos At The Castle (Book Six)

by Craig Halloran

  This place is going to the slatter.

  He turned his keen eyes to Castle Almen. His jaw dropped open. Underlings, hundreds of them, surged the main wall. Every tower was lit with mystic illumination, and spiders the size of dogs and ponies scurried over the parapets, up the walls and towers. A chill raced down Melegal’s spine. How long could the Royals hold out? And why were the underlings attacking there? His hand drifted to the Keys.

  Sefron wanted them. The underlings wanted them. A picture of the imp invaded his mind. What if that thing shows up here?

  Something was not right.

  Think, Melegal. Think!

  He squatted down, flattened himself on his belly, and crept back down the steep tower, thinking all the way.

  Sefron works for the underlings. Underlings want inside the castle. Sefron is in the castle. Kill Sefron. Stop the underlings. Ridiculous.

  As much as Melegal despised the Royals and all their cruel and twisted games, he knew the underlings were a far greater threat. Venir had shown him at least that much. Catching the lip of the tower’s edge like a spider, Melegal crawled headfirst back inside.

  Whew!

  Alone in the tower, his thoughts went to his friends. He hadn’t seen Venir since that last time he was here, and despite his anger towards the man, he’d like to be with him now. If anyone knew how to deal with underlings, it was Venir.

  I wonder how Lefty’s doing as well.

  So far as he was concerned, ever since they all left, his life had been far from normal. If anything, it had gotten worse. He smoothed his cap over his head.

  “Well, I suppose if no one else is going to defend my home, I’ll just have to do it my―”

  A small black blur jumped through the outside window over the top of him. Melegal ducked and rolled, the sisters out and ready. A pair of pearl white eyes greeted him.

  “Octopus!”

  The big cat circled his ankles, lay down and rumbled. Melegal couldn’t have been more glad to see his most reliable friend. He reached over and stroked the cat’s back.

  “And to think, I actually worried you might be underling food.”

  Octopus stretched out his eight claws that twinkled in the night.

  “I should have known better,” Melegal said, rubbing behind his ears, “because you have plenty of lives, don’t you?”

  After the short reunion, thoughts heavy on his task ahead, Melegal made his way down the deteriorating steps. Octopus darted away when he reached the bottom.

  Must be a big juicy rat somewhere. Besides me.

  Aside from all the distant shouts of alarm and screams, the streets in this quadrant were barren for the most part. Even the urchins and thugs that frequented the remains of the abandoned castle had become ghosts.

  Maybe the underlings aren’t so bad after all. They’re keeping the stink out.

  Down the street he went, tugging and knocking on doors as he did so. Reaching inside his vest, he produced a Key. It was the same one he’d used before.

  Hmmm. What did the woman at the fountain say? Just find a door and go?

  From building to building he went, searching for a key hole, but none were found.

  Drat it.

  With all the pickpockets, urchins and thieves about in Bone, using keys to secure common doors and entrances wasn’t always the securest way to go. Many shop keepers barred their doors from the inside because they lived there. Melegal imagined most were holed up inside right now. Of course, whenever a door was barred from the inside, it only meant someone must be home. Most citizens of Bone never, ever left their home or store empty.

  Never cared to rob the places filled with the living.

  He made his way farther up the street.

  There must be a keyhole somewhere.

  He stopped at the next block and stood in front of an entrance to a corner store, where a big black keyhole forged with brass greeted him. Melegal bounced the ancient Key on his chin.

  It’s not going to fit in there, is it?

  Lowering the Key towards the hole, he froze. His neck hair rose. He sniffed.

  Smells like a wet dog.

  Wapush!

  A tail of black leather encircled his wrist and jerked the Key out of his hand.

  Melegal twisted his wrist free. Who in Bone?

  Wapush!

  The tail of the whip caught him by the leg and pulled him down.

  Bark! Bark! Bark!

  An oversized Rottweiler was snapping at his neck.

  “Bloody Watchmen!” Melegal cried out. “Back off! I’m a Royal—”

  Wapush!

