Chaos At The Castle (Book Six)

by Craig Halloran

Creed nodded to his man. “Let’s see what the Detective is made of. Take him!”

  The man took three quick steps and lunged.

  Melegal sidestepped and stabbed.

  Glitch!

  The man’s sword clattered to the ground, and he clutched at his chest. Melegal ripped his sword from the man’s heart. His own heart was pounding.

  I did it!

  He shifted his focus to Creed. The tall man gawped while Melegal slung the blood off his sword.

  “Impressive, Detective, I must admit. I didn’t think you had that kind of fight in you. But I don’t think you’ll have the same fortune with me.” Creed smiled. It wasn’t an evil smile. Just a confident one. A dangerous one. A ‘cat about to eat the rat’ kind of one. He drew forth another blade that shone brighter than the other.

  Oh slat!

  Melegal could tell by Creed’s stance, his posture, he was …

  “I’m a swordsman. My comrade, not so much. Besides, I didn’t like him anyway. Slow and stupid, but a good grappler.” He sliced his blade through the air and twirled it with his wrist. “Hmmm… I’m feeling spry this day, and well, I don’t think that dart was poisoned after all.” He lifted his brow and smiled. “And, I think I can disarm you in six seconds. I can maim you in ten. But, it’s nothing personal. Just business.”

  Melegal stood his ground.

  Still time to run if you don’t think of something.

  He renewed his stance: blades up, elbows down.

  “Tell you what, Detective: come along quietly, and I won’t turn you into my dog’s dinner. Not all of you, anyway.”

  Swish!

  The sword flashed like a stroke of lightening.

  Slat, he’s good. Melegal narrowed his eyes.

  He immediately recalled his battle with Teku in the alley months ago. It had taken everything he had not to die then, and Teku had been just an assassin, not a master swordsman.

  “So, you’re taking me to the Almens, eh…”

  “Creed, Royal Bloodhound Knight.”

  “Oh please, you’re no Royal or Knight, but a scavenger.”

  “Like you,” he smiled.

  Melegal shrugged.

  “Like me, indeed then.”

  Creed scoffed. “I hardly think so. Sefron’s message was abundantly clear. You are little more than an overachieving urchin. I, however, am of Royal blood.”

  Creed could pass for a Royal, in some circles, but Melegal knew better. The Bloodhounds claimed to be a Royal house, but instead they were little more than a house of mercenaries and bounty hunters of the true Royal houses. But, because of their unique position and the secrets they kept, the Royals ignored their overstated positions.

  It was Melegal’s turn to laugh.

  “Sefron? You took a charge from Sefron? Ha! You might as well be taking charges from the urchins that scrub pots in the kitchen and clean the slat from the bird cages. Hah! Are you even sure I’m the one he really wants?”

  Creed’s eyes shifted, sword tips dipping a hair.

  Melegal kept pressing.

  “Creed, you are a fool. Have you not noticed that the underlings are storming Castle Almen? How do you suppose to get me in there? Collect your reward? It wouldn’t surprise me if Sefron was dead right now. Can you imagine him fighting an underling? Have you ever fought an underling? This City’s doomed, Creed. A smart man would save himself. Not carry out the charge of a fool when total destruction is about.”

  Creed was thinking. Melegal could see it, the hardness in his eyes weakening.

  “What are you thinking, Creed?”

  “I’m thinking that a Bloodhound never gives up on a charge until he gets his man.”

  “Is that so, then?”

  Creed raised his blades, flashing a thin row of white teeth.

  “So it is, and taking into account all you’ve said and done so far, I think it’s best for me if I take you in dead.”

  Melegal raised his blades.

  I’m dead if I don’t run. Think, Melegal. What did McKnight say long ago? ‘The mind is faster than the sword.’ He glanced at his hat on the ground. If I can just squirm my way to it.

  “Creed” The man Melegal had shot in the eyes stumbled along the storefronts. “I can’t see, Creed, what do I do?”

  “Silence, Dolt! I’ll tend to you in a moment.”

  Melegal started left and Creed started right, both men circling.

  Good.

  Creed stopped, lunged and chopped.

  Clang!

