The Darkslayer: Book 02 - Blades in the Night (31 page)

Melegal just shook his head. “No, this is it for me. You can find me when you return. Who knows, maybe I’ll figure out a way to solve all of our problems while you are gone,” he said while tapping his dark floppy hat.

He and Venir clasped arms.

“
Maybe,” Venir said. “Okay then.”

Melegal let them out through the secret passageway. They were out of sight. Just like that. He nodded his head as he closed the door. Mixed feelings mounted within for Melegal. He didn’t know if he was happy or sad. He didn’t know if they would ever be back again. Lost in thought, Melegal almost forgot about the approaching Sentries. He gathered McKnight’s belongings.
Hah, they’ll never catch me.
He was smiling. Then he remembered Tonio. He frowned and disappeared.

Leezir of the Slerg House was elated with their success in the decimation of the Almen House’s Shadow Sentries. He, along with Hagerdon and Creighton,
had headed back toward the Slerg castle, making the city trek through the first light of day in the shadow-filled alleys.

The green-eyed twins nudged one another back and forth, bragging about the gruesome onslaught they’d inflicted on the Almens. Even Leezir couldn’t wait to share the tale of their spoil. Leezir tolerated their foul lips with a keen ear, but his thoughts were on Venir. He couldn’t help but wonder whether or not that man would actually survive the swarm of Sentries that had been on him. Even from a distance, it seemed unlikely the massive warrior would fall.

Creighton and Hagerdon bickered back and forth over who would possess the axe from his fallen hand.
Foolish boys,
Leezir thought, as he knew Venir to be more man than the two put together and then some on any given day. Venir proved that alone when he was just an urchin.

He headed home in haste, hoping to reach their castle’s sanctuary before traces of their involvement caught them in its own snare. The evidence of dead man-urchin bodies would lead the Almens back to the Slergs. He was sure of it—unless the other man-urchins managed to drag off their kindred in time.

Weakening the Almen House gave Leezir a thrill. He was almost skipping at the thought. And then he heard something.

Twing! Twing! Twing! Twing!

The twin brothers lurched before Leezir, each clutching a long dart deep in their throats. He watched, unable to move as the young men spun around. He could see the darts clean through their necks.
Assassin!
He couldn’t move. He only watched as the twins’ heads dropped, then their bodies twitched and fell stone cold to the ground with a thud. A dark figure in white robes stepped out of the shadows.
Now what!

Leezir turned to take cover.

Twing! Twing!

He screamed as he fell to the ground, face down in the muddied alley. His back burned. He felt someone step over him and roll him over. He saw a face, but he didn’t know the man, although his filed teeth made Leezir think of underlings for some reason.

The man kissed his dart-launching bracers. Leezir looked at all the knives strapped inside the man’s robes and shivered. He wondered if he was going to cut his throat. He could still move. It hurt, everywhere. The poison was in him. Thanks to an earlier spell, it moved slow, like lava.

The olive-skinned man stared deep into Leezir’s eyes. Then Leezir felt a long blade on the skin of his throat. Leezir caught the assassin’s eyes one more time and managed a whisper, “Freeze.”

The man froze where his stood, his eyes darting back and forth. Leezir slid out from beneath him, fighting the pain. The magic suggestion he’d empowered had saved his life more than once, but this was his closet call ever.

Leezir groaned in misery as he pulled out his cudgel, Spine-Breaker. He hoped this was another one of Almen’s goons. It could only be. But Leezir himself wasn’t so easy to kill. He was a crafty survivor who didn’t mind being underestimated. Leezir would see to it that the Almens never underestimated him one more time.

He brandished the cudgel under the assassin’s nose then said, “This is gonna hurt.”

Sweat glistened all over the assassin’s muscular back. Leezir called on the cudgel’s power; it glowed white hot in his grip. He swung at the man’s hunched back.

Crack!

