Chaos At The Castle (Book Six)

by Craig Halloran

  Verbard knocked debris from his shoulders. “Or, perhaps it’s their way of taking down an enemy. Putting an end to the Almen house, which has betrayed so many.”

  Lord Almen stood tall and stone-faced. Nails digging into his palms. He would have done the same thing, but seeing it happen to himself and his people and family was a hard thing. “Spare your people, Lord Catten and Lord Verbard,” Almen said. “This isn’t a full assault, but rather a test of strength.”

  “And how long will this test go on?” Catten said.

  “Several minutes at most,” Almen said, giving a quick nod. “Perhaps after that I can begin a parlay with them. Certainly their eyes are on me.” He gestured at one of the other castle’s towers. “They’ll be expecting something.”

  Floating inches above the roof of the Keep and staying half a head taller than Almen, the molten eyes of the underlings bore into him.

  “Mind your place, Human,” Verbard said. “Your suggestions are annoying.”

  “And your Castle is boring,” Catten added.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Lord Almen glimpsed a missile coming his way. He ducked. The ballista bolt splintered on an invisible shield of magic.

  “Such a fool, Brother,” Verbard said. “Did you pick him out?”

  “Nay, Brother,” Catten said. “I believe it was you who suggested we keep him around, but I see little need for a man who flinches at such a feeble attack.”

  Lord Almen regained his feet. Eyed the attacking castle turret next door. They were reloading. He caught the glimmer of a spy glass turned on him.

  “Interesting, Brother,” Verbard said. “I don’t even think that attack was meant for us, but rather meant for him.”

  “I agree, but there is only one way to find out.” Catten floated to Almen’s left.

  Verbard nodded and took a place on his right.

  “Stay right where you are, Lord Almen. My brother and I have a wager of sorts.”

  It was hot. Sweat dripped off Lord Almen’s brow and nose. In all truth, the underlings didn’t have any need for him. They had his Castle. Key sections of the City.

  It would take a unified Royal force to prevail against the underlings. Not likely. His only sanctuary was knowledge, but he was certain the underlings would risk losing that. They could just learn it for themselves.

  Rocks and pitch-coated burning logs sailed overhead, slamming into the castle. Soldiers in the turret were winding the ballista winch back. The one with the spy glass had pointed right at him; he was certain.

  “Any last words, Lord Almen?” Catten asked, arms folded over his chest.

  Lord Almen took a silent draw through his nose.

  “If I die, kill all those bastards.”

  “They’ll die anyway,” Catten said, “but if it makes you feel better, you can believe we did it that way.”

  Don’t blink. Don’t flinch. Don’t move.

  Lord Almen didn’t have any idea if they kept their shield up or not, but certainly they’d protect themselves now, wouldn’t they?

  Twack!

  The bolt sailed. Lord Almen’s quick mind watched in slow motion. Closer. Closer.

  Rip!

  It tore straight though his leg. He spun to the ground. Three feet of wood jutted through his thigh.

  “Hmmm… Brother,” Verbard began, “it seems their aim isn’t very good. Not good at all. I can’t really say if they were aiming for him or us. It was such a bad shot.”

  “Agreed, Brother,” Catten said, turning away, “but I can’t fool around here all day. And I don’t think our enemies are interested in this human’s parlay. No, let us leave him up here and we’ll check back and see if they spared him or not.”

  “Fair enough. Besides,” Verbard said, “I think we need a better eye on our neighbors. I think our imp would be a much better ambassador.”

  “Agreed.”

  Lord Almen watched them walk away, a hard grimace on his face. Through the door they went, closing it behind them. Lord Almen and his Royal enemies were all alone.

  The spy glass reflected in the suns.

  He stood up, bit his lip, and searched for cover. Get to the ledge. He hopped as fast as he could. Another bolt ripped through his shoulder.

  CHAPTER 63

  Tuuth applied pressure to Venir’s throat. “I’m going to enjoy this, Outlander.” Saliva dripped off the orc’s canine teeth. “I want a clean-cut earless trophy.”

  Venir’s kicks glanced off the big orc’s sides. He tried to speak. Tuuth squeezed harder.

