“On your knees, Stranger,” Tuuth said.
Venir kept shoveling.
“He looks like he can’t hear.” The commander slid a sharp dagger from his belt. “So he doesn’t need those ears.” He extended it towards Tuuth.
Hesitating, Tuuth said, “You want me to cut them off?”
“No, I want you to carve him a new arsehole, Stupid Orc.”
Tuuth snatched the blade. “Fine then. Stranger, get out of that puddle.”
“No!” The underling pointed. “You get in the puddle, Orc. What’s the difference? You always smell like dung.”
The surrounding underlings chittered in agreement.
“Last chance to bow down, Stranger,” Tuuth warned, an angry look growing in his eyes. “If I step in the mire, I’m going to do more than cut your ears off. I’ll cut your tongue out as well.”
Venir glared at them. “What are you waiting for?” He slung a shovel full of muck on the both of them.
Ruby eyes flashing, the underling let out a hiss.
Tuuth roared, jumping in, splashing muck all over.
“You couldn’t keep your mouth shut, could you?”
Crack!
Venir’s head rocked back, falling into the sludge.
The underlings and men let out cheers.
“That’ll shut him up, Tuuth!”
“Bust him again, good!”
“Make him eat that slat he’s diggin’!”
Even the underlings chittered words of encouragement.
“He’ll not talk after that punch!”
His legs felt like anvils, his arms like sandbags, but Venir got up and raised his hands on his busted wrists, squeezing them into fists. Dripping in muck, he eyed Tuuth.
“Fight or die.”
Tuuth walloped him in the belly.
He sagged to his knees.
“He’s bowing now, ain’t he!” a brigand said.
Venir rose again.
“Cut his ears off, Orc!” The underling commander said as two other underlings wiped the muck from his armor. “I want them for a necklace. I might have you add some fingers and toes as well.” He spat and wiped his mouth. “I want the tongue too.”
Tuuth grabbed Venir by the hair, yanked him up to his feet, and put him in a head lock.
Struggling, Venir’s face was beet red, but a ten-year-old boy would have fared better. His strength, what little he had left, was not enough.
Venir grinded his teeth and tried to pulled away.
“You!” Tuuth ordered to one of the brigands. “Get in here and grab his feet.”
“Slat on me,” the heavyset man said, stepping in and rolling up his sleeves. “Just make it quick, will you? It smells worse than an ogre’s outhouse.”
“Try not to scream, Stranger,” Tuuth growled in his ear.
Slice!
His ear dropped into the muck.
“Did you hear that, Arsehole Bastard?” the underling commander said.
Every eye from the underling camp was watching now. From the towers, the catwalks, sitting on the parapets. If you were within eye shot, you could see.
Fight, blast you! Fight!
Venir’s struggles were in vain.
Slice!
His last ear fell in front of his eyes, floating atop the grime.
“Good, Orc, good,” the underling rubbed his chin. “And I like your idea. Cut his tongue out as well. No more talk, Human. Instead, you will scream so we can’t hear.”
“You two, get in here,” Tuuth ordered.
One man rolled his eyes; the other one groaned.
“Get in there, idiots,” Flaggon said, shoving them forward.
They sloshed through the muck, one holding his nose.
“Get his arms,” Tuuth said, and then looked down on Venir. “Any last words, Stranger?”
“You’re all orc, Tuuth. And it smelled better before you got here.”
Ptui!
A gob of spit hit Tuuth square in the eye.
Tuuth rose his dagger high.
“Just the tongue Orc! Do not kill him!”
THROOM!
Everyone in the fort flinched, eyes searching the southern gate.
THROOM!
All the men murmured.
The underlings chittered, scrambling to their stations.
The wooden portcullis cracked and buckled.
THROOM!
The alarm was sounded, high pitched.
“Move it, men,” Flaggon ordered. “Tuuth, leave him. He’s not going anywhere.”
