The Darkslayer: Book 02 - Blades in the Night (38 page)

“
I traveled two days back up that stream when my father and grandfather found me. I thought they’d be mad, but they hugged me instead. They were crying too. I’ll never forget that. I told them what I’d done. They just look at me funny.

“
I started crying all over again. My dad settled me down. My grandfather held out his hand. Inside it was a large silver fish scale. Then Grandpa said, ‘We believe you, but nobody else probably will. Leave it between us.’”

Venir saw that Georgio was asleep as he finished the tale.

So Venir spent some time with Fogle after that as Kam took the boys away. The reserved mage dabbled in drinks, it seemed. Venir even had to carry the man home. He both found it strange that Fogle could be so careless, but the illusionist said, “Sometimes it’s the only way I can stop my mind for a spell.”

Venir didn’t entirely believe him. He had used a similar excuse as well. He also felt that he might not ever get a chance to return to the pleasures of the city again and Venir made it clear that no drinks would accompany them. Venir was inebriated when he said, “Treks in the Outland are different than these city-borne ones. You can’t have your wits somewhere else out there.”

Fogle said he understood—then passed out.

The day had come to leave. Georgio and Lefty were heading to the lakes when Venir told them good-bye without them realizing he was actually leaving the city. Kam watched him go with tear-filled eyes. The marauder and mage made their way out of warm folds of the Magi Roost unnoticed to all others, and Eep’s eager eye was watching them all along.

A tall figure stood over the face of a cliff hurling the bodies of his slain underling foes into the abyss below. He was a striking young man, adorned in a set of short dark blue robes that glimmered in the moonlit sky. His forearms were wrapped with hammered dark steel bracers that shone dimly in the moonlight. A ornate metal amulet of similar alien design and work hung down on his broad chest on a thick metal chain. A slender six-foot-long oaken staff shod in matching dark metalwork lay on the ground near his side.

He stood long and powerful as his broad shoulders and corded arms heaved body after body below. The crisp hot wind blew his long mane of cropped auburn hair, and his steely eyes squinted in resistance. He was diligent in his task, focused, and a smile filled his tanned face in triumph.

The young mage was barely twenty years old. In one second, a band of twelve underlings thought they had trapped him on the edge of that abyss, but the armament he procured from the large leather sack time and again magically unleashed the fury of a dozen lightning spears that ripped through their black chests like as snapping bow string. Most of them died and the ones that didn’t would in the abyss he hurled them into below.

Fogle Boon woke up in a feverish sweat his mind screaming, “Grandfather!”

The rocky hills climbed high into the mists above the world of Bish. Horace waited as he watched a large two-headed dog approach him from below. The dog might be able to smell him, but it would not be able to see him before it was too late. The giant’s magic blended him in with the rocks and terrain, like a massive piece of cut stone.

The dog walked under an outcropping of boulders. At least that was what the animal thought it was. Instead it was the head of Horace’s enormous studded mace. The killing blow came down on the dog, crushing it like an egg and driving the big body hard into the ground. He hammered it again and again until its body was not within recognition.

“
Come on, dwarf! It’s time you shared the fate of your dead pooch as well!” the giant said in a voice so deep in rumbled like thunder and echoed over the rocks. “If you are scared, I understand, but at least your dog was brave. He didn’t last much better than the rest of your kind. They pretty much turned out the same, all those bodies of your women and children. It was a horrible sight—did you see it? Do you remember it? Ha, ha, ha!”

His baritone laughter rumbled on.

Nothing was moving, the wind was not blowing as his nose was twitching in the air. He filled his large hairy nostrils again. He looked at the smashed animal below him. But instead of the dog, he saw antlers and hooves. He squinted his eyes, then peered around warily and began backing up the mountain.

THWHIP!

“
ARGH!” Horace yelled out.

A heavy harpoon-like crossbow bolt punctured his Achilles heel. He looked down to pluck the barbed bolt from his heel when he noticed that a line was hooked to the bolt as well.

“
You’re tethered, Horace, which means you ain’t leaving this world for yours ever again. I am gonna kill you!” Mood yelled from somewhere deeper in the mist.

Horace bellowed back: “You won’t kill me, Mood, you won’t get close enough. I smash your head like a tomato, red beard, so bring it on. I wait.”

He cast his head around then pulled on the tether. He wanted to rip out the bolt, but that would cripple him. He wasn’t going anywhere and that was just fine. Fighting the dwarf didn’t worry him, as the Blood Ranger was no match for his power, but he wouldn’t be careless, just crafty instead.

The sound of barking dogs was behind him, and he whirled, smashing the rocks with his mace where a two-headed dog leaped away and circled him at a distance.

“
Two-heads on a mutt. I never saw that before. Nice trick, Mood. Pah!” he spat while swinging his mace down at the dog like a hammer, shattering the stone to fragments all over the ground. The two-headed canine kept the him busy, charging in and out, but he was far from worried. The dog couldn’t hurt him. Not much on Bish could.

He beckoned for Mood, “Here, dwarfie, dwarfie, come on so I can kill you.”

He sniffed the air some more.

“
Come on, Mood. I know you have been thinking about me all these years. How many of your kind did I kill? Hundreds, thousands?”

He was laughing, loud and powerful.

“
So, King, where were you the last time I killed your flock? As I recall, one of those children was yours and—”

“
Time’s up, Horace!” Mood shouted.

Horace was eager as two razor-sharp hand axes came flashing his way. He just laughed.

Fogle Boon did not mind the foot travel over the barren lands in Bish as much as he thought he would. Even the heat was welcoming. He had never spent much time outside of the city at all. Still, he didn’t understand why they traveled on foot, rather than on a horse. Venir insisted it was safer that way. He didn’t see how.

