The Darkslayer: Book 02 - Blades in the Night (21 page)

“
Doesn’t sound like I can stick around either way.”

They reached a secret entrance that led into the sewers below.

“
Go,” Leezir said, then turned and disappeared back up the tunnel.

Entering the sewer, Venir thought it hard to believe that the Royals were still after him. It might all be a lie. There had to be something more to this business—there always was. Melegal wouldn’t be happy when Venir broke this news, but there’d been no mention of Melegal, so he was probably okay. Venir had certainly had it with the city, but the Outlands offered him little rest.

I’ll go elsewhere, then.

As Venir waded through the sewers beneath the streets of the City of Bone, his mind was troubled—thanks to the recurring dream that haunted him … a chronic reminder of unfinished business in his past. Jarla, the Brigand Queen, who had become less of a priority over the years, was now on his mind again. It was almost five years since he had snatched from her hands the sack that contained the powerful weaponry and armor that had transformed him into the Darkslayer.

His mouth turned into a scowl at the memory. She whom Venir had trusted had betrayed him: that very day she had planned to kill him, or have the underlings do it for her. Her dark blue eyes still played seductively in his thoughts whenever he encountered another woman with features that resembled hers. Thick, silky black hair, a tall sensual body, long fingers, or even intoxicating perfume—any of these could trigger unwanted memories of her. But the last time he glimpsed her eyes, they had held only hatred for him.

It had also been a critical time for the world of Bish, as Jarla had helped bring about the fall of the key southern stronghold, Outpost Thirty-One. He witnessed how Jarla had rocked the southern borders with her five-hundred-strong brigand army of men, orcs, gnolls, and kobolds. They had been such a force that even the Royal garrisons stationed throughout the area were troubled by them, although they believed they had the situation under control. But the Royals had not anticipated that Jarla’s horde was in cahoots with the underlings, a foul and unlikely alliance. The combined force of two thousand underlings plus the full brigand army had overwhelmed Outpost Thirty-One.

One thousand Royal soldiers inside the outpost had been cut off from aid. If not for a few brigand exiles who managed to warn them in time, they all would have been obliterated. Those were the hard-fought days when Venir made his first appearance on the battlefield with his new armament. He had never forgotten it, but now he was reliving it again. He felt he had somehow missed something. So, as he waded through the foul sewers beneath the City of Bone, he retraced his past. He wasn’t alone in his hunt for the Brigand Queen. His closet comrades had been at his side in the southern cities as well. Billip the Archer, Mikkel the Mauler, Slim the Healer, and Chongo remained by his side those dark years.

The small group had hunted the renegade brigand army all over the sweltering south. One by one, or group by group, they tracked them down and caught up with them. He had driven his friends to the limits chasing down the evil woman. Tempers flared, disagreements mounted, and after a year of pursuit, they separated. He and Chongo kept after her scent but then another obstacle intervened along the way. The underlings cropped up here and there, taking him from one trail to another. His pursuit of Jarla had finally ended, but now it seemed something far more menacing threatened him.

Venir emerged onto the streets of Bone as he finished recalling the events of his past. It seemed like yesterday, the fiercest battles of his life during those tumultuous days, five years ago. But now the Royals seemed to be after him, again, but this was another matter entirely. Feeling impatient and abused, he was at his limit with this troublesome brood that would never leave him alone. He didn’t know whom to trust, but as far as he was concerned, the fewer Royals, the better. Let them have at go at him if they liked. He and Brool would be waiting.

It was dusk as he approached the Drunken Octopus, hoping his companions were waiting inside. Little did he know that matters were much worse than he had left them.

Lefty’s mind raced through Mood’s instructions again and again. It was up to
him
to free Chongo and bring him back to the stable. The halfling boy didn’t have any idea how he was supposed to pull this off, but the massive dwarf reassured him that his plan would work. Lefty, though, couldn’t help but feel doubt; still, he wanted to help Chongo and find Georgio. All the while, he could hear Melegal’s voice in his head:
“You have to push through it without thinking so much. Get tough. Shut off the doubt. You are better trying to live than waiting to die.”

Lefty paused inside a doorway that led to another large barn. According to Mood, the barn now housed Chongo. One last time, Lefty thought about what he had to do, then he pulled his hood over his head, complete with dirtied hair and face in an effort to pass for an urchin. He hunched over and waddled inside.

Unlike the run-down and barren barn that he had just come from, the barn he entered was quite orderly and clean, though of the same design as the other. It was bustling with activity of the City Watch and Royal families, members, and their servants. All of the colors and banners were in full flux of the early day. He could hear the excited shouts and whines of the steeds from all directions. Lefty had never ventured inside any of these other barns before and it was another new feast for his eyes.

Beautiful horses of all variety trotted up and down the massive stables’ courtyard. Lefty quickened his pace, staying close to the gates and jumping at the sound of snorting mounts along the way. He felt out of place and small.

He passed many other horses being attended to by their pitiful stable hands. They were working hard to please their house lords. The Royals all seemed to be preoccupied with seeing which Royal could make his servants more miserable.

The men and women of the Royal houses were clad in the unique clothes of their house colors to distinguish their equestrian hobby. He’d never encountered Royals of any sort during his stay in the City of Bone. The women in particular seemed very beautiful to Lefty’s curious blue eyes. Their clothes left little to the imagination as the designs seemed to enhance their athletic and graceful figures.

It seemed to Lefty that Chongo would not be anywhere in this barn, but Mood had assured him that he was.

Lefty had stopped, mouth open, watching the gaudy scene, but the sound of loud voices yelling in his direction snapped him from dazing. Several black and white horses began trotting his way. Large men yelled, warning everyone to get out of the way. Lefty stepped back to avoid being trampled and then turned his back as the horses thundered by. He got moving again as he realized that the time Mood had given him to complete his task was short.