It sounded like a small bolt of lightning struck in the alley. He could feel the man’s vertebrae shatter into fragments of bone. The second blow had the same result when it landed on the man’s skull. The assassin lay dead like a wet sock in the alley. Leezir fell to his knees, holding his sides, wincing in pain.

Then he mustered the strength to try to save Hagerdon and Creighton. He reached deep in his reserves. His hands glowed, burning the long wooden darts from Hagerdon’s throat. The man coughed blood but was still alive. The poison hadn’t taken in Hagerdon as well, since he had received the same precautionary spell as Leezir. Creighton was not so lucky, as his neck had bled out and he’d died. Hagerdon knelt by his brother, fingers in his hair, sobbing, as Leezir stripped the assassin down. He poured oil over the man, and with a word, the corpse burst to fire, turning the man to ash in seconds. Hagerdon slung his brother over his shoulder, and they headed for home.

But they never made it there.

Leezir’s man-urchins stopped them along the way with dire news: the Slerg House was no more. The Almen House had ripped it asunder, inside and out. Some Slergs had escaped, but only a few. The Slerg House, then, once and for all, was no more.

Leezir and Hagerdon were now renegades without a Royal name. Leezir might have now been branded an outcast but he swore he’d lived on.

Tonio had abandoned the Motley Girls in pursuit of the boy that escaped, the one named Georgio. The claws of the black cat Octopus had torn deeply into Tonio’s half-dead skin and inflamed it with allergies. His body had puffed up beyond recognition and he could barely see through his watery eyes. He staggered, moaning in misery through the streets. He gave up the search for the boy.

Dawn crested and his own demise began to set in on himself. He longed to be home again. He could still remember it well. It was where she would be. It was the time in the morning when his beautiful mother would be walking the wall of Castle Almen.

Just outside the castle wall, Tonio stopped, a tall unsightly figure bringing sharp gasps from passersby. He waited for her to walk along the wall, hoping she would cast a glance his way. He remembered those walks with her. It was something he still clung to. She’d only made those strolls with him and none of his other siblings.

And then she came along … with two sentries at her side. She was wearing a silk gown that Tonio had bought her as a gift. She was a stunning woman, one that he felt his father, Royal Lord Almen, was not fit for. He didn’t like how his father treated her.

He saw her peer over the wall and scan the people below. The merchants that bartered outside the castles waved in reply. She was always liked by the people. She was gentle, not harsh, but also silent and strong. He watched her waving and talking to those below. He moved into her line of sight.

She caught his eye. His heart moved as he began to wave his scarred and bloated arm at her. He saw her recoil and turn away. The castle’s exterior ground sentries came after Tonio. He yelled for her, but his thickened tongue would not allow words to be formed. She turned back once more, and he could feel her gaze, but then she was whisked away. His heart was emptied.

As the sentries closed in on him, Tonio scrambled away, busting through the markets in rage. The people had seen nothing like him before. The City Watch came. He bludgeoned two of them to death with his puffy fists. People screamed in terror. He heard them cry aloud. He ran. Tears filled his eyes over rejection from the only person he’d ever loved.

Tonio stop and waited. He heard the pursuit of the City Watch. He contemplated letting the Watchmen carve him to bits. He knew their blades could not stop him, though. He felt little pain and let little blood in his condition. Yet his heart ached. He fled back to the stairs where he’d left the Motley Girls.

The three uncomely women lay still, bruised and bloodied. He shook them all, only managing to stir the one called Sis.

“
Eww …” she mumbled, looking up at him. “Just kill me, man, I got no fight left.”

Instead Tonio dragged her down the steps by the hair of her head. The open dungeon door awaited him. He sat her up in the corridor outside the dungeon, leaning her against the wall.

Tonio stepped inside the cell. He stripped down to his trousers and tossed everything else outside. Then he threw Sis the heavy cast-iron padlock, but no key was with it. He stepped back inside the dark room, out of view, and sat down.