The thought of meeting a giant dwarf and a two-headed dog kept Fogle’s imagination running wild. Setting foot in Dwarven Hole would be a tale in itself. Venir told him he might not like it there but he didn’t care. He just kept his cowl tight and did his best to keep up with Venir, who took the lead.

Fogle watched as Venir’s determined gait never slowed. The helmeted man looked like a myth as he carried his great axe at his side. He didn’t understand how he wore the armor in the heat, either.
I guess that’s why he’s the Darkslayer and not me.
He was far from fit for this travel, but he wouldn’t let the warrior know that. It seemed Venir loosened up as soon as he left the city.
This must be his comfort zone.
Fogle was glad because he still had his worries. He had never been in a real fight before. Not even with a lizard or insect for the matter, and Venir said they were quite big out here. He couldn’t tell if he meant it or not. He shuffled to keep up from time to time, but Venir paid him no mind. It was clear that Venir was on a mission, something that only the Outland survivor could understand.

Fogle wasn’t without a companion, though. He’d brought his pack-bearer, Ox, who was a mintaur—a stocky man-like creature with a horned ram’s head and hooves instead of feet. Ox stood just over five feet tall, was muscular, clothed like a man, and had a long leather rucksack filled to the brim.

Fogle spoke with Ox, in his language, but Ox didn’t have much to say. It was good having him along, though. The sleepless mintaurs were a hardy race, small in number, peaceful, and one of the few that the dwarves liked. He had been in the service of Fogle Boon since he was a boy. Ox always worked for him, as well as protected him. Fogle had no better friend. The sack on Ox’s back carried everything he needed. He would have been lost without his magic necessities.

The illusionist brandished a broken five-foot staff. He showed its ancient workings and iron shod to Venir. The man told him it was just a stick and it might come in handy for firewood. It had offended Fogle, but not for long. The staff was more than just a stick. He kept it with him when he memorized his spells early in the morning. He stayed prepared. Every day, he felt as if it could be his last. Adventure had a different meaning.

They traveled far in good weather the first few days, with barely an encounter. A few pesky orcs came their way, brigands, but Venir brandishing his axe intimidated them and they ran away. Venir and Ox stayed on guard the whole time, even while Fogle slept. He couldn’t help it. He had to rest his inner self. Venir didn’t allow for fires at night, either, but it wasn’t cold. His blanket saw to that. A simple spell kept the creepy crawlies away, but his dreams stayed. Something foreboding was near. He felt it every time he woke. He looked around. Nothing.

But Eep was not far away.

What now, masters?
Verbard
heard
Eep ask in his mind.

Verbard nodded at Catten as watched the Darkslayer and company trotting over the barren surface. He and his brother had abandoned Oran’s lair. Verbard was unhappy. He liked that place.

They had just finished their own trek and now they were hidden in caves northeast of Dwarven Hole. Verbard was frustrated, as he’d hoped to already have acquired the armament that had been inside the bag.

Catten said in a hiss, “The foul man even sleeps with it on.”

“
He keeps it close. Wouldn’t you?” he replied.

“
We have to try something, brother.”

He made a risky decision and Verbard commanded the imp:
Grab the backpack with the sack inside the first chance you get!

But they had other problems. An ogre mining camp blocked other caves through which they sought to travel below. It was another issue that had not yet been overcome. Still they waited.

Mood was chopping his blades hard and fast at the skin just above the giant’s kneecap. Chunks of flesh peeled off as the Horace screamed. Horace backhanded him, knocking Mood hard into the rocks. He groaned, clutching his chest as he struggled back to his feet. He was thankful he had on his braided leather armor, or else his ribs would be shattered. He shook off the pain. It would take more than that to stop him today. He wasn’t about to let the giant take any more of his friends.

Mood yelled as he rushed back in, ducking under Horace’s mace, and began carving again. He chopped into the hard skin over and over. His arms ached but he pumped away. Horace knocked him from his feet and brought his mace down. Mood rolled away as stone shattered from the shaking ground. The ten-foot giant stared down at him. It seemed like an impossible task to defeat Horace. The giant didn’t seem hurt, but Mood had a plan. It had to work.

The dwarves knew how to fight giants better than any race on Bish. Mood had to make his cuts count. He wouldn’t get many more chances. One solid blow from Horace, and he was done for. Chongo leaped onto the giant’s back and Mood rushed in once more.

The giant grasped Chongo by one of his necks. The dog’s bites did him little harm. Mood cut hard and deep into the back of Horace’s leg. He heard a yelp of pain. He chopped again. Blood started to flow. Normal blades couldn’t cut Horace’s skin, but Mood’s blades did. The giant screamed as he let Chongo go.

“
You are going to die, dwarf. You can cut me all you like, but it won’t be enough before I crush you like your children!”

“
We’ll see about that, stupid!” Mood yelled as he cut Horace on the inside of his upper thigh, almost rendering the giant genderless.

He knew giants hated being called stupid. It made them careless. He pressed on.

Stepping and dodging, Mood’s twin axes began slicing deep gashes into the giant’s thick hide. The Blood Ranger inside him took over. Nothing could stop him now. Every chop hit its mark like venomous snake bites. Horace’s tree-trunk legs were bleeding all over. The giant kept hammering down two-handed strikes with his giant mace. The rocks shattered like glass under the blows. Mood felt like the whole mountain would fall down.

The terrain was becoming loose, yet Mood paid no mind to the treacherous footing. But then he slipped. Horace brought his mace around, catching him flush on the shoulder. His axes flew from his grip. He spun to the ground. Breathless and in pain, Mood turned his heard just in time to see the mace coming down on him.

“
Hah!” Horace yelled in triumph.

Wham!

Mood rolled out of the way as lances of pain shot through his busted shoulder.

Wham!