Date: 2013-04-25 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; Sword And Sorcery; Magic
Description: Outrage ... Venir is pushed to his limits in the Outlands: battling underlings and trying to find a way to staunch the underling armies that are quickly spreading from one corner of Bish to the other. Detective Melegal, struggling to get his life back under control, finds himself with more responsibility that he ever asked for. Not only does his life hang in the balance, but the fate of many others as well. Will his actions save them or spell doom for them all? Kam, Erin and Lefty remain prisoners under Prince Palos’s watchful eyes. After Lefty Lightfoot’s betrayal, Kam is on her own. She need
Publisher: Two-Ten Book Press

OUTRAGE IN THE OUTLANDS

The Darkslayer (Book 5)

CRAIG HALLORAN

THE DARKSLAYER

Outrage in the Outlands (Book 5)

By Craig Halloran

Copyright © February 2013 by Craig Halloran

Amazon Edition

TWO-TEN BOOK PRESS

P.O. Box 4215, Charleston, WV 25364

ISBN Paperback: 978-0-9884642-8-5

ISBN eBook: 978-0-9884642-7-8

THE DARKSLAYER is a registered trademark, #77670850
http://www.thedarkslayer.net

Cover Illustration by David Chen

Edited by Cherise Kelley

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recorded, photocopied, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

Publisher's Note

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

OUTRAGE IN THE OUTLANDS

The Darkslayer (Book 5)

CHAPTER 1

Nerves of steel. Where are they? Melegal swore he used to have them; even in his own darkest hours, he'd had little fear. Ever since he was a boy he’d been beaten and abused to some degree, but it only reinforced his steely resolve. For some reason, as far back as he could recall, he'd always figured he could wriggle his way out of anything, until today.

The Royal Coming of Age games were about to begin, and every face that sat along the benches was eager for blood. Royals—pompous, arrogant, extravagant, impossible and powerful—loved nothing more than seeing their falling brethren hacked down like rabid dogs. Melegal stood leaning against the wall, inspecting his fingernails, five rows up from the bottom of the arena. Say nothing. Talk to no one. Avoid all contact. It will be over soon.

The arena, nothing extravagant but fairly large, was a small compound where the Royal sentries did much of their routine training. The Royals and sentries sat behind a wall that was about eight feet in height, along wooden benches where one was no more distinct than the other. Above them, a dome rested on a network of limestone pillars where sun and moonlight could gleam in through the litany of tiny windows, making for a majestic affect. Other than that, it was a place of seclusion. A safe place from prying eyes and a good place to muffle the cries of death. Melegal clutched his fingers in and out, pumping blood into his lengthy fingers. What to do? He felt obligated to be doing something. When all else fails, listen.

Lord Almen sat in the first row, broad shoulders pulled back proud as a peacock, looking stately as well as deadly in his exquisite black silk jerkin laced with threads of gold. Along his side and spreading out were another twenty people who Melegal hadn't seen before. More Royals, some gray-headed, others bald-headed, both young and old, each having a smile when Lord Almen had their attention and a sneer when he did not. Staff, young women, attractive and revealing, served wine, food and other pleasantries to the men who gathered around one another like a host of evil colleagues. Melegal wanted to spit. Blathering men.

The arena itself had other guests, ones that Melegal knew all too well. Sefron sat alone, near the front of the flock of garish Royals, neck craning back, and hanging on their every word, wearing more robes than Melegal had ever seen him in before. There is still time to kill you today. He brushed his fingers over his wrists, feeling the contraptions hidden beneath his sleeves and fighting the urge to launch the darts he’d acquired from the Slergs when he took them into custody. Elation had filled him when he came across them. They were prized weapons, indeed. When the right time and place presented itself, he’d be ready. I’ll feather that slaggard’s flabby back full of them.

A pair of heavy double doors were pulled open from inside the arena. The contestants of the Coming of Age Games were pulled inside, heavy chains clanking, to a small course of cheers.

“Booooo!”

“You’re going to die, you wretched Slergs! You killed my brother,” one Royal shouted, rising to his toes and hurling a goblet of wine at Leezir.

Here we go.

Melegal wanted to crawl into a hole, such a dreadful feeling over came him. He’d been in an arena similar to this before, but on the other side of things, when he was an urchin serving in the Slerg castle, watching his one and only friend, Venir, take ritual beating from the Slerg boys. He’d never forget that day, during another ceremony, when Venir stuck it to the twins, Hagerdon and Creighton. That was the day he knew if he was to ever be free of the Royals, or to live a long life, his road to freedom was through Venir. He fought to keep his eyes away from the men inside the arena. Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look. He looked.

There they stood, two Slerg men and a Slerg girl, beaten, downcast and destitute, except one, Hagerdon. Fighting a hard cough but known to be quite a swordsman, the man kept his chin up, green eyes still ablaze. Always hated him and his brother. Such scrappy arses. You’d think I’d be happy to see them go. Instead, Melegal felt pity. Venir’s bloody seed. The man still makes my life impossible.

He looked at the man who he should be trying to save, Brak. The man, or boy rather, was a monster by comparison to the rest. Tall, sullen-eyed, big-boned with a tuft of blond hair hanging down past his jaws. He stood still, shoulders stooped, eyes gazing at the ground like nothing more than a common mute. Melegal had at least seen to it that he wasn’t whipped, but he swore he heard the man’s stomach growl from where he sat.

Melegal rubbed his chin. He could see little of Brak’s father in him, other than his blue eyes. I’m not so sure he’s Venir’s seed. But he knew that he was. Something eerie about the man’s presence told him so.

He fanned himself with his cap and took a seat a few benches down, all alone from the rest of the crowd. Lord Almen’s hawking eyes caught his for a moment. He swore the man was going to kill him any day now. He bowed his chin, turned, and refocused his attention on the inner arena, where six well-armed youths were conducting routine exercises with wooden weapons along the wall.

“Look at that one's head,” a haughty voiced boy said, swinging a heavy club. The others all looked over and laughed. “Ten gold says I crack it open first.”

“I’ll take that, and raise you fifteen more. My, his face is three times bigger than mine,” another said, strutting around swinging his wooden sword.

They were all laughing and practicing quick little moves.

“I’m in for twenty. They should have just given us cows and sheep to slaughter. It would last longer.”

“But we aren’t supposed to kill them,” one said, his black hair as straight as an arrow.

There was a pause among the boys and then an outburst of laughter.

“Tell you what,” one said, freckled and brown headed, “we can take the little Slerg girl back to our quarters and give her something to feel good about after we’ve killed what’s left of her family. She’s cute for a Slerg. Has all of her teeth anyway.”

“Not for long,” one said, whacking a wooden mallet into the wall.

They chattered back and forth like gossiping women, but Melegal could hear the nervous twinge in their voices. It was their first trial against men, unknown men at that. And even though the cards on the table were overwhelmingly in their favor, there was a wild card, Brak. The bastard son of the unstoppable Venir. And Melegal swore it had been Brak’s hands that bent those bars in the sewers. I hope he at least snaps a few necks before he perishes. Alas.

The bench felt abnormally hard on his skinny butt as he shifted in his seat the ever slightest. Normally, the skinny thief had ice water in his veins, but now his dexterous poise had been violated. Keys. Sefron wanted them. He’d seen them and taken a trip from one side of the city to the other with them. He’d broken into Lord Almen’s office to find them, against his will, something he was certain was Sefron’s doing. I’ll never follow the reason behind that. Now, he was certain that Lord Almen suspected him. He’ll have me dead as a toad sure enough. Wicked Royals. He clenched his fist. I’ve had enough.

He cocked his chin and watched another unsettling figure from the corner of his eye. Another unanticipated obstacle. A woman, tall, sinewy, with short raven hair and maroon lips sat several feet over from Lord Almen. A sheathed sword lay over her lap where she scowled. He noticed Lord Almen's eyes drifting to hers from time to time. Interesting.

Melegal was certain it was the same woman from the chamber room, the one he'd thought looked so familiar. Still, he found himself looking over at her, and she was looking back at him. Dark blue eyes as sharp as razors. Face scarred from injury or mishap. Scowling at him like he was the plaque of the earth. He knew who it was: Jarla the Brigand Queen. He scowled right back and turned towards the other notable woman in the room, who was scowling at Jarla. Lorda Almen.

She was picture perfect, legs crossed below her short white and rose colored tunic dress, revealing her sensual calves. The Lorda was a marvelous woman who stood out among the rest of the Royals, her lithe frame feline in grace, her every movement accenting her generous curves beneath her snug but appropriate garments. Melegal could see poisoned daggers behind Lorda Almen’s glaring expression on the raven-headed interloper. Fascinating, even when hating.

She flipped her dark hair behind her shoulders and locked eyes with Melegal. His heart pounded with new energy. The Lorda had become quite fond of him over the passing months. He’d saved her from her own son, Tonio. He’d killed an innocent man that day, Gordin, a commander of the Almen Castle watch. Stabbed him in the back. Duped the Lorda into believing Tonio was at fault and had gone from being a goat to a hero. His plan had worked, and so far, he lived.

Still, Lord Almen and Sefron he was certain remained unconvinced. But, as time passed, Lorda stayed fond of Melegal and treated him less like a servant and more like a confidante. He’d even walked through her gardens with her once, and her exotic nearness had almost curled his toes. If not for her interventions, he was certain he’d be nothing but charred or rotting bones. He read her full and perfect lips as she spoke to one of her servants who got up and headed his way. No, not now!

The servant was a pretty little thing, light hair pulled back in a bun, her servant robes ruffling over the bench as she squatted along his side and whispered in his ear.

“The Lorda would like a moment with you, Detective,” she said, bowing, then gracefully walking away.

All the men inside the arena were lathered up in conversation, pointing and goading one another as Melegal made his way over with sagging shoulders. Despite the pleasure of Lorda Almen’s presence, she still had her own way of being as demanding as her husband. Who must I spy on this time? He glimpsed at the back of Jarla’s muscular back. I can only imagine. He huddled beside the Lorda, catching the full effect of her arousing perfume. Perhaps I can swipe a drop or two for Haze.

“Detective, it is good to see you,” she said with a pleasant smile. “I’ve heard that you and Sefron have worked hard together on this venture. Is that true?”

No.

“I do what must be done in hopes it pleases the Lords.”

“I see,” she said. “But, are you not the one who brought in all of these Slergs? Tracked them down one by one and saw to it that only these few remain? The cleric had no part in that, did he?” She eyed Sefron, frowned, and returned her gaze to Melegal. “We can never get the fiend from the castle, it seems. All he does is ogle the women and creep up on the girls.” She reached over and grabbed his sleeve. “He’s a disturbing one, and I can only imagine he’s hard to work with.”

Ha.

“It is true, Lorda, that I am responsible for capturing these men, and the cleric played no part. He did manage the risky task of inviting Lord Almen’s guests and picking out the wine and appetizers for this event. I think he even has a blister on his lips to show for it.”

Lorda pulled him in closer, laughing and pressing her soft bosom into his arm, sending a wave of passion through him. He wanted to pull away, but she was holding him fast. What if Lord Almen saw? Cripes! Just toss me in the arena, why don’t you? But Lorda’s servants obstructed the view. Lightning raced down his spine as Lorda Almen’s lips nibbled at his earlobe and she whispered to him, “See that black clad whore over there?”

There’s only one Jarla.

“Yes, Lorda, “ he managed.

“Kill her.”

There’s too much blood rushing to my head. Did she just say—

“Kill her,” she squeezed his arm, “… and I’ll be so very grateful. Don’t kill her, and I’ll be disappointed.” She let go. Returning to her stately posture, her voice was a cold as stone. “And you don’t want to see me disappointed. Now go.”

“As you wish,” he said, turning his steely eyes way. Jaws clenched, he got up, and his mind started thinking. Madness! Why me? Kill the infamous Brigand Queen. Watch a friend's son die. I need to at least try to save him. Possibly die in the process. If anyone is to go before I expire, it will be Sefron. I’ve had it with these Royals. He took a place on the bench adjacent to the back of Jarla, allowing his hand to slip to one of his daggers. Let the Lorda think I’m at least going to try. Women!

CHAPTER 2

Brak cast a glance at the leering faces in the crowd. He looked back down. At his side, Hagerdon and Leezir stood in as bad a shape as they’d ever been in before. Leezir hacked and coughed, a trickle of blood coming from his lips, his breathing crackling and raspy. Hagerdon, battered and bruised from head to toe, eyes almost swollen shut, stood chin up and chest out, glaring at his enemies.

The Slerg fighter's eyes locked on his as he said, “Brak, get your chin up. Your father’d be ripping those chains and whipping their scrawny arses with them if he were here. They’re going to take you down. Rip you apart. Take some of them down with you.” Hagerdon fell to the ground when a spear butt cracked him in the head. A chorus of laughter followed.

“Shaddup, Slerg!”

Brak reached out to Hagerdon and caught the tip of a spear in his ribs.

“Don’t move, Mute! Else I’ll poke a hole in you before the fight begins.”

He shuffled back, chains jangling at his feet, as Hagerdon struggled to rise. He looked around at the people in the seats in the arena now. One woman was stunning, another one scowled. His mouth watered. He could smell the food that robed servant girls carried to the men adorned in the most extravagant clothes. His stomach sounded like a bullfrog as it growled. He’d do anything to eat again, just one last meal and he’d be happy to die. He just didn’t want to die hungry. It seemed like such a sorry way to go.

He glanced over at the young men, most of whom he swore were his age, and something else stirred in his hungry belly. Anger mixed with fear. They’d said the crudest things about the little girl, Jubilee. Things he couldn’t even imagine. At the same time, he suspected much of what they said was true. Yet, he had no desire to fight them. He just wanted to leave this place. He just wanted to eat. He wanted to see his mother, Vorla, again.

“Hoy! Big Face!” one of the young men said. “We’re going to chop you up and feed you to the pigs! Ha-hahahahah!”

Brak looked down at his toes. He’d gotten accustomed to Hagerdon’s insults over the passing months, but these young men’s tongues made the Slerg fighters sound like honey.

“His face looks like an orc’s butthole!” another one added.

“His head is shaped like a cracked ogre’s egg!”

He blocked it out and glanced into the stands once more. A flabby man, odd like a hairless bird, was trying to run his hand up a slender girl's robes. Then he noticed the skinny man with steely eyes, the one who knew of his father. There's sympathy in the cold man’s face. This awareness brought him more fear than hope. It was as if the man who captured him, the one they called Detective, was looking at a corpse. He couldn’t take it anymore.

He pumped his big fists in the air, and his voice filled the arena, “LET ME EAT! PLEASE, LET ME EAT!”

A stark silence filled the arena. Food dropped from the mouth of one man, and a young royal dropped his wooden club.

“I DON’T CARE!” Brak moaned. “JUST LET ME EAT ONCE MORE BEFORE I DIE!” He wiped the tears from his face and fell to his knees. “PLEASE!”

Creighton hissed a fierce whisper at him, “Pull yourself together, you imbecile! Die with dignity!”

Brak didn’t know what that meant and did not care. He was miserable, alone and starving.

A murmuring began among the men and soldiers, but it was the one in the middle, the broad shouldered vulture of a man dressed in the most ornate clothes, who spoke first.

“I thought you said he was a mute, Detective Melegal?” Lord Almen said, looking back over his shoulder at the skinny man who knew his father.

The thin man shrugged and said, “I figured he’d eaten his tongue, and why wouldn’t I, Lord Almen?”

A small chorus of laughter erupted.

“I see, Detective.” Lord Almen let out a chuckle and turned his attention back on Brak. “Hmmmm … Brethren, I say we let this former mute eat. Perhaps a plateful of pig’s innards would do.”

“Nay, Lord Almen, a spoonful of slat would be better.”

The suggestions continued, one after the other, and Brak could feel himself slipping into the ground beneath his chains.

“Get up, Brak! Die on your feet, not on your back like a coward!” Hagerdon said.

He heard one of the Royal youths speak up and say to the onlookers, “Don’t worry, my Lords. I’ll cut out his tongue and feed it to him. Then he’ll not complain about being hungry anymore!” The young warrior ran over and cracked him across the skull with a wooden sword.

Brak’s head exploded with white lights. Pain filled his eyes. Yet, his hunger was the worst feeling of all. He looked at the faces of the laughing men and women. Compassionless. Cold. The young man that swatted him pumped his fists in the air to a chorus of praise and jubilation. Brak didn’t even wipe the blood that ran down into his eyes. How much more would he have to suffer before he died?

“Get up!” The sentries said, jerking him to his feet.

Lord Almen stood up, raised his arms, and said, “I think we’ve had enough enjoyment from the mute, er, former mute,” he bowed, “but the time has come to let the Coming of Age games begin. We’ve all been there, when were young, oh so many decades ago that seem like yesterday.”

“For you maybe, Lord Almen, you old Griffon!” one of his colleagues offered, hoisting his goblet in the air, then sucking it down.

“Ah … but my locks don’t share the same gray as yours, Reginald, you son of a Slerg's milk maid.”

Laughter

“But now the time has come for the next generation of our Brood to earn their stripes, and who the better to earn them against than some of our former allies turned enemies, the sacrificial Slergs.”

Boos

“The Slergs, each and every one save these four, are no more. The House of Almen has seen to that. Now, the time has come to see them pay for all of their betrayals. First,” he emphasized, “there will be death!”

The men with decorative weaponry rattled their scabbards.

“Second will come their much overdue deaths!”

Brak could see their faces bearing down on him and the Slergs like they were nothing more than sheep being slaughtered for a feast. He clutched at his groaning belly. He just wanted it all to be over with. He just wished he could see his mother, Vorla, one last time.

“You!” Lord Almen pointed at Hagerdon. “Step forward. You’ll be the first to suffer and die, Hagerdon.”

The guards shoved the Slerg fighter forward and pulled the rest of them back against the wall. Jubilee’s sobbing started up again.

Hagerdon, busted up with drying blood on his filthy clothes, spoke up.

“Why don’t you come down here and give me an honorable death yourself, Lord Almen. I’ll even leave my back open for your slat eating—urk!”

The sentry yanked the collar on his neck. The Slerg fighter jerked away.

“Assassin!” Hagerdon slipped away. “Sending children to do what you don’t have the guts to do yourself. I challenge, blade for blade, until the bitter end!”

Brak never realized that laughter could be so annoying. He’d often laughed at his mother’s stories during his short fourteen years of life and at other recountings on the farms, and he was pretty sure that laughter wasn’t to sound like this. It disturbed him.

Lord Almen, in the meantime, remained poised, hand folded across his lap, a smile forming on the corner of his lips.

“I’ll tell you what, Hagerdon Slerg. I’ll grant part of your wish. We’ll begin this contest not with wood, but with steel.” He looked over at the sentries and the young men and pointed. “Give those three blades.” Then he tossed something into the arena that Hagerdon snatched out of the air.

A wooden sword. A short one at that, carved as a complete replica of a real one. The Slerg fighter’s chin bobbed up and down as he studied his useless blade and shrugged, “Better than I expected. May you burn in the furnace soon, Lord Almen,” he said, making an offensive gesture as the three young Royals surrounded him. Brak held his stomach and cringed.

The young Royals wore leather cuirasses, short over their well-defined stomach muscles, round bucklers strapped to their sinewy arms and light swords Brak believed were called rapiers. Each sword gleamed along its ornate hilt. These were all studded with gems and pearls. The young Royals cut the blades through the air with sharp swish-swish-swish sounds as Hagerdon shuffled in his chains, head whipping back and forth. The Slerg fighter, taller and broader than his opponents, looked over-matched by comparison in his tattered clothes and wooden sword, but he had the look of a seasoned fighter in his hard eyes, which watched them look back and forth at one another.

“Come on, Boys,” he growled, “haven’t you ever fought a living man before?”

“Do as you’ve been taught!” one of the Royal trainers ordered. “You’ve done this before, now make this man bleed!”

