The Hound of Hell

by Rory Nelson

  The Hound of Hell

  Book One

  by

  RORY D. NELSON

  Copyright 2019 © Rory D. Nelson

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Dedication

  I would like to thank my best friend, partner and love of my life, Janell Galindez for her hard work and support in helping me with this endeavor. Without her, this book would not have been possible. In short, she has been my rock of Gibraltar, my proofreader, editor, website developer, SEO specialist, eBook formatter and all-around technological wizard. Being technologically inept myself, she has proven herself resourceful and invaluable in running my cross-promotion events, giveaways and Mailchimp campaigns. And she has done it without monetary compensation – only the need to see my dreams of being a successful author come to fruition. She is the epitome of a selfless partner. Thank you Love!

  I would also like to thank my mom, who has always encouraged me to pursue my dreams and continues to recruit new readers for me among friends and family. Thank you, Mom!

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter 1: Dry Humor

  Chapter 2: Rendezvous with a Spy

  Chapter 3: Sadistic Loyalty

  Chapter 4: Reluctant Meeting

  Chapter 5: Renault Negotiates

  Chapter 6: Aftermath

  Chapter 7: The Plan

  Chapter 8: Errant Start

  Chapter 9: The Super Posse

  Chapter 10: Marshal Baneo

  Chapter 11: Close Quarters

  Chapter 12: Full Speed Ahead

  Chapter 13: Much Needed Aid

  Chapter 14: Scandalous Traveler

  Chapter 15: More Tom Fuckery

  Chapter 16: Hidden Agenda

  Chapter 17: Devastating Setbacks

  Chapter 18: One Last Obstacle

  Chapter 19: Sanctuary

  Chapter 20: Mounting Troubles

  Chapter 21: Convenient Allies

  Chapter 22: Alive

  Chapter 23: Collateral Damage

  Chapter 24: Dire Warning

  Chapter 25: Showdown at Barnsby’s

  The Brotherhood of Merlin: Book One

  Chapter 1: Dry Humor

  With nerves on high alert, the gunless soldiers arrive. Their lack of weaponry was not by choice but on orders by King Jason. Senecas, their Lieutenant, knows their fingers may get trigger-happy should Renault resist. Jason will have his head if Renault does not come back alive. The bounty is sizeable, but this is personal.

  Renault senses the men’s nervousness as they approach his cell. With the gunless soldiers about ten yards away, he whips his long-braided hair around his neck. Seizing the tail with his teeth, he extracts the hidden lock pick. Renault removes his handcuffs, bends down, and unlatches the shackles on his ankles. He places cloths over his hands and feet to obscure his freedom.

  As the soldiers enter, he gleans their minds. No guns. Good. Renault cannot stop himself from smiling. Senecas enters and motions his men to surround the prisoner. Prudent of him. With quick reflexes, some soldiers reach for the blank spot where their guns used to be. Some may have swords in their scabbards and perhaps throwing knives.

  “Seems you gave us bad intelligence, Renault. Jason wants to have a word with you.”

  Senecas steps forward, along with three other guards.

  Renault shrugs. “I imagine he does. Unfortunately, I don’t have the honor of that kill. He’s Merlin’s now. Afraid it wouldn’t be very brotherly of me to deny him that one.”

  Senecas and his soldiers inch closer. Renault feels the heat of Senecas’ face and smells his pungent breath. “Pretty fucking imprudent of you trying to put one over on us!”

  Unbeknownst to the surrounding men, Renault slips two daggers into each of his hands underneath the cloth. “Pretty fucking imprudent of you too, Lieutenant.”

  “What’s that?” Senecas asks.

  “Not bringing your firearms to subdue a man who has conveniently broken free of his restraints.”

  As Senecas looks down, Renault swings his knives into Senecas’ face and the soldier’s neck next to him. The first knife penetrates through Senecas’ eye socket with a pop. His eye explodes in a gore of crimson, ocular fluid, and brain matter. Renault plunges the knife deeper into Senecas’ eye socket. The Lieutenant drops to the ground and spasms to death.