  Another whip wrapped around his throat.

  “Watchmen! Ha! Hear that, men? This one thinks we’re part of the local brute squad.” A tall, limber man stepped into view. He was no Watchman. He was savvy. Buckled. Clean. A different breed.

  The other two were stout. Menacing. “Ha! Watchmen, and you were about to say you were a Royal! Eh, Melegal?”

  He couldn’t answer. The whip choked his neck.

  Bark! Bark! Bark!

  “Heel!”

  The dog quieted, but still loomed over him, growling.

  That’s when Melegal saw it. The insignia on the man’s hand. His blood ran cold.

  Bone! The Royal Bloodhounds are after me too!

  Melegal had heard plenty of stories of the most vicious bounty hunters of all.

  The speaking man squatted down beside him, long fingers stroking the finely groomed auburn hair on his chin. His eyes steely flecks of brown and green. Hair brownish red. Intelligent. Cocky. A good manner about him.

  “So, a Royal Detective, as I understand. Pretty crafty I’d say, to be serving Lord Almen.” He pulled a long dagger from his sheath. “Roll him over, men. Unfortunately, I need to cut those thews behind his skinny knees. Can’t have you running off now, can we?”

  Melegal started to speak.

  Whop!

  The Bloodhound leader slugged him in the face.

  “No talking,” the man said. Almost polite. “Now get him rolled over.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Lorda Almen cowered behind a chair, trembling.

  “All clear!”

  It was a man’s voice. Strong. Labored. She peeked.

  A few feet away, a dog-sized spider twitched, webbing spewed from its mouth and stuck to the floor.

  Glitch!

  The shadow sentry rammed his sword through its brain, bringing its convulsions to a stop. The sentry wore a helmet of black mesh armor that covered his face. The rest of him was splattered in spider gore. He extended his hand.

  “Are you alright, Lorda?”

  She shook her head, trying to stand, too weak to speak. Sprawled out on the floor, her servant girls were dead. A Shadow Sentry sat in the corner, coated in webbing, a nasty wound on his face. It appeared the acid from the spider’s fangs had burnt straight through his mesh helmet.

  You are in command, Lorda. Act like it!

  Reaching out, the sentry caught her under the elbow and lifted her forward. He was strong. His girth reminded her of her former high guard, Gordin. She missed him. Her son Tonio had killed him, and Melegal had saved her, so she was convinced. She shook her head.

  “Remember these words, Sentry: from this day forward, Spiders are banned from the Castle.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder, pulled her shoulders back, and straightened her bodice. Outside, the battle was raging. Explosions, screams and the disturbing chitters of the underlings could be heard from all around.

  “Secure the openings, men. See to it nothing again ever enters this room!”

  A half dozen soldiers made their way into the room, followed by two more Shadow Sentries.

  Making her way to her husband, Lorda lost her shoe. It stuck to the floor. She clenched her fists by her side.

  “BONE!”

  One of the soldiers grabbed a torch from the wall and burned the webbing. Lorda covered her nose.

  Must all evil things stink?

  She pick
ed up a small bottle of perfume that lay near a table that had been knocked over, dabbed it on, and stepped in something that splashed.

  “What?”

  At her feet, water from Lord Almen’s bowl had spilled, and the wash cloth from his head now lay on the ground with spider guts on it. Reaching over to grab it, she withdrew her hand.

  “Disgusting.”

  “I’ll take care of that, Lorda,” the Shadow Sentry said. “Shall I send for the cleric?”

  She glanced at Lord Almen.

  “Eeeeeek!”

  His bloodshot eyes were wide open.

  CHAPTER 25

  “Never send an imp to do an underling’s job,” Master Kierway said, flatly.

  It was dark, aside from the glow of the small underling lanterns that cast shadows through the caves.

  “What is that, Kierway?” Catten rubbed his gut. His thoughts were still heavy from his brother, Verbard, punching him there. Verbard had changed, changed much. He couldn’t decide whether he should admire or hate him.