The tallest of the three thrust his rapier forward and darted back again. Then the next followed suit, then the other, each blade coming inches from Hagerdon's belly as he shuffled away. Brak watched their every move. He’d seen these moves before.

Step. Lunge. Retreat. Step. Lunge. Retreat. Step. Lunge. Retreat.

Hagerdon dodged the tip of one blade and smacked away another, just in time to twist, parry and dodge out of harm’s way.

“Is that all you little slats have?” he said, wiping the sweat from his brow. “I’ve seen dogs handle blades better than that.”

“Press! Faster!” the trainer ordered.

Step. Lunge. Retreat. Step. Lunge. Retreat. Step. Lunge. Retreat.

They were getting faster. Their blades were getting closer, cutting and poking at his unprotected body. For the first time, Brak was seeing what Hagerdon had taught him about how a sword can easily whittle down an unarmed man. Sword versus no sword strategy. Run. But the Slerg fighter had nowhere to run.

The small crowd began cheering in eager anticipation of the first drop of Slerg blood being spilt. Hagerdon was gasping for air, chains rattling and clanking, a most desperate sound. Brak knew the heavy chains were wearing him down. It was just a matter of time. Fighting the urge to watch the inevitable, he nonetheless watched on, feeling like the room was about to explode at any moment.

Step. Lunge. Retreat. Step. Lunge. Retreat. Slice!

The arena erupted in a chorus of cheers as one Royal tore a sliver from Hagerdon’s shoulder.

“You got first blood, Boy!” one man cried.

“Finish him!” another said.

The trainer yelled over them all, saying, “Keep up the pace! Don’t stop!”

Hagerdon was grimacing underneath his thick head of hair, ducking, dodging and parrying in a more desperate fashion now. His fluidity had become stiff, and his efforts in vain. Brak stood solemnly as he watched the man quickly being whittled down without a fight.

Slice! Lunge. Retreat. Step. Lunge. Retreat. Step. Lunge. Retreat.

There was a roar of applause when the Slerg fighter began to bleed from half a dozen wounds. Blood was dripping from his chin to his belly. Brak couldn’t help but wonder if this was the kind of death that awaited him. Not only would he die with an empty stomach, it would have a bloody hole in it, too.

Step. Lunge. Retreat.

Whack! Whack! Whack!

Hagerdon burst in a tornado of blood and tattered clothes, cracking one Royal with his wooden sword so hard he broke his sword arm, drawing a howling cry. For a split second, everyone froze but Hagerdon. He tore the buckler away from one man and whacked the throat of another. Two other young Royals were down on their knees as the Slerg fighter twisted the rapier away from the third and stabbed him in the knee.

“Stop him!” everyone seemed to shout at the same time, but Hagerdon kept on going.

One of the young Royals reached after him and had his fingers sliced off. The trainer pulled his sword from his sheath just in time to try and parry Hagerdon from skewing his heart, but he was too late and fell to his knees wide eyed while the Slerg ripped his blade free. A little blood became a lot as he spilled into the dirt and Hagerdon charged towards his nearest opponent.

Churk!

Hagerdon’s eyes widened like moons. A spear burst through his chest. One of the sentries from the stands had hurled the deadly weapon into Hagerdon’s back. Brak was face to face with the man as it happened. The rapier clattered to the ground as he fell to his knees and said through blood soaked lips, “That’s how you go out, Brak.”

Brak shook within his shackles. He filled with horror as he watched the remaining young Royals came over and take their turns at hacking the dying many down. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the warm blood splattering his face while he clutched his groaning belly.

CHAPTER 3

Albino urchlings. Venir had only seen them once before. That had been the last time he saw Chongo, and it seemed like ages ago. He’d moved on. He hunted the ones that would have him dead, as did his comrade and his best friend. Now there were ten of them. Teeth gnashing, claws barred, ready to rip him to shreds. The translucent white little brutes were nothing more than muscles, fangs and claws as sharp as razors charging at him full speed and leaving behind them a trail of dust.

Venir was red hot with rage. Muscle, steel and magic intertwined and forged the ultimate fighting machine. Brool was singing in his grip, pulsating with power. The eyelets on his helm oozed with a mystic radiance as he crossed the dusty parallel. Man, monster and mayhem met in the middle.

Venir’s bulging arms chopped into the face of the first screaming urchling, dropping it like a bloody stone. The smaller creatures ducked and rolled away from the deadly arcs of Brool’s sting. Venir could feel their rage and fear intermingle as he plunged his spike into another one's chest. Two!

Something else lurks nearby, the helm warned.

Slat! There’s more! Another urchling jumped on his shield, its fangs biting into the rim. Two more clawed and nipped at his feet like starving hounds.

Chop! Chop!

They hungered no more, twitching in their own blood.

A heap of them piled on top of him, tearing into his back and biting into his legs. The scale mail saved him from being ripped to shreds as they tried to pull him to the ground and feast.

“NO!”

He pierced the skull of the one hanging on his shield and slung it to the dirt. Five! The little monsters were strong! They latched onto his knees and squeezed him while two more assailed him, howling with bloodlust. He couldn’t let these underlings stop him from getting in the larger fight with the Royal Riders.

“Fiends!”

With one urchling hanging on his arm, he hacked into the chest of another. With his shield arm, he grabbed the one hanging from his arm by the neck, squeezed, and pulled it off him. It clawed and scratched like an oversized angry rat in Venir’s arms. He reversed his grip on Brool and began stabbing the two that wrestled and gnawed at his knees.

Scrunch! Scrunch!

Eight!

The tongue of the one in his clutches was juttering from its mouth in an awful hiss as Venir crushed its throat and dropped it to the ground. One still hung on his back, trying to rip the scale mail from his body. The air shimmered around him. All the hairs on his body stood up. Venir whipped his head around. Where is it? He looked up in time to see the underling hovering ten feet above him, hands pointing downward on him, radiating with power. Move! It was too late.

Venir balled up on the ground, back up, head down.

CHA —KAOW!

It felt like lightning was shooting through his nose as everything around him exploded in white hot light.

***

Slim the beetle buzzed through the effort to coordinate the chaos of an underling army that was under attack. His charge: to find and lead to safety two women who had been taken prisoner by underling hunters. As his black and gold wings buzzed through the air, none of the multicolored eyes that gleamed with evil paid him any mind. He soared over their heads, searching for the prisoners.

The camp, a series of dark grey tents lined up row by row, proved to be a bigger search area than he expected, and it was even more challenging when you were the size of a beetle.

If I were an underling, where would I hide two humans?

As the sounds of battle clashed nearby and the giant sized spiders were making their way back, he noticed every underling was moving except for a handful of guards. Armed with serrated spears and adorned in black leather armor, three underling warriors with eyes like hard sapphires chittered back and forth with one another. Behind them was a large pit with a wooden grate dropped over the top of it. Slim flew over the underlings' heads, dropped to the ground on the other side of the pit, and crawled inside.

His insect senses were aroused at the scent of waste in the air, and his instincts told him he was hungry. I’m craving excrement. I’m not a dung beetle. Just a beetle. He crawled down the dirt wall, his black shell with olive and white color blending in as he went farther and farther down. The pit was deeper than he expected, and he noticed hand and footholds dug into the dirt on the other side. What purpose did the underlings have for keeping the women alive? For the most part, anytime underlings came into contract with humans, or any other race, they left them for dead.

Making his way to the bottom, he let his antennas start feeling around. He could see the light coming from the top of the cage, but the shadows below left everything pitch black. He sensed vibrations of movement in the area, and sounds vibrated through his butt and into his head. He couldn’t tell if the women were in there or not, but something was. There was only one way to find out.

Here goes.

His shell started cracking. His body expanded, warbled and returned to normal. Slim arched his back and stretched his long limbs. “Ah … that’s better.” He peered through the darkness where two huddled figures shivered.

“Adanna?” he said. “Is that you? It’s me, Slim,” he said, squatting down and touching a woman’s leg.

She flinched.

As his eyes adjusted, her form took on a more distinct shape. Both of the women’s figures became more defined, but there was something unnatural in the air. Slim shuffled back, hands out as an overwhelming sense of evil lurked within the pit. As his heart began pounding in his chest, he mumbled a protection spell. The suffocating shadow of the unknown retreated as Slim stepped forward, summoning more magic, and a soft glow erupted in the palm of his hand.

The two women, Adanna and her mother, trembled as they held on to one another for their dear lives. They were bound together with silky cords, like webs that spiders shoot and something else. That’s when he heard a sucking sound, and Adanna let out a heavy sob. The mother’s body lurched. That’s when Slim noticed red eyes glimmering along the walls and on the women’s bodies. Dozens of them popped open all at once. Spiders, bigger than his hands like tarantulas, began to detach themselves from the women and scurry towards him. Oh my!

He glanced above. The day's light looked like it was a mile off. He looked down as a spider sped his way, and he stomped it under his sandal. The pit erupted with a sound like squealing rats as the tiny horde of spiders darted at him. Above, the underlings chittered, gemstone eyes peering downward, the soft glow of his hand giving him away.

“Not good,” he said, stomping each and every spider he could into the ground. The blood sucking spiders bit into his ankles. “Ow! Dratted bugs!” There was no sense in holding back; the underlings knew he was in there. “Enough!” He summoned more energy into his hands, and both burst aglow in white hot fire. The spiders burst into char as he grabbed, crushed or swatted them away. “How many of these things are there!”

They burned. They fried. They died. One palmful at a time. He burned the webs away from Adanna and her mother and shook them both. The mother was dead. An empty feeling overcame Slim, and Adanna sobbed as he wiped her nose with his robes. “Come on. I have to get you out of here.” The buxom woman didn’t move, quivering. People on Bish, no matter how hard they were, were never prepared for what the underlings had to offer.

He looked her over. Wounds, dozens of spider bites, covered her in red welts from head to toe. They weren’t poisonous, but they fed off her blood. Some spiders were like mosquitoes, and others ate flesh like rodents. A few dozen spiders could easily kill a man as big as Venir if you didn’t kill them first. He cupped Adanna's face in his palms and muttered under his breath. He felt his skin tighten as he fed his life force into her, sealing her wounds and charging her blood. He sagged to the ground.

“Slim?” she said, reaching down and hugging his lanky bones. “Are you all right?” she said, pulling him up to his feet.

He leaned on her and said, “I’ll be fine in a moment.” He looked up through the pit at where the underlings had removed the grate. “But I’m not so sure we have that long to wait.”

They came. Two sand spiders as big as large dogs, tan with white ringed tails, scurried into the pit and cast a blanket of webbing above them. There was no way out now.

Adanna squeezed her arms around Slim’s waist, looked up, and screamed just as the new spiders made their descent.

CHAPTER 4

“Fidderbay! Fidderbay! Fidderbay!” Fogle Boon chanted as the giant foot stomped him into the ground. His face smashed into the rock and dirt. His body shuddered under the weight as it squished and contracted but did not bust. His bones didn’t crack, and his skull wasn’t crushed. The magic spell had worked. Fidderbay was an odd spell, made more for trick and fun than anything else, something he’d mastered as a young boy when they played games at school. The Fidderbay spell made you and your attachments soft and porous like a sponge. Still, he could feel the giant’s foot trying to grind him into dust. Think and Live!

He shifted onto his back, and the giant lifted his boot up. The giant cocked its head as it stared down on him, eyes full of confusion. Fogle tried to yell for Cass, but his mouth felt like it was filled with cotton. The spell rendered any other incantations impossible, but it didn’t last very long. The giant raised its club over its head and swung down with all its power. Please keep working.

Wham!

The giant struck him full in the chest. All of his blood rushed to his head, fingers and toes, stretching his skin to the limits. It fell like a geyser was trying to burst through his skull, and his eyes bulged from the sockets. His brain screamed, but his body remained intact, retaking its natural shape. Fogle was panting as he started to pat down his chest. I live.

He shook his fist at the giant and screamed, “I live!”

The giant roared and rotated back for another swing.

“Bish Almighty,” he said, realizing that his tongue, along with the rest of him, had lost its cushiony vitality. He backpedaled, stumbled over a rough stone, and fell. He tried to scramble to his feet only to fall again. Time to die!

“Mood!” he yelled, but he knew already the Blood Ranger wouldn’t come. “Cass!” But it was too late. The giant leered down on him and swung.

***

There was noise: wails of battle, mountainous bellows and the sound of rock and bones being shattered. Mood struggled to rise to his feet with the bitter taste of a mouthful of blood and dirt, which wasn’t so bad for a dwarf. Especially a Blood Ranger no less. Still, his vision was blurry, and everything was a haze, and he couldn’t tell if he walked or ran as he reeled toward the sounds of battle. The giant who had smashed him like a fly was dead, but the damage had been done. Mood, born and bred to fight, had been in some bad scraps before, but this last one got him.

“Eethum!” he yelled, but it came out in more of a garbled sound.

Ahead was another giant, bigger than the rest of the hill giants, one he didn’t remember seeing before. The black bearded dwarves hurled spear after spear into its legs, but the giant didn’t slow down. They looked like grim faced puppies attacking a man. The giant was big, with muscular trapezoids up to his pierced ears. He swung a hammer like a well-trained soldier, each blow ripping the rocks from the ground and sending Mood's brethren flying.

“Retreat! Retreat!” he yelled, but not one dwarven fighter turned.

The giant snatched one fallen dwarf from the ground, clenched his leg in his mouth, and shook him like a dog.

“No! Blasted giant!” Mood said, fighting to regain his feet.

The giant dwarves unleashed another assault of missiles into the giant’s face as their comrade kicked and punched within the monster's mouth.

The hammer came down, crushing the nearest dwarf to a bloody pulp and shaking the ground. As Mood ran, it felt like the inner fiber of his being was tearing apart. He didn’t notice his clavicle sticking out from his skin or the ribs jutting out underneath his arms or that his face was blackening underneath his bushy blood-red beard. All he knew was if that giant didn’t die soon, he and his brethren would.

He banged his axes together and yelled as loud as he could.

“Come on, Giant!”

The monstrous man stopped and spit the broken dwarf from his mouth.

“That’s right! I’m talking to you!” he said as the wind picked up and billowed his beard.

Another sharp clang of battle axes came together as Eethum appeared from underneath a pile of rubble, caked from head to toe in dirt and blood.

The remaining black bearded fighters backed up, dragging their comrades out of the way. The giant stuck its chest out and laughed. It looked more like a man than the others, cunning like a hunter, whereas the typical hill giant was more brute than brains. Mood now realized this wasn’t a common hill giant that mixed with the ogres. This giant was something else: the real thing he’d rarely seen before. The last time he battled a full bred, he’d barely survived. No doubt this battle wouldn't be any different.

“AH … BLOOD RANGERS! HA! HA! HA! WHAT A PLEASURE IT WILL BE TO KILL YOU BOTH,” the giant said in a voice that was commanding and full of power. “YOU LITTLE INSECTS WILL NEVER LEARN, WILL YOU?” The giant was twirling its massive battle hammer around like a stick. “I AM TUNDOOR … HA-HA-HA … AND I’LL BE CRUSHING YOUR HEADS!” It swung its hammer over his head and slammed it into the ground with incredible force. The ground exploded, knocking Mood and Eethum from their feet as a billow of dusty smoke rose, thick as soup.

“HA-HA-HA!” the giant’s booming voice mocked. “I CAN SEE YOU! SMELL YOU! AND HEAR YOUR DYING BREATHS!”

A sliver of uncertainty raced through Mood’s spine. The smoke was confusing. One moment the giant was there, the next moment it wasn’t. He could usually track a giant blindfolded, but at the moment he couldn’t sniff out a single thing at all. Either his senses had been damaged, or the giant was using some of its tricks.

Eh? he thought a split second before he dove to the ground.

The giant’s hammer whooshed over his head.

Mood rolled left and kept going. It felt like a bag of knives was rattling inside his chest. He spat his blood into the ground.

The giant’s foot came down inches from his head.

He struck, axes cleaving through skin and deep into muscle.

“OW! THAT STINGS, LITTLE RANGER! HA-HA-HA! TUNDOOR HEALS FAST! YOU’LL NEED A BIGGER AXE THAN THAT!”

CHAPTER 5

He was told his old room, the one he, Lefty, Melegal and Venir had shared, was now occupied by a brood of sordid men. It left him empty. Georgio stood on the stairs looking down inside the Drunken Octopus and wiped his sleeve across his forehead. It wasn’t the same. The roughshod tavern’s atmosphere was as dead as the candles on the chandeliers. He was used to more activity mid day. Instead, he, Mikkel and Billip were greeted with hard stares from faces he didn’t recall. It was as if the tavern had received a makeover. Mikkel’s broad face was smiling as he shoved Georgio towards the bar.

“Move it, Boy. I’m as thirsty as a fish on a hook.”

“Aye,” Billip said, brushing past him with a greedy look in his eye, “let’s eat, drink, and get a room.” He cracked his knuckles in front of him. “And let me do the talking. I’m not paying coin if I can find some fool to do it for me.”

“Fine,” Georgio said, frowning and taking a seat at the bar. His stomach rumbled. “They have good stew, but the bread is always stale.”

“Perfect!” Mikkel said.

One table at a time, he scanned the room. Not a face was familiar. But something was. His heart almost stopped as he locked eyes with a man in a wide brimmed hat. McKnight! His regrown fingers tingled as he stared at the man whose hat was the only thing that resembled the Detective. This man had a shaggy head of hair spilling out from underneath the brim, and there wasn’t a single tooth left inside the mouth of his sagging face.

“Here,” Mikkel said, shoving a mug of ale into his hand. “What’s wrong with you? You look like you’ve seen an underling.”

Georgio shook his head and took a sip of the bitter ale. “Nah … just thought I saw that guy who chopped my finger off, is all.”

“If Melegal chopped him up and fed him to the pigs, then I’m pretty sure you’re not going to ever be seeing him again.” Mikkel patted his shoulder, looking around. “So this is where Venir used to stay, huh? No surprise, but you’d think there’d at least be some pretty girls.”

Georgio scrunched his face up as he looked around some more. He'd never spent much time on the main floor. Someone his age wasn’t allowed, but he’d changed. He took another drink. He felt like more of a man now. A sad one that missed his friend, Venir. He was hoping he’d see him here.

“Say, Sam,” Billip said to the pock-faced barkeep, “tell me what you’ve heard about this Blond Haired Butcher? What’s the bounty up to now?”

Georgio remained facing the fireplace on the other side of the bar. It had always blazed with a big orange fire, but now it was filled with long dead ashes. Beside it was Melegal’s table, now occupied by the men who had taken over the room upstairs. They slammed their fists on the table and guffawed over a bunch of senseless jokes. A few meaty women kept them company, and they had no shame when it came to keeping the men’s attention. Georgio had brushed shoulders with the leader while passing down the stairs. Jeb. That’s the name Melegal had said. Georgio laughed at the thought of Melegal boxing him. I wish I could have seen that.

“The City Watch is offering a thousand gold for this man’s head,” the barkeep said, smoking a cigar and twisting the water from a rag.

“A thousand gold!” Billip exclaimed. “For one measly man? Pah, that’s a bunch of lies. Last I heard, it was a hundred.” Billip twisted the hairs under his chin. “Still, a hundred or a thousand is a lot of money. I could live well off that. For a while, anyway.”

Mikkel clonked his empty tankard on the table.

“Another,” he said, twisting his large frame in the stool towards Billip. “One hundred or one thousand, Billip, it would all slip through your fingers as easily as sand in a grate. You’ve never kept a hoard longer than a month, I’d say.”

Billip rattled a sack of coins in front of Mikkel’s face and said, “I’ve still got more coin than you. Now tell us, Sam,” he slid a few coins across the bar, “you know something else, don’t you? I can tell by the look in your eye. I’ve owned a tavern myself, you know.”

Georgio locked eyes for a moment with Jeb, the man across the room who was whispering something into the ear of one of his comrades. Jeb, a stout man with a brawny build underneath his jerkin, seemed like just the kind of person looking for a fight. Something about the man’s coarse black hair, mustache and sideburns didn’t sit well with Georgio as he watched a larger man, almost as big a Mikkel, make his way across the tavern and take a seat at the bar. He didn’t like the look of that man, either. He turned around and folded his hands across the bar.