He would never go home … could never go home.

*****

Sis struggled up to her feet, but didn’t peer into the dungeon. She closed the door and secured it with the padlock. She heard a muffled sob, and then she heard no more. The man, whatever he was, had given up, and that was just fine with her. She gathered his belongings, then spent the rest of the day rousing her bludgeoned sisters. They left the dungeon corridor and thought of the man no more.

The Ogre’s Nest was stunned. Orcs and ogres alike gawped in confusion. If Brandoff the Brawler was caught off guard, he did not show it. Instead he tugged at his small black beard, then slugged down more mead.

“
Well, it’s Jarla the Brigand Queen,” Brandoff said in his deep garbled tongue. “Did you enjoy being defiled so much by me the last time that you want defiled some more?”

Loud laughter erupted and spread like fire throughout the barn. The orcen women turned their noses up.

When the laughter subsided, Jarla pointed at him. “I claim that
you
cheated on our last challenge and that you owe me another match.”

Roars of outrage burst from the lips of the armored orcs. Hands went to hilt, and steel was brandished. She wouldn’t be surprised if a sword burst through her back. Every orc cheated, but calling them a cheater was another matter—a matter of honor. A mug of mead caught her in the chest, splashing her face. She didn’t move, hands on hips.

“
Queenie, go away. I won’t tell you one more time. There will be no challenge here or anywhere. I will say, though, I am tempted to toss you over again like the last time.”

Brandoff stroked his goatee as he stood up and walked around her. She would have shuddered at the memory, but she blocked it out.

“
I am flattered that you enjoyed me so much that you came back all this way for more. My prowess speaks for itself: even the human women cannot resist Brandoff the Brawler!” he shouted, opening his arms wide and bringing roars of triumph that shook the rafters.

“
You prowess lasted as long as a wink,” Jarla shouted in his face, “and I’ve known dwarves that are larger.”

Brandoff ulped at the statement. His brethren were wide-eyed, and the orcen women snickered. More laughs followed. Orcs and ogres always liked a good joke.

He swatted her on the butt, almost knocking her down.

“
Get out of here, wench, or I shall have you chained with the beasts.”

Her blue eyes shined with outrage. She knew he didn’t have anything to lose. But she could tell that he was not confident that he could beat her twice. Why else would he let her go? He waved his hand in her face. He gave a signal and his colleagues began to drag her away. She had to do something.
No!
She knew Nightmare was near.

Then she screamed as loud as she could: “COWARD!”

It grabbed everyone’s attention. Serving trays fell from fingertips with a clash. Who would ever have the audacity to call an orc fighter a coward in his own tavern? They all took a closer look at the woman who said it. She knew she’d hit home. Brandoff’s grin turned to a scowl.

The word
coward
in the world of Bish was a potent one. It carried different weight among the races, but among them all, it was a great insult nonetheless. They had different ways to deal with it. When it came to the orcs, their pride would never let them walk away from
that
word. It was the worst insult you could call an orc, and it was often followed with a fight to the death. Honor and dishonor had meaning on Bish.

Tables were dragged away as the center of the tavern was cleared. Brandoff stood in the middle of the floor facing her. She was a striking woman, standing over six feet in height, but she paled in front of Brandoff. He was two hundred fifty pounds of muscle covered by thick layers of fat. She seemed an unlikely threat, and she felt like one too.

Being the accused, Brandoff had his choice of weapons. He pulled out a heavy sword that the orcs had designed, called the “fang.” It was a big machete-like blade with a fang at the tip above the blade. She had seen her own brigands use these weapons to shatter bones and bust open the heavy armor of Royal soldiers. Brandoff eyed his own, fingering its fang.

Another warrior tossed his at her feet. She picked it up, checking its heft and balance. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d fought with a sword or any weapon for the matter. The fang was not even meant for a man’s arm, let alone a woman. She closed her eyes.
Nightmare.