  I’ll get him back when the time comes.

  “The Keys,” Kierway said. “If we had the Keys, we’d have overrun this Castle already. They can get into anything, anything at all, even that door.”

  Catten remained silent. Master Kierway had a small army at his disposal, filling the caves alongside the Current beneath Castle Almen as far as he could see. All he had to do was get them in there. Time was running out.

  Kierway chopped the top off a stalagmite. “Well, Mage? Did you come here to help overtake this castle or to conspire against your brother?” Kierway chopped another top off. “Or both?”

  Catten lifted his chin.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Kierway flashed the sharp grey teeth in his mouth.

  “Oh come now. Do you really think I believe you’re on your brother’s side? You? Then you wouldn’t be the Catten I know. And besides, I already know my father can’t stand him. Why else would he bring you back to life?” Showing off with his sword, he split a drop of water falling from above. “To see Verbard dead, of course.”

  “I’m sure there is nothing you’d rather believe, now that my brother has taken over your charge. The one you’ve spent years on and failed. The Keys. You dare mention them? You should have secured them, but you failed. And my brother, he’s not a disappointment to your father, quite the contrary. But you are.” Catten’s gold eyes locked on Kierway’s copper. “Sinway put you at my brother’s will and pleasure, and I am here on his behalf. Now, tell me, why isn’t this door open?”

  Kierway’s eyes narrowed. He slid his swords into their sheaths on his back. The master underling had a way of squeezing out of things, but at the moment, both Verbard and Catten had the upper hand on him. It only figured that Kierway would seek an alliance so he could get out from underneath the will and pleasure of Verbard. Kierway made his way to the door. Two robed underling magi were on their knees chittering an incantation, while another made arcane markings along the door’s edges.

  “It was only wood before when we destroyed it,” Kierway said, “but it’s been replaced with iron and stone, sealed by magic. There isn’t even any key hole.”

  “So, how would those precious Keys have worked then?”

  Kierway shrugged.

  “Nothing to say, eh, Kierway?” Catten floated closer to the door. Over eight feet in height, it was more of a slab than a door. “Have you even tried to crack it?”

  Kierway motioned to the battering ram propped up by the stalagmites. It was a six foot metal tube with handles

  “I was confident the magi could get us in, like the last time,” Kierway said. He picked up the small battering ram with a groan and tossed it at Catten’s feet. “Perhaps you should give it a try?”

  “Perhaps I should… Fool.”

  With a flick of his wrist, the battering ram lifted from the ground.

  “Magi, finish your spell. Kierway, ready your warriors.”

  “They’re ready.” He folded his arms over the bandoliers on his chest. “For what, I can’t imagine.”

  Focusing, Catten grabbed the handles on the ram and filled it with energy. It glowed red and hummed with new life, hovering over the cave floor. The symbols drawn on the door flared with life. The underling magi floated backward. The slab door groaned. The light of the battering ram became brighter and brighter as Catten filled it with more power.

  No mortal man is more powerful than I!

  The giant missile shot forward, striking the door with mind-jarring force.

  KA-CHOW!

  Stone cracked. Metal groaned. Parts of the door exploded.

  A human cry of alarm went up from the other side.

  Catten was about to say, “Get in there, Kierway,” but the man and his soldiers were already on their way. Juegen in plate mail, Badoon warriors of all sorts, and albino urchlings stormed through the black hole, led by the Son of Sinway.

  “Go!” Catten ordered two magi through the opening.

  Yes! He clutched his fist.

  The underling force jammed at the entrance.

  He blew at the wispy fibers of energy that lingered on his fingers. He never would have imagined it possible, but in moments, he was going to be taking up residence inside the walls of the City of Bone.

  Perhaps Sinway isn’t losing it after all.

  An army of underlings with access to the Current could hold that castle forever. It was brilliant.

  We’ll take them one castle at a time.

  Finally, he would have one victory where his brother had failed. He’d penetrated the castle, and in minutes, it would be his.