“I’ve heard the man can’t be killed,” the barkeep said, “and he’s got a scar that runs straight down the middle of his face.”

Georgio’s blood ran cold. Tonio!

CHAPTER 6

“I’ve seen such man in here, months ago. A tall one, as tall as you,” he said, nodding towards Mikkel, “came in here and stabbed a troubadour through the back. The blood’s still on the table. Things haven’t been quite right around here since then, if you ask me.” He refilled Mikkel’s tankard and pointed at Georgio. “Not since that boy’s big friend left, that is. Venir. I sorta miss having that big lout around here. He kept things interesting, if not even friendly, so to speak.”

Mikkel and Billip looked at each other, then at Georgio.

“What?” he said, trying to hide his trembling hands.

“I think that man, whatever sort of evil he may be, has a vendetta on your friend. Why else would he be going around and killing all the yellow-haired people? He’s even killed members of the City Watch. People have seen him do it. The urchins say he lives in the sewers. I’ve not seen a yellow hair in this tavern in weeks, if not months.”

Georgio swallowed hard and rubbed his throat. Maybe that’s what Melegal’s warning was about. “Go to Three and Live. Stay in Bone and die.” But Tonio wouldn’t be after him. He’d be after Venir, and no one had any idea where Venir was. Georgio slumped in his seat.

“Ewww!” Mikkel said, “I’m not going into any sewers, Billip. Let’s drop this nonsense and go find Nikkel. We haven’t even checked outside the wall yet.”

“Quit nagging me, will you? We’ll look for your boy then. It’d just be better if I had some additional booty, is all. Besides, I’m beginning to like it here. Reminds me of the Orc’s Elbow.”

“Stay if you want,” Mikkel said, poking Billip in the chest, “but me and Georgio will go.”

“What?” Billip cocked an eye and looked over his shoulder. The large man from Jeb’s group was walking away with something cupped in his hand. He took a quick look at Mikkel and said, “That big bastard just lifted my purse.”

“Serves you right.”

Billip flung his tankard into the back of the man’s head. The man crashed head first into a table, Billip’s coins spilling everywhere.

Georgio jumped from his stool while men and women erupted from Jeb’s table. He could hear blades whisking from leather as they knocked over the tables and charged. Georgio stood brandishing a tankard in his hand. Mikkel right behind him.

“Don’t any of you dogs move, or I’ll skewer this mutt of yours,” Billip warned, holding a dagger at the man’s throat. “And you better get your foot off my gold,” he eyed one of the thugs, “or I’ll add some holes into you.”

“Back off!” Jeb ordered in a rugged voice. “Back off, I say.” His gang of men pressed behind him, a half dozen in all, one looking just as tough and ugly as the next. Jeb held out two knives with wide blades and brass pommels, waggled his wrist, and stuffed them behind his belt. The rest of his men followed suit. “Now let my man up, Little Man,” he added, folding his arms across his broad chest.

“I'll collect my coins first,” Billip said, flexing the muscles in his wiry forearm, “or this little man’s going to skin this big man like an antelope. Then comes you.” Billip nodded at Georgio. “Gather my coins before I let this lout up.”

Georgio shook his head, but obeyed.

Jeb snorted a laugh. “Is that so?” Jeb scratched at his side burns. “We’ll see about that. Tell you what, Little Man.”

Georgio looked up at Jeb and then noticed Billip's cheeks flaring. Billip wasn’t small for a man by any means, but Georgio had noticed that he now stood as tall as him. Even Kam was taller than the wiry archer. He scooped up all the coins he could find and retook his place beside Mikkel.

“That’s enough, Jeb.” The barkeep interrupted. “I’m not having any more of my customers run off. You’ve run off enough of them already.”

“Shut it, Sam, or I’ll see to it you’ll have no more customers at all. Now let my man up from the floor.”

Billip clonked the man’s head off the hardwood planks and rose to his feet. Georgio tossed his coin sack over, and Billip snatched it from the air. Jeb’s hands slipped back to his knives, and Mikkel was breathing down his neck as the tension began to thicken. Billip cracked his knuckles and popped his neck as he walked over and stood face to face with Jeb.

The brute looked down on him, sneered, and said, “Well?”

“Georgio, Mikkel, look at this man. He’s awful pretty for an orc, wouldn’t you say?”

“What?” Jeb said through clenched teeth.

“Knock him out, Jeb!”

“Jeb? You’re the man called Jeb? The Jeb. The best brawler in Bone?” Billip said, stepping back a half step and holding up his palms. “Oh, I’ve heard about you.”

“Yeah, what about it, Little Man?” Jeb replied with a half-smile.

Billip shrugged, his face turning from fearful to whimsical.

“I heard you beat an old woman with the iron gloves, but judging by your face, I’d say she got the best of you!”

“That’s it!” Jeb roared, ripping out his knife and lunging forward.

Billip caught him by the wrist and twisted the blade free in one fluid motion. Billip cracked his head on Jeb’s hard chin.

Georgio pounced on the man’s legs, sending the three of them sprawling to the floor.

“Stop!” The barkeep screamed.

Someone ripped Georgio free from Jeb’s legs, a brute of a man with arms of corded iron, and slung him into the nearest table.

“Bone!” he exclaimed, rising to his feet and wiping the blood from his nose

Billip and Jeb were hammering away at each other, one hard punch after the other. Mikkel picked one man up over his head and tossed him into the other three. The women screamed the vilest of things as they slung whatever they could find at Mikkel.

The Drunken Octopus was in a frenzy now, with everyone fighting for themselves. Georgio jumped onto the back of the nearest man and dragged him to the ground.

“CHALLENGE! CHALLENGE! CHALLENGE!”

Mikkel clocked a man in the jaw whose eyes rolled up in his head as he fell like a stone.

“I SAID CHALLENGE!”

Every one stopped, even Billip and Jeb loosened their grips around each other's throats, but their eyes were still hot with rage.

“You’ll be paying for all this damage, you fools!” Sam said, standing on the bar and holding a large club. “But there will be no more. No fighting in this place without a challenge. Now you, troublemakers,” he pointed to the three of them. “Get back over to the bar, or get out.”

Georgio slid off the man’s back and headed over. Billip and Mikkel joined him.

“Jeb! You make your challenge. You three, that includes you, Boy, accept or go!”

“Fine by me,” Mikkel said, flexing his arms.

All eyes fell on Jeb. The burly man had his hands on his knees, sucking for air, when he pointed at Georgio.

“I challenge the lad then, Sam!”

“Coward!” Billip blurted out.

“I’ll say,” Mikkel added, holding Billip back.

The barkeep added, “Sorry, but he’s in this. Of course, you don’t have to accept. You can just go if you want to.”

Georgio felt every eye in the tavern upon him.

Mikkel laid his heavy hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to do this.”

Georgio shoved his hand away.

“Yes, I do. I’m a man the same as the rest.” He pointed at Jeb. “What’s your challenge, Man with a Face Like a Goat's Behind?”

The women snickered, as well as a few of the men.

Jeb tucked his thumbs in his belt and laughed out loud as his disheveled men joined in. Georgio’s cheeks flushed red. His hand slipped to his sword.

“None of the lad,” Jeb said, teetering on his toes, “but I tell you what. I’ll let you draw from the cards. But, first you need to make a wager.” Jeb looked over at Billip and said, “That purse of yours will do.”

“Ah! Stupid Boy!” Billip said, eyeing the sack in his grip. “Fine, I’ll put it up, but you’re going to owe me, Georgio. He tossed his purse to the barkeep. “I’ll be shuffling those cards first, if you don’t mind.” He extended his hand.”

Jeb shrugged.

The tavern’s old vitality was rekindled. The fireplace was lit as a trove of new faces filled in from the streets. This was more like how Georgio remembered it. He took a long sip of ale. I wish Venir was here.

A woman with long black hair and a sultry voice pressed her body into Georgio’s back and whispered in his ear, “Why don’t you let me draw for you, Handsome?”

Georgio swallowed hard and said, “Certainly.”

Billip just shook his head, shuffling the cards like a magician. “Let’s get this over with and draw.”

Sam the barkeep hopped down from the bar, dragging his club behind him, and headed towards the middle, where he stood puffing his cigar. “Get over here and draw, Velvet.”

The woman kissed Georgio on the cheek as she wiggled her way up to Sam, who fanned out all the cards on the table. Georgio’s feet twitched and jangled as she bent over to some oooh's and ahhh’s while walking her fingers over the cards.

“I think I’ll take … this one,” she said, sliding the card from the deck and nuzzling it between her breasts.

The crowd jeered with lust.

“Show um’ to us, Velvet!” one man shouted.

“The cards, too!” another added.

She peeked at the card, and her bright eyes began to dim.

What? Something was wrong. Georgio could feel it in his bones.

“Show us the card, Wench!”

She was biting her lip as her sad eyes looked on Georgio and she rose the card up over her head.

A gasp filled the air.

A black card faced them, showing a burning skull with a pair of fencing blades stuck through it.

“The Flaming Fence!” the barkeep cried.

Georgio felt a heavy shadow fall over him as every eye in the room turned toward him and the barkeep added, “Ye might wish to yield unless you want to die.”

CHAPTER 7

Kam was numb. Humiliation was something she hoped she never got used to as she soaked in the cooling waters of Palos’s golden tub. Since becoming a captive, she’d been shot with a crossbow and punched in the gut by a man named Diller, and she wasn’t sure which was worse: taking the pain or succumbing to Palos’s erotic needs. She scrubbed the soapy water deeper into her skin with a wash cloth.

“Lefty!” she exclaimed under her breath.

“What was that?” Palos said, knotting the belt over his long black bath robe.

It was only the two of them now and the sound of a roaring fire underneath the nearby mantle. Things would be much better if Venir was here, but there was no chance the man could come to her rescue now. Nor any man for the matter. Besides, for all she knew, the father of her daughter was dead, even though that didn’t really seem possible.

“I said, 'When can I see Erin, Palos?'”

He huffed as he dried his hair with a towel and took a seat at the table.

“It’s not even been a day,” he said, rolling his pale eyes and pouring a jeweled goblet of wine. “Now, let’s take a moment to talk about things, Kam. I think it would be better if we had a fresh start.” He poured another goblet. “Come on over and join me for some wine, and let’s talk about something different. The past, perhaps.”

Deep in the water, her nails dug into the palms of her hands. Just go along with it. What choice do you have? Just don’t make it too easy.

“Fine,” she said, grabbing her robe and standing up in the tub while taking her time slipping it on over her soapy body.

Palos' eyes were every bit as hungry as moments earlier.

“We can talk about the past, but not forever.” She walked over, grabbed her goblet, and stood by the fire. Its burning logs warmed her from head to toe. It felt good, revitalizing, almost cleansing.

Palos smiled at her. “Feels good, doesn’t it, Kam? The fire, the wine and the touch of a man. I know, Kam. I can tell how lonely you are. You’ve always been that way. You never wanted to get too close or have the kind of fun the other girls had. You were such a serious person, a dreamer within your own little world. I've wanted you since the moment I first saw you, but unlike the rest of your feminine breed, you never dropped your britches for me.” He gulped down his wine. “It just made me want you so much more.”

“And, now you have me?” she flipped her hair. “Does that mean there are no more pastures of women to conquer? Is it just a matter of time before I’m tossed dead into a gutter when you don’t fancy me anymore?”

He lifted his palms up and said, “Easy. Easy now, Kam. I’ve promised you that no harm will come to you or your daughter.”

“So long as I play your little whore.”

He shrugged his satin shoulders and smiled.

“Well, that’s one way of putting it, but I want more than that with you, and over time you will see that.”

I hope not. She ran her fingers under the choker on her neck. If she could just get it off, she’d turn him inside out with a single word. Her power dwelled inside her, and she’d memorized quite a few spells. But she couldn’t hang on to them forever. Still, she’d always have some power. Her sorcery allowed for that.

“So, would you like me to rub your feet now, Prince Palos?” She batted her eyes.

“Oh, I like the sound of that! But don’t patronize me.”

She strolled over behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders.

“How about I rub your shoulders, then?” she whispered in his ear. She could see the hairs on his neck stand up on end.

“Eh … well, I suppose that would be all right.”

She rubbed deep into the supple muscles under his meaty neck. The man, despite his additional girth, moved with the grace of a swan. As much as she wanted to choke him to death, she knew taking the opportunity would only meet with failure and with that would come more time away from Erin. She rubbed harder and deeper.

“Aaaahhhh …,” Palos moaned, “it feels so good.”

She pulled him back into her chest and said in a soft voice, “After this, can I see my baby? It’s nursing time already.”

“We’ll see. But I’m going to need more of these muscles loosened first.”

She brushed her hands through his flaky hair. She remembered when Palos never had a thing out of place. Compared to most men, he’d been divine. And he’d been right about her, too. She was a prude. She didn’t do things like the other girls in school, but not because she thought she was better, but more because she was afraid.

“Perhaps I could trim this hair of yours? I think it could use a woman’s touch.” You vile and fattened beast.

“And have my own scissors rammed through my eyes, Kam? I don’t think so. Besides, when the time comes, I’ll have my nanny do it for me.”

“So be it, then.” She continued her rubbing, minute after minute as Palos slunk deeper into the chair. Just relax, Pig. Getting Palos out of her hair was one thing, but escaping the Nest would be another. There were hundreds of cutthroats out there: murderers, slavers, smugglers and thieves, and if Palos fell, no doubt someone would take his place. And she was certain she’d have Palos’s father Palzor to deal with after that. There had to be another way.

Palos’s eyes rolled up in his head as she rubbed his temples with her thumbs. Cocky bastard. The Prince of thieves was as loose as a goose in her hands, and it made her uneasy. The man had no fear of anything bad happening in his own house, it seemed. It left her feeling more helpless than ever. She scanned the room looking for anything that might assist her to escape. Empty bottles of wine, stacked piles of coins, candle stands, and furniture all of the finest quality. But nothing of a useful sort. The magic Palos had displayed had been tucked away somewhere her keen eyes had yet to find.

“What are you thinking, Kam?” he said, raising goosebumps on her arms. “I can feel you thinking, and frankly it’s only making it harder for me to relax.”

“I want to see my Erin, that’s all. Of course I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

He puffed a laugh and said, “Why, because my breasts are not yearning to be suckled?”

Something was uncoiling inside her. Her emerald eyes blazed on the great sword that hung on the mantle. Something about that magnificent sword was speaking to her.

“Don’t stop now!” Palos warned, “Or you won’t see your baby until the morrow’, maybe later.”

“Of course, Prince …” of swine

He reached back and snatched her by the hair and jerked violently down.

Face to face, she saw a deranged look in his eyes that was not there a moment ago.

“And if you don’t stop thinking of escape, Dearie, I’m sure my servant Diller and his men will be more than glad to suckle that swelling chest of yours!”

She cracked her head on the table when he shoved her to the floor.

“Now, rub my feet, you red-headed cow, and think of nothing more!”

Kam shivered and averted her eyes from his. He’s mad! One second he was as smooth as a stone in a tranquil river and in the next he was an impulsive maniac with murder in his eyes. It scared her. It was one thing to deal with a wicked person that was sane, but it was quite another to deal with one that might just be crazy. Her body trembled as she rubbed and rubbed and rubbed and her doubt at ever again seeing her daughter grew. All she wanted to do was get her baby to safety now, but trying to do that might cost her life.

***

Got to save them. Got to save them! Lefty sat beside Gillem at a table full of cards and coins, his blond hair disheveled, trying to hide the weight of the world from showing on his face. He faced the steps that led up to Palos’s room and cast a casual glance up now and again.

Diller was there, crossbow folded under his arms, toothpick dangling from his mouth, eyes surveying each and every person below.

But how do I get past that man?

“Drop a card, you little rodent,” the man with a skinned up face sneered across from him.

“Oh my,” he said, running his tiny fingers through his hair before plopping a few coppers on the table. “Tell you what, Scratch, why don’t you drop a card instead?”

Scratch glowered at him with beady eyes and said, “You’re a little fool, Boy. Master Gillem, why’d you bring this rodent to us? He’s as stupid as he is short.”

Gillem sat on his stool, his pie face a humble grin, puffing on his pipe.

“He’s learnin,’ Scratch. Nothing better to teach a youngling quick than to snatch his coins. And since when did you ever care about someone losing to you? Take all his money you want. It’s mine you should be worried about.” He slipped a silver coin onto the table.

Scratch grunted as the remaining figure at the table, a black-eyed dwarf with a braided brown beard, shoved a matching silver coin across the table.

Lefty showed his teeth to Scratch and said, “It seems fortune’s on the side of the little people. Call or withdraw, Scratch.”

The card game they played is called Three. Ninety-nine cards fill the deck. There are nine symbolic face cards, each a different animal or creature, numbered from one to eleven. Each player is dealt three cards face down. One can look at them, bet or withdraw. The highest card wins. In the event of a tie, the deck is shuffled and dealt again, and the pile of bets grows.

Lefty’s eyes flicked over all the cards turned over on the table. Gillem showed a rooster and a dog, and had withdrawn. The dwarf who had not revealed his name, as he didn’t speak, but grunted, had done the same, showing only a pair of weasels. All low cards. Scratch showed a bear and a ram, high cards. Lefty had a dog and a rat. He rubbed his chin. “Hmmmm …”

There were three of each animal represented. A rat was the lowest, and the dragon was the highest. No dragons were played, and Gillem and the dwarf had withdrawn. He could feel all eyes on him. Good. He looked at his last card again. A lion. Only a dragon could beat it. Out of the twelve cards on the table, only the dragons were loose, and two lions would tie.

“Watcha going to do, Lefty?” Gillem asked, his blurry eyes watering as he stuffed more tobacco in his pipe.

“Ah … I’m thinking, Master Gillem,” he said, scratching his head, “but this is pretty hard.”

Wham!

Lefty jumped as Scratch rapped his fist on the table and said, “Think faster, you little turd. I’m getting tired of waiting on you. Gillem, teach him cards elsewhere!”

Gillem glared at the man and said, “That’s Master Gillem, you son of a pick pocket! You best remember the order of things around here.”

Scratch sulked back in his chair as the rough hewn dwarf stuck a wad of chaw in his mouth.

“Apologies, Master Gillem. I’m just getting tired of his halfling's good fortune, is all. He’s fared well for someone that’s never played before,” he said, pouring more grog into his tumbler.

So I have him fooled, after all. Now all I have to do is figure out how to fool them all. His hand that he drummed his fingers with slid down to his tell. Do one thing so they think you are going to do another, Melegal had said. Lefty was beginning to understand all of these little lessons better. He’d been observing all of them, taking notice of what they did with a good hand or a bad hand.

Scratch’s tell was that he drank a little more with a good hand, and bit his inside cheek with a bad one. The dwarven man was a stone, however, and Lefty had the hardest time figuring him out. He didn’t talk; he grunted. He didn’t blink at all. All he did was chew and swallow the nasty tobacco juice. But, come to think of it, on a good hand he could hear the dwarf sucking the juice through his teeth, and on a bad hand he switched his chaw from one cheek to the other. And that left Master Gillem, who, as it turned out, had the easiest tell of all. Or was that just what he wanted him to see? On a good hand, he let out a plume of smoke, and on a bad hand he sucked the smoke in from his mouth and in his nose.

He took another peek at his card. Better let him win one. This is too easy.

“What’s the matter, did you forget what you got, Stupid?”

“No!” Lefty shot back. “Are you certain you don’t want to withdraw Scratch? I’ve got a pretty fine card!”

Scratch pushed another silver coin across and said, “Let’s see it, then.”

Lefty added his silver to the pile and flipped over his card.

“Ha!”

Scratch slapped a dragon card on top of his lion.

“Beat you again, halflings!” he said in elation, scooping the small pile of coins his way.

