The Darkslayer: Book 02 - Blades in the Night (2 page)

Come closer, fiends.

He could also feel them, and his head pulsed underneath his helmet. Venir wanted to destroy them, and he would wait no more. Finally, he let out a deep growl, then began shaking off his sandy cocoon.

Venir raised up his great axe Brool and banged it flat against his helmet. The grit fell from his eyelets. He grinned: he felt like he had stepped out of an iron furnace, his muscle and steel now joined as one.

Still smiling, he watched them step back, their bright eyes darting back and forth as they chattered. He knew what their hisses meant. They thought they had trapped the infamous Darkslayer—the scourge of their kind. Within their reach, they no doubt thought, was revenge for the countless brethren that had fallen at the hand of the Darkslayer.

And he would let them take their chance at him—just like all those that had fallen before them.

“
You have me, rodents! So come and get me!” he shouted.

But he didn’t wait for them to move. Venir lunged toward them like some starving bobcat chasing rabbits, all the while brandishing Brool.

The underlings rushed in, then screeched back as Venir began whirling his battle-axe around his body in a blistering tornado of steel. He swept the heavy blade into the nearest underling. Sinking Brool deep into its chest, Venir dropped the creature with a sickening crunch. Another underling, though, took advantage of Venir’s focus and cut him in the midsection. With a roar, Venir slammed his head toward the underling, jabbing his helm’s serrated spike into its eye socket. He twisted it out, leaving a ghoulish hole in the fiend’s head.

But then he spun around, sensing something.

Zip! Zip! Zip! Zip!

Venir ducked and raised his shield. A volley of crossbow bolts ricocheted off his helmet and shield. Another embedded itself in his shoulder, drawing a grunt of pain from him. His head throbbing, he felt his bloodlust beginning to overcome him.

Four more. Stay with them—and the spiders.

He watched the two underlings hop off the spiders that now scampered in to flank him. Both spiders scurried forward, and Venir’s gaze darted back and forth between them, eyeing their hairy legs, black eyes, and gaping maws. He smashed one in the face with his shield. Green acid erupted from the spider’s mangled face and sizzled when it struck his shield. Raising his axe high, Venir prepared to brain the creature. But then something from behind entangled his feet and jerked him down. As he hit the dirt, Venir saw that the other spider had caught him with a cord of its webbing and now reeled him in like a fish. He kicked at the sand as he was dragged toward the creature. Every second brought him closer to the beast’s open jaws, which he knew dripped with venom. He only had seconds left. He kicked harder at the slippery sand, trying to slow himself down, even as he heard the underlings cackling at his impending doom.

Then, from the other direction, he saw the wounded spider lunge at his head. He lifted his shield and fought it off. It hairy arms tried to tear the shield away from him. Venir could now hear the snapping jaws at his feet.

“
Bone!” he cried.

Then Venir felt something tug at his toe. Adrenaline raced through him. He let go of his shield.

“
Enjoy it, beast!” he yelled.

He jerked up into a sitting position, seeing his boot enter the mouth of the spider. With one arm, Venir brought down Brool with all his might.

Crunch!

From the foul creature’s mouth came an ear-shattering screech. Then its head burst open and its eight legs flailed. Venir let out a howl as the venomous acid splashed onto his leg, burning more than fire itself. He turned and crawled in the opposite direction, still feeling the webbing on his lower legs.

His eyes fell upon the other spider, which seemed intent on destroying his shield. He took Brool’s edge and cut away the corded web from his legs. Grimacing, Venir stumbled back onto his feet—just in time to see two more underlings charge at him in a rage. His arms felt heavy as he swung his axe back and forth. The clangs against their swords resounded, loud and sharp. Venir felt his leg going numb. And two other underlings—the ones who had ridden the spiders—yet hung back, no doubt waiting until he’d been further weakened, or killed, by the two now facing him.

He had to end this.

Then one underling hacked at his legs while the other pressed him backward. Venir slashed his axe at arm’s length. The underlings leaped back in time to avoid decapitation, then they prowled around him. He could feel their hesitation. One barreled toward him, sword arcing high. Venir parried, his axe spike sinking through the underling’s breastplate and into the flesh of its chest.