  Elation had filled him, but the underlings up front cried out in disappointment.

  “Impossible!” he cried out.

  The door he just destroyed had returned. He and the majority of his underling army were trapped outside. Kierway and his men were trapped within.

  CHAPTER 26

  Allies and enemies. Jarla the former Brigand Queen had been on both sides of the war against the underlings. Unlike the Royals who had betrayed her, defiled her, humiliated her and destroyed her trust in all men, good and bad, she wasn’t heartbroken to see the City of Bone under siege. Instead, she was thirsty.

  Dragging her shoulder along an alley wall, carrying an empty bottle in her hand, she was making her way back to the stables. She just needed to find Nightmare and ride out of here. But there was a problem. She was lost.

  “Bastards,” she moaned. She stepped over one bloodied corpse after another. “Probably had it com-hic-coming.”

  Dried out and tired, she was rubbing her short locks of braided black hair when she found herself staring at a large road known as the Royal Roadway. A team of soldiers trotted down the street, away from her. She tried to get her bearings.

  I know where this is. Hic.

  Sauntering along the store fronts where the Royals used to shop, her mind wandered back to her life long ago. Her mother, a seamstress, had been the mistress of a Royal. As a little girl, Jarla watched the proud women come and go, but never desired to be one. She was cut from a different cloth, always fancying the work down in the smithy shops. Down there, as she grew older, she helped in a forge, along with her father who was also a soldier.

  She recalled the last day she saw him. Taller than her, eyes blue, black hair long, he’d said, “Jarla, if I don’t return, be sure to help your mother.” He rode off on a horse and was gone. No word ever came of what happened to him, and her unfaithful mother moved within the walls of the castles. She had never spoken to her mother since. Instead, she enlisted. She had the right through her father, and she passed. Her steel was quick, her determination unrivaled, and after years of training and field experience, she carved her way up the ranks. Then, they betrayed her. She’d been the Brigand Queen ever since.

  All the doors she passed by were boarded up or locked, and few of the stores had windows. That would be too dangerous. A pair of long-faced urchins shuffled by.
<
br />   “Can you help us?” one said. He was pitiful, dirty, scraped up and trembling. “Our parents are dead.”

  She laughed, handed the boy her bottle, patted him on the head and walked away. “And soon you will be too,” she said. She crossed the nearest alley, booted feet clopping over the storefront porch, and stopped. Something rustled inside the store. She pressed her ear to the door. A pair of bottles clinked and rolled. She jerked her head back. Someone inside busted a bottle on the door. Looking up at the sign that hung above her, she licked her lips. It read: Wine Blossoms.

  “Where there’s glass, there’s wine.”

  Stepping back, she noticed the windows were boarded up and the door had no handle. She cast a glance over her shoulder, noting the streets were empty but distant sounds of battle and destruction could be heard. If anything, there should be widespread looting, but it seemed the underlings had spooked even the looters. The entire city was not itself.

  Why not? Someone is in there.

  She knocked on the door.

  The rustling stopped.

  She tried to decide if it would be best to be a member of the City Watch or a person in need. Besides, I don’t think underlings would knock. She tried again, harder this time.

  Knock! Knock! Knock!

  She considered speaking. Saying hello. Sounding polite and customary, but such manners weren’t in her anymore. Over the years, she’d grown accustomed to taking what she wanted.

  “Blasted cowards,” she murmured. She pressed her ear to the door again, closed her eyes and listened. Nothing. She was thinking maybe there was another way in when she heard more chittering. Closer this time. Coming her way. Her hand fell to her blade.

  Now the little fiends show up.

  Jarla didn’t fear the underlings as most people did. She didn’t fear anything. Besides, she’d seen them bleed the same as anything else. She’d battled them by the dozens when she was a Royal Soldier and found out that their skulls split just as easily as men’s. She pressed her back against the doorway. The underlings, so far as she could hear, would be upon her any moment. And by the sounds of things, there were many of them, at least a dozen. If she only had her axes and the armament, she could have handled them.