“Not until I have his tongue first.” He rested the knife on Venir’s chin. “Hold him.”
CHAPTER 54
Shackled to a stake with mystic purple bands, gagged, arms behind his back, Boon sighed.
The fight is over.
All his life he’d been in control. Dominant. A powerful force. Even when the giants had custody of him, as powerful as they were, he’d had a say in his destiny. But now, his say had run out.
Surrounding him, in an underling camp in the Outland, were more of the fiends than he cared to count. Thousands, and they were still arriving. He’d never seen such a large force. He hadn’t even imagined one so large.
Nearby, a brood of underling magi watched over him. Their light blue and green eyes in study.
He wondered why they kept him alive.
“Water,” he said, licking his lips.
They said nothing to him, chittering to themselves from time to time and inspecting his robes. The only stitch he had left on him was a pair of cut-off trousers. Even his sandals were gone. The suns gave a nice red layer to his back.
He tried to stand, but his knees wouldn’t bend.
He never thought he’d ever ask an underling for anything, but he asked again, “Water.”
Nothing. But it would come. It had come yesterday and the day before. A humpback urchling had fed him some food that was horrible but digestible. And so it had been. Day in. Day out. Hour after hour.
“I always imagined I’d die battling you fiends. Never a prisoner. Now look at me. An underling’s beggar.” Again he sighed. “I can’t even insult you.”
After dozing off, for how long he didn’t know, he was rustled. Two underling warriors picked him up, leading him on trembling legs through the camp. The black grey smoke burned his eyes. He closed them until they stopped. An underling chittered at him with an angry tone. He knew what it meant.
Open your eyes, Human.
He knew what to expect. He didn’t mean to open them, but he did.
They led him to the edge of camp, where a graveyard of the living and the dead waited.
Trains of people―men, women and children―fell under the lash and spade. They screamed, cried and wailed. Mercy was asked, but none was given. They dug graves. And were buried in them by their own.
A tear fell onto Boon’s wispy white beard.
One underling pointed. The other one laughed.
It gnawed at his gut.
“To take such pleasure in it is sick.”
They led him through the graveyard until his legs failed.
How could this happen? The armament must be gone. Or the underlings must have it.
CHAPTER 55
As quick as he might be, Melegal was no fighter. He was a thief. A cutpurse. Shadow. Survivor. Rat. The swords in his hands were heavier than those he was accustomed to, his blades, the Sisters.
“Just get in a quick jab between the ribs, Detective,” Creed said. “You have it in you.”
Tonio and Jarla stood nearby, surrounded by underlings with long spears, leaving Melegal in the center of the arena, all alone.
Still, Lorda’s long-lashed eyes intent upon him gave him a bit of a charge.
Master Kierway chittered to one of his men.
An underling with dark ruby eyes stepped forward, a razor sharp sword in each hand. The steel flickered around his body in a lightning quick display of skill and speed.
Great.
“That
’s all show! Go for the ribs,” Creed said. “Like you did to my man. That was a good jab.” Creed muttered to Jarla something under his breath. “He doesn’t have a chance.”
Melegal glared back at Creed, who shrugged.
“Let’s get this started, shall we?” Kierway said, raising up his hand.
Melegal swallowed hard and squared off with the underling. If I only had my hat. But it was gone. Everything was gone. The Keys. The hat. His friends. Maybe they’ll survive this. But at least Sefron is dead. Was vengeance worth it? He thought about Sefron. The man had been much more than he appeared to be. Was anything in Bish what he thought it was? He’d seen so many things the past several years.
Melegal glanced at Lorda one last time.
She blew him a subtle kiss.
I’ll be.
Kierway dropped his hand.
The underling sprang, swords chopping high and low.
Melegal backpedaled and parried the snake quick strokes.
Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang. Bang.
“Keep ‘em up, Detective!” Creed said.
Drained and starving, Melegal didn’t have the strength to fight. Fight or die. It rattled in his head, but he didn’t have it. He didn’t have anything. Die. He broke it off and threw down his swords.
