The Darkslayer: Book 02 - Blades in the Night (39 page)

He kept rolling out of the giant’s reach. Chongo jumped over top of him, barring the giant’s path. Horace laughed some more.

“
What’s the matter, Mood? Shoulder busted?” The giant rubbed his own shoulder.

“
Yes, stupid! It’s busted. Stupid luck of a stupid giant!”

“
I’m not stupid, you are!”

“
You’re stupid, all right. You are bleeding pretty bad. It just hasn’t reached your senses yet, beast. Your gonna be off your feet any moment now and I’m gonna cut you up over and over again.”

Horace glanced at his legs that were thick with blood. A look of worry crossed his face. Mood had shredded the giants tendons around his knees and legs. The giant staggered back, slipping in his own blood, then he dropped like a stone. He began roaring and tearing at his clothes attempting to stop the bleeding, but it would not.

“
Mood, stop this bleeding and I swear I will never come back. I will promise you that!” he yelled. “Giants don’t break their promises! You know that!”

Mood was silent, in memory of all those Horace had killed, and watched the evil giant suffer.

“
Brothers, save me!” Horace cried out over and over again.

The giant’s cries for help continued on as Mood watched. If other giants heard his call, they did not respond, for he had shamed them. Mood sat down and watched. It was the most pitiful sight he ever had seen. The giant bellowed out in misery to end his suffering through healing or death. Mood didn’t think he deserved either. He would let him suffer forever if he could. After several hours and the day passed into night, Horace the hill giant died. Mood sobbed, but not for the giant, but in memory of all those who had fallen. Mood had his vengeance and many lives would be spared in the future. His heart was still heavy when he patted Chongo on the head.

“
I never could have done it without you, boy.”

The Blood Ranger dwarves had a tradition with some of their fallen enemies, depending on how they ranked them. Sometimes a proper burial was in order. In the case of Horace, it would be something else.

Mood and Chongo spent hours slowly dragging the behemoth to the bottom of the rock hill and into a small forest nearby. He stripped the giant of all his belongings and then began skinning the giant from head to toe. He carved him up like stag meat. He then prepared a spit and fire in the wood, lit a cigar, and slowly roasted pieces of the evil giant’s flesh. Chongo stayed by his side over the next few weeks, chewing on the bare giant bones. Mood consumed every bit of Horace the hill giant.

Chongo didn’t understand but he heard the dwarf say, “They don’t call us Blood Rangers for nothin’.”

Verbard bickered back and forth with his brother as they waited for Eep to fulfill his mission. They argued about how they would bypass the ogres that were mining deep into the caves they sought. The pair could have bypassed the creatures easily enough, but a battle with a host of ogres was not a wise decision. Verbard wanted to go for it, but his brother was adamant they would not.

The ogres mined minerals, gems, and metals like obsessed beasts. Oft times, they skirmished with the crafty dwarves over territory. The dwarves would sometimes let them be. Ogres were lousy miners, but they could swing a pick all day. It was a sound that Verbard became quite uncomfortable with over the passing days.

He observed the tireless ogres. Their hulking seven- and eight-foot frames lumbered in and out of the tunnels pushing massive carts or carrying boulders. Their picks were bigger and heavier than the underlings themselves. Their powerful swings struck the hard rocks that showered sparks and rung like thunder. They chanted in bellows as they worked in horrific harmony.

The adventure was becoming tiresome. Verbard had to destroy something. They needed to get moving through the pass.
Too many.
He looked over to his brother whose nose was in a scroll.
No guts.
Three or four ogres would have been manageable but over two dozen ogres was suicide. He didn’t care. He began chittering some words. Catten stirred from his studies. Verbard felt nothing. He was a shadow now and he drifted without notice into the mines below.
This should do it.

It didn’t take him long before he returned to his brother. He could feel Catten’s golden eyes boring into him.

“
What have you been doing?” Catten asked.

“
You will see,” he said under an unbreakable grin.

Catten shook his head and turned away.

The next day, an ogre erupted from deep inside one of the tunnels. Large chunks of gold, silver, and rock-sized gems were spilling from its massive arms. The underlings watched the scene below them, transfixed. The ogres stormed into those tunnels like bees in a hive. One after the other came in and out, carrying all the precious elements they could. Verbard was clapping his hands while Catten scratched at his chin.

The ogres began dancing all over their camp and even burst into song. Verbard saw broad grins full of yellow rotting teeth under protruding brows and bright dream-filled eyes. The amount of booty they were collecting from their tunnels was inconceivable. Verbard knew but the ogres’ capacity for reason wouldn’t account for that. He could see confusion in his brother’s watchful eyes.
You’ll see.

The ogres had stopped work to celebrate. They piled up their hoard. They celebrated with a feast of raw bear meat and horrendous homemade grog. Verbard could smell it from where he stood. He wanted no part of that bilious drink. It was known to paralyze men.

“
What is this, Verbard? Some sort of stupid distraction? Shouldn’t we go now?” Catten said with a hiss.

Verbard held his hand up and pointed downward at the ogre bonfire. Moments passed as he heard the revelry ringing clear.

Catten lurched forward as one ogre felt compelled to smash a large chunk of gold into another grog-drinking ogre’s head. The camp burst into thunderous laughter.
Here we go,
Verbard thought.