Lefty frowned, chin down, and said, “I’m sorry, Master Gillem. I really thought I had him. I really did.”

Gillem reached over, rubbed his head, and said, “That’s all right, Lad. You’re getting better. But sometimes you need to know when to withdraw and wait for the sure thing.”

Lefty nodded, locked eyes with Gillem, and said, “I know. Can I take a moment, go outside, and stretch my legs? Besides,” he said, fanning the smoke from his face, “I’m getting a bit of a headache.”

Gillem was shuffling the cards. “Be quick about it. You never know when Prince Palos will call. We must be ready.”

“Hah! I bet he’s having some good fun with her up there! I’d give a mouthful of silver just to watch,” Scratch said with a lusty look in his yellow eyes. “Give her a week, and she’ll be just as common as the rest of his whores.”

The man’s cold words felt like daggers in Lefty's back. Kam’s situation was his fault and his alone. Do something or die, Melegal had always said. He patted his belly. There was something in there he’d been careful to conceal from the rest of the guild, especially Gillem. Magic. He could use some, a little bit at least. And he knew that Palos had plenty of items at his disposal as well. If he could just get in there and get his hands on some, he could help. If I could just make it back to the Magi Roost. He fought an inner sob. What have I done to my friend? If I can't do anything else, I’ll at least save her baby. Whether his eyes were watering from tears or from the smoke, he did not know as he stepped over the threshold and outside.

“Ulp!” A pair of strong hands picked him up by the hair of his head.

He clutched at the hands that held him as he looked into the burnt and angry face of the man called Thorn.

“You halflings are going to die,” he said in a garbled voice.

Lefty kicked him in his crooked nose.

“Ow! Blasted Halfing!” Thorn swung him by the head of hair, sending him flying back inside. He crashed into a table and whopped his head on the floor so hard bright spots burst forth. The sound of a sword slipping through the leather filled his ears as Thorn cried, “Gillem! You and this little boy are going to die tonight!”

CHAPTER 8

The City of Bone. It wasn’t a place Verbard ever would have imagined setting his foot in before. As he walked down a narrow alley followed by two dozen of his men, the feeling he had in his gut wasn’t something he had ever dealt with. He reached forward and tapped Jottenhiem on the shoulder. The underling fighter turned, a fierce grin under his ruby red eyes.

“My Lord,” he said.

Verbard raised a finger, his silver eyes flickering in the shadows of the midday sunlight. The city smelled far worse than he imagined it. How do men live in this wretched place? The underlings were notoriously clean by comparison. There were no slums in the underworld, just caves and caverns filled with creatures united in the working cause of destroying mankind.

“Let me send Eep ahead,” Verbard said. “We are getting very close to the people; I can hear them now. Many, many people.” He stuffed his fingers in his pockets and secured them on some magic objects. I have a feeling I’ll need all of this. Eep, what is ahead?

Somewhere, Eep sat on the ledge of a building at the end of an alley, peering downward.

People, Master. Many people, working, eating and waiting for me to kill them. Can I kill them all, Master?

Any soldiers?

No. Just sacks of soon to be rotting flesh. So many, Master. I cannot contain myself. Release me!

Be still, Eep. I have other plans for you.

Does it involve killing more people?

Certainly.

Verbard turned to his commander, Jottenhiem. “Our time to strike has come.” He looked back over his shoulder at the small group of underlings..

The swords of the twelve Juegen armored in black plate mail from head to toes gleamed in the dim light. Six badoon underlings in black leather hauberks stood with small crossbows and knives at the ready, and behind them were six magi, fingers glimmering with radiant power, eyes flickering under their hoods. No human could possibly be ready for this. Not even The Darkslayer, himself. A slender smile broke over Verbard’s lips. He was ready.

“Let’s take as many as we can. There will be no time for burials. On my command, we’ll retreat. You know what to do.”

“This will be glorious,” Jottenhiem said, lowering a full iron helmet over his skull and cutting his swords through the air. “On your command, my lord, and we shall remove the skin from their bones.”

Verbard felt a charge of energy surge through him at having his natural enemy so close, as if he were running with a pack of timberwolves who were taking down a tired elk.

I can’t believe I’m actually doing this. Yet, it feels so right somehow.

Eep, lead us to the largest group of people.

The City of Bone was moments away from never being the same again.

***

Kierway, the Vicious, three Juegen and three underling magi departed from the barge and the current.

“Stay here,” the underling ranger said with iron eyes that seemed to glow.

Another twenty underlings, well-armed and ready, remained on the barge as Kierway drew his sword and led the way through the dark caverns beneath Castle Almen. Oran had described his dealings with Royal Lord Almen before, and he knew the way inside, but still, the very thought of entering the castle of his enemies was a bit unsettling. It was one thing to strike in the dark of the Outlands that he’d been so accustomed to over the decades, but striking within their walls was another matter entirely. This should be Verbard, not me.

He led the way up a set of stone stairs to a man-sized wooden door trimmed in discolored iron. He chittered a command and stepped aside as an underling mage floated up to the threshold. The mage’s clawed hands flared with energy as it pressed them on the door.

Kierway noticed all the hungry looks on the faces of his troops. Each was a mask of concentration, starving to be the first to strike a lethal blow on behalf of underling kind. Maybe his father, Master Sinway, wasn’t being so frivolous after all. Things seemed natural, as if he was returning to regain his home. Impossible. But maybe the key will explain what is going on.

There was a flash of energy followed by a sizzling sound when he found himself staring through the other side of a gaping hole. Warmth and the scent of human sweat filled the air around him. The instincts of his black blood pulsated with new life as a craving for battle consumed him.

“Kill anything that moves,” he said, pointing the Vicious forward. Everything tingled from head to toe as he stepped through the door into an uncharted battle ground.

CHAPTER 9

Venir felt like he’d been struck by a hundred hammers as he struggled to lift his hulking frame from the ground only to collapse again into the turf. He spit dirt and blood as he pushed his chest from the ground and rolled into the light of the blaring suns. He could smell the charred flesh of the underling that was on his back, a rancid smell like that of a burning skunk as he pinched his nose, fighting nausea and rising to his feet.

He mumbled as he took a step forward, staggering and dazed. Above him, the underling mage let out an angry hiss. Venir’s helm beckoned action, but he could hardly move as he fought through the numbness and pain. He glanced up as a coat of webbing fell from the sky. Move or die. He slung his shield into the net of webbing and dove to the side.

The underling hissed as the shield carried the webbing to the ground, negating the spell. Venir let out a triumphant growl as he felt life begin to flow back into his fingertips and tried to spit the taste of nails from his mouth.

“What else do you have, Fiend?” Venir said, twirling Brool in the air.

The underling floated backward now, slowly retreating towards the battle at the camp, its yellow eyes burning with hatred. Yet, Venir could feel its confusion and sense its doubt.

“That’s right! Your moments left on Bish aren’t many. I’ve returned!”

The webs dissipated as he drew Brool’s keen edge over his web-coated shield. Strapping it on over his back, he began chasing the underling down. In the dusty distance, the clashing sounds of battle rung inside his helm, and the wind whistled through his ears. He was gaining on the underling. Somehow, Venir could feel its magic fading as its dark robes dipped and brushed over the barren landscape's stones.

“Ha!” Venir cried, churning ahead, long stride after stride, gaining speed.

Twenty Feet. Ten Feet. Five feet. He dove forward, crashing into the back of the much smaller creature and driving it to the ground. Venir wrapped his fingers around its neck and squeezed. The blue veins in his arms rolled up like snakes as the underling kicked and flailed beneath his waist. Its black tongue jutted from inside its mouth as its citrine eyes bulged. Venir felt the taut wiry muscles in its neck heave then slacken as its wind pipe was crushed in his grasp.

“Eleven!” he said, wiping the sweat from his eyes and rushing for the battle. His long strides couldn’t get him there fast enough as the Royal Riders were swarmed and ripped down from their saddles.

“BONE!”

The tide had turned. The element of surprise was gone. The riders were outnumbered three to one, and that didn’t include the giant spiders that shot webbing from one side of the camp to the other. Horses nickered and neighed as the hairy black creatures from the Underland cut and stabbed at their thundering legs.

From the distance, Venir saw one Knight catch a spear in the neck and tumble into the fray. Another’s head was blasted open by a barrage of mystic red missiles. Venir’s inner core burned. A knot of fury needed release as he witnessed the battle unfold, blow by blow.

Seek! The helm urged him. Destroy!

Thirty yards. Twenty yards. Ten yards. Brool pulsated with life as he hefted it back behind his shoulders and exploded.

A throng of underlings were pulling another rider from his horse. Venir slammed into them, carving into them like canoes. A giant spider as big as a horse had a rider pinned down, its two protruding tentacles poking holes through the man’s plate mail. Venir disemboweled the creature, leaving it twitching on the dusty floor. He was in the thick of the fight, powerful arms chopping left and right, splitting dark faces and cleaving through bone. Brool was humming now, a living thing weaving a path of destruction like black lightening. Seventeen!

Venir was bigger, faster and stronger than them all. His mind and the armament merged as one, punching holes into the army of underlings one by one.

Glitch!

Hack!

Slack!

Chop!

Chop!

Stab!

The underling bodies piled up at his feet, yet they kept coming on, in pairs and triples, crossbow bolts careening off his helmet, darts bouncing from his shield. Venir snarled down on them and growled like a savage beast, swinging his war-axe in an arc of death that ripped two underlings' heads from their shoulders.

More! The helm pleaded as black blood fertilized the Outland ground.

Still, unlike before, Venir’s vision was clear, his mind concise, his body and armor taking all of the punishment he could handle. He could sense their worry; he fed on their fear, his hulking frame moving as fast as thought, a half second faster than everything the underlings threw at him. He kept swinging; they kept coming. His mind forgot about all of the others engaged in the battle.

The helm's black eyelets smoldered like blazing fires; Brool's black blade was a tornado of steel. No mercy!

Venir felt in control, his body as strong as a gale, the helm telling him when to duck, twist and turn, but he stayed on the offensive. Move and die, Underlings! Run and die! I’ll have you all!

They screamed. With rage. With defiance. With fear. Their evil faces were twisted with hatred as they realized their old foe had returned, his vengeance like they’d never seen before. Still, with gnashing teeth they piled on, blades arcing high and low.

He jabbed Brool’s spike through one and ripped its heart out. “RRRRRAHHH!”

In the back of his mind, he remembered the Warfield, the Vicious, and Georgio. The armament had propelled him there and pushed him past his limits to where he had collapsed and died, or almost died. Now, he felt invincible. He should be exhausted by now. What was different this time?

He snapped his head around as a massive shadow fell over him. The biggest spider of them all’s eight eyes looked down on him like a treat as a burst of green fluid shot from its mouth. Venir bounded away, the splash of the acid sizzling into his legs. He roared as he scrambled into another wave of underlings. Slice! Chop! Glitch! Twenty-Eight!

The smoldering helm screamed a warning.

“What!” Venir yelled, casting an upward glance.

Four magi hovered above, a net large enough for twenty men in their grasp. One second Venir was a blur of destruction. The next, he was a helpless heap, trapped like a fish in a net full of piranhas.

***

There was no time left. Slim sagged alongside Adanna as the spiders crept down the walls and out of the light. Adanna had screamed herself hoarse as she trembled at his side, her body drained of all the rush of fright.

“Wrap this around your face,” Slim said, tearing the sleeve from his robe.

She didn’t respond. He covered her head with his sleeve and whispered something in her ear. He could feel the tension in her chest ease as she slipped to the floor. Slim covered his head with his robe as well and huddled over Adanna, muttering another spell, and then he had nothing left. His magic was spent. He let his body slacken in the dim light of the pit. He could hear the clicking and sucking sounds of the spiders as they made their way down the walls. He clutched Adanna tight as her body recoiled.

“Don’t flinch. I’ve got you protected,” he whispered in her ear. But he didn’t. Not from their acidic or blood-sucking bits. But with something else. A gamble. I hope they’ve been well fed today, or else I’m going to be spider crap real soon. He lay still, huddled over the warmth of Adanna’s body as the spiders began to coat them with their silk. The strong creatures pulled him and Adanna apart from one another and covered them from head to toe, one by one.

CHAPTER 10

Once, he'd been nothing more than a common rogue who pilfered in the streets and enjoyed cheap wine. Now, Melegal sat in utter misery inside his calm exterior as the loud and distraught pleas of Brak ran loops in his thoughts. Pitiful. Sick and pitiful. Down in the arena, the young Royals were hoisting their swords in jubilation and chanting praises to one another as the sentries dragged the bloody corpse of Hagerdon the Slerg across the floor and out of sight.

Disgusting little wretches!

He shifted on the hardened bench beneath him as they paraded around, wiping the blood from their swords before tasting it. Lord Almen and his cohorts were standing and applauding, offering congratulations to the young men. Melegal couldn’t help but be disappointed. This seemed beneath someone like Lord Almen. He shifted his attention back to Lorda Almen.

She bit into some sliced fruit, a catty smile on her face as if nothing in the arena was going on. Her servants fanned her face and wiped the sweat glistening on her brow. She’d made him an offer he couldn’t refuse, simply because he had no choice. Just as wicked, twice as beautiful. But he still couldn’t help but be tempted by what her offer meant. Kill the Brigand Queen. What an honor! For a fool.

“Who shall we kill next, Lord Almen?” one of the young Royals shouted up into the stands. “The taste of Slerg blood is divine!”

Melegal’s fingers caressed the triggers on the dart launching bracers concealed inside his clothes. How many times had he been tolerated and chastised by their kind as a child? The whippings and humiliation were nothing to be forgotten. He’d seen all the things these young men got into: defiling, lying, cheating and stealing from one another like it was their rightful cause. If part of that lingering sentiment made it easy to watch the Slergs go, then they could all die for all he cared. He’d been a part of their castle up until he and Venir escaped, but he’d never desired vengeance upon them. He'd gotten away and left them alone. Now he sat watching them die, one by one, with nothing but an empty feeling inside. I hate Royals!

“Leezir the Slerg,” Lord Almen spoke, disrupting his thoughts, “my old foe, come … step forward.”

Leezir, now a haggard man, once short and shifty, shuffled forward in his chains, head down and fighting the shivers and a cough. He stood in the middle of the arena and lifted his chin up, his pale eyes no longer intent and filled with power like the man Melegal once knew as the fearless and callous leader of his house.

“Ah, Leezir, it seems your final game is over,” Lord Almen said with smug satisfaction in his voice. “You attempted to overtake my castle, yet you failed. And now, I, Royal Lord Almen, noble and wise …”

“Hear! Hear!”

“... now stand willing to entertain your pleas. And …” he held his jeweled fingers out, “perhaps I’ll show mercy.”

Leezir opened his mouth to speak but was overtaken by a fit of coughing.

Lord Almen chuckled, the others as well.

“Come now, Leezir, certainly you can do better than that?”

A hearty burst of laughter filled the room.

Leezir raised his head once more, his eyes drifting into the stands, taking in every face one by one. Of all the Slergs, Leezir was the most reasonable, and he’d be the last one Melegal wanted to see go. After all, Leezir'd had a small hand in freeing them, which was something Melegal had never make sense of.

Stopping on Melegal, he locked his gaze for a moment, sending a jolt to his senses, before moving on. Lord Almen gave him a casual glance as well.

Thanks for that, Slerg! As if I wasn’t a greasy blemish already. Blast, I’m getting a headache. What is wrong with me?

“Lord Almen,” Leezir managed with a voice that belied his calm appearance, “you are as vile as a pit of vipers. A snake within the roses. Your black heart is filled with nothing but treachery and darkness. You betrayed me,” he pointed into the stands, “and he’ll betray the rest of you as well. Mercy, you say!” Leezir spat on the ground. “Pah! You don’t know the meaning, you murderer of old women and children in their sleep!”

Hear! Hear! Melegal thought, fighting the urge to applaud. Remember, never sleep near an Almen.

Lord Almen’s body noticeably stiffened at the resounding truth in those words. His glance drifted over to his Lorda, who now sat up glaring. Sefron gaped, and his lips looked to be mumbling a spell, while Jarla the Brigand Queen sat with her legs crossed, hands clasped on her knee, smiling.

Almen cleared his throat and smiled.

“You’ve an interesting way of pleading for mercy, Leezir. Perhaps your tactics are why all of your negotiations failed. It’s almost a shame to see such a slow-witted family go. I’m sure you’d have made excellent grape pressers,” Lord Almen needled his chin in pose, “or grave diggers.”

“Let us kill him, Lord Almen!” the same youth as before said.

“Arm the young Royals with their bows,” Almen ordered. “I think I’ve found an excellent practice target.”

Leezir shouted back, shaking his fist. “I’ll not run like some rabbit, Almen! I’ve seen this game before. You might as well take me as I am!”

“Perhaps you won’t, but I’m sure your … granddaughter will,” Almen added.

“Let the child go!” Leezir's face reddened as he fell into a fit of coughing. “She’s not guilty of anything. She’s only a child.”

“Oh, but she is guilty of being a Slerg though, isn’t she? And I can’t have any legacy Slergs hanging around my castle. As you know, I think we all do, revenge can be such a powerful motivator, and I can’t have that kind of weapon scurrying around my city. It’s best to end this once and for all. It’s for the better.”

The young Royals, excluding the one who had lost his fingers earlier, had formed a line. One by one, they nocked their bows. Melegal leaned forward on the edge of his seat. He remembered seeing this game before, played with blunt arrows. He and many urchins had suffered welts and bruises from it, even an eye out or two. He stiffened and frowned. In this case however, the arrows were steel tipped.

“You’ll burn for this, Almen! I’m not your last enemy standing, you know. Cough-cough There will be more, and your blood will run red into the sewers down below, I swear it!” Leezir didn’t struggle as the guards dragged him and the wailing girl into the middle of the arena.

Her high pitched screams were unnerving. Melegal fought the urge to cover his ears. He looked to Lorda, but she had her head turned away in chatter. No mercy there, either. I see.

“What about the big one?” one of Almen’s’ guests asked.

Brak!

Time was running out to save Venir’s son. He had no plan, nothing at all. It would almost be better if he dove in the arena himself and caught a few shafts in his chest to get it over with. Way to go, Rat. If I can’t save myself, then how can I save anyone else? He felt a pair of eyes on him and looked down. Jarla’s dark blues probed his, like a cat cornering a mouse. Her nostrils flared, and her lips twitched, standing Melegal’s hair on end. She narrowed her eyes and turned away.

Witch! What does she know? I think the Lorda has it right, after all.

“We’ll save the big one for last. The main event,” Lord Almen said. “Carry on!”

The guards knocked the chained figures of Leezir and Jubilee to the ground and backed away. One of the sentries in the arena began counting down.

“Five!”

They could at least take off the chains.

“Four!”

Melegal could read Leezir’s lips as he clutched the girl in his arms. He was saying, Don’t run, Jubilee. Stay close to me. I’ll keep you safe. That wasn’t possible, Melegal knew. Every blood thirsty Royal knew that, too, but it was still the right thing to say.

“Three!”

Melegal took a quick glance around. For some reason, he thought Venir would come bursting through the door at any moment, axe high, screaming for the heads of every last Royal.

“Two!”

All of Melegal’s hopes fled as Leezir hugged his granddaughter with all his might.

“One!”

Twang. Twang. Twang. Twang. Twang. Twang.

Leezir’s body lurched forward, six arrows piercing his back. Cheers erupted from the small crowd as Leezir’s hand fluttered and he moved no more.

Jubilee crawled out from beneath him, eyes wide with horror, tears streaming down her face, clutching at her grandfather’s face.

“Reload, Lads!”

I can’t watch this! Melegal’s head dipped down at the sound of the wooden shafts scraping along the arrows in the rest of the bows. The sound of the stretching bow strings clenched the muscles in his jaws.

“One at a time,” the soldier said, “Let’s feather the little Slerg like a goose, shall we?”

