Chaos At The Castle (Book Six)

by Craig Halloran

  “Now what?” Fogle said. “Is it over?”

  “Or has it just begun?” Boon cried out, pointing.

  The underlings that had fled earlier were coming back now. There were well over a hundred.

  Venir readied his axes and dug into the ground.

  “So be it, men!” He yelled out at the top of his lungs, “RELEASE THE HOUNDS OF CHAOS AND CRY BISH!”

  “Wait, Venir. There has to be another way to get out of here,” Fogle suggested.

  “To the last, Grandson! The time for a final stand has come!” Boon said, lightning racing up his arms.

  Eethum the Blood Ranger shouted over all of them.

  “Over there! Look!”

  One of the Black Beards was waving them over from the entrance to the War Room.

  Venir growled. “That’s where the underlings came from earlier.”

  “Well, they’re not coming from there now!” Fogle started running.

  “Slat! Let’s go then!”

  Dashing across the courtyard, the small party barreled through the doors, stepping over dead underlings, ignoring the ones that still burned.

  The Black Beard led them through a panel in the wall that Venir had never noticed before and down a wide set of carved out steps. At the bottom, a long corridor ten feet tall and just as wide led to another door, which was open.

  “Fool! What does this do, lead to the Underland? I’m not going in.” Fogle turned away.

  Behind them, the underlings were coming. Chittering and screeching as they entered the War Room.

  “We either fight them out here, or in there, but having that big door between us will buy us some time to prepare, at least,” Boon said. “I say we go in.”

  “Well, time’s a wasting,” Venir said, watching the underlings tear up the corridor. “It’s now or never, Wizard.”

  “Fine!” Fogle said, being the first to enter.

  Boon was next, followed by the Black Beards, Eethum and Venir, who pulled on the door handle, trying to close it.

  “See any underlings yet?” Venir said between clenched teeth.

  No one said anything.

  Venir and Eethum kept pulling, but the underlings fought them on the other side.

  “Heave!” he yelled.

  Eethum grunted.

  Venir pulled with all his might, pinching underling fingers around the edges.

  “Hurk!”

  The door sealed shut. Eethum slammed the bolt in place.

  “Whew!”

  Suddenly, Venir’s instincts caught fire. He knew he’d made a big mistake. In the distance, something evil chittered and twisted.

  CHAPTER 67

  “Dogs,” Creed said. “Has to be.”

  Melegal could hear nails scratching at the ceiling above them.

  “It’s your cat that led them to us, Melegal,” Creed said, “but I can handle them if they catch up. Just lead us.”

  With Lorda hanging onto his hand, Melegal led the way through the winding secret passage until the clawing above them came to a stop.

  “See? They’re stuck in one room, and we’re beneath another, so it’s not my cat.” Shining a tiny beam of light forward, he realized Octopus was no longer around. Good. He wasn’t going to admit it, but Creed was probably right.

  “They’re still going to catch up with us,” Creed said, eyes glowing in the dark through The Cowl.

  Melegal shook his head. Something about the man disturbed him. Creed was eerie. Unpredictable. And to make matters worse, he was a Bloodhound. Part of a notorious bunch of chaotic goons. Keep your back in the front and front in the back. There was no telling what the man would do, and he had the armament now. Melegal remembered Jarla, who had it before. She was the most evil woman Venir ever knew.

  “Just keep your swords ready, Creed. We’ve still got a shot at getting out of here yet.”

  “Are we going to the Throne Room?”

  “Aye. We’re going to steal a Key.” Or as many as I can get my hands on.

  ***

  Melegal’s eyes glared through a peep hole.

  The Throne Room was empty. No guards. No underlings. No Keys. No hat.

  Where in Bone could they be?

  “What is it, Melegal?” Lorda clung to him. “What do you see?”

  “Nothing,” he said, “see for yourself. It seems they’ve moved the bloody things.”

  “If I were a Key, where would I be?” Creed said, oddly.

  On the one hand, Melegal was relieved he didn’t have to face the underlings. On the other hand, he’d have to start all over again, with the underlings already looking for them.

