The Darkslayer: Book 02 - Blades in the Night (14 page)

“
They were in the kiddies hooch with us, I remember. Younger than us. And you know how it goes for girls in there, Vee.”

“
Yeah, I know. But at least they made it out, like us. They’ve certainly got something going for them: three sisters, all ugly. You don’t see that a lot these days,” he said as he sat back down and poured another drink.

Melegal chuckled. Then Venir broke out laughing, and in no time his guffaws caused his chair to slip and land him on his back again. And on that high note, they ended one more miserable night in the City of Bone.

Venir was restless after the night’s events at the Drunken Octopus. He did not feel ready to return to his room after Melegal had left. He still sought some
passion with Dresla, and thought he just might pay her a visit. Her long lashes, ivory skin, scented honey hair, and sultry figure had burned a lasting impression into his mind. She was as fine a woman as a man could come by in a place like the Drunken Octopus. The problem was that he had no idea where she lived. His grog-addled mind, though, convinced him otherwise.

The first sun of Bish was not yet on the horizon, as dawn had barely begun. No one was about on the cobbled streets. In any case, the streets in this part of the city were not well traveled even during the day. Venir was whistling as he strolled with determination through the dangerous alleyways.

But not all in the City of Bone were finished with their night’s business, for the desperate and greedy were always ready to pounce. As Venir walked down the narrow street known as Death Hall, he came to an abrupt stop as several men poured out into the alley. Venir pulled out his knife.

They were man-urchins, an impoverished breed who belonged to the subservient guilds that did much of the Royals’ dirty work. Most were scarred and disfigured, with rotten teeth and rancid breath. These were men no longer suited for common society, but proud of their purpose nonetheless. Murder, robbery, and kidnapping were their forte, and they were efficient despite their disheveled appearance.

He cared little for what others had to say about them; Venir was not about to be delayed from the delightful thighs of Dresla.

“
Out of my way, roaches!” he said, brandishing his weapon. “I’ve no time to kill you, so get out of my way.”

The ragged men were barely ten feet away, armed with the crooked steel daggers of their kind. He felt the gaze of many others on his back. He sensed that they were after more than his gold.

What is this about?

The man-urchins usually operated in small groups, but here they seemed to have the whole guild. He took a quick glance around. They were everywhere. His blood ran hot.

Hearing sharp drawn breaths behind him, he crouched and sprang like a panther, slamming into their surprised faces before they could strike. The flatfooted men tried to move away from Venir’s long hunting knife, but it soon found its way deep into two of their bellies. Venir punched another so hard that the man’s eye busted in its socket. With the butt of his knife, he swung back and cracked another’s skull.

Run now, dogs!

But they kept coming.

A throng of tattered men tried to grapple him down to the ground. Venir pumped his arms and kicked his legs, determined to keep his feet. He pounded their inferior frames in a relentless fury, eyes blazing. He lost his knife deep in the skull of one.

They tried to match his strength and ferocity but he only tore into them like a hungry bear. He felt their bones break under his hammer-like blows. His knees and elbows were like clubs. They were like schoolchildren and he a seasoned boxer.

Venir was enjoying it.

And he pressed, not letting up, as each pop and snap of shattered lips, teeth, jaws, and ribs stoked his inner fire. Their rags looked now more like blood-soaked bandages.

“
How’s this feel?” the Outlands warrior yelled in mockery.

Pop!

“
Taste my fist!”

Crunch!

“
How’s my elbow feel!”

Swistka!

“
Ever been slapped before!”

Slap!

“
You fight like his mother!”

Slap! Slap! Slap!

“
Sorry, you don’t have mothers, do you? Say good night, smelly!”

Boom ! Crunch!

The man-urchins scrambled over each other like rats drowning in a sewer. He knew they were a far cry from the bawdiest Bone had to offer. They’d just met the one who was. Two more rushed in. He grabbed their lice-ridden heads and smashed them together. Another he hoisted and heaved like a hay bale into the others. They finally began to back away.

“
Is that all you over-tattered whores got?” he said, peering around.

All eyes were on him.

Venir could feel that he was bleeding from several cuts that now began to burn. His blue jerkin tunic was wet with blood.
Nothing a bottle of grog won’t heal up.
His blood dripped onto the stone road.

Scanning for his hunting knife, he noticed several long wooden darts on the ground. Some stuck in the prone man-urchins at his feet. Wrenching his blade from one dead man’s skull, he noticed the anticipation on his enemies’ faces.

What is this?

In his zeal for battle, he had failed to observe the shadowy figures in the windows and on the rooftops above him. They were shooting darts his way during the fray. He reached back and felt several protruding across the broad expanse of his upper back. He felt woozy and his knees wobbled. Bright spots of blue and purple obscured his vision. As he sank in a swoon, he mumbled with a smile, “I’ll be there soon, Dresla …” And his face crashed into the red-slicked cobblestone road.

*****

“
Great Bish! Methought that monster wouldna ever stop,” one man-urchin mumbled through split lips and a busted nose.

“
And who might he be, anyhow?” asked another.

A short stocky man-urchin appeared and shoved them aside, his face hidden beneath a dark cowl. He strode over to the brawler’s body, plucked the long knife from his powerful grip, and tossed it aside. He checked the body and removed several darts. Examining their tips, he nodded with satisfaction. Then he grabbed the fallen warrior’s small belt pouch and tossed it to his men. They poured out the coins, then spat in dissatisfaction at the meager contents.

“
Don’t worry, boys!” His voice was charming and spirited, unlike the rest. “There’ll be plenty of gold when we take him in. Now get over here and let’s haul away this carcass so you can claim your booty.”