The first young Royal, the one with the boasting mouth, let his arrow fly. Melegal’s grey eyes watched with deep remorse as the arrow seemed to sail across the arena in slow motion and hit the wall above Jubilee's fragile shoulder, sending her running and tripping over Leezir’s corpse. Somehow, she still staggered back to her feet.

Stay down!

Twang.

An arrow narrowly missed her leg as she screamed.

Amid the rousing cheers and cries, a triumphant and most unnatural sound occurred.

Melegal’s back straightened as a snake of ice slivered through his spine. The sounds of groaning metal and snapping chains cut through the arena like a lightning strike. Brak, once huddled and forgotten, was in full motion now. His hulking frame was tearing his metal bonds away like cob webbing, and his big face was a raging inferno the likes of which no man had seen before.

Brak stormed across the arena, slamming into the row stunned young Royals. His blue eyes blazed like a man possessed, and his thickset arms were knotted in fury, hammering at the young men who were awestruck by the raging bull.

Melegal had seen a similar look on Venir before, but this was different, a frenzied beast out of control. Go, Brak!

A young Royal's neck was snapped like a branch. Brak bent another one's head back over his shoulder.

Melegal remained frozen in his seat, aware that the woman, Jarla, remained poised as well, her hands falling to her sword as she scooted forward. Melegal held his fingers tight on his triggers as madness overcame the crowd.

“NOOOO!” a guest from the stands screamed, his arm stretching out.

In the arena, two soldiers lay dead, and Brak had his hands filled with their swords, chopping down everything, living, moving or breathing. Big and frightening, he came at them with speed that defied the natural boundaries of man.

CHOP!

He cut one soldier in twain.

SLICE!

A young Royal's head was severed from his shoulders.

A durable soldier in chain armor launched an arrow into Brak’s shoulder. He ripped it out, charged, and jabbed it into the soldier's neck.

Lord Almen was on his feet now, barking orders as his precious Coming of Age game quickly became a Royal blood bath. The servant girls were scrambling up the stands, dragging the distraught Lorda behind them. By the time they reached the top, he’d seen two more Royals felled under Brak’s devastating blows.

Think, Detective! He scanned the arena for Sefron. The vile cleric was scurrying through a door above, his sagging face agape in terror. Slat! Melegal contemplated his move, if he had one at all. The Royal guests, the softer sort, adorned in fanciful robes and far from prepared for battle, scurried around the arena stubbing their sandaled toes. Lord Almen was the only calm one among them as Brak skewered the last young Royal and hoisted the dead young man high in the air on his sword.

“Somebody stop him!” Lord Almen cried. He looked back over his shoulder.

“Detective! Get in there!”

Almen sneered at Jarla and pointed inside the ring.

“You get in there as well!”

Jarla looked at Melegal, and he looked at her. He stood up and made his first step. An impossible thought occurred to him. An urge that felt right, good.

I’ve had it with these Royals.

Jarla unsheathed her sword and took another look at him.

Melegal’s mind glimmered with life, filling his body from head to toe.

Sleep! Sleep! Sleep! Sleep!

Jarla’s eyes rolled up in her head as she swooned, her sword clattering on the seats.

“What is this!” Lord Almen said, reaching for the collapsing woman.

Everything was in slow motion. Lord Almen’s back turned to him. Melegal grinned from cheek to cheek. Might as well start at the top.

Stab!

Lord Almen’s expression was one he’d never forget as he plunged his dagger deep in between the Royal’s ribs.

“Welcome to my arena,” he said, twisting his blade.

Lord Almen’s handsome expression paled as he tried to twist free, arms pushing away Melegal’s face. He held Almen tight by his robes and pushed the blade deeper.

“Urk!”

Almen’s eyes widened in alarm as fear filled his eyes.

“You’ll pay for this, Detect …”

Lord Almen’s eyes rolled up in his head as Melegal lowered him to the floor.

“But you won’t be around to see that, will you?” he said, head whipping around.

Whop!

Brak was in the stands now, arrows jutting from his back and shoulders as he smashed two of Lord Almen’s guests into each other and hurled them over the wall.

He slipped his dagger from between Almen’s ribs. The man was dead. He couldn’t believe it. I killed him. I actually killed him. Have I gone mad? The memory of Leezir’s eyes flashed in his mind. His cap tingled with alarm.

Slice!

He sprung backward as a sword stroke almost cleaved him in half.

“Murdering coward!” Jarla yelled.

It seemed his suggestion hadn't worked so well. What a willful woman she must be.

As Brak continued to hack the Royals down one by one in a maddened frenzy, Melegal dashed up the stairs and down again as more guards and soldiers spilled into the arena from high and low.

“Bone!”

Jarla’s steel nipped at his toes as he bounded past her and down into the arena. Ten more able soldiers made their way into the arena and blocked every door. There was no way out for Melegal unless he took out the angry swordswoman coming his way.

Think!

CHAPTER 11

Fogle’s limbs were frozen as he watched the giant’s club descend.

Poof!

The giant roared as its club burst into sawdust, and it fought to wipe the plume of grit from its eyes.

Fogle Boon clutched his chest and frantically began to speak. Something fierce had clamped down on the collar of his robes and was dragging him backward over the sand. He tried to think of a spell, all the while kicking and flailing his arms and legs. Something snorted a gooey mist over his robes. He strained to look behind him. It was Chongo.

“Quit flapping like a fish, Fogle!” Cass yelled. “I’ve come to aid you. You called for me, didn’t you?”

“Er … Yes!” he said, gathering his feet.

“Well, here I am. Now get out of the way, will you!” she said, raising her hands above her head, soft pink lips muttering a quick incantation.

Fogle jumped out of the way and fell alongside Chongo as the giant clenched its monstrous fists and charged. Cass’s body shimmered and convulsed in a captivating matter as a shadow of life erupted beneath the giant.

It moaned as it sank waist deep into the quick sand that had been solid ground moments before.

Impressive!

The giant’s free hand clawed at the ground, ripping it up like sand as it sunk chest deep into the dirt. It seemed the last moments of the giant’s life were coming to an end as it sank farther and farther and then stopped when the quick sand began to solidify around its neck.

“Looks like you got him, Cass! Amazing!”

The giant’s hand burst from beneath the ground.

“It won’t hold him forever, Fogle Fool! Do something, before he pulls himself out!”

Fogle’s hands rummaged through all the belongings inside his robes. He wished Ox the Mintaur was there. He'd always kept things handy.

“Hurry!” Cass yelled as the giant began pushing itself out of the hole.

“I don’t have anything!”

Two stocky black bearded figures charged into the giant's path and began jabbing at its neck with spears.

“Thank Bish for the Dwarves,” Cass said, sliding from Chongo’s back.

The giant two-headed dog sped towards the giant, attacking with both heads and four lion-like claws. The giant swatted one dwarf away and sent him spinning over the ground. It snatched the other in its palm.

Cass was rummaging through Fogle's robes.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Something!” she shot back, producing a vial of luminescent liquid from his robes.

Chongo yelped as the giant sent the big dog sprawling.

Cass winded her arm back with the vial.

“Don’t throw that!”

It was too late. The vial sailed into the giant’s mouth and disappeared down its maw.

Cass looked over at Fogle and said, “What was that?”

The giant jerked upright, eyes bulging as it clutched at its throat.

“What’s happening?” Cass yelled, stepping backward to Fogle's side.

The giant went into a fit of spasms, its big mouth gulping for air as it released the dwarf from its grasp. The dwarves and Chongo backed away from the giant as it swung away at everything in its path. Fogle watched with avid fascination. The giant was choking to death.

It snorted and gurgled as water began spilling from its mouth. Finally, the giant's head pitched forward into the hard ground with a thud. It moved no more.

Fogle and Cass eased their way over and gazed at the pool of water spilling from its mouth.

She grabbed him by his arm and asked again, “What was that?”

“Oh, just about a year’s worth of water rations.”

She pinched his face in the palm of her hand and said with a glowing smile.

“I knew that, Fogle.”

“I don’t think—”

“TUNDOOR’s GOING TO KILL YOU PESKY DWARVES!”

Fogle whipped his head around. A giant with bulging muscles from his shins to his neck was inside a dust cloud, swinging a hammer as big as a man.

“Where in Bish did he come from?” he said, unable to hide the fear quivering in his voice.

Cass wrapped her arms around his waist and exclaimed, “We’re going to need a lot more water to stop that giant!”

***

Mood had seen many things in his long lifetime on Bish, and the giants were among those, just not giants this big.

The ground erupted where the giant's hammer came down less than a foot from his feet, knocking him to the ground.

“I CAN SMELL YOUR FEAR! YOU CAN’T HIDE FROM TUNDOOR! HA! HA! HA!”

Mood’s boots moved toward the sound of the giant’s bellowing voice. There were only two good ways to fight a giant: from a long distance or right up close. As he made his way through the dust, the ground erupted once again. Mood’s hand axe lashed out, chopping deep in the giant’s hand. He swung again, missing as the giant jerked its injured hand away.

“ARGH! A nice sting, you fuzzy red mouse, but it will take more than that to stop Tundoor. HA! HA!” the giant said, raising its leg and stomping the ground. “OUCH!”

Eethum had struck a nasty blow from somewhere nearby. If Eethum was working one side, Mood needed to be working the other. Got to get him to the ground!

WHOOM!

WHOOM!

WHOOM!

WHOOM!

Tundoor hammered all over like an angry child. Mood jumped left, right, backward and forward, each leap as painful as the next inside his rattling chest. The hammering moved away from him as he caught a glimpse of the giant’s hairy shin in the dust. He chopped into the giant with all of his might.

Whack!

Tundoor jerked his knee up and let out a deafening roar. Mood thought he was listening to the world coming to an end ...

Whang! In the next moment, he was skipping over the hardened ground. He stopped with a mouthful of grit, two dislocated shoulders, and maybe worse. Everything hurt. The world was rumbling beneath him, and for the first time in three hundred years he felt the urge to retch as his blood trickled down his broken face. He tried to speak, but no words came out.

Got to get up! Must kill that giant!

But all he could do was watch the blurry spots in the dusty sky and feel the land-shaking steps getting closer.

CHAPTER 12

“Bring me the Dussacks!” Sam the barkeep yelled.

A hunchbacked woman with wispy white hair teetered into the middle of the room with two knife-like swords hanging in her fragile arms. They clattered on the floor as she turned to walk away.

“Get the oil, too,” the barkeep ordered, “you old hen, and don’t drop it, either.”

She teetered away, waving her hand over her head.

“And a flame as well!”

Georgio stood within a circle of pressing people, Billip and Mikkel both at his back. Across from him stood Jeb, a stout brute with a neck of iron, his cutthroats behind, eyes and lips full of mockery. He didn’t like them. They weren’t the kind of men who had standards. They were takers: cold, merciless and cowardly. He could feel that in his bones.

“You can walk away, Georgio. There’s nothing to be gained by this,” Billip said, cracking his knuckles.

“No, I’m going to fight.”

“You are not ready! This man, he’s a seasoned beast. He’ll cut you to ribbons. You pick up that Dussack,” Billip squeezed his shoulder, “you’re on your own.”

Georgio looked down at the blade lying on the floor. It was a wide blade of steel, about thirty inches long with a gentle bend towards the tip. It had a loop for a hilt wrapped in leather that reminded him of half a pair of scissors. It was different, but he’d been training with Mikkel and Billip for a while. How different could one sword be from another?

Mikkel stepped out into the center, his broad shoulders and muscular back heaving. He pounded his chest with his fist.

“Take on a man, Jeb! Fight me instead! He’s untrained.”

Jeb squatted down, plucked his Dussack from the floor, and said, “All knew the risk the moment you stepped in here. The boy can walk away,” he thumbed the edge of the blade, “just leave your purses and go.”

“Coward!”

Jeb laughed.

“Your words are talking any thoughts of mercy from my mind. I suggest you talk some sense into your young friend … or give him a hug before he dies.”

Mikkel turned and said, “Georgio, this man is a killer. You don’t have to do this.”

Georgio pushed past Mikkel and picked up the sword.

A cry of cheers went up.

“Thatta boy!”

“Kill him, Jeb, and cut me a lock of that curly hair!” A surly woman cried.

“Don’t kill him, just punish him,” a harlot said, “I want to pinch those cheeks one time at least.”

Course laughter erupted as the bar maids bustled, refilling the tankards of ale. It wasn’t often action like this happened so early in the day.

That’s when Georgio noticed the sullen look on the face of the woman who had drawn the card, Velvet. It as if she was looking at a dead man. Shoulders slumped, he looked away. He didn’t know why he was doing this, but he felt compelled to, as if something inside him was driving him forward. But the words Melegal said had haunted him, Go back to Three and Live. Stay in Bone and die.

Mikkel put his heavy hands on his shoulders and said, “Stay on the defensive, and wait for an opening. You cut him good, he’ll yield. Be patient, Georgio.” Billip gave him a final squeeze. “You can do it, Georgio!”

“Aye,” Billip said,” you’ve learned from the best. This man’s a thug. One good cut and he’ll run.”

“Thanks,” Georgio said, unable to hide the dullness in his voice. He searched for Jeb’s eyes and found them staring back at him. His men were all offering encouragement, pointing and mocking at him. Something about the looks on their faces and the sound of their voices began to charge his blood.

“Ah!” the barkeep’s voice cut through the noise of the crowd, “our favorite retriever returns.”

The old woman’s arms quavered as she handed him over a jar and a candle.

“Come here, young warrior,” the barkeep said, dousing a rag in the oil. “Let me see your blade.”

Georgio stuck it out. The barkeep coated the blade halfway down with thick oily residue. It had a pungent smell, like the glue used to seal stones.

“Step back,” he said, holding out the candle.

“Fire them up, Sam!”

Sam the barkeep stuck the candle under the blade's tip, igniting the blade.

Georgio’s eyes widened as he watched the wispy black smoke rise from the orange flames.

The crowd started chanting as the barkeep did the same to Jeb’s blade.

“Jeb! Jeb! Jeb! Jeb!”

“Take your places, men!” the barkeep said, guiding them both to the middle of the circle.

Georgio looked up into the face of the man leering down on him with a flaming sword in his hand. Fight or die! That’s what Venir would say. He pulled back his shoulders and clenched his teeth.

“Let’s go over the rules of the Flaming Sword. The Dussack is a cutting weapon, but stabbing is allowed. But you only get one poke.”

“Aah! Give 'em three pokes, Sam!”

The barkeep waved the comments off as he allowed his words to arouse the crowd.

“I’ve seen men slashed to ribbons! I saw a woman whittled down to the bone! No Mercy! A merry old man sliced off his best friend's fingers! Be alert! A woman cut her husband’s neck open! Be wary!”

Georgio blanched as his hand rubbed his chest below his neck and his forehead burst into beads of sweat. Fight or die!

“And there will be no dancing and delays, Men! The flame gets hotter as time goes on. It will seep down the steel until that handle’s as hot as a poker. It will cauterize your skin to the metal. The first challenger to drop his weapon loses. Or the first one to yield.”

Georgio could feel the warmth growing in his hands.

The barkeep took a long draw on his cigar and exhaled a plume of smoke in the air. There was a glimmer in his sagging bloodshot eyes as he spoke.

“Ready yourselves, then!”

The room stiffened with tension.

“One!”

“Two!”

Georgio raised his flaming sword.

***

Mikkel’s muscles were as taut at bowstrings as he watched his young friend Georgio lift his Dussack from the floor. Over the past few months, a bond had grown between him and Georgio, who served as a reminder of his own son, Nikkel. He couldn’t help but think. What would it be like if Nikkel were out there, about to get cut to ribbons by a man? So far as he could tell, Jeb was a cold-blooded killer. His hands clenched at his sides. One poke was all it took.

“Come on, Georgio!” he said with encouragement.

Billip’s eyes narrowed at his side, flitting back and forth as he twisted the hairs under his chin. Billip wasn’t much of a sword fighter, but he’d fair better than Georgio, who was still swinging steels like hatchets. Whatever possessed the boy to take this fight was beyond him. Maybe it was his fault. After all, he’d been saying for weeks, You have be a man sometime. People grew up quick on Bish, and it had been no different for him than any other.

“Put these on the young man,” Billip said, filling a bet taker’s hands with coins.

Mikkel pulled Billip up by the cloth of his shoulder and said through his teeth, “What are you doing?”

“Gambling.”

“On the life of our friend?”

Billip shrugged and said, “I can’t help it. I just like long shots. You know that.”

“That’s sick, even for you.”

“It’s quite normal; you know that. Besides, I’ve bet for and against you, too.”

“I was a man. That was different.”

“It seems our Georgio is a man now, too.” Billip brushed his arm away. “Now pay attention.”

Georgio was squared up with Jeb as the barkeep backed away. Jeb’s round face with the squared jaw leered down at Georgio, who stood chest out only half a head shorter. Georgio’s thickset frame was almost as broad, but his muscles weren’t developed like those on the hardened criminal across from him. Jeb’s body was covered in thick hair. Corded muscles bulged under his heavy jerkin, and Georgio looked soft as a lamb by comparison. Mikkel could feel the fight was going to go bad really fast as all the betting was shifting against Georgio.

“Two!”

Oil from the burning swords dripped to the floor, sizzling on the planks. Georgio’s back foot slid back, and his stiff legs began to bend. Good stance. Be ready!

“Three!”

Georgio leapt back as the flaming tip of Jeb’s Dussack ripped at his neck.

“Move, Georgio!” Mikkel cried as Billip grabbed hold of him and pulled him back.“Ha! You’re pretty fast for a chubby one,” Jeb said, clashing his sword into Georgio’s and almost ripping it from his grasp. Oily flames scattered and fell, leaving sizzling little fires on the floor. “You got sticky hands, too!”

Georgio wrapped both hands around the hilt, feet shuffling back and forth, shoulders rocking left and right.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

The crowd roared in jubilation as Jeb hammered his heavy blade down, juttering Georgio’s arms at the elbows. Mikkel could feel the steel ringing his teeth. He’s a sitting duck.

Jeb sprang away, cutting his sword in arcing flames back and forth like a sickle.

“Is that blade getting hot on those soft hands of yours, Boy? I’ve got callouses as thick as an ogre’s hide.”

Georgio’s chest was heaving as he wiped the sweat from his face and said, “It seems you’ve got the ogre’s breath, too.”

“Har!” One man laughed so loud he dropped his tankard.

“You’re funny for a dead man,” Jeb said, lunging forward.

Slice!

The flaming blade ripped a gash in Georgio's thigh.

Mikkel wanted to stop the fight, but it was too late. Live a man, die a man.

“He’ll be fine,” Billip said. “He’s got skin as thick as his skull.”

Mikkel shook his head. Healing took time, even for Georgio, and no matter who you are, getting cut and stabbed always hurts like fire.

Georgio cried out as Jeb cut his arm. The smell of burning flesh filled the smoke-filled air as the red hot sword tip instantly cauterized the wound.

“Feel that, Boy! Wait till I drive this blade into that soft belly and scorch your innards like coals. Won’t that be a fine way to die?”

Jeb swung downward in powerful orange flamed strikes, one after the other, driving Georgio to his knees. Tiny flames singed holes in his clothes and burned dark patches on his skin. His arms began to sag, and Jeb knocked his sword back into his head.

“Let go, Georgio!” Mikkel warned. “Blast your pride.”

Jeb was toying with the boy, but now his voice took on a deadly tone as he lifted his arm up for the final strike.

***

Georgio fought for his breath as sweat trickled in his eyes. His arms and legs burned like they were on fire. Jeb was killing him. But he wouldn’t let go of the sword. Fight! He hadn’t even taken a swing. Was this what fighting was really like? He’d never felt so exhausted before. He could feel the sword heating up in his hand. It seemed every inch of him hurt. He felt like he’d fallen in a bucket of knives. Take the pain! Fight! Get one piece of him before you go!

He gathered himself to his knees as Jeb’s sword came arcing downward, and then he lunged. Something bit deep into his shoulder, cutting it to the bone.