  “No more words from your loud mouth,” Tuuth said. ”Perhaps it’s another challenge you want? Perhaps another insult towards my kind? If I had your ears, I’d stick them in your mouth.”

  Venir’s eyes rolled up in his head. Sound faded.

  “NOOO!”

  WHAP!

  An oversized hand sent Tuuth spinning away. There stood Barton. Fists clenched at his sides. Chest heaving.

  “Get my toys first!”

  Venir gulped for air. Gasped. “I… I don’t have them.”

  Barton slammed his fists into the ground.

  “NO!”

  “Giant!” Tuuth beckoned with his finger, one hand still behind his back. “I know the toys you’re looking for. Stoop down, and I’ll tell you where they are.”

  Barton grunted, leaned downward, cocking his head.

  “Where are they, Orc?”

  Tuuth’s gauntlets flashed.

  WHAM!

  He struck Barton in the jaw.

  Barton quavered. His eye rolled up into his head. He collapsed.

  Tuuth thumped his chest.

  “I just broke a giant’s jaw.” He looked down on Venir. “Imagine what I’ll do to you.”

  The ground shook.

  Three giants jumped off the walls, crushing a dozen underlings.

  “Can you knock them out too?” Venir said.

  “I’m not worried about them.” Tuuth swung.

  Venir blocked the punch. His bones clattered. He fell in a heap.

  “I can’t die like this,” he said, looking up. “Not to an orc.”

  Tuuth glowered at him. “You can, and you will.” He kicked Venir in the gut.

  Everywhere, underlings by the hundreds swarmed the giants. Cutting, Stabbing, and screaming. They crawled over them like angry black ants.

  There was another explosion.

  The southern gate was shattered. A giant bigger than the other three, with brown hair tied in knots, stormed inside. He swung a hammer as big as an ogre. Dozens of underlings were crushed and swept aside. Their bones powdered on impact.

  Tuuth snorted and gawped.

  “Where in Bish did they come from?”

  Something from the sky fell at Venir’s feet. It was a long knife in a scabbard.

  “Huh?” Tuuth said.

  Venir dove for it.

  Tuuth kicked it away.

  “Nice try, Venir!”

  The orc grabbed him by the hair and pounded his face and chest. Ribs cracked.

  Venir lost his breath and collapsed.

  Tuuth readied the underling’s knife and thumbed its edge.

  “This is it for you.”

  Venir groaned, struggling to rise. He couldn’t even open his eyes.

  Tuuth pushed him down with his boot.

  “No, you won’t die on your feet. You’ll die in the muck.”

  Something growled.

  Venir’s eye popped open.

  Tuuth turned.

  There stood a giant a two-headed dog. Fangs bared. Hair raised on its necks.

  “What the…”

  Chongo pounced. Sank one head’s teeth into Tuuth’s arm.

  Tuuth punched the giant dog’s other face.

  Chongo held on. Growling. Snarling. Shaking his heads.

  “Let go of me!” Tuuth screamed, still punching, his gauntlets charged with energy.

  Venir crawled over to his knife. A new fire in his belly. He closed his fingers around it.
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  Chongo’s massive jaws crunched the bone in Tuuth’s arm.

  Still, the orc kept swinging.

  Pow!

  One head yelped. The other let go. Shaking, Chongo backed away. Sluggish, Growling. Teetering.

  Arm limp on one side, Tuuth shook his glowing fist.

  “I’m going to kill you, dog.”

  Venir stepped between them, knife behind his back, swaying.

  “You have to kill me first,” he said, “and you haven’t done that yet, orc.”

  “I’m going to rip your head from your shoulders, Venir.” Tuuth came at him.

  Venir braced his feet.

  Quick. Quick. Quick.

  Tuuth drew back. Gauntlet glowing. Everything was in his swing. The big fist came.

  Like a panther, Venir leapt up out of the muck pit and struck. Venir cut through armor. Muscle. Bone.

  “Urk!”

  The orc’s yellow eyes widened. Blood filled his mouth. Tuuth punched.