  From the first throw, Renault drives the second knife much deeper into the soldier’s tender throat. A blanket of crimson covers men. The soldier screams as Renault pulls the knife out and slices across his jugular.

  Before the man drops, Renault pivots to one side and back kicks the second soldier behind him. The kick connects with his groin and hurls him backward. As the soldier across from him reaches for his sword, Renault pulls another knife from his flap jacket. He hurls it at the man, penetrating his chest and his heart. The man clutches the knife and drops to the floor.

  With the man dazed and still reeling from the groin injury, Renault hurls another knife from his flapjacket, hitting the man in the throat. He tries to scream, clutches at the knife and pulls at it, causing a gushing of crimson from the severed artery. He chokes on his own blood and falls to the ground.

  Across from him, the soldiers break from their stupor and lunge at Renault with unrestrained zeal. Two at a time, Renault pulls his throwing knives from his jacket. He hurls them with astonishing speed and pinpoint accuracy. Another four men drop to the ground, clutching their necks, chests, and stomachs.

  From the corner of his eye, Renault catches movement and ducks. As the soldier’s slash misses his throat, Renault rears on his haunches and blocks a blow with his forearm. But the blade spears him with scalding pain.

  The man lunges forward, and it is his last mistake. Renault pushes his head down. With a vicious back swing, he buries the knife in the man’s neck and blood spurts out. He buries the knife further until the soldier spasms. As if to speak, the man falls on his knees clenching his neck in anguish. Renault topples the soldier over into his pool of blood.

  Renault removes several of his knives from the downed men. The metal bears his famous moniker, The Hound of Hell.

  One soldier escapes Renault’s cell and bolts. In rapid succession, Renault snaps his wrists with two lengthy knives gaining on the soldier. The first knife impales the soldier’s upper arm to the post Renault was chained to. On the same post, the next knife pins the soldier through his thigh. He screams in excruciating pain.

  Renault senses two more foes. A soldier surprises Renault with a wild, clumsy stab, but he blocks with his right arm forward. In fluid motion, Renault reaches in and slices the man across the stomach, eviscerating him. His steaming intestines slither from the gaping hole. In utter shock, the man drops to collect his innards while mumbling in revulsion and horror.

  The other man is not so inept. He pivots, darts, and throws himself at Renault. He dodges the soldier’s assaults. The man jabs to slice Renault. One thrust catches Renault on the elbow, lacerates his skin, and jars his nerves. The soldier’s assault ensues but Renault senses a weakness. As the soldier lunges with a vicious hook to the right, the man leaves his left side vulnerable. Renault blocks the swing and switches the knife to his other hand. He buries the blade in the soldier’s liver.

  Stunned from the stab, the soldier drops his weapon. When Renault retracts the blade, blood gushes from the wound. The consternated soldier grabs his injured side and drops to the ground.

  “Nice try,” Renault says.

  The wounded soldier glimpses some hard iron. Though none brought their shooters, Renault�
�s gunbelt dangles on a nail two feet from the ground. Unable to stand, the soldier crawls on his belly, leaving a small trail of innards. He hopes to reach the gun.

  A searing gut-wrenching pain erupts through the soldier’s body. Renault steps on his guts with his boots. “Where do you think you’re going, soldier?”

  “Ah!” he cries. “Please let me go! I don’t want to die!”

  Renault smiles. He turns the soldier over and jabs him in the face. Blood splatters. As Renault runs his fingers down the lapel, he assesses the soldier’s wardrobe. He feels the denim and shakes his head in disgust. “Look at you, soldier. Get yourself together! You’re falling apart!” He laughs in hysterics.

  As he does, he pummels the soldier’s face. Blood spurts with each blow. After several punches, blood covers Renault’s face, but still he laughs.

  Renault looks at the soldier. The cartilage unhinges and caves into the nose cavity. With both eyes swollen and cheekbones shattered, the soldier’s face is no longer recognizable as a human.

  Renault bends down. As the only place not devastated by the punches, he kisses the soldier on the forehead. “Merlin sends warm regards.” And with mercy, he twists the man’s neck, killing him.