But, even as he drove the spike deeper into the enemy’s chest, Venir felt the other underling hacking at his back, slicing deep into his mail.

“
Enough!” Venir yelled.

Whirling around, he let go of his axe and grabbed the underling by the wrists, squeezing. It screamed and dropped its weapons. Then Venir jerked it arms wide as it kicked at him. Leaning into the creature, Venir slammed his metal helmet into its skull.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Feeling the underling’s blood all over his face, Venir slammed the helmet into its skull one last time.

Bang!

And then came a crunching sound. Its face bones had cracked. It hung there, limp in his arms. He flung the dead underling through the air. It landed in the gaping maw of the spider that had been chomping his shield.

Venir’s blood-smeared helmet glistened like black oil in the sunlight as the two remaining underlings now flanked him. Their hand crossbows bore down on his chest.

“
Come on!” Venir cried.

For all his bravado, he knew he was about to faint. He couldn’t feel his legs. His chest heaved in dry gulps of air. But the underlings didn’t seem to realize that. They looked back and forth at one another and backed away. He took a painful step forward, snarling as loudly as he could. Chittering sounds burst from their lips, and they turned and buzzed across the landscape like fireflies. Venir dropped to his knees and croaked out a laugh. He became aware of the burning in his shoulder and legs, knowing that he was not yet out of jeopardy.

“
Ahh!” he shouted, wrenching out the small bolt that had lodged in his shoulder.

He had survived, but he needed first aid—fast. Time was running out. He could see the sand spider’s poison eating the skin off his leg. Red, swelling boils rose up as large strips of skin began peeling off. He had to act.

Then he heard a sudden sucking sound behind his shoulder. He looked over and caught the grotesque sight of the remaining spider. It was drawing the last drops of blood and juice out of the underling. The black creature was almost a husk.

With a groan, Venir limped in agony to where his axe Brool protruded from an underling’s chest. Nauseated and gagging, Venir grabbed the underling’s short sword. He could feel the acid on his leg spreading. Black and purple spots hung before his eyes. The only cure lay in the belly of the beast itself.

Venir made it over to the spider he had brained earlier. He dropped beside the twitching beast. Grimacing, he rolled the foul thing onto its back, hoping it was a female. It was. There between the head and the abdomen lay a small, hairy black egg sack. He sliced it open. A thick, milky pus with a horrible stench seeped out.

“
Ooh … Smells like an orcen shower,” he said, spitting the foul taste from his mouth.

He plunged his hand in and pulled out a glob of the thick milky goo, which he then began to smear over his leg. The relief in his burning ankle was instantaneous, and he fell flat on his back in elation. He was now so woozy that he was on the brink of passing out, but he willed himself to stay awake. If he fell asleep, he’d be baked alive—or maybe eaten by the other spider once it finished its underling meal.

Water …

Extracting his canteen from his backpack, Venir gulped down all that was left and chucked it. Then he gathered up his gory axe and shield, ignoring the preoccupied sand spider. He set off, running with a limp toward the Red Clay Forest.

The trek seemed to take forever under the diminishing suns, but after an hour’s trot, he made it to the edge. He staggered, as deep inside the forest as he could, then collapsed on a thick patch of amber moss beneath leaves of emerald, sage, violet, and red. He passed out.

*****

The crackling of a campfire stirred Venir from his slumber. He sat up in a lurch to check his surroundings. Night had fallen in the Red Clay Forest. He was pretty sure he had not made the fire; he could barely recollect reaching the forest’s edge. He had a good idea who’d made it, but he was cautious just the same. Then he noticed Brool, his helmet, and his shield laid out beside him. The rest of his gear rested by his side. It had to be Mood. He knew he was safe. His stomach growled and his head began to hurt.