The crowd reeled with delight as Georgio screamed on the floor, his shoulder inflamed with pain, his body going into total recoil. He looked for his opponent. Jeb was shuffling back, flaming sword in hand, patting out a flaming streak across his belly. Yes!

He heard Mikkel’s voice booming over the rest.

“You got him, Georgio! Go after him!”

Georgio rose to his feet. As a blinding pain erupted in his shoulder, he moved his sword from one hand to the other. It was hot now. Like the handle of a metal coffee kettle. Don’t let go!

He staggered forward, his shoulder feeling like an anchor was tied to it, his other arm barely able to lift his flaming sword. The steel was glowing red hot to the end.

Jeb switched his sword from one hand to the other, shaking his former sword hand. He snarled, spit coming from his lips, and charged.

Clang!

Georgio parried, but the jabbing pain erupted in his shoulder. Jeb was slower now, and Georgio felt his wind returning. He parried the next series of blows as Jeb’s face became wracked with anger and pain. He locked him up, flaming swords inches from their faces.

“I’m going to gut you, Boy! Yield, before I fill your belly with steel.”

“Not if I fill yours first!”

Crack!

He head-butted Jeb in the nose.

Blood flowed over Jeb's teeth and lips as he staggered away.

The crowd cried foul.

“It’s a fair move!” the barkeep shouted.

Jeb spat the blood from his face, grimacing as he switched his sword from one hand to the other, then back again. A desperate look was filling his eyes.

“Kill him, Jeb!” one of his men said.

Georgio held his sword up and out and said, “I can do this all day.”

It felt like his entire hand was on fire, and the steel was beginning to stick to his skin. He fought the urge to switch hands after one person said:

“He’s not even switched hands yet. Jeb’s done so three times!”

Jeb charged.

Georgio backpedaled away from Jeb’s lunging swings and misses.

“Getting hot, isn’t it, Jeb!” Georgio said.

Jeb’s sword clattered to the ground as he fell to his knees and cried, “Sweet Mother of Bish! Water! I yield! Water!” The thug was blowing his smoldering hands.

“Somebody piss on the baby’s hands!”

Billip strolled over to Jeb with a bucket of water and said, “Ah- Ah –Ah … pay first, then take this bucket and get your arses out of here!”

“Georgio! Drop the sword; you won!” Mikkel exclaimed.

Georgio was stunned. His hand kept burning until it was almost done. He looked over at the barkeep, who nodded, shook his head, and walked away.

He flung the blade from his palm, felt his legs buckle, and then the strong hands of Mikkel dragged him away. He thought he heard someone cry out something about underlings as he started puking in the floor.

CHAPTER 13

Thorn sunk one blade into the plank floor were Lefty was a blink ago. The halfling boy leaped from table top to table top as the big rogue ran roughshod through the tavern.

“Somebody grab that little bastard,” Thorn yelled.

The big thief’s face was pink and white, the raw skin exposed. It was pretty clear Thorn blamed them for his demise. But it had been Kam who shoved him into the fireplace, not them. Of course, they'd had a little something to do with the fact that he was jailed. Gillem had walloped him over the head, and Kam’s spell had silenced him for a while. But it seemed Thorn’s corrupt connections had won out. He was free to avenge himself.

“Settle down, Thorn. We’ve got nothing to do with you!” Gillem said from atop a table. “I’m still the Master here, not you. Sheath those swords or be trialed!”

Thorn lowered his short swords by his side and sneered under his burnt and crooked nose as he walked towards the table.

“The Bone I will, Gillem, you little halfling toad!”

Gillem ducked under the first cut and leaped over the other.

Lefty threw a wine bottle that careened off the side of Thorn’s head.

“Blast you two rodents! Somebody grab them! That’s an order! They’re traitors! They left me behind!”

Gillem leapt to another table and surveyed the room. Lefty watched from behind a chair. There was a shift in the room as everyone got a closer look at Thorn’s face.

“They watched the woman burn me and did not come to my aid,” Thorn whined. “Had me jailed, my lips sealed by magic, and dragged away by the Watch.” He spat. “Gillem, you’re not the thief you used to be. Nothing more than an aging mushroom.”

Gillem stood his ground, stuck his pipe in between his lips and laughed.

“Is that so, coming from the man who guards a door? One trip up top, and you come back roasted like a log, blaming me.”

The older halfling had the room's full attention now. His voice the father of all fathers. A thief among thieves. “How embarrassing that must be for you. And naturally, being the bully that you are, you take the fight to the tiniest man in the room, Lefty.” Gillem puffed a smoke ring. “And when you can't manage to lay a finger on him, you come after me, and asking for the aid of your brethren as well. I’m ashamed. Ashamed for you and ashamed for the thieves' guild.”

Thorn’s swords were quavering in his hands, his knuckles white, his face full of shame and anger.

“Why you little liar! Fraud! You’re cohorts with that wench up there! When I speak to Palos, I’ll prove it.”

The rogues in the house looked back and forth between the two men and each other. Lefty remained still. He knew Palos wasn’t going to take Gillem’s word for anything anymore. He could tell. The way the man spoke to Master Gillem was often harsh and uncalled for. It was clear to him the Prince of Thieves didn’t like that halfling anymore.

“Talk all you want, Thorn. Please do. I’m sure Prince Palos has nothing better to do than hear your petty excuses. It was my plan that snatched the child, and my plan that got the woman here. You come back with nothing but a sack full of blame …”

Lefty looked down at his watery feet on the floor.

Oh no! What’s wrong? Why are my feet sweating?

He scanned the room. No other daggers were drawn. Where’s Diller? He looked up at the top of the stairs. The man was there, toothpick and all, a devious look on his face, but he wasn’t alone. Lefty’s tongue clove to the roof of his mouth as he tried to yell out.

“… Ha!” Gillem continued, chest out, hitching his thumbs in his pants. “I’m sure he’ll enjoy that more than gold.”

Clatch-Zip!

Thorn jumped five feet backward. Gillem stood with eyes as big as the moon as he looked down at the bolt protruding from his chest.

Clatch-Zip!

The next one caught him clean in the throat. Gillem swayed left and right as the pipe fell from his mouth and clunked on the table. Lefty caught him as he fell, and searched his eyes, only to find an empty blank stare. Now the only friend he had left in the world was dead. No! Just like that! How? No! He looked up and saw the leering face of Palos. Cold and crazy.

“The trial has begun and ended, in the favor of my newest Master, Thorn!” Palos said, handing Diller back over his crossbow. “Now, bring me the halfling boy, and dispose of the other one in the cemetery beneath the water.”

No hope. Drained of all vitality, Lefty was limp as several rough hands dragged him up the stairs.

***

Kam sat, chin dipped, huddled in a rocking chair by the fire, arms folded across her chest, rubbing her shoulders. She was an empty vessel as Palos got up to check the commotion outside.

“Don’t move an inch,” he ordered, slipping a thin dagger through the belt on his robes and strutting to the door.

Think, Kam!

Fear ruined her hopes as Palos crossed the threshold of the door, his back to her, but Diller, long and sly, stood just outside the doorway, leering at her from time to time. She ran her fingers between her neck and the choker Palos had imprisoned her magic with. It was a wispy thing that tightened like a garrote if she tugged on it.

“Ugh!” she growled.

Time was running out for her; she could feel it. Not only her, but Erin as well. It was only a matter of time before Palos tired of her, unless of course, she played his little strumpet. No! I’ll die first! She scanned the room. Certainly Palos had hidden things that she could use. He’d just produced a dagger from nowhere. That meant there had to be something else. Paintings, a great sword, etchings in the marble mantle, fanciful rugs over a polished hardwood floor, statues, candelabras and more.

“Hmmm …,” she muttered, eyes flicking towards Diller, who at the moment seemed to be enthralled with the commotion on the lower floor. There were marble ashtrays as big as her hand. A poker for stoking the wood and coals in the fireplace. An onyx figurine of a part woman, part fox stood over a foot tall on a pedestal. It seemed there were some things, unconventional things, she could use to bash his head in, after all. She picked at her lip. Then what? She’d still need help to remove the choker, and how would she escape after that? It can’t be hopeless.

Clatch-Zip!

She jerked in her chair, biting her lip. Immediately, her thigh began to throb, and her heart pounded like a fearful rabbit's.

Clatch-Zip!

She jerked again, more so than the last time. She pulled her legs up and curled into the chair. She heard Palos’s words to the men below before he strolled back in, sneering and angry.

“Good!” he said, walking in and taking a seat at the table. “You didn’t move. I’d hate to have to cut a toe off, but I’ve had it done before. Now, make yourself presentable. We’re having company.”

A lurking figure filled the doorway. It was Thorn. He leered at her like a hungry dog as he stepped inside and took a seat at the table. I should have killed him.

Diller followed, chewing his toothpick, dragging Lefty by his collar like a heavy sack.

Kam felt her heart sink. Is he dead? No, it can’t be! Her nose started to run as the door was closed from the outside. She sniffled.

“Don’t start blathering, Kam.” Palos took a quaff of wine. “Your little friend is alive, for now. But, I’m sorry to say, it seems Master Gillem has had a most unfortunate accident.” Thorn and Diller snickered. “He impaled himself on a pair of crossbow bolts. One of the most bizarre things I ever saw.”

Kam’s eyes drifted to Palos’s. There was nothing but the cold-blooded look of a butcher in his eyes. He enjoyed seeing her suffer. He thrived on his power over people. She could feel it. She looked over at Lefty as Diller lifted him to his feet by the scruff of his neck. The little liar’s feet were dripping wet, and his swollen eyes were glued on the floor. She almost felt bad for him. He sobbed. Her heart opened as the boy stood there … broken. She turned away, head towards the burning coals under the mantle. She realized it couldn’t have all been his fault.

“Kam, Dear, please come and sit at the table with the rest of the family. We’ve much to discuss,” Palos said, stretching his arms over his head and yawning. “Whew … the hot bath you gave me took a lot out of me.”

Slime! She rocked forward, shuffled over, and slid into a chair, head down. She’d never been in the presence of people she actually hated, and now there were three of them. The most hated men in the world.

“When can I see Erin?” she said, trying to hide the quivering in her voice. “You were about to send for her before all the commotion.”

She jumped as Palos rapped his fist on the table.

“That can wait! We’ve business to discuss. It seems Master Thorn has brought a different story forward as opposed to the one spun by the former Master Gillem and his apprentice … er … Lefty.”

“What would you know?” she said, the fire rising in her voice. “Both men are liars. What difference does the truth make at this point? You have me. Does it really matter how I got here?”

“Well …”

She sat up and pulled her shoulders back and twirled her hair.

“What does this roasted oaf have to offer you that I cannot, Prince Palos? It seems quite peculiar.”

“Why, you!” Thorn said, drawing his swords.

“Stop!” Palos ordered. “Thorn, my woman speaks. You do not. Continue, my dearest. Please.”

Diller covered his mouth, eyes glimmering from beyond.

“This ugly fool tried to seduce me. Pawed at me like a hungry lion.”

Palos’s eyes narrowed.

“I defended myself. Launched him into the fire. It was Gillem who stopped me from turning this lout … that you call Master … into a charred log. I should have killed him.” She clenched her fists and shook them at him. “But Gillem had him spared. I melted his lips and ears, a minor incantation, and had him dragged off by the City Watch.”

He shifted back toward Palos, who sat slunk forward, eyes glaring at Thorn with suspicion.

“Prince, I never laid a finger on her,” Thorn said, his eyes shifting back and forth between her and him. Behind him, Diller lowered a crossbow on his back. “I swear, my lord. She—”

Palos sprang on top of the table. “She was to be defiled by no one, Thorn!” Thorn stood at rigid attention as Palos poked the tip of his dagger at his nose. “Which hand did he touch you with, dearest Kam?”

“Both, my Prince.”

“Hold them out, Thorn.”

“B-But …”

“Hold them out! Diller!”

She could hear Diller’s finger squeezing the trigger.

Thorn lifted his hands, palms up, parallel to the ground.

“Yes, Milord.”

Stab! Stab!

Stab! Stab!

Like a striking snake, Palos dotted two holes in each palm.

Thorn’s bloody hands quavered in the air, fear and agony growing on his face.

“Easy, Thorn,” Palos looked down on him and patted his shoulder. “If the daggers had been tip triggered, you’d be dead from the venom already,” Palos said, needling the bronze snake-scaled hilt beneath the fang-like blade as he tucked it away from sight.

“Uh … thank you, Prince.”

Palos whirled towards Kam and said, “Is there anything you wish to add, Dearest?”

Kam shook her head. There had been enough blood shed for the day. Another death, even the likes of Thorn’s, was not something she cared to partake in.

“Go …, Master Thorn, and patch your wounds. I want both Diller and you to return back to your posts.”

“And the halfling, Pal—“”

Palos shot Diller an angry stare.

“Er … Prince Palos?” Diller corrected, shifting his toothpick from one side to the other.

“Oh …” Palos said looking down at the tiny sad-eyed boy as he resumed his seat at the table. “Bind him up. Leave him here, and let him mourn the loss of his kindred friend.” He drummed his pudgy fingers on the table. “Thorn, I’ve had a change of heart, given the evidence presented. See to it Master Gillem is given a proper burial. After all, he was my own mentor, and it’s possible I’ll regret my actions tomorrow, or next week maybe. But remember this, you over-sized rogue. My doubt can be quite deadly.”

He’s mad! Kam struggled with the fear that coiled within her belly. She ached from head to toe. Somewhere, her baby girl hungered. She could feel it. Within her, she had the power to stop it, but couldn’t use it without killing herself. She knew full well what the collar around her neck did: it used her power against her.

“Have a drink, Dearest. You look quite thirsty,” Palos said, taking another guzzle of wine, the gentility returning to his voice. “You see, running a kingdom, albeit a dark and secret one, has many consequences, and a ruler like me can never be too careful.” He reached over and patted her hand and licked his lips. “But being in charge gives you all the power you want and so many, many rewards.

Kam swallowed hard and gave a slight nod while Diller shackled Lefty with a network of rope like chains made from absidium, a thin metal that was stronger than hammered iron. Lefty stood in silence, narrow shoulders sagging, his mop of yellow hair cast down … defeated. The boy had come to the City of Three like a shining beacon of life, but nervous. Adept in magic, quick-witted and sure-footed, a promising little sparrow—now with both wings broken.

“Where do you want him?” Diller said, pulling Lefty up on his tip toes by his hair.

“Hmmm …” Palos said, looking up from the coins he was stacking. “Well, hitch him by the foot of my tub over there, and don’t leave any slack in it, either.”

Kam didn’t turn as she heard Diller dragging Lefty away. A wave of guilt washed over her. The boy had lost his real family once already, to the underlings. He’d lost his friends from the Magi Roost as well. Now, his third family had betrayed him. Maybe he didn’t know better, but he should have. Blast Venir for leaving those boys with me!

As Diller started to leave, she asked, “Can I please see my baby now, Prince Palos?”

“Can I please see my baby now, Prince Palos?” he said, imitating her voice.

“I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me.”

“I’ve done everything you’ve asked —”

“Palos!” She rose from her chair. “You gave me your word! Now bring me my baby!”

“NO!” he slammed his fists into the table. “NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!”

She saw a feverish look in his eye, and his steady hands began to tremble.

“Diller!” he shouted. “Bind her as well. I need rest.”

He got up, calmly walked into his bedroom, and closed the door.

He’s crazy!

Diller was coming her way, chains wrapped around his hands, toothpick rolling in and out of his mouth.

“Alone at last …”

CHAPTER 14

The marketplace was humming with activity as the merchants hoisted their voices high in the air, competing to sell their wares. The people of Bone, hundreds, a rugged lot, were well prepared for anything. They stumbled, rumbled, bristled and hissed at one another, fighting over fruits and metal pots. The pickpockets and urchins were out in full force, squeezing their fingers into tiny crevices and snatching purses one at a time. It was all expected in the course of doing daily business in the harshest city in the world. After all, the citizens of Bone were prepared for anything, so they said, until today.

A woman shrieked. The crowd slowed, heads looking around for the source of the outburst that was suddenly cut short.

KA-CHOW!

Something exploded. A cart of fruit was thrown high in the air. A unified gasp followed as all eyes turned to the sky. There, Verbard hovered, feeding on their sudden fear. Each face was a puzzled knot of confusion. He let them have it.

A frizzy brown-haired woman holding a large melon gawped at his appearance a split second before she exploded. Verbard and his fellow magi floated above chaos, spraying their deadly magic from one street corner to the other. Juegen soldiers, led by Jottenhiem, black armor glistening in the sunlight, spilled from the alley’s shadows like a pack of hungry wolves. The census in Bone would be lower this year. Men, women and urchins fell beneath the precise cuts of underling blades. Necks were opened, hands and arms lopped off.

Eep snatched a boy from the ground, black wings buzzing as he lifted him high in the air and dropped him into the fray below. Behind Verbard, another mage summoned his power. The sewers, cracks and crevices began to fill with large ants and cockroaches, insects of all kinds. They scurried over all things living and dead, a terrifying army of another kind.

The badoon underlings, naked from the waist to the shoulders, fired missile upon missile into even the fleetest of feet, sending their bearers reeling to the ground. A heavy man with hunched over shoulders, bolts piercing his back, waded through the desperate crowd, grabbed a heavy rope at the corner, and started ringing a brass metal bell.

Let them come, Verbard thought, silver eyes charged with energy.

As he floated over the chaos where the streets began to slicken with blood, he felt nothing but satisfaction. As Jottenhiem led a wedge of blood coated Juegen soldiers, the humans kept piling up. But fear outweighed their forces, and within moments of the beginning of the onslaught, the entire marketplace was cleared. Like rats, the humans had disappeared into their dark little holes. Only the dead and the twitching remained.

Verbard and his men surveyed their surroundings. The small buildings had every door secured and every window shut.

Jottenhiem put an ailing man out of his misery as he shouted up in underling, “What are your orders, Lord Verbard? We’re ready for more!”

Eep, come!

The one-eyed imp hummed to his side with an arm hanging out of his razor sharp mouth.

Scout. Let me know what comes. If anything.

The imp nodded and buzzed away.

Brethren magi! Set fire to everything you see!

The black robed underlings fanned out over the market square, toes hovering over the ground as high as the buildings. All hands, twelve in all, ignited with fire. Verbard could feel the radiant heat of pouring flame erupting from the magi surrounding him. Below him, the Juegen and Badoon decapitated the dead and tossed the heads through the windows.

Excellent!

Verbard rose higher in the air overlooking the vast city and the castle tops that surrounded the walls. He felt small in the presence of it all. Below him, the smoke and fires were growing, but it was little more than a campfire compared to the rest of it all. His strike seemed futile compared to what was needed to take this city. Suicide mission. Master Sinway couldn’t be serious. There were so many people.

Eep hummed along his side, crunching an arm between his teeth before swallowing.

“A large host of armored riders on horseback come riding under Royal banners.”

“How many?”

“Two score or more,” Eep hissed, wringing his clawed hands.

An arc of light struck Eep full force in the chest and sent him spiraling downward, his small body disappearing into the smoke. Verbard felt the power of many minds converging on him at once. Suicide Mission.

***

Inside Castle Almen, another battle raged. The human soldiers fought hard but were incredibly slow. Kierway’s sword flashed twice for every one of their heavy strokes. He sank his blade deep into the heart of one man and sliced out the neck of another. It seemed he and the Vicious, as well as the Juegen and Magi, had come upon the barracks confined within Castle Almen. Their surprise was short-lived. The humans were well fortified and prepared, barricading the tunnels and sealing the doors. Still, in such an enormous place it would take quite some time to find what they were looking for. That’s the other reason the magi came.

“Find me that cleric,” Kierway ordered, withdrawing his blade from the armored belly of his last victim.

At his side, the Vicious, the black hulking brute with skin as hard as armor, was crushing the neck of another soldier whose feet twitched above the ground.