The underling paused and looked over at Master Kierway.
“Don’t go out like that. Pick the blade up and finish like a man!” Creed said.
Skinny chest heaving, Melegal clutched at his sides and dropped to his knees.
Creed frowned. “He’s got nothing left in him. Coward.”
No, Melegal wouldn’t die fighting. He sucked up all the air he could and fixed his gaze on Lorda. If I go out. I’ll go out doing what I want to. He winked at her and mouthed good-bye.
She clutched her painted fingers at him, eyes watering.
“Finish him,” Kierway ordered, dropping his thumb. “And get the woman ready next. Sad, but I bet there’s more fight in the woman than the man. Pathetic humans, letting their women fight with them and against them. Weak.”
The underling warrior raised his blade, sharp teeth showing a savage grin.
Melegal kept his chin up, eyes on Lorda.
“CEASE!”
The entire room shook.
The underling warrior froze.
Lord Verbard, silver eyes sparkling, floated down the stairs with Lord Almen and a hulking Vicious right behind him.
“How dare you?” Kierway said, jumping up from his chair. “This is no concern of yours, Verbard, you insolent underling! My father—”
“Your father agrees! You can ask him yourself,” Verbard said. “He’s coming soon, and no doubt he’ll want to evaluate your failures.”
Kierway’s hard jaw slackened. His ascent up the steps stopped.
“Lord Almen, are these the humans you want?” Verbard said, pointing down into the arena at them.
“Just three of them: Lorda, Jarla, Tonio, Come!”
“Tonio!” Lorda shot Almen a look. “Our son?” She looked at her son. Total shock on her face. She didn’t know him.
“Aye, now get moving, Dearest Lorda,” Almen said. “I’m out of parlays.”
“And that woman, the black-haired witch? Are you bringing your mangy whore along?”
“What about me, Lord Almen?” Creed said. “I’m a loyal Hound at your service! You know that.”
Lord Almen shook his head. “A hound, yes. No more, no less. I’ve plenty of curs at my disposal.” He grabbed Lorda by the wrist.
Creed scowled at Almen, muttering to himself.
Lorda twisted away and continued her ascent, giving Melegal one final glance. “If you get her, then I want him.”
Lord Almen’s jaw tightened. “Be grateful you live, Woman. You can stay with me, or you can stay with Master Kierway.”
Lorda called him a bastard, called out for Tonio, and moved away.
CRASH!
A boulder as big as a pony burst through the glass dome, crushing two underlings into the arena stairs.
The castle shook. Shouts of alarm when up.
“We’re under attack!” Lord Almen said. “It seems my neighbors have awakened.” He looked for Verbard, but the underling Lord was already moving.
“Get your men ready, Kierway,” Verbard said. “The next battle has begun.”
A large white-yellow ball of energy floated through the broken glass and hovered over the arena.
Kierway chittered a command.
Melegal balled up, covering his ears, closing his eyes.
Ka-Chow!
Something fell on top of him. It was the underling he’d been fighting. He shoved it off.
What in Bish!
Its red eyes were blinking and its limbs were loose. Melegal, despite his weakness, could still move. He grabbed a sword and stuck the underling.
Glitch!
Creed was on the move. Snatching up a sword, he tore a stunned underling’s head from its shoulders.
Escape, Fool! Run!
Chaos unfolded. The dazed underlings were gathering their wits, heading for the doors. Kierway and Verbard were moving, ordering, unphased.
The Vicious, a hulking predator, pounced into the arena and darted towards Creed.
Clank!
Melegal and Jarla froze.
A large leather sack had landed along the arena wall in front of Master Kierway’s chair.
Slat on me! Venir?
Long legs churning, Jarla dashed over and dove on the sack. With a ravenous look in her eyes, she opened the sack and reached in.