Venir leaned back and took a deep breath of the cool night air. The Red Clay Forest was not a place for everyone: it seemed to choose who it liked and who it did not. He, though, had always found safety within its thick trees and shrubs. As its name suggested, the forest was set on red clay soil, and its pathways wound for miles among colorful leaves that were not only green but also gold, red, blue, purple, and even white. Unlike all other plant life on Bish, the leaves in the forest never withered with the seasons. Here, one could travel quick and quiet.

Some referred to this forest as a magic garden, others a haven of treachery. None really knew if it had a mystic secret or not. What Venir cared about was that underlings in particular steered clear of it, as did most travelers. The forest was not kind to most.

He grimaced as he stretched for his backpack. Inside, he found a filled canteen. He drank it down gulp after gulp.

“
Ah!” he said.

He stood up with a groan and peered about. The fire glowed and crackled a few feet away, and its warmth relaxed him. Then smoke from somewhere else began to waft into his nostrils. It was Mood, all right—along with his usual cigar—but where was he? Venir walked beyond the firelight and scanned the black shadows of the forest. He picked up a stone and cocked his arm to throw it.

“
You don’t want to chuck that at me, human,” a familiar voice rumbled ahead.

“
And if I do?” Venir said.

“
You’ll miss.”

The voice was behind him. Venir whirled and discovered Mood on the other side of the fire.

“
Getting sneaky in your old age, Mood?”

“
Absolutely,” he said, grinning underneath his thick beard.

The giant red-haired dwarf stepped around the fire and clasped hands with Venir. They stood almost eye to eye, but Mood was a bit shorter and much broader. Like the rest of his kind, Mood boasted blood-red hair and skin. He wore leather woodsman garb in green, brown, and red, and had two giant hand axes strapped in an X across his back. Typical dwarves on Bish stood much shorter than humans, but Mood was one of the Blood Rangers—a rare breed of giant dwarves that protected their kind and others. However, Venir knew that Mood, unlike the rest of the Blood Rangers, did as he wished, and he was allowed that privilege, being their king.

“
So, Venir, what’s bringing you to me forest this time?”

Mood took a puff of his cigar and aimed a smoke ring over Venir’s head. Mood liked to call the Red Clay Forest his own, although it wasn’t, but it was where Venir had met him long years ago.

“
You’ve bailed me out again, Mood. I was tracking underlings and almost bit the dust. I didn’t think I’d make it here, and if I did, I didn’t think I’d still be alive,” he said, checking his wounds by the fire.

“
Ah, I’ve seen you much worse ’n that. Not so long ago when you came out o’ that marsh, now, that was a sight. You’d have made it on your own if the bugs hadn’t got after you. The creatures told me you were here. I didn’t know it was you, though … just a man, they said. So I thought, what the Bish, I’ll check it out, and there you lay, snoring like a baby! Ho-ho!”

“
I don’t snore!” Venir said, a funny look on his face.

Mood laughed even harder. “Eh, so what’s goin’ on? How many underlings did you kill? Twelve? Twenty? Fifty?”

“
No,” Venir said, disappointed.

“
Well?” Mood said, tossing another log on the fire.

“
Just six. Two more got away. There were two sand spiders—caught me by surprise.”

“
I thought that never happened when you had that get-up on. You usually surprise them.”

Mood nodded toward the armaments that turned Venir into a one-man army: the heavy, three-foot round shield of dark gray metal, overlapped with large woven iron bands; the glistening helmet with similar iron banding wrought over the back and neck; and, of course, Brool, which was now stuck spike-first into the ground, with its thick dark oak handle shod with the same iron banding. Venir called it his hand-and-a-half axe. It was a weapon unlike any other. For both Venir and Mood knew that Brool was the Bish’s great equalizer between good and evil.

Venir grabbed his helmet and axe and said, “I didn’t have the gear on—not at first, at least. Didn’t want to. I always used to do just fine carving up the creepy little rodents with my wits and usual weapons.”

Mood stepped back. No man hated the underlings more than Mood, Venir knew. And Mood had known Venir a long time, and Venir remained one of a handful of humans the Blood Ranger called friend. Venir could see a concerned look on Mood’s dark face, for Mood had warned him more than once about taking greater risks with the underlings. Sighing, Venir set the axe back down.