It felt good, killing all these men. His natural enemies. His most hated foes. But he was in unfamiliar territory. The walls were closing in as time elapsed. He had to find that cleric and get those keys before the Royals, and their total garrison, cut them off completely. Based off all that he had seen, there must be more than seventy fighting men, if not a hundred, who guarded the castle, and they wouldn’t all be push overs.

A mage with bright blue eyes drifted in from the door of another room and beckoned towards him.

Kierway smiled, looked over to his soldiers, and said, “Follow me.”

Clatch-Zip!

Kierway ducked as a bolt ripped past his head.

Clatch-Zip!

Clatch-Zip!

The blue-eyed mage was shot down, spilling to the floor in a heap, two bolts embedded in his head. Three soldiers armored in plate mail emerged on the other side of the room, tossing down their heavy crossbows as they drew their bastard swords.

“Bish blast my eyes!” one of them yelled, “Underlings in Bone. I’d never have believed it if I weren't seeing it for myself.”

“They bleed the same as men!” said another.

“Attack,” Kierway ordered in underling.

The Juegen soldiers rushed in, swords flashing out as they cut into their foes. The men, tall and heavy, leaned into the smaller people. Broad arcing swings came from heavy handed blows as the Juegen shifted and ducked away.

The armored Royal soldiers chopped down, their blades clanging from the stone floor. The underlings shifted their stances, swords licking out like snakes, glancing off the heavy mail of the bigger fighters.

“Put your weight on them. They're small and fast, but we can wear them down,” a Royal said, taking a swing into the chest and knocking down a Juegen fighter. The underling rolled back to his feet.

“They don’t bleed,” one soldier yelled.

“If you can’t cut them, stab them!”

Kierway rolled his eyes. The underling armor was as hard as it was light, but it didn’t make them invulnerable. He was running out of time. If more heavy soldiers rushed in, they’d be cornered. He needed to keep his small group together. He chittered an order. The Juegen pressed the man left of center, blades licking out like a pit of striking snakes.

Kierway attacked. In one fluid motion, he sidestepped one soldier's swing and jammed his blade backwards into the lower abdomen of the other. One soldier remained, backing towards the door as the Juegen peeled away the armor and skin of the other with their swords. One second three men stood valiantly, in the next only one remained. The soldier glanced at Kierway, a determined look under his helmet.

“You’re fast, even for a little one, I’ll grant you that—”

The Vicious leapt over Kierway’s back and landed on top of the soldier.

Wham! Wham! Wham!

The Vicious punched the soldier's head into the wall, denting the metal and crushing the man’s skull.

“Well done,” Kierway commented, sheathing his sword.

Another underling, eyes bright like sapphires, glided to Kierway’s side.

“I think we’ve located the man you’re looking for,” it said, extending its hand.

Kierway gazed at a vision on the underling mage’s palm. A vision of Sefron the cleric was there. Brow sweating, belly bulging over his tiny belt, glossy eyes filled with fear.

“That’s him. Lead the way!”

Five more heavily armored soldiers spilled into the barracks' front doorway.

“Take them out!” he said to the three Juegen soldiers.

They burst into action, hurling their bodies and swinging their swords into the big men with heavy arms. Their chitters were filled with rage as they tried to whittle the force of men down one by one while Kierway, the Vicious and the two remaining magi made their escape through the castle passages with the sound of heavy boots coming from all directions.

CHAPTER 15

Wriggling in the heavy ropes of the net, Venir managed to get his hands around the neck of one underling soldier and squeeze. The underling's orange eyes bulged out of its sockets while it stabbed into Venir’s arm with a dagger. Venir held tight as he and the other trapped underlings were dragged over the rugged terrain.

The underlings thrashed, hissed and howled, their sharp claws stretching through the heavy netting trying to carve off a piece of his hide.

Venir upped the pressure, fingers crushing his victim's windpipe.

“Tell your fiend brother good-bye, you black jackals!”

He felt the underling’s throat collapse. The remaining brood surged within their bonds.

“Have at me, then!” he yelled.

Venir wrenched the dagger from his arm and sawed at the cords. His muscles tightened in his neck at a sucking and shrieking sound that froze the marrow in his bones. The underlings were dragging him toward another enormous spider ahead that feasted on a horse and rider. He sawed faster.

All around him, the sounds of battle still surged. The underlings chittered in anger and pain, and the Royal Riders thundered past, shouting battle cries at the top of their lungs.

KA-CHOW!

A wave of energy knocked several from their horses.

“Bone!”

Venir could feel the tide of battle turning. The shock and surprise had worn off, and the underlings, they were a well-oiled machine: quick, efficient and deadly. From all directions, they swarmed the men three to one.

“Cut faster, Idiot!”

Venir cut through one piece of the net, but it would take a least ten more to free him.

Nearby, an underling squirmed closer, clawed fingers grabbing his shield. It began pulling him back, its rancid breath on his ear. In his other hand, Brool was useless, bound up in the netting. Another cord broke.

A Royal Rider cried out, “Retreat! Retreat!” waving a banner from atop a white horse.

“Slat! You cowards!” Venir yelled, sawing faster as the underling tugged harder on his shield, stretching him back.

He caught the rider in the corner of his eye, spinning around his horse, and chopping down into an underling with his sword.

“Over here, Rider!” Venir yelled again.

The man peered through the dust as Venir was dragged right past him. The man pointed at him, saluted and galloped away.

“Bone!”

It seemed it was down to Venir; the remains of the decimated army of Royal Riders was now in full retreat.

“Cowardly Royals!”

He cut through the third cord, then the fourth. Something blocked out the suns. Above, a hairy belly was straddled over him with a man in its mouth. A wrenching sound tore at his ears as the creature sucked a rider down to a husk. He cut the 5 cord and then the 6. Got to escape!

The helm began to burn like fire on his head.

Visions of being buried head first in the dirt leapt forward in his mind. Not that again. Not ever. He cut through the 7 and 8 cords. Being sucked down to the marrow didn’t sit well with him, either. Cut faster! The feisty underling grabbed hold of the eyelets of his helmet, nails cutting the skin around his eyes. A series of angry chitters surrounded him from everywhere. He looked up. Underlings surrounded him. Weapons raised, gemstone eyes glowing as they began pressing closer. Saw or die!

***

Please don’t be hungry. Slim struggled in his bonds, but he wasn’t going anywhere. I’ve got to escape! He could hear his heart pounding in his chest. He took a deep breath. The cloth on his face kept his lips from being sealed, and the spell he'd cast allowed him and Adanna to breathe much longer. Just need enough time to get my energy back, and I’ll remove these insects from Bish forever.

“Mrmph!” he exclaimed beneath the cocoon.

A spider bit deep into his ankle, setting his leg on fire as the sucking began. Slim felt the blood being drained away from his body.

NOOOOOOO!

Excruciating. Slim's eyes fluttered in his skull, each second pure agony. He shuddered inside his cocoon, convulsed, then his body stopped. The pain was gone now. The spider was sucking on his limbs. As ghastly as that sounded, it was a merciful predator after all. Their poison subdued whatever man or beast they got hold of, but Slim’s body slackened as a mild euphoria settled inside him.

Don’t fall asleep. Don’t fall asleep. Don’t fall asleep.

Slim had never taken into consideration that he’d be eaten by a spider. He always figured he’d die of old age one day. After all, he was never really one to get in trouble. He just liked to help out now and again. He jerked in his web-made cocoon. A shot of fire raced from his toe to his brain as the spider's fang bit farther down.

That will keep you awake!

Now, the battle of wills began. The mind of a man versus the instinctive needs of an insect. Slim felt all sensation leave below his knees. He meditated on his elements. As a healer, a man born attached to the mystic powers of the world, Slim could draw upon the power of the living. The grass, the trees, the birds, even men. At the moment, the pit he lived in was barren of any living forces other than him, Adanna and the spiders, which made it all the tougher to renew his inner power.

Don’t fall asleep, or you're dead, Slim the Cleric!

The spell he had cast to keep air in the cowls over his and Adanna’s heads wouldn’t last much longer. He’d already felt the air beginning to thin. It was dark and warm where he was, his only company now was the sharp sucking sounds from the sand spider gnawing on his calf.

Sssckt! Sssckt! Sssckt!

The numbness rolled over his waist and into his belly.

Maybe this isn’t such a bad way to go. Mmmm …

Sssckt! Sssckt! Sssckt!

He thought of Venir. Adanna. All the lives the underlings had taken. The tiny fire inside his mind began to twinkle.

Got to fight it. Fight or die! Fight or die! Or, become a beetle. Mmmm … Flying was enjoyable.

Slim felt himself sinking deeper into a bath of warm goo. Maybe the spider won’t suck all the blood from me. See you tomorrow, Bish. Or never again. What does it matter?

The fire in his mind began to dim as his lips twitched with the last word of power he remembered. I better use this before it’s too late. Ah … but just another minute. It feels so nice.

Sssckt! Sssckt! Sssckt!

***

Zip! Zip! Zip!

The dagger fell from Venir's hand as a small crossbow bolt punctured through it. He cursed. He’d just cut the ninth cord. Another bolt ricocheted from his helmet, and one stuck in his calf.

“Bone!” he roared.

A spider abdomen loomed over his head, and dozens of underlings had him surrounded. He thrashed like a fish in the net that held him. Brool, still hot in his grip, was useless. His eyelets still smoldered like black fire. He’d never been at the mercy of this many underlings before. They had him.

The spider's face lowered before him.

“I’ll make your belly sour, you eight-legged underling!” he said, kicking in the net.

The underlings approached, spears lowered, wicked faces chittering back and forth, a look of astonishment in their eyes. Two of them, heavy laden in black armor, approached with spears. Venir fought harder against his bonds. They cocked their elbows back.

“I see you got big plans for those toothpicks! Turn around and I’ll show you how to use them, ” he said, tugging at the bolt protruding from his hand. “Slat! I suppose this is it.”

Venir’s mortality began to soak in. He was trapped like an animal. A hundred hunters had boxed him in. He was certain he wasn’t going to live a moment longer. He just wanted to take a few more with him, however.

“Fight and die.” He looked into the horizon. “So it is.”

Venir felt the ground rumble. The underlings' heads snapped up. A chorus of surprised chitters was smothered by the sound of galloping horses. Two columns stormed through the camp. The first Royal Rider plunged a lance into the face of the giant spider. The spider reared up and caught two spears in its belly just as the horses trampled over it.

The underlings dove, rolled and died under the thundering hooves of the horses. The riders raced by, spears ripping through the air. One underling caught a spear clean in the throat. Another caught two spears in the chest.

Venir yelled out, “Get me out of this net you Royal Bas—urk!”

As the last two riders rode past, they reached down and grabbed the net, dragging Venir and the surviving underlings behind them. Being dragged by horses was a painful way to go. It seemed the Riders had a harsh death in mind for the underlings as their small bodies scraped and bumped over the rough stones, faces screeching in terror. Venir balled up, trying to keep his legs up as he was dragged roughshod over the dirt.

“Blast you, Royals!” he said through gritted teeth.

Behind him, the underling camp was falling farther away. After a mind numbing mile, the Riders came to a stop. Beasts were nickering and stamping their hooves. Horses, all noble, all good, were never comfortable around underlings. As Venir wiped the dust and dirt that caked his eyes, he saw half a dozen well-armed men standing around him.

“Kill them. Kill them all,” a rider ordered, his voice full of authority. A gold crescent stained with blood gleamed from atop his helmet.

“Even the warrior?” another rider said, hoisting his spear.

“No, you idiot! Kill the underlings. Why in Bish would we kill a man?” the commander said.

The remaining underlings fell quickly as the spears jabbed into them more times than were needed. Weighted down under the net, Venir struggled to rise.

“Someone cut this big bastard free! Do I have to do everything around here?” the Commander said, unsheathing a broad hunting knife on his belt. In three quick slices, the net fell away.

Venir rose to his full height and said, “Nice knife.”

The Commander snorted under his red-brown mustache that hung past his chin and said, “Nice axe,” eyeing Brool and stepping back.

Venir groaned. Everything hurt. He could barely stand. His arms and legs were raw. He looked back over his shoulder.

“Why aren’t the underlings pursuing us?” he said, looking around at the remaining Royal Riders. There looked to be about thirty or so of them left, all blood splattered and wounded, some broken.

“They won’t be coming. They’ve got more to worry about than us. Look over yonder horizon,” the Commander said, pointing towards the northwest. The sound of Royal Battle horns now carried through the air as the banners of more Royal Riders appeared on the crest of the dusty hills.

“My gratitude, Commander,” Venir said, nodding “I didn’t figure on any Royals coming back for me.”

“Ha!” the Commander said, reaching up and slapping him back. “I don’t know where you came from, Man, but we’d all be dead if not for your timely arrival. Those underlings took to you like stink on a pig, but it didn’t do them much good. I swear I saw you chop down ten of them. I’ve never seen a man as big as you move so fast. And the axe.” He couldn't hide the incredulity in his voice. “It cuts though bone like butter.”

“Underling bone that is,” Venir said, grimacing as he plucked the bolt from his calf.

“Let us suture that wound, er … what is your name, warrior?”

“Venir,” he said, pushing the other bolt through one side of his hand an out the other. “And I don’t need stitches. I need a horse!”

“But you need to stop the bleeding,” the Commander said, waving a pair of soldiers over. “Those Riders over there will have the underlings routed. This isn’t our first assault.”

“I don’t care about that. I’ve got friends taken prisoner in there. Now, give me a horse, Commander!”

“Underlings take no prisoners. No chance they're alive.”

Venir glared down on the man.

“So be it!” The Commander handed him over the reins of a big brown mare. Venir grabbed the saddle with his bloody hand and swung up with a moan. The Royal Riders bore down on the underlings from the northwest and ran clean through the underlings' first defensive formation.

“Yah!” Venir said, digging his heels into the horse's sides and galloping away.

“Get back on your horses, Soldiers!” the commander ordered. “It’s time to finish what we started! Yah!”

Venir didn’t hear a thing but the wind whistling through his helmet as the horse galloped in full charge. The underlings were already scurrying into their black holes, possibly dragging Adanna and her mother down with them. And where was Slim? He didn’t remember seeing any beetles on the battlefield. He had a feeling something was horribly wrong. Got to find them!

CHAPTER 16

“Seize her! She killed Lord Almen!” Melegal shouted, pointing at Jarla the Brigand Queen.

“What!” she exclaimed, freezing in her tracks as the sentries surrounded her.

His mind was still glowing beneath his cap.

“Take her down, Men! Kill her if you have to!” he ordered.

A half dozen sentries armed with spears and swords formed a line between him and her. Jarla’s face was a mask of rage as her twisted lips fought to find the right words to say. Hah! Melegal was in charge now. After all, he was the head Detective of the Royal Almen house. And what had Lorda Almen ordered him to do? Kill Jarla.

“A hundred gold to whoever can bring me her head! She’s a murderer. An Assassin from the guilds. A defiler from another Royal house.”

His words carried. Melegal could feel the power he had over the simple minds of the 'take orders first, ask questions later' sentries. He had her right where he wanted. Jarla the Brigand Queen was fighting for her life. Her blade flashed and parried as the small force of men closed in on her. Left and right she went, cut off from every direction she wanted to go. Melegal folded his arms across his chest and watched as the men began picking the woman apart. But where was Brak? Something blocked the suns' light from the windows above.

Move!

Melegal sprung right.

“Oooof!” He was too late. A mound of man and muscle pounced on top of him, driving him to the ground, knocking the wind from his lungs. Melegal squirmed onto his back only to face the berserk face of Brak. The slumped over figure who had been begging for food minutes earlier was now pure monster.

Do something before he breaks your head apart!

Mindless and savage, the boy-turned-man raised both his fists over his head.

Melegal pointed the dart launchers into Brak’s chest and belly.

Have to do this!

Brak brought his fists down with all his might.

Whoof!

Two soldiers almost as big as Brak barreled into him, knocking him to the ground. Melegal gasped for air, crawling on his knees. There was a sharp crack in the air. He whipped around. Brak bent another man’s head over his neck. Slat! Melegal wasn’t going to stick around to see what happened next. The berserker was already wrapping his fingers around the hilt of a sword and charging into the nearest warrior. Move far, move fast!

Melegal scanned the room. Two sentries had fallen under the deadly strokes of Jarla’s sword. No! She moved with the feline grace of a panther and struck with the power of a cobra. A man screamed out as his sword hand was sliced off at the wrist, gaping at the sight of all the blood. Up in the bleachers, another commotion was stirring.

Sefron!

The slimy cleric waddled down the stairs, two men in full armor guarding his back shoulders as he made his way down the steps to where Lord Almen had fallen. Melegal slid out of sight along the wall.

Slat!

For all he knew, the cleric could save the man, and he couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t let Jarla survive, either, but time was running out. His nose twitched as Sefron hunched down over Lord Almen’s body and began to mutter something. Lord Almen’s fingers clutched in the air. Melegal’s heart lurched in his chest. Blasted cleric!

He stuck his hand out, pulled his sleeve back from his wrist, and squeezed the trigger on the dart launchers.

Zing! Zing! Zing! Zing! Zing! Zing!

Sefron jumped up, squealing like a pig, clutching at the darts embedded in his neck and face. The two soldiers reached out for the ailing cleric, who staggered down the steps, smacked into the arena’s rail, and fell over the wall.

Yes!

He turned his attention back over to Brak. The over-sized young man stood in the center of the arena, coated in blood and gore, staring around in wide-eyed wonder. The monster was gone. Only the young man remained. A tiny little figure raced out to meet him. It was the Slerg girl named Jubilee.

“Come on, Brak! Come on!” she said, grasping his fingers and pulling him towards the doors at the bottom.

The two soldiers were over the wall, one helping Sefron to his feet, the other, long sword ready, was heading towards Brak and the girl.

On the other side of the arena, a badly limping Jarla had whittled six men down to two. Blood was running down her leg from a nasty gash on her thigh while she grimaced and parried each and every blow. She can’t survive this. She can’t!

Melegal yelled at the fully armored soldier and pointed at her, saying, “Finish that assassin! I’ll take care of the mute!”

The soldier stopped for a moment, then took another step towards Brak and Jubilee.

Melegal stuck his finger out again and said, “Now!”

Sefron screeched out, “Get me back over that wall!” He whirled back towards Melegal, plucking a dart from his face, and added, “Curse you, Thief! I curse you and the womb you crawled out of.”

Melegal drew the sleeve back over his other hand and raised it towards Sefron’s throat.

“Not if I curse you first, Dead Man!”

The soldier stepped between them as Sefron scrambled over the wall.

A door at the top of the stairs exploded open, and a dark energy filled the room.

Melegal crouched back along the wall. A black creature as big as a man, cat-faced and knotted in muscle, stepped through the threshold.

An underling! It cannot be possible!

An underling with short black hair and eyes like burning iron glided in behind the Vicious, two razor sharp swords unlike anything he’d ever seen hanging in his hands. Melegal was already moving for the door when two cloaked underlings floated inside, fingertips glowing with power.

Run, Melegal! Run!

Jubilee was pushing Brak through the nearest doorway, but it was Melegal who shoved them through. He closed the door and barred it shut.

“Follow me!” he snapped.

Down the corridor they went. Brak stumbled along, arrows still embedded in his back, moaning with hunger. Melegal led them down into the dungeons and snatched some shackles from the wall. They all fought for breath. Think, Thief! He had to come up with something fast. He also had to figure out what was going on. What were underlings doing inside the castle?

“Listen to me; we have to act quick. I need you to put these on Brak.”

“No,” Jubilee shot back.

“It’s the safest way for me to lead you through. We’ll be stopped. There'll be questions.”

Brak’s eyes narrowed, but he couldn’t hide the exhaustion on his face. The man had just killed a dozen men as easy as a devious child could drown a dozen kittens.

“Brak,” Melegal said, trying to sound calm and not in a hurry. “I lied. I know your father, Venir. I know him well. If he were here, he’d tell you to listen and do as you’re told.”

“Don’t listen to him, Brak. He’s an Almen. Almens are liars,” Jubilee said, tugging at his hand.