  The sound of clashing steel echoed through the alley and down the street. Melegal held back his grimace. Creed struck again. Clang! Again. Clang! Again. Clang! Clang! Clang!

  Creed pressed, Melegal parried. The man was a true swordsman. His moves perfect. His swing quick and powerful. Melegal’s hands were numb seconds into it.

  “Not much of an offense, I see,” Creed said, backing away, cutting his swords through air. “But, you’ve an excellent defense; I’ll give you that, Detective. I underestimated you. Problem is, how long can those bony arms of yours hold out?”

  Not long!

  “Long enough to wear you down,” Melegal said.

  Creed darted in, blades stabbing like striking snakes. “I don’t think so.”

  Melegal battled one blade away, only to shift and catch another.

  Creed kept stabbing at his legs, a hungry grin behind his lips.

  Slice!

  Creed caught Melegal in the inner thigh. He felt every bit of it.

  “Hah!” Creed said, jumping away. “First blood to me. Oh, that’s already staining your clothes.”

  Run, Melegal! It’s not worth it!

  Behind him, the hat and slender case lay unmolested on the ground, but he had no chance of getting them. Creed would pin him to the ground if he tried.

  “My, your shoulders are already dipping,” Creed said, cutting his longsword over the ground. “More of a fencer than a soldier, clearly. But, I think I’ve summed you up enough.” Creed sheathed one sword, left the other one that gleamed like the sun out, and shrugged. “I feel the need to challenge myself.” He motioned Melegal closer with his hand. “Come on, Detective. Attack.”

  Melegal remained wary. Creed might be cocky, but he wasn’t a fool either. Even though the odds had shifted more in his favor, he knew better. Creed had something up his sleeve.

  “I’ll fight my way; you fight yours. Come on then, Hound. I’m curious to see what you can do with a single sword to my two.”

  Creed leapt and swung.

  Melegal parried and struck.

  Pour it on, Rat!

  Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!

  Creed parried, dodged and ducked.

  Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!

  Melegal stabbed, chopped and cut, but Creed anticipated everything he did. Focused. Determined. Waiting for a weakness.

  Move, Melegal!

  Out of nowhere, Creed’s blade licked out like a rod of lightning. Melegal squatted down. Creed kicked him in the face.

  Bang!

  Melegal felt his sword ripped from his hand.

  Bang!

  The other skipped over the cobblestones. The next thing he felt was the tip of a sword under his chin.

  SLAT!

  “Heh, heh, heh—woot!” Creed wiped the sweat from his brow. “I can’t believe you still have your head, Detective. Ah! I missed it! You are fast. I’ll give you that.”

  Melegal started to raise his arms up.

  “Ah, ah, ah, keep those wrists down. I can’t have you shooting anymore holes in me. I must admit: I’m surprised you didn’t try something earlier. But, eh, I figured you were out.”

  Melegal could feel the sword cut his neck as he swallowed.

  I should have run! Idiot!

  “EEEYAH!”

  A block down the street, someone screamed.

  “Eh?” Creed grabbed Melegal by his head of hair and pulled him up from the ground, stepping behind him and keeping the sword at his throat.

&
nbsp; That’s when Melegal saw them. Underlings!

  “What in Bish is that thing crawling on the ground?” Creed said, unable to hide his alarm.

  Both ends of the road were blocked off. Speckled eyes and spider legs were coming.

  “I can get us out of here, Creed. But your word you won’t kill me.”

  “I know better than that.”

  “There’s no time, Creed. You can kill me and die. Or you can trust me and live. And I don’t want to die. I’ve no issues with you.”

  The chitters became louder, the small bodies closer.

  “Cut my throat then, Creed! I’d rather die at your hands than the underlings’!”

  Creed’s rapid breath was in his ear.

  “My word I won’t kill you. Your word you won’t kill or betray me.”

  “My word,” Melegal said.

  Hurry up, Imbecile.

  “Done!”

  Melegal was a blur of motion, swooping over to snatch his cap and case and darting for the door he’d tried to get in earlier. “Come on, Creed!”

  The underlings let out evil howls and charged.

  Melegal pulled out a Key.