  Venir held on. Driving the knife deeper, he drove Tuuth to the ground. Twisting the blade one last time.

  “I hate you, Out—”

  Tuuth died.

  Shaking, Chongo came by his side and lay down. Both heads licked the muck off of him.

  Venir grabbed his mane. “You’re too good to me, Boy.”

  A black bearded dwarf sailed high overhead, slamming into one of the ballista on the towers.

  “No time to rest now,” Slim said.

  “What?”

  Slim appeared from behind a wall of cornmeal barrels. “This party just started. They’ll need your help. Ew, Chongo! Oh well. Now grab some weapons and gear, Venir. You’ve got underlings to slay.”

  “I’ve got a knife, Slim. I can barely lift it. The armament is gone, Slim. It’s gone.”

  ***

  Snap!

  With two underlings on his back, Mood continued to pummel the underling commander into submission.

  Crack!

  “Ye little underlings think yer a match for a Blood Ranger? Their king at that? I’ll make a greasy smear of all of you.”

  Face broken, the underling commander jammed a dagger in Mood’s side.

  “Ho! Poking me with a tooth pick, now that’s just insulting, stabbing me with anything smaller than a sword.”

  He brought his ham-sized fist down like a mallet into the underling commander’s face, knocking it out cold. He tore the other two underlings off his shoulders and threw them to the ground.

  Black Beards hacked them down.

  Mood yanked the dagger from his shoulder and sunk it in the underling commander’s heart.

  A Black Beard, grisly from beard to toe, handed him his axes.

  “By the bearded goats,” he said, assessing the chaos, “we’ve got work to do!”

  Underlings swarmed from all directions, their focus on the giants―the dwarves an afterthought. All the Black Beards huddled in a battle circle, striking with planning and precision, but they weren’t here to roust the underlings. They were here to save Venir. The giants were just a distraction. A good one. But Mood had led them here.

  They might be big, but they ain’t so smart. They’ll be after us soon enough.

  One giant, with black hair down to his back, was scooping up underlings and throwing them over the wall. Another, heavyset as an ogre, stuffed the black fiends in his mouth like roaches, crunching bone and metal like canes of sugar.

  “Get along the walls! Away from the giants!” Mood commanded. He swung, splitting an underling’s face in half.

  It was a battle. It was war.

  I should’ve brought more dwarves.

  A giant swinging an axe stepped into the fort through the southern gate. He was chopping up the catwalks like kindling when a blast of magic caught him in the face, sending him reeling into a store house. The giant’s twin followed, helping his brother up before jumping up and destroying a fort tower with a lethal strike.

  Underlings were dying. By dozens now. It was a great thing.

  “Black Beards! Find my friend!” Mood said. “We need to get our wrinkled hides out of here!”

  Days earlier, Mood and the Black Beards had tracked down a lone giant and killed it. That was what they did. Now, the giants were not only after their kin, Barton, but they had vengeance on their minds as well. Mood would deal with them when he had to. He never imagined Barton would lead them to Outpost Thirty One. They’d let themselves be captured. It couldn’t have worked out better. The giants caught right up with them. He couldn’t have asked for a bigger distraction.

  “Hurry, Dwarves!”

  A shadow fell over them. A giant with a gore-splatted club in his hand attacked. The first swing crushed two dwarves.

  ***

  Fogle sat on the back of Eethum’s horse, grinding his teeth.

  The jungle erupted. Trees snapped, and footsteps shook the ground.

  “Giants?” he asked.

  Eethum shook his head yes.

  “Aye, let’s just hope they’re not too late. Come.”

  “Late?”

  “Hold tight, Wizard, and have your craft ready. Ee-Yah!”

  Less than a mile away, they galloped up the mountainous slope. Fogle readied a pair of spells on his lips, squeezed his eyes shut, and summoned his powers. He was used to fighting underlings now. For a change, he’d be prepared.

  “What are we supposed to do when we get there?” he shouted in Eethum’s ear.

  The big dwarf was silent, long red beard whipping in the wind.

  Bloody dwarves are nothing but secrets.

  Something big crashed into the branches above them and fell to the ground. Two underlings lay dead, one with a broken branch stuck in his eye. Fogle smiled.