  To wipe the blood from his face, Renault raises his elbow and slides his forearm across his forehead.

  He approaches the soldier impaled to the post. The man looks at Renault with a desperate, beseeching gesture. “Help me,” he croaks.

  Renault pats him on the head with affection. “I promise you I shall remedy this right away, Sai.” He grabs the swords’ handles impaling the man. “Heads up,” he warns.

  In one deft, lightning quick move, Renault pulls the large knives from the post. The soldier hears the swoosh from the slicing metal which penetrates his neck like soft butter. The soldier’s head dislodges from his neck, bounces off the post and topples to the ground. Bright warm crimson pumps from the severed arteries.

  Renault picks up the soldier’s head with his knife, inspecting it with curiosity. “Not one for dry humor, are you Sai?” Once again, he bursts into another laughing fit.

  Renault finds his gunbelt. In one seamless move, he twirls both guns in his hands hypnotically fast, and re-holsters them with ease.

  “Gentlemen, it’s been a sincere pleasure killing you all. I bid you farewell.”

  Before he exits the tent, he removes the Brotherhood pendant from his neck and kisses it with reverence. “Godspeed, brothers. Godspeed, Merlin.”

  Chapter 2: Rendezvous with a Spy

  Outside Outpost Seven, Daliance burns his clothes. He changes into a non-descript ensemble. The charcoal-gray leather, tasseled jacket covers a light chambray shirt. Tan leather chaps fit over his loose cotton, full length briefs. Daliance tops the look with a brown felt ponchero hat. This versatile image may have passed for a ranch hand or a local tyrant’s henchmen.

  Daliance enters Bixby, a medium-sized town that borders Visi-Gaulia. One can disappear and start over in this town with ease.

  He tethers his horse and walks into Cutler’s Saloon, along Main Street. Like most places, the saloon doubles as a brothel.

  When he steps through the oak doors, the smell of oil, pungent beer, whore perfume and sweat hits him. Two large ruffians eye him with curiosity. He tips his hat at them. As Daliance ventures through the labyrinth of tables, a host of hard, menacing-looking card sharks occupy the seats. A heated punch thrown in the middle of a game is not uncommon.

  Attractive waitresses serve copious amounts of alcohol beverages and food. Most double as whores, enticing generous winners into their bedchambers.

  For only a moment, Daliance glances at the women with desire. Pleasures will come later, but not here. This is business. And duty.

  As he walks to the back, the light fades. Shoddy, beer-stained curtains cover the booths. There, men unable to pay for the full-service bedchamber must settle for mere table dances.

  Among these booths are several small tables. Daliance approaches one. He notices a man, dressed much like himself playing solo-spaid. The man drinks golden brandy from a glass bottle.

  Daliance approaches the table. “Join you for a game, Sai?”

  Without looking, Renault’s hand rises in a waiting gesture while he plays his last card with care. “You may sit, Daliance.” His deadpan eyes scan Daliance and Daliance sits.

  Renault pours a drink for Daliance and he sips it.

  “Using my name already? Is that prudent?”

  “You’re aware I am a telepath?” he asks.

  Daliance nods. “Ai. Am indeed, but it seems risky, nonetheless. I was considerably less casual with my last contact.”

  “You may trust me, Sai. I scoped out this place well beforehand. We are perfectly safe here. Relax.” Renault extends his forearm. Daliance takes it and they shake. “My name is Renault.”

  “Your reputation precedes you, Sai. I’ve heard about your exploits. Some might venture to call them atrocities.”

  Renault smiles. “Seems you know about me.” He pauses and looks at Daliance. “I’ve heard of you as well. No doubt you’ve read the papers?”

  Daliance nods. “Ai. I have indeed. Nearly 9,000 men wiped off the face of the earth.”

  “Yes, 9,000. Also, 9,000 men who intruded into our lands, butchered our countrymen, and raped our women. All met a most deserved fate.”

  Daliance smiles with a pained expression. “Just keep telling yourself that so you can go to sleep at night.”

  “I sleep just fine at night.”

  “I’m sure you do.”