  “What in Bone?” Creed said, looking at the lock. “That won’t fit!”

  Melegal jammed it inside the lock and turned.

  “Sweet Mother of Bish! It wo—urked!”

  Clatch-zip! Clatch-zip! Clatch-zip!

  Creed’s face contorted as he stumbled forward. The sound of the underlings was overwhelming.

  Melegal shoved his shoulder into the door and pulled the man behind him through.

  Bolts zipped past his head. He fought to pull the door closed.

  Something slipped in past his legs.

  What was that! Hmm—I’ll have to live with it.

  He kept pulling on the door, catching a pair of hands in the process.

  The underlings were pulling it back open.

  Melegal grabbed the handle and pulled on the door with all his might.

  “No!”

  He was sliding forward.

  A flash of light ripped through the air.

  Slice!

  Underlings howled and hissed in fury. The tips of their fingers disappeared, shooting black-red blood everywhere.

  Melegal flew backward and felt the door close with a bang.

  Creed was huffing at his side, wiping black blood off his blade.

  “That was close,” Melegal said. “And you better hang onto your stomach.”

  “Why-yeeeeeeeeeee…”

  Melegal remembered hearing that and something else that growled as his body and mind were turned inside out.

  CHAPTER 31

  “Ashur!” Lorda Almen said. “You have awakened!”

  The face was hazy, but the voice familiar as Lord Almen tried to rise.

  “Ugh!” he said, clutching at his side. The area was tender, painful.

  “Easy, Darling,” Lorda said, gently pushing him back down. “You don’t need to tear the wound.” She sobbed. “Ashur, I’m so happy to see you.”

  She nuzzled him. Gently. Wet tears dripping on his cheeks.

  “My darling,” he said, “I’m quite alright.”

  Still, she held on, trembling.

  It was a good feeling, the scent of his wife and the curves of her body against his, but despite his awakening, something was wrong. He sniffed.

  “What is that smell?” Blinking, the haze from his eyes began to clear. Two Shadow Sentries stood at his bedside with gore of some sort on their armor. “And what is that sound?”

  Somewhere, a battle raged. His heart ignited.

  “Help me up, Sentry,” he said, pushing Lorda aside.

  Sitting up, his head began to spin. He collected his thoughts. The last thing he remembered was being inside the arena. The haggard face of Leezir the Slerg was there, and a big man. A very big man that went berserk, chopping up people like wood.

  “Dearest, lie down, please,” Lorda said.

  He slid onto the floor and with assistance from the sentry stumbled towards the balcony.

  “Why are there underlings at my walls?”

  It was insanity. Castle Almen was under a full-scale attack. Black armored underlings and oversized spiders filled the streets and alleys.

  “How long, Lorda? How long have I been down?”

  “Many days, Lord Almen. Sefron saved you. It was the underlings that infiltrated and stabbed you. I thought you were to perish.”

  A flood of memories washed over him. Everything that happened in the arena became crystal clear up to the point where he could feel the dagger sliding between his ribs.

  The scowl on his vulture-like visage returned.

  “Melegal.”

  “Pardon, my Lord? I ordered Sefron to send the Bloodhounds for him—”

  He cracked her across the face, dropping her to her knees.

  “You hired those Gormandizing Bastards? And Melegal! He’s not here? He lives?”

  Lorda’s eyes were narrow, dangerous.

  She started to rise.

  “What is the meaning of this that you would dare strike me, Ashur? I’m guilty of no wrong—”

  He drew back again, causing her to flinch.

  “It was Melegal that slid the dagger in my ribs. Not the underlings. Not any other!”

  Lorda shook her head.

  “No, Sefron said it was the underlings.”

  “Pah! Sefron! Where is he, anyway?” He grabbed a Shadow Sentry by the collar of his armor. “You, go and fetch him yourself, and do not fail me. And see to it word spreads that Lord Almen lives!”

  Melegal. The man had gotten him, and he had to admit it was impressive of the man. He would have admired it if he’d not been the victim… But now his entire castle was under siege! And he knew why. The chamber room. The underlings wanted it.

  “How long has this siege been going on?” he demanded.

  “Several hours, Lord Almen,” a sentry replied.