  “Perhaps I can find out, Melegal,” Lorda suggested. “Lords Catten and Verbard are working with my husband. If I can get to them…”

  “No! They tried to kill you once already. Besides, I can only assume they are either in the Keep or the Chamber.”

  “Perhaps the Chamber is where we should go. The Keys will be there at some point, won’t they?” she said, pressing up against him. “We could hide and wait them out.”

  “I’ve already thought of that,” he said, rubbing his aching neck. He brushed up against Lorda who brushed back. So amazing. Even in perilous times. “But they probably have more guards there than anywhere.”

  “Then I’ll have to kill them all,” Creed said.

  The madness never ends.

  All Melegal wanted was his hat, at least one of the Keys, and his own castle. He was pretty sure his own castle was the most attainable of the three.

  “Move or die, Detective,” Creed said. “Move or die.”

  ***

  “I’ll be,” Lord Verbard said. “He’s butchered.”

  Lord Catten was holding up Master Kierway’s head, unable to hide the shock in his golden eyes.

  “Do you think Master Sinway will be angered or pleased?” Catten said, handing the head to one of his Juegen.

  Verbard gawped at the mutilated Vicious on the ground. “Probably more angered about the Vicious than his son.” He shook his head. “What do you make of this, Jottenhiem?”

  “A swordsman,” the red-eyed commander said. “An outstanding one at that. Master Kierway was one of the finest swordsmen in the Underland, after me and a few others, of course.”

  “You boast, Commander,” Catten said. “Much as I hate to admit it, Kierway’s skill was without rival.”

  Jottenhiem glowered at him. “If you say so, Lord Catten.”

  “Stay close, Commander,” Verbard said. “Whoever did this… well…”

  “Might be The Darkslayer, Brother? Is that what you’re thinking?”

  It was exactly what Verbard was thinking. It worried him. It more than worried him.

  “Eep!”

  The bat-winged imp buzzed up to him out of nowhere, rubbing its taloned fingers together.

  “Yess, Lordsss. Is it time to kill?”

  “It’s always time to kill,” Verbard said, “but the hunt must go on first. Find who did this, imp, and report back to me, immediately.”

  “As you wish, Lordsss Verbard,” Eep hissed and looked at his brother, “and Catten.”

  Blink.

  With Eep gone, Verbard and Jottenhiem were continuing their brief investigation when he discovered something else.

  “We’ve another problem,” Verbard said.

  “Oh, and what is that?” Catten replied.

  “Master Kierway’s Key is gone.”

  “Well, Master Sinway won’t be happy about that either, but he said we only needed one Key. We still have seven. Kierway’s Key didn’t do much of anything.”

  “It did enough to help anyone escape.”

  Catten twirled a dark gray cap on his fingertip. “Are you suggesting The Darkslayer fled?”

  “We don’t know that it was The Darkslayer.” Verbard’s nails dug into his palms. “And what is that on your finger?”

  “A mystical item.”

  “What does it do?” Verbard’s hand slid inside his pocket over
his Orb of Imbibing.

  “I don’t know yet, but I will soon.”

  “It’s ugly.”

  “It’s charming.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t be wearing it when Master Sinway arrives.”

  Catten slid it into his pocket. “I suppose the time has come to greet him.” He pulled a Key from his pocket. “Shall I let him enter, or shall you? I could lead him to your Throne Room, if you like.”

  “Or I could lead him to yours, Brother. But we’d better be rid of this scourge first.”

  Verbard tossed Lord Almen’s whip to Jottenhiem.

  “Soon you might get your chance to prove who is better: Kierway or you, Commander.”

  CHAPTER 68

  Venir felt like one side of his body was going out the other.

  “Bish! What is happeningggg?”

  He felt the wind whoosh through his hair. A split second later he stopped.

  “Fight, Man! Fight!”

  It was the old wizard, Boon, yelling. Yellow strands of light licked from his fingertips, striking at the hive of underlings surrounding them.

  Choking down the queasiness, Venir lashed out.

  Slash!

  An underling warrior fell dead with its neck open.