  Renault puffs his cigar and contemplates Daliance. He tries to read Daliance without being intrusive and peering into his mind. “Tell me, Daliance, how did it feel to slaughter that sadistic monster, Piedmont?”

  Daliance looks at him as if he had just been slapped. “I felt nothing-only satisfaction at having completed part of my mission.”

  Renault shakes his head. “That’s too bad.”

  “I’m not like you, Renault. I don’t kill for pleasure. I kill because I have to and because it’s my duty.”

  Renault smiles with an evil eye. “I do it for both. The pleasure and the duty. But mostly, out of duty. You find something wrong with a man enjoying his work?”

  Daliance shakes his head in disgust. “You find this situation amusing, Sai? My point of contact, Dalton Tenamus had died days before. I barely completed my mission and had to gun down a room full of armed soldiers. I nearly lost my fucking life and failed in my mission.”

  “But you didn’t,” Renault points out.

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “You improvised, and you succeeded. There is nothing anyone could have done to prevent the death of Dalton. We can only move forward with our mission. At all costs. We were successful in our campaign and we prevailed. Never forget that. Gilleon owes us a debt of gratitude.”

  “One never to be repaid.”

  Renault shakes his head. “This is our duty, brother.”

  Daliance nods. “Let us drink.”

  Renault pours him more golden brandy.

  Daliance takes it and toasts to Renault. “To the Brotherhood. And to my country, a country I fear I will never see again. The country that has written me off as dead, a traitor. And yet, I serve it and serve it well.”

  Renault looks indignant. “Do not forget the face of the Merlin. Did he not suffer just as much? You wanted to be knight. This is how we serve as knights.”

  “Perhaps my spirit would be rekindled if I could look on the face of the Merlin. To have him give me a thankee would mean the world to me. You ken?”

  “You know that’s not possible. Not now, brother. Perhaps someday.”

  Daliance scowls. “Always someday.” Daliance pours himself another drink, takes several sips, and finishes it.

  Renault sighs. “Your lamentations are my own. I feel your pain, but this is what we do. It is who we are. Accept it.”

  Daliance pours himself another drink and tosses it back. He
laughs. “Ai. Cry pardon, brother. Never mind me. I’m just venting. Forget it.”

  Renault takes out his saddlebag, removes a knapsack filled with gold pence, and hands it to Daliance. He removes a set of papers and puts them inside a felt folder. “Takes these. It is your new identity. You’ll find all the pertinent details. And this is your monies—1,000 gold pence. You may count it, if you wish.”

  Daliance shakes his head. “I trust you.”

  “Count it,” Renault says.

  “If you wish.” Daliance counts the money. As he does, Renault notices a table in the shady corner. The thick smoke masks the scantily clad courtesan. She slowly undresses, revealing a thick bosom the men are eager to touch. The courtesan pushes away one man’s hand until he reaches into his coin purse for a ten-pence. Once it’s received, she allows the gentleman to touch her perfect large, bubble butt. The cowpoke looks at his other men. “Off with you, cunts!” he says. The men scatter and search for their own courtesan.

  Renault ignores the growing rise in his pantalones and looks at Daliance. He has proven himself resilient, resourceful and deadly, but he seems soft and vulnerable. Renault peers into his mind the slightest bit. He finishes the money counting. Renault, instead of prying into his mind, takes a different approach, the direct one.

  “Good. Now, tell me, Daliance. Did you take care of everything? Everyone? No loose ends to speak of?”

  Daliance exits the main hall of Outpost Seven and a deluge of rain greets him. He searches for any sign of fresh tracks and finds them pointing to the dilapidated barn. He follows the tracks leading into the barn. The fool came to the one place that would uncover his disguise.

  Daliance walks up the loft and notices several bales of hay. A large bale hook is noticeably absent. He hears a rustling behind him, telegraphing his every move. Daliance owed it to the kid. He was brave, but Daliance is well prepared.

  He steps to the side, pivots, draws his sword, and swings in a powerful arc. The motion catches the hook and sends it spiraling through the air. The boy gets his hands up in defense. He is now at Daliance’ mercy.