  “And the Keep is secure?”

  “Yes, Lord Almen.”

  “And the castle?”

  “Casualties along the wall, Lord Almen. Nothing else to report.”

  Lord Almen folded his arms behind his back, stepped past Lorda, and began to pace. He wondered if his neighbors would come to his aid. Or would they see him perish first? After all, that’s what he would do.

  “Hmmm.”

  He reached down and lifted Lorda up. She slapped him in the face.

  “I’m—”

  She slapped him again.

  “I’m—”

  She swung, but he caught her by the wrist. “I’m going to throw you off the balcony if you do that again.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!” She was almost smiling.

  He did smile. “Oh, of course not.” He lifted her chin and kissed her cheek. “I’m sorry, my dearest.”

  “I’m glad you’re back, Ashur.” She hugged him. Then she looked him in the eye. “I’m sorry. I never would have suspected Melegal. But we’ll find him, and when we do, we’ll throw him off this balcony together. ”

  “Oh, we’ll do much worse than that.”

  Lorda took the next few minutes explaining to Lord Almen everything that had been going on, but he was confident the Castle would hold for days. At some point, the other Royals would have to arrive.

  Minutes later, the sentry that left to find Sefron returned.

  “Where is Sefron?” Lord Almen demanded.

  The sentry bowed. “Lord Almen, I have grave news. The underlings have penetrated the bottoms of the Castle.”

  “What!” He wanted to strangle the man. Ignoring the pain in his side, he dashed out of the room. He had to get to his study, secure the chamber and the Keys before it was too late.

  CHAPTER 32

  In one of the bottom quarters of the Keep, Sefron stared in a mirror, dressing his wounds.

  “She’ll be mine,” he said, stitching the side of a nasty cut on his cheek, “all mine.”

  “What’s
that, Cleric?” It was one of the sentries posted outside his door.

  Fool! “Eh … nothing, just trying a cheerful tune. Oh, how it soothes the wounds.” Sefron crept over towards the man, letting the needle and thread hang from his face. “My, you are a fine specimen of a soldier. I bet you have a steady hand.” With a shaky hand, he reached towards the man, who jerked away. “I need some assistance with this.”

  Another sentry appeared and shoved Sefron back.

  “Keep your hands to yourself, Toad, or I’ll slit your throat. We know plenty about what you do around here.” His hand fell to his dagger. “And it’d be my pleasure to cut your throat.”

  Sefron fell back, hands up. “Easy now. You don’t want rumors leading you to something foolish, do you? After all, I am Lord Almen’s trusted servant.”

  “As trustworthy as a slimy weasel in a hen house. Now leave my men alone!” He shut Sefron inside the room.

  Sefron resumed his position in front of the mirror.

  “My, I’ll never understand why people aren’t more taken by my charm.” He smiled in the mirror, noticing how his eyes bulged outside his dark sockets and folds of flabby skin dangled under his chin. He was a sickly shade of pale, and his belly jiggled over his scrawny legs.

  “Never a finer specimen of a man on Bish,” he said, wheezing. He licked the blood from his purple lips. Then started sewing the gash in his face again. “That should do it.” He took a seat in a nearby chair, crossed his dirty feet and lounged. “Hmmmm…”

  He rubbed the eye that Kierway had stuck with a dart. The underlings waged war from the outside. Perhaps they’d found Melegal. Perhaps they just needed a little help to penetrate the wall of the Castle. He could sense the power beginning to shift. He was an agent for the underlings, and now was his time to move.

  And then I’ll have Lorda Almen and her servants all to myself!

  He sat up.

  “Time to get out of this Keep.”

  Reaching inside a pouch that hung from a string belt, he withdrew grains of an unusual sort. Rubbing one between his fingers, he murmured to himself. Seconds later, the mystic energies he tapped from Bish filled him, rejuvenated him. Yes! So long it had been since he last harnessed his energies, waiting, plotting, and scheming for the right time to recall them. He had hidden them long, oh so long. His skin tightened. His muscles flexed and stretched. His haggard body replenished, his crooked spine crackled as he rose to his feet. Smoke streamed from his mouth and nostrils, slowly filling the room.