  “You fight well, Warrior.” Eethum banged one attack away and countered another. “But can you fight long?”

  Glitch!

  The Blood Ranger gored the underling’s chest.

  Venir, brow buckled, did what he did best. He swung and swung, giving no thought to where he was or what he did.

  “Fight and die!” he cried

  ***

  Fogle’s first question wasn’t ‘Where am I?’ but ‘How much longer am I going to live?’

  He blasted the first underling he saw in the face, knocking a hole in it and barreling two more over. In the dim light, he caught glimpses of a large chamber that was rows deep in underlings.

  I can’t be in the Underland! I can’t be!

  He summoned a mystical shield and glanced over his shoulder. The door they’d come in was sealed.

  There must be another away out of here.

  Two underlings converged on him, mouths wide, curved swords low. The first struck hard, its edge glancing off his shield, cracking it. The other slammed into him with its full weight, pushing him backward. They kept swinging, chipping away shards of magic one piece at a time. Something ignited in Fogle.

  No!

  The underlings. They’d caused so much anguish. So much pain. He’d lost Cass because of them!

  NO!

  He shoved his arms forward. His attackers were flung backward, clearing a hole at the bottom of a wide torch-lit stairwell that was otherwise filled with more underlings coming down.

  “Hahahaha,” he heard his grandfather laughing, “Brilliant, Fogle! Brilliant!”

  Boon flung a ball of smoke up the stairwell. It exploded in a puff of air, leaving behind it a wall of stone. Those underlings were sealed outside the chamber.

  “Have at them, warriors!” Boon cried, eyeing the hoard of underlings that still surrounded the party. “Let’s route these fiends once and for all! Hahahaha!”

  Like two Juggernauts, Venir and Eethum gored every black thing breathing.

  “Bish!” Fogle lifted his feet from the suction of the floor. The fallen were being sucked dry. Dry husks in an instant. A nasty chill went through him. “What is this place?”

  ***

  “Eight!”

  Chop!

  “Nine!”

  Slice!

  Arms heavy, chest filled with fire, Venir kept swinging. Mood’s well-crafted axes could cut metal, but they weren’t as light and balanced as Brool’s keen edge that he’d grown so accustomed to over the years.

  Gashed from chin to toe, he fought on and on, mindless of anything else. He’d gotten his wish. He’d sent more underlings to the grave. He could die complete. Happy. He buried one axe in the next underling’s chest.

  Large drops of dark blood showered the odd mosaic floor, which sucked every bit up.

  “Venir!”

  Eyes blazing, he whirled.

  “They’re all dead,” Boon said. “Look around.”

  Twenty underlings, maybe thirty, were being sucked dry by the floor, their flesh withering.

  “Aw.” Eethum knelt down at the armored shell of a Black Beard. The dwarf was one of only three that now remained.

  Venir’s wounds dripped like sweat, feeding the yearning floor. His skin crawled. “We need out of this cursed place.” He walked over and tugged on the handles of many doors. “Hurk! Get over here, Eethum, and help me!”

  The dwarves remained kneeled, holding hands, heads bowed over their fallen comrade.

  Venir tried the next. Then another after that.

  “You need a Key, Venir,” Boon said, with Fogle standing by his side, panting.

  “I’ve got my own Key.” Venir swung Mood’s axe into the wood, juttering his arms. “Son of a Bish! It’s harder than stone.”

  “It’s magic,” Boon said, taking a stroll around the room. “Hmmm… six doors.” He peeked into the alcove, where seven lonely pegs remained. “I’ll be. Strange. Tricky.”

  “What?” Fogle’s face was drawn up as he shook underling guts from his robes.

  “This room,” Boon said, his voice filled with wonder, “I believe is an ancient device I’ve read about before. It’s a Chamber of Transportation. As I understand, it can take you anywhere in the world. Very mysterious magic this is. Ancient. Dark. Dangerous.” He ran his hand over one of the doors. “If the underlings have the Keys… my… well, that would explain a lot of things.”

  “Any idea where we are now?” Fogle asked.