  Good. But what in Bish did that?

  The horse burst through the trees and onto the road, hooves thundering over the path.

  “Yah!” Eethum whipped the reins. A giant wearing a one horned helmet stepped in their path.

  Fogle’s neck stretched upward.

  The giant was as tall as the oaks. Three underlings floated in the sky, surrounding it, shooting lighting from their hands.

  Zzzraam!

  Zzzraam!

  Zzzraam!

  The giant roared, swinging blindly, covering its eyes with its arms.

  The underling magi pressed their attack, shooting out the lightning that coiled up and down their arms.

  “I’ll show them,” Fogle said.

  He pointed and shot a bright green missile from the tip of his finger.

  Zing!

  It pierced one underling skull and entered another before blowing out the other side and into the third one’s mouth. It gagged, hissed and swallowed a moment before it exploded. All three forms fell from the sky and thudded to the ground. The giant stomped each and every one of them, grinding them into the ground before moving onward.

  Eethum stopped the horse, turned and eyed him.

  “Don’t do that again.”

  “What, kill underlings?”

  “We’re not here to kill underlings. We’re here to save your friend―and my king, if need be. Protect yourself and your friend. When the time comes, you’ll know.”

  “Killing underlings does protect us,” Fogle said. “Killing giants does too, for that matter. And since when do you dwarves decide when killing is and isn’t allowed? I say we go in there, kill them all, and sort it out later.”

  Eethum flashed his teeth and harrumphed.

  “Aw, I like the way you think, Wizard Warrior,” the Blood Ranger said.

  Did I just say what I thought I said? I must be going mad.

  Fogle thought of the image of his grandfather’s blazing eyes and wispy white beard. The man enjoyed killing underlings more than anything else. I’m not like that. He glanced back at the giant footprints of underling goo and laughed. Well, maybe I am a little. He jumped off the horse.

  “What are you doing?” Eethum growled, grabbing him by the cloak.

  Fogle twi
sted away.

  “Why wait to kill the evil bastards later when you can kill them now? I’m going in.”

  Eethum jumped off his horse and slapped it on the rear. Whipping out his axes, he said, “Mood was right, as always.”

  “About what?”

  “The best wizards are the crazy ones.”

  CHAPTER 64

  Master Kierway entered the arena, head high. The underling’s eyes were more curious than they were fearful.

  Creed’s confidence dipped.

  The Cowl on his head urged him forward.

  Blood charging through him like a rushing river, Creed faced Kierway for the second time. Chill bumps ran down his arms.

  “Fool, no man nor underling can best me, no matter the steel he swings.” Kierway eased his swords from the sheaths on his back. “Your death was only delayed by circumstance.” He shifted his stance. Circling.

  The underling grandmaster of the sword was the fastest he’d ever seen. When they battled in the chamber, it had taken all of Creed’s skill just to parry. I’m faster now. Better now. Aren’t I?

  The Cowl assured him he was. The swords in his hands said they were parts of him now. Like a snake’s head and tail.

  “I beg to differ,” Creed said, “It was your death that was delayed.”

  Creed lunged.

  Kierway spun out of reach.

  Stabbing a fly would have been just as easy.

  “Blast!”

  “So, you grumble already, Human. Good.”

  Eyes flashing, Kierway attacked.

  Ching! Ching! Ching!

  Creed was on the defensive. Parrying the lightning fast blows. He’d never seen anyone move so fast before. It was astounding.

  Rolling his wrists like a human windmill, he batted the attacks away.

  The underling’s blades were unrelenting.

  Rip!

  Kierway clipped him under the ribs.

  Rip!

  Across the thigh.

  “Bone! You can’t be so fast,” Creed said, jumping away.

  Kierway twirled his blades and laughed.

  “Maybe you should stop talking and start fighting. You’ve swung once to my twenty,” Kierway said. “Still, it’s entertaining.” He pressed forward.

  Creed backed away. It was embarrassing. He’d been taught everything there was to know about the sword. Offense. Defense. Counters and strokes. But in seconds, the underling had negated all of it with superior speed and power.