He grabbed an abandoned bucket and brush and pretended to limp past the stalls. He hoped no one would call for him as the Royals seemed to enjoy finding someone to pick on at every opportunity. So many people were shouting that he felt as if they all were yelling at him. But he never turned his head or paused.

There were hundreds of stalls in the barn and he hoped the dwarf was right. How the dwarf knew Chongo’s exact location was beyond Lefty, but he trusted Mood. The mindful tiny boy counted the stalls as he limped in and out of the traffic that surrounded.
Thirty-one … thirty-two …

It felt agonizing after a while.

Soon Lefty’s heart was thundering in his chest and sweat was beading all over him. He never sweated, except for his feet, which were now caked with wet mud. If he were caught, he’d be in grave misfortune. Mood had also told him that the stalls were marked, but the dwarf didn’t know the mark on Chongo’s stall—only where the stall was located. Lefty looked at the small mark on each stall: small flags bearing the colors and insignia of the Royal house. But not all the stalls bore a mark. Mood had figured that Chongo’s stall probably would not be marked.

He continued his countdown amidst the busy barn. The flags marking the stalls became less frequent as he began to near the southern entrance
. Sixty-eight
. He stopped in front of an unmarked stall door. The interior was concealed by a high gate, unlike the rest. Much like the Chongo’s stable from the other barn, this one had a small door built into the main gate. This one, though, looked to be locked. Mood had cautioned him again just climbing over the gate, as it might draw suspicion. So Lefty would have to pick the lock.

Lefty pulled out a small soft-leather cloth and unrolled it, revealing several small metal tools. Melegal had given them to him and instructed him on the basics about locks. Lefty wiped his sweaty hands on his cloak, then he took out a slender tool and poked it into the small keyhole and began feeling around the mechanism. It seemed complicated but within moments he had it unlocked.
Hah, take that Melegal.
He looked over his shoulders, grabbed the bucket and brush, and disappeared inside, closing the door behind him.

It was dim within, but he saw Chongo lying on the ground. Lefty shuddered as fear sunk in that the giant dog might be dead. He was unaccustomed to the dog not covering him in saliva as soon as he entered. Then he noticed that the dog had been tethered down to the ground with ropes and stakes. Its belly was rising and falling, showing life in his body.
Thank goodness.
He began cutting the tethers away, freeing the furry two-headed dog.

The dog, though, still lay there quiet. He tugged on its ears. Nothing happened.
Oh … what is wrong?
He wondered how they got the big dog in there to begin with, but he would have to figure that out later. As he stared at Chongo, Lefty noticed several darts stuck in various places all over the dog’s body. He began plucking them out one at a time.

A few minutes later, the dog stirred, then its nostrils widened as he began snorting in deep breathes. Finally Chongo rolled up on his massive lion-like paws. Lefty soon felt hot snorts on his face that he wiped off on his cloak. The pooch’s paws began stamping in excitement. Lefty wrapped his arms around one of his big necks while the other head licked him like a bone.

“
It’s good to see you, Chongo!” he said in a whisper, tears rolling down his cheeks.

Lefty looked around the stall again. No sign of Georgio. His heart sank. He thought of Mood’s orders to get his mind off of his sadness. So, from the inside of his cloak, Lefty pulled out a sack big enough to hold a pumpkin.

Inside the sack was an odd-looking fruit, shaped like a pear, but pale blue in color. It seemed to glow from within as Lefty held it out in front of his eyes in wonder. Mood had told him that the fruit would do what was needed, even though the dwarf said nothing else. Lefty was ready to see what would happen.

He extended his hand toward one of Chongo’s mouths and waited. Both heads sniffed the blue fruit, and one head growled a bit in warning. The other paid no mind and gobbled down the fruit. Lefty waited. Nothing. He checked inside the bag. No more fruit. Now what would he do? He sat down.

The dog seemed to be his robust self, just like any other day. Minute after minute passed. Lefty didn’t know what to do. He looked over at the big dog then stood back up when he noticed a change.

Chongo was shrinking.

It was really slow at first. Lefty watched as the back barn wall seemed to be growing. The farther the dog shrank, the dizzier it made Lefty. One moment, the big dog was staring down at the little halfling boy, and in the next, Lefty was staring down at a miniature dog. The puppy-sized animal sat down on his haunches, tongues out and twin tails whipping with excitement.

“
Wow!” Lefty couldn’t believe his blue eyes.

Then he remembered what Mood had told him: “Hustle out! Magic don’t last long! Put the pooch in the sack and beat your bitty feet back here!”

Lefty grabbed up the sack and tried to pull it over the dog. Both heads nipped and growled at his hands. Frustration and panic set in after several moments.
Just act
, he told himself. Dropping the sack, Lefty went over and snatched up the snapping dog. The dog was still plenty big and heavy in his arms, but it didn’t bite him. He pulled his cloak over the dog, headed out of the stable through the door, closing it behind him, and limped away.
What if he grows back while I’m carrying him
? he thought.
What will they do? They’ll kill him. Kill us! And what if someone sees me with a two-headed dog? What will I tell them?

He kept his head down, filled with uncertainty and limping back the way he came. The dog nuzzled his heads into his chest and shivered. He had just crossed over to the other side of the barn when someone stopped him.

“
Let me see that puppy, urchin,” a little girl’s voiced demanded.

He froze.
Crap!
He kept his head down and waited, squeezing the dog in agitation as one of his heads popped out. The little Royal girl, who looked about nine years old, walked up to him and studied the dog. She was a pretty young lady, really, with straight black hair and chestnut eyes. She wore black riding pants and a matching vest over a long white shirt. She reached out to stroke the pup’s exposed face and it growled. The other head began sniffing around and popped out.