  “If you still have a map in that spellbook, we can certainly find out.”

  “And what of that barrier you created, Boon?” Fogle said. “How long will that hold?”

  “Hours, unless they bust through it or have a mage to dispel it, and I don’t think they do.”

  Venir made his way around the room, testing the doors anyway while he gathered his thoughts. Fogle had changed a great deal. The lines on his face were hardened, and his skin was darkened and tough. The wizard even had a ragged beard covering his face, giving him a dwarfish look.

  Fogle caught him staring. “I’m glad we found you, Venir. And I’m sorry about your dog―and Mood. I spent a great deal of time with the both of them, looking for you.”

  Venir nodded and turned away. So much had happened. He didn’t know what to think. His friends, the best ones he’d ever known, were all gone on account of him. The armament was gone as well. He felt naked without it. Still he lived. And Slim, what had happened to him? Had that man given Venir his very life?

  “Aw, give me that book, Fogle,” Boon grumbled, taking it away. “You’re got mintuar hooves for fingers. It’s a wonder you managed to write down anything.”

  “At least I don’t waste what I’ve written.”

  “Pah, here it is,” Boon said, fingering the book. “Just give me a few minutes.”

  Leaning against one of the doors, Venir squatted down, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. He was tired, and his bones were aching.

  Boon and Fogle stretched out a mystic map on the mosaic floor and gawped. Then one said to the other, “We’re in Bone!”

  “What?”

  “Venir,” Boon said, waving him over. “Look at this.”

  Venir raised his big frame off the floor and sauntered over. Boon’s aged and crooked finger was pointing down on a map that shrunk and grew with a wave of his hand. Venir could see everything. He pointed at a red dot that was located on a drawing of a castle.

  “I can see the entire city,” Venir said, wiping his brow with his forearm. “I can even see the alleys. Huh, that’s Castle Almen.”

  “Are you certain?” Boon asked, perching one eyebrow.

  Venir glared at him. “I’m certain.”

  Boon rose to his feet and tugged at his white beard. “Hmmm… Th
ey’ve taken over a Castle. Possibly many of them.”

  “Or the entire city,” Fogle said.

  “Then that means they’ll be coming right back for us,” Boon said, eyeing the stone wall that protected them. “Any minute now. We’re at the very heart of the battle now. Hah! We may have just squandered their plans after all. But I sense something. Someone familiar.”

  “I sense something too, Grandfather,” Fogle said. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  Venir didn’t know nor care what either one of them was thinking. He just watched. They clasped hands.

  But knowing that they were back in Bone? A place he thought he’d never see again? That sent a charge right through him! He was ready now. Ready to tear the wall down and carve a bloody path back to the Drunken Octopus. He warmed his hands on the glow of one of the torches.

  Boon and Fogle cried out. The pair, fingers locked, were shaking. Eyes rolled up in their heads.

  Venir tried to separate them, but Eethum stayed his hand.

  “No,” he said in a stern voice, “there’s nothing we can do now. They’re in a battle they must fight on their own.”

  Crack.

  Boon’s wall of stone cracked and began to crumble.

  Eethum and the two other dwarves surrounded the interlocked wizards. “We’ll protect them as long as we can.”

  Venir took his place at the bottom of the steps. “I’ll kill underlings as long as I can.”

  CHAPTER 69

  “Lead the way, Detective,” Creed stepped aside.

  Still holding Lorda’s hand, he brushed past Creed’s chest.

  “Beg Pardon,” the man said. “But that’s worth risking your life for.”

  “You incorrigible, Piiii—”

  Two clawed hands burst through the wall. Lorda was yanked through the wood and plaster, leaving a gaping hole.

  “What in Bish was that thing?” Creed said.

  Melegal darted through the hole and found himself facing his worst nightmare. It was Eep the imp, hovering in the air, holding Lorda Almen by the neck in his clawed fingers.

  “We meetsss again, Skinny One,” the imp said. Its long tongue licked up and down Lorda’s dangling body, which kicked and flailed.

  Melegal only had one dart in his launcher. He took aim.