They grumbled a cheer as several hoisted his body and trudged away. The rest dragged away their own dead and wounded. Soon the masses of the City of Bone would trample these blood-soaked cobbles, and in no time there would be no a sign of the brawl.

*****

As the man-urchins vacated Death Hall alley, two pairs of feet crept that way. A slender bandaged hand reached down and retrieved Venir’s bloodied hunting knife.

“
Man, Haze, that guy can fight,” Sis said.

“
He sure can. But what should we do? Follow, or leave him for dead?” Haze asked.

Sis rubbed her pimpled chin.

“
Let’s see where he goes. Your new boyfriend would be glad to know—and to have that knife.”

“
He’s
not
my boyfriend, Sis,” Haze said with a whine.

“
Is too! He marked you.”

Sis winked, grabbing Haze’s bandaged hand and giggling.

“
Ow!” She pulled her hand away. “Oh shut up. I hate men as much as you do. Now let’s follow and don’t talk about my boy. I mean you-know-who, till we have to,” Haze said, almost stammering.

Sis let out a laugh, her belly jiggling as they followed. Their other sister, Frigdah, had become preoccupied tending the needs of the poor oaf that Venir had tossed through the tavern wall earlier.

Venir awoke with an awful headache. He reached for his head, but found that his arms had been shackled. Peering about, he discovered that his head, too, was restrained. As he realized where he must be, a sense of dread filled him. His thick neck was imprisoned in the stocks, which resulted in his throbbing skull.

He could see his hands protruding to his right and left, red and purple and pinched between the wooden planks. Venir strained within the embrace of the oaken frame, which groaned against his raw strength, but did not give. Again he strained against the cruel device, but to no avail. He pulled his feet up, hearing and feeling the resistance of the steel cuffs. He had no leverage. He was at the mercy of his captors, whoever they may be. What did the man-urchins want of him?

Venir recognized the gray slab wall a few feet before him. It was typical of the dungeons beneath the castles in the City of Bone. It was all too familiar and unsettling. He had spent time in his childhood maintaining such facilities for the Royal houses that ruled above.

As an adolescent, he had witnessed the atrocities that happened in such places—sometimes to himself. Most Royal houses, he had learned, treated their prisoners worse than dogs. In the dungeons, freedom and mercy ceased to exist. Fear ruled here, a fear that he had overcome that day when he escaped. The memories sparked something inside. The stocks began to groan again.

He began pulling and shoving within the oaken frame, which creaked and popped against his force. Every muscle in his thick torso was knotted like iron, and sweat slithered down his body like oil. Then he heard a distant sound, the ring of a warden’s keys, and the hard sound of a sentry’s soles echoing off the dungeon floor.

Never again!

Redoubling his efforts, the stocks popped and creaked louder. The footsteps grew faster at the telltale sound of a prisoner trying to break free. Venir heard yelling and running now, getting closer as he moaned and writhed like a frenzied bull. Shaking and trembling, his eyes rolled up into his head, red with rage. The will to escape displaced all pain as he wrenched his bleeding wrists through the holes. He neck and ears bled, and blood dripped from his nose under the strain. He didn’t care—he would not be a prisoner of the Royals again. He would die first. He heaved once more with such force that he could feel his eyes bulging from their sockets.

A thunderous crack reverberated in the dungeon, followed by cries of alarm.

The hardened oak frame gave way, splintering over the dungeon floor. Free from the stock, he yanked at the shackles on his feet. A blinding white flash exploded inside his head, wracking his body in pain. He snorted in defiance as he kept wrenching at the links. He could feel the metal bend, just about to snap, when a second flash exploded. He reeled and sank in a heap.

*****

Four dungeon sentries stood around, looking at the massive prisoner in wonder. They had never seen or heard of a man escaping the stocks. One picked up a piece of the splintered wood and shook his head. They had previously seen men and women pick the locks or dislocate the joints in their hands to escape. None had ever torn the thick oak beams asunder with sheer brute force. The men looked at the shattered stock and gawped.

“
Go and make sure he’s out,” said one onlooker in a distinguished voice.

He brandished a club-like cudgel of white ash that glowed. He wore a dark cowl around his neck, and although his clothes were tattered, they showed the markings of a Royal family.

He had helped to capture the prisoner from Death Hall alley earlier. His blond locks almost covered his eyes as they bore into the sentries who hesitated at his orders. One stepped over to check the fallen warrior on the ground with a shaky hand. A sudden twitch from the man’s hulking frame sent the sentries leaping backward like frightened cats.

“
Cowards!” yelled the cudgel wielder, shaking it their way and laughing. “He’s out, trust me, you worthless lot.”

“
Apologies, Leezir, sir.”

They cast their gazes down, not wanting to draw Royal displeasure. Leezir was not quick tempered, but not known for unlimited patience, either. He loved his cudgel—known as Spine-Breaker to his servants—and used it to instill discipline in them.

Leezir sauntered over to the big body and began to examine him. He was nervous, but maintained his poise. Shattering the stocks was bad enough, but not dropping after a direct hit to the back of the head with Spine-Breaker was another matter.
How in Bish did he do that?
Spine-Breaker contained stunning magic, and he was not happy to have used up two of its charges on a single prisoner. He tore Venir’s blue shirt from his back and there it was: the V-shaped tattoo.

It’s him.

He smiled and then stood up.

“
Okay, boys, he’s the one. This is him … the Vee-Man!”

Georgio hustled through the dangerous streets of the City of Bone. Danger didn’t prompt his quick feet through the early morning darkness, rather the smell of the bakeries. His mouth watered at the thought of all those hot, fresh biscuits that his meager coin could buy.