Another ogre followed suit with his massive gem. Then one launched a silver rock at his brethren. The ones who did not have any of the treasure were the ones laughing the hardest. Chaos blossomed. It would take more than a few shiny rocks of gold or silver to hurt an ogre. As soon as those objects contacted them, they began to get in on the bludgeoning too. Catten hissed. Verbard chuckled.

The ogres soon began to massacre each other. Noses were broken and bleeding, teeth were shattered, bones were crushed. They were out of control. One ogre in particular was terrified as he could not stop striking himself in the face with the two copper rocks he had picked up in self-defense. Over and over, he bashed his own skull until he could stand no more and died. So confused they were that they didn’t know who was friend of foe.

The madness spread like a virus and the confused ogres were eliminating themselves with the colorful booty they’d gathered. Verbard was thrilled with his cursed illusion. Many of them were knocked out and many others died at their brethren’s hands. After a long sequence of violent events, the survivors came to their senses again. Broken bones and headaches abounded, but Verbard didn’t hesitate to finish his plan.

“
I have had my fun, now you should have yours,” Verbard said.

He pointed to his albino urchlings and Catten waved to his Juegen warriors. The creatures charged into the camp. The ogres were far from ready. The Juegen’s curved swords were precise and sliced like whips in the air as they pierced the hearts and necks of their massive foes, some prone and others feeble. The Juegen guards’ speed and cutting was relentless as they carved into their massive foes as if they were giant children.

The albino urchlings ran up and down the backs of the brutes like scurrying rats, stabbing and jabbing them in the eyes, ears, nose, and throat with their clawed hands. Blood ran everywhere as the horrific sight of slaughter and mutilation was one for the ages.

Lord Catten was now nodding.

One lone ogre escaped and hid for days. It had the wit to utilize his free hand and cut off the hand that held the rock he was hitting himself with. It was a small part human and despite its ignorance of that, it was indeed what saved him. Its broken face and bloodied stump for an arm began to heal. It headed back to the mining camp.

When it got there, the ogre saw many bodies of his fellow ogres buried headfirst in massive holes that had been dug with their legs protruding from the ground, which was littered with severed heads as well. Vultures had gathered by the hundreds to feast, and the underlings that had afflicted them were long gone.

The gold, silver, and gems had only been rocks, after all.

It was just before daybreak as Venir, Fogle, and Ox had begun preparations to break from camp. Venir sauntered out of the way to relieve himself in a glen nearby. He stuck his axe in the ground, surveying their surroundings. Ox stood nearby, packing the wizard’s sack. Fogle Boon was kneeling on his pillow, deep in meditation. Venir began to pee.
Almost there,
he thought. A strange chill ran down his spine. He crooked his ear.

Fogle Boon shouted, “Venir! Ox! Something is afoot!”

Venir cut himself off midstream. A familiar buzz hit his ears. He whirled the mage’s way. Ten feet from Fogle Boon was a stocky bat-winged creature holding Venir’s backpack.
That imp!
They all charged at the intruder, but the imp flew into the air. It bared its razor-sharp teeth at him, then buzzed high above and out of sight. He looked back. Brool was still stuck in the ground.

“
Was that what I thought it was, Venir?” Fogle said. “That imp or something like it that you told me about?”

“
I think so.”

Venir went over and pulled Brool from the ground. His shield and helmet still lay near, but the bag that held them was clearly gone with his backpack. He didn’t know what to think. One thing was for certain: underlings had to be near. They had been watching him all along.

After several moments, Fogle asked, “Now what? Will your weapon still work, disappear, or what?”

“
I don’t know,” Venir said, grabbing what gear he had left. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough. In the meantime, let’s keep going because whatever is going to happen is going to happen.”

Fogle’s wizened face lit up at the statement. “I guess so.”

Weeks had passed since Melegal’s roommates had departed. His face grim, Melegal sat on his cot within the apartment and tried to let the serenity soak in. The first few weeks were bliss in the absence of the chubby boy Georgio and his halfling counterpart Lefty Lightfoot. Their chronic attention to his comings and goings had become wearisome. Now no one asked a thing about his business. It wasn’t what he expected.

Night after night, he did as he pleased. The women, the wine … it was what he was used to. He was a typical greedy thief living large. The splendid City of Bone was his playground. But his old indulgences didn’t have the same flavor as before. How could that be? He looked over to the table where the halfling’s tomes sat, save for the one that had gone missing—which Melegal had discovered well after Venir and the boys had departed. Melegal had almost solved the puzzle of Lefty’s shorthand. Melegal had spent more time on that than anything else the past few days. Plus the missing tome ate at him.
Where could it be?

He stood up, cracked his neck, and stretched. He sat back down, looking around. The cupboard was bare. The metal coffee carafe sat cold on the coal stove that had not been kindled in weeks. It had never seemed so empty to the thief. Even the time between Venir’s visits had not been so desolate.

The boys had spoiled him. He smirked at the odd thought. Even Octopus the cat never came by these days. It was Georgio that had fed the cat scraps of chicken gizzards from time to time. Melegal considered that they would not return soon, if ever.
Why would they?

“
Maybe the City of Three is better for them anyway,” he muttered.

He stood up and circled the room.
Georgio probably isn’t feeding Quickster
.
I’ll give it a few more weeks.
Then sounds of heavy footsteps interrupted his thoughts. He stopped and listened. He heard heavy knocks below. More boot steps came and someone was barking orders.