***
Tonio was confused. His father was there, calling for him. His mother didn’t seem to know him, and then she called for him too. And the underlings were in charge. Deep in the recesses of his mind, he knew he should be able to put it all together, but he couldn’t. It was frustrating.
“Mother?” he said.
A rock fell from the sky, and a brilliant white flash followed. He grunted. Clutched his head and shook it. “Mother!”
A creature with a cat-like face shoved his mother down. Down the steps it bounded. He didn’t know what it was, but he was going to kill it.
“Tonio kill!”
A pair of underling warriors stepped in his path.
***
“I’m getting used to this underling steel!”
Stab!
Creed yanked the blade from the underling’s neck. Black-red blood gurgled from the hole and seeped into the ground.
The underling, though stunned, recovered quickly.
Creed, Master Swordsman from the House of Bloodhounds, pressed his advantage.
Slice!
He disemboweled one.
Chop!
He chopped another’s neck open.
“Who do I have to kill to get some food and ale around here?” Creed shook the dripping blood from his blades. “I’m so hungry I could eat one of you fiends! Where’s the kitchen?”
He caught a shadow in the corner of his eye and whirled.
“What in Bone are you?” he exclaimed.
The Vicious. Wicked rows of teeth. Claws like razors.
“I see you’re missing some fingers,” Creed said. “Let’s see if I can even you out and remove a few more.”
Creed lunged.
The Vicious sprung away and hunched down like an ape.
Creed felt something crawling in his belly. He’d never seen anyone that big move that fast.
“Yer not born of this world, are you? No matter. I’m still going to gut you with my blades.” He banged the swords together. “Give it a go again. I’m ready for you.”
The Vicious pounced, arms sprawled out, chest bared.
Slice!
He cut it across the belly and rolled out of the way and back to his feet.
“Let’s see how you fight with your guts hanging out.”
The monster turned, showed its fangs, and smiled. There wasn’t a mark on it.
Creed felt his skin turn pale. �
�I’m in for.”
The Vicious lunged.
Creed chopped with all his might. The blade shattered on its forearm.
The Vicious ripped a hunk of meat from Creed’s chest.
“Urk!”
The Vicious snapped him up by the neck and squeezed his neck like a fresh fruit.
Eyes bulging from the sockets, Creed flailed and kicked.
At least I took some more of them with me.
***
“Mine!” Jarla said, licking her lips, eyes wild.
It was her salvation. Her liberation. The sack, after all these years, was back in her grasp, and nothing would ever stop her again, ever. It would fill her. Restore her. Any kind of enemy Jarla faced, even be they Royal or underling, she would prevail.
Reaching inside, her fingertips tingled in anticipation. The shafts of her axes. The power surging through her bracers. The awesome awareness from her helmet. Down to her shoulder she reached, fingers outstretched as far as they could go.
“Where are they?” She reached deeper. “Where are they!”
Her heart emptied. Nothing was there.
“No,” she sobbed.
A shadow fell over her. She looked up. It was the rawboned detective. He held a heavy club with both hands. She sneered.
“That’s not yours,” he said. “It’s Venir’s.”
“What? Are you mad? I’ll never let that lou—”
Whack!
Melegal clubbed her across the jaw.
She tried to speak, but no words came. Only pain. Then darkness.
***
“That felt good,” Melegal said, gathering the sack, “and I haven’t forgotten that Lorda wants you dead. But I’ll let the two of you fight that out.”
Explosions were still erupting all over the castle, so the concerns of Lord Almen and the underling leaders were elsewhere right now.
Hidden along the arena wall, no one had sight of him.
The stunned underlings that were coming out of the mystic blast were focused on the fighting in the middle.
Now I just have to hide until I find Venir. I knew that fool must have caused this.
It was simple. All he had to do was find a place between the walls until he figured out where Venir was. Then he could free him and let him deal with this mess. And he just might be able to get his cap and Keys back. Just the cap. The cap would be good.
Chaos At The Castle (Book Six) Page 28