“So are Slergs, Little Dear. And I’m not a Royal.” He poked her in the chest. “I’m an overgrown urchin that was once a slave that swabbed the blood from the dungeons in your dubious castle.” He slapped the first cuff on Brak. “If we live through this, I’d be happy to describe each and every last detail, but for now, we better go … or die.”

Brak looked down on Melegal as he slapped on the second wrist cuff and said, “My back hurts.”

Melegal looked around at the two arrows in his back and said, “Just a couple of scratches. We’ll patch you up later.”

A chorus of screams was followed by a series of explosions coming from the corridor they’d just cleared.

“Let’s move!”

They were all running in step, through one corridor and down another. In one doorway and out the other. A pair of dead Royals lay dead on the floor, gashed and bloody. The sounds of booted feet seemed to be echoing from every corner, and shouts were haranguing out from down the halls.

“Get in here,” Melegal said, shoving the both of them into a closet.

Four sentries in chainmail hauberks drew their broad swords and came at him. Not every person knew who he was, as most of his dealings with the Almens had been discreet. Melegal held up his hand and pulled out his brooch.

The men stopped and eyed him warily.

“Detective,” one managed, eyes shifting in every direction at once, “what business do you have in the Castle?”

“That’s no concern of yours. At the present, mine is self-preservation. Yours is to stop the underlings that are running through this place like jackals in a hen house.”

KA-BOOM!

Paintings fell from the walls and vases full of flowers tipped from their pedestals and crashed on the floor. All the soldiers were looking around at one another, their faces turning as white as their teeth.

Melegal continued, “I believe that’s from the Arena.” He clapped his hands together. “Are all the exits sealed?”

Drat! There'd be no way to smuggle Brak and Jubilee out.

“We’ll catch those black fiends yet! Now go!” he ordered. So willing to listen, those sentries. If only more people did as they were told.

“Yes, Detective,” they said, trotting down the corridor and out of sight.

Melegal opened the closet.

“Come on!”

“Where are we going?” Jubilee asked, her little toes on his heels. “They said all the exits are closed.”

“And so they are, as far as they know, but if you have any better ideas, I'd like to hear them.”

“Well—”

Melegal grabbed her by the wrist, saying, “Shut up!” as he whisked her away.

“Hungry,” Brak said, holding his stomach.

They dashed down the corridor that led them to the kitchen.

Two sentries stood alone at the top of the steps.

“Halt!” one said, lowering a spear at Melegal’s chest.

“You men need to secure the arena, Lord Almen’s under attack,” he said, holding out his brooch.

“We’re not going anywhere, Detective.”

Leave. Leave. Leave.

Melegal pinched the bridge of his nose. He suddenly had a massive headache.

“Are you all right, Detective?”

Lord’s no! “I’d be better if you did as I said. I caught these prisoners trying to escape, but the dungeons are filled with underlings. We need every last man to get them under control, and you two fish faces are standing here letting your entire future fall into ruin. Lord Almen will have a fit when he hears about this.”

The sentry poked Melegal in the chest with the tip of his spear.

“Sounds like a bunch of horse slat if you ask me. The last man who failed this post was guillotined, and that man was my brother.”

Not good. These sentries weren’t going anywhere, even if the Castle was on fire. He had to think of something else, or kill them.

Melegal had opened his mouth to speak when one of the worst sounds he'd ever heard came from down the hall. The sentries’ faces drew up in horror. He peeked around the corner and down the hall. A man covered in flesh-eating worms was running his way, his own fingernails digging into his face. Behind him were the hulking form of the Vicious and two cloaked figures dragging the disabled form of … Sefron.

Melegal grabbed the shaft of the man’s spear and pulled him forward, slipping behind him in one motion.

“Every man for himself!” he said, shoving them down the hall.

“What the,” one man said, falling over the other.

Brak, stuffing a loaf of bread in his face, and a terror stricken Jubilee bounded down the staircase.

They learn fast when death is so close.

At the bottom, Brak and Jubilee were pounding on the door.

“It’s locked!”

“Get out of my way,” Melegal said, shoving through them and dropping to his knees.

Another painful wail billowed from the top of the stair.

Click. Clack. Click. Melegal's slender fingers worked his tools in the keyhole. CLICK.

He shoved the door open, spilling Brak and Jubilee inside. He slammed it shut and locked it. Lord Almen’s study was empty and undisturbed. Jubilee ran over to the desk and snatched up Leezir’s ash white cudgel. She hugged it and looked at Melegal.

“It’s yours!” he said. “Brak, pull open that bookshelf.”

“Hmrph?” he said, trying to swallow a mouthful of bread.

“Slerg Child, help him!”

WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! …

The hinges on the heavy door were shaking loose.

Melegal rummaged through the objects tucked away in the corner and wrapped his hands around Tonio’s sword and something else he’d noticed before that he tucked into his belt. What have we here?

He jumped over the desk and slid behind the open bookshelf. The hammering at the door stopped, but the hinges and fixtures were glowing red hot.

He stepped through the threshold of the tiny doorway and closed it behind him. It was pitch black.

“I can’t see anything,” Jubilee complained.

Melegal stuck his coin of light in his hand, handed Brak the sword, and snatched the key from the peg.

“Follow to the bottom,” he said as fast as he could, running down the steps into the darkness.

Keys. Keys. Keys.

Leaping down the next stairs and landing on the bottom, he dashed across the threshold in the dark. What if the keys aren’t there? What if Lord Almen removed them? Were these keys what the underlings were after? Why else would they be here? Sefron! Melegal’s quick mind was putting things together. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Light spilled out into the room. Jubilee and Brak were coming, but they weren’t alone. The sound of wood splintering came from above.

Melegal ran his hands over the alcove wall. A cold piece of metal brushed against his fingertip. He plucked them from the wall one at a time. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. I have them! He bolted for the last door, unlocked it, and entered. Brak and Jubilee made it to the landing, running toward the opposite side.

“This way, you two idiots!” Melegal screamed.

Jubilee whirled, shining the bright beam of light in his eyes.

“Point that down, and hurry!”

He could hear a fierce snarling coming down the steps. Ahead of him, Brak and Jubilee were moving horribly slowly. They’re going to die and get me killed.

As they ran past the landing, speeding his way, an underling mage appeared, teeth gnashing, fingertips glowing, the air beginning to shimmer with power.

“Faster!” They’re not going to make it!

He felt the air begin to split as the mage’s bright magic coiled around its arms.

Zing! Zing! Zing! Zing! Zing! Zing!

It shrieked in rage as Melegal filled its face full of darts.

Brak and Jubilee raced into the closet, and Melegal closed the door.

“What!”

The door wouldn’t shut. Eight claws had hold of it and ripped it open. There the Vicious stood, tall and nasty. Melegal felt his heart stop. They were dead.

Wham!

Pain exploded the creature's face as Jubilee blasted it in the knee with the glowing white cudgel. Melegal jerked her back and slammed the door shut. Melegal couldn't tell their screams from his as his mind twisted inside out.

CHAPTER 17

How do you kill a tree with arms, legs and muscle? Fogle Boon couldn’t help but marvel at the man who towered at twenty feet tall.

“Do something, Fogle!” Cass urged him as they both stepped back from the smoke.

WHANG!

He flinched as Cass dug her fingers into his arm and an object came careening towards them, stopped, and settled in the dust.

“It’s Mood,” Fogle exclaimed, his feet moving faster than his lips. Chongo galloped past him and bared down, growling at Mood’s side. The over-sized dwarf's body was trembling as he tried to rise from the ground.

“HOW DID THAT FEEL, RANGER? HA! HA! HA! ARE YOU DEAD?” The giant said as its footsteps thundered closer.

Chongo was barking and growling, the hairs rising on his massive necks, two sets of canine teeth bared. But Fogle had a feeling it was going to take more than dog bites to stop that giant. Where in Bish did that man come from? Fogle lurched at the giant’s thunderous step. Mood was struggling to rise and mumbling something under his bloodied face and beard. That’s when Fogle noticed the bone sticking out of the dwarf's shoulder. His stomach became queasy.

“Cass, shut Chongo up and drag Mood out of here!” he said, fanning the dust from his face.

“What are you going to do?” she said, rushing over to Chongo and swinging her legs onto his back.

“Something! Now go!”

“But—”

“Hurry!”

Chongo bit down on Mood’s foot and started dragging him away as Fogle fell to his knees and filled his hands with dirt and sand. He closed his eyes and summoned the little power he had within. Swinging his hands around in big circles, he chanted the words and let the sand fly free.

The dust and dirt lifted from the ground, thickening and swirling. A small sand storm encompassed the giant, and it covered its eyes in the nook of its elbow. Fogle fell back away from the storm. The entire area was nothing more than a swirling white brown smoke. Fogle brushed the dust from his hands. That should buy us some time.

“HA! HA! HA! TUNDOOR SMELLS A WIZARD! MMMM … I SHALL EAT YOU AND HAVE YOUR MAGIC! HA! HA! HA!”

Fogle ran, catching up with Cass, Chongo and Mood. I’m not getting eaten by anything. What he wouldn’t do to have the underling power of floating.

“Now what?” Cass yelled at him.

“We’ve got to lift up Mood. Send him away with Chongo! Are there any horses or dwarves left?”

“I don’t see any.”

“Just help me get him up,” Fogle said.

“He’s too heavy in all this gear!” Cass complained. “I’m not an orc!”

The hairs on the back of Fogle’s neck stood on end as everything around them went perfectly still. It was as if time stopped. He turned to look back where the giant was. The storm, the sand, and the smoky air were all gone. Not even the giant remained.

“Where in the word of Bish did—”

“HA! HA! HA!” the giant bellowed as it materialized behind them, war hammer raised over its head, trapezoid bulging on its neck.

“CASS!” Fogle screamed as the giant swung the hammer down with all of its power.

WHAM!

Fogle felt his world coming to an end as Cass exploded into thousands of tiny white, black and yellow butterflies that sputtered and fluttered in every direction.

“Cass!” he yelled as the giant raised its hammer once more. There was no sign of the woman, only a large indentation the soil. She was gone.

“TUNDOOR CRUSH YOU, TOO NOW, WIZARD!”

“NO!” Fogle yelled back, raising his arms forward. “Wizard blast Tundoor now!”

A white hot missile left one hand, striking the giant in the knee.

Tundoor roared.

Fogle let out another and another.

Ssszram! Ssszram! Ssszram!

One missile followed the other, the next bigger and more powerful than last. The magic shards created holes in the giant's leg and tore the flesh from his bones. Tundoor toppled backward, falling hard like a massive catapult stone.

Sweat dripping in his eyes, Fogle fell to his knees and fought for his breath. Smoke was rolling from his fingers, and the magi fires had singed the edges of his robes. A series of heavy booted footsteps rushed past. It was Eethum the Blood Ranger and a pair of black bearded dwarves, axes hoisted over their shoulders. Chongo charged forward, digging and clawing into the face of the reeling giant.

Fogle couldn’t make heads or tails of all of the thrashing that was going on. All he wanted to do was figure out what happened to Cass. The butterflies, or at least what he thought were butterflies, were gone, his energy along with them. He spit the dust from his mouth and tried to speak. He doubled over. Retching came instead. What is wrong with me? Where’s Cass?

“TUNDOOR KILL YOU ALL!” the giant said, face full of anguish as it rose to one knee, hammer swinging into a dwarf soldier that was too slow to dodge. The small man’s teeth shattered as his skull was driven into his neck like a nail.

Fogle winced and looked away. Cass! He looked around and caught sight of Mood rising to his feet, hand axe dragging in his bloody hand as he staggered into the fray. There was nothing Fogle could do to stop him. He could barely hold his throbbing head up for the discomfort behind his eyes.

“ALMOST DEAD! ALL OF YOU WILL FEEL TUDOOR'S POWER!”

He smashed the hammer into the ground where Eethum was just standing.

“FEEL MY WRATH!”

The hammer cracked a pile of boulders into rubble.

“MY FURY!”

Fogle lifted his chin up and stared. The enormous giant—with jewelry the size of barrels hanging from its ears, teeth as big as Fogle's head, and the maddened look of a bull on its snorting face—didn’t seem real. It was something that appeared in nightmares. It couldn’t possibly be real. He wondered if his grandfather Boon had ever taken on such monsters before. Boon had at least survived long enough to become old, gray and crazy. Fogle was pretty certain his life wasn’t going to last that long. Maybe a few more seconds at best.

Eethum, black-faced and red bearded, went spinning to the ground as the hammer clipped him on the shoulder.

Chongo's claws tore into the giant's chest, but the giant grabbed him by the nape of one neck and flung him away.

This is it, Fogle thought with a sinking feeling.

“TIME FOR TUNDOOR TO EAT YOU, WIZARD. MAN WITH MAGIC TASTE GOOD!” He said, reaching towards him with a hand as big as a cart. “HA! HA! URK!”

Tundoor’s eyes widened like big white moons. Atop his massive back, Mood was hanging onto a handful of the giant’s hair and chopping into the giant’s skull with unfettered fury.

“LET GO! STOP!” The giant cried out, arms flailing back towards the pest that was carving a canoe in his skull. “PLEASE! TUND—”

Mood sunk his axe wrist deep inside Tundoor’s head and wrenched it free.

The giant’s body convulsed then pitched forward like a toppled tower. His big face crashed inches from Fogle, his eyes gawping in wonder. Mood lay still on top of the giant's back.

Fogle rubbed his aching head. Only he, Chongo, Mood, Eethum and a single black-bearded dwarf remained.

“Does he live?” he asked.

Eethum stumbled over and slid Mood from atop the giant's blood smeared back and lowered him to the ground. He wasn’t breathing.

“Well?” Fogle managed to say, despite his dry mouth.

Eethum shook his head.

“Pardon me for saying, but he should be dead.” Fogle said, rubbing the numbness in his hands. “We all should be. How did he manage that?”

“He summoned the Odenson. Part of the Blood Ranger craft where our mystic blood allows us do things beyond our natural power. Some use it for great feats in contests, others to turn the tide of a battle. But there is a price.” Eethum tried to pull the axe from Mood’s grasp, but it would not budge.

“What is the price?” Fogle said, managing to rise to his feet.

Eethum eyed him with fierce green eyes and shook his head.

“The Everslumber overtakes him.”

“How long is that?”

Eethum snorted.

“The last time it happened, a Blood Ranger slumbered for years.”

Fogle gulped. He’d finally gotten used to the ancient dwarf, and now he was gone.

“Now what?” he asked.

“I’ll take him home.”

“But what about our journey?”

Eethum reached under Mood’s battered figure, hoisted him up in his arms, and said, “It’s your journey now, Wizard. I have to take care of my king.” The Blood Ranger started limping away.

“But, where are you going? What if there are more giants? I can’t take them alone.”

“Make a fire, rest, gather your resources, Wizard. Be better prepared next time.”

Fogle felt like he was the only man left in the world as he surveyed the carnage. Four dead giants lay baking under the suns. The black bearded dwarves, all but one, so far as he guessed, were dead. Cass!

He hurried over to the spot where Cass had stood before she was pulverized. He sat down at the edge of the big indentation in the ground and ran his fingers though the dirt. There was no sign of her, but there was blood. He looked over at the hammer the giant wielded. There was a lot of blood on that hammer. I hope it’s only dwarven. Yet a sad feeling overwhelmed him. He sunk his head in his hand and clutched his fingers in his hair.

“No.” he panted. “No. She can’t be gone.”

Chongo lumbered behind him and was panting down his neck.

“This is your fault,” he said, pushing away his nose.

“It certainly is not!” Cass snapped.

Fogle jumped to his feet.

The beautiful druid woman sat perched on top of Chongo’s saddle. Tiny black, white and yellow butterflies adorned her long white hair.

Fogle shuffled to her side, grabbed the warm ankle of her sensual leg, and gaped up at her.

“I’m real,” she said, smiling down on him. “You’re handsome when you smile, Fogle. You should try it more,” she said, sliding down into his arms.

All of his passions flooded him when he felt her sensual body slide along his. He kissed her deeply, arms tightening around her waist as she melted in his arms. After a few long moments, she broke way.

“Hmmm … Fogle, you are learning,” she said in his ear. “But right now we have more important things to worry about.”

“How did you... ”

“Burst into butterflies? Oh, that’s something for only druids to know. We’re about as easy to kill as we are to understand,” she said with a bewitching smile.

“It’s just us now,” he said, stepping away and stroking the big dog’s necks. “Sorry, Chongo.”

Chongo licked him in the face.

Ugh!

Cass giggled. “He’s forgiven you, but it looks like he’s ready for the next leg of the journey. You look worried.”

Fogle looked around, lost in a world that he didn’t understand. Rock, dirt, clay and the suns that always sizzled. His robes, a fine gift, were almost in tatters, but all things considered, they'd held up well. Still …

“I am. I'm used to Mood being around, but he’s going to be out for a while. Eethum left me with good advice, the likes of 'Be better prepared next time.'” He began pacing. “No one said anything about giants in the Outlands. Underlings I was ready for, but not giants. Where on Bish did they come from? Why’d they attack us?”

Cass shrugged her slender shoulders. “They hate dwarves.”

“Have you ever seen giants before?”

“No. But just because I hadn’t seen them didn’t mean they didn’t exist.”

Fogle couldn’t even begin to imagine all the things he’d never seen that might exist. Back in the City of Three, there were images of monsters and beasts everywhere: giants, griffons, chimeras, minotaurs, trolls of many sorts and so on. He traveled with a giant two-headed dog after all, so why’d he rule out the possibility of other things?

He looked at Tundoor. The giant’s earrings alone were worth a fortune. Who'd forged items such as those?

“I believe those jewels would be too big for my ears, “Cass said, “but I like the way you’re thinking.”

“Huh … oh, well, I think you deserve something a hundred times the worth of those.”

Cass brightened at the remark, took a deep draw into her chest and said, “It’s just us, you know, and it’s going to be dark soon. Perhaps you can tell me more about what I deserve beside a nice fire and under the moons.”

He smiled again. “I’ll fetch the wood.” He scurried away, then came to a stop. He turned back and said, “I’m assuming we’re not going to pitch a fire around here?”

She shook her head.

“I’ll find a place for the fire. You just fetch the wood. Hmmm …,” she needled her chin, “we have to take care of the fallen dwarves.”

“No, leave them where they lay. Eethum will send for them soon. The dwarves are very picky about the dead. The family will want to see the place of battle. I have a feeling all of these frowns will be upside down when they see it.”

“Then I’ll see to it they remain undisturbed. Make haste, Fogle.”

Make haste, indeed. My, surrounded by the dead and thinking only of my lustful yearnings for a woman. How can that be? Maybe that’s why they say the ‘The castles rise and fall between the legs of one maiden or another.” I never understood those perverts until now. Slat. What is becoming of me?

Fogle’s weariness returned. He felt his skin sagging over his bones. His head hurt, and his stomach was still queasy as he picked his way over the battle ground. The journey had just begun, and almost everyone was dead. Mood had looked more dead than alive. He looked to the south. Nothing but the barren Outlands, a place where only the cacti, bone trees and red toads thrived. Wouldn’t it be better to just let the dog go to find his master on his own? Did the dog need them, or did they need the dog? Maybe it’s time to head back to the City of Three.

He picked up a few more pieces of wood and headed back over to where he’d last seen Chongo and Cass. They were nowhere to be found. An unsettling feeling overcame him.

Somewhere, Chongo was barking like a dozen hounds.

He heard a harrowed scream. It was Cass.

NO! Not again!

He dropped everything and ran.

CHAPTER 18

Verbard could see them now: men, robed and wizened, converging on his location. Impressive. The Royals, the guardians of the city, were better prepared for the unexpected than he'd anticipated. Across the skyline the wizards came, one rising up behind the other. Verbard could sense their power and their fear as well. It wasn’t likely any of them had even seen an underling before, and they couldn’t possibly have imagined one like him. His silver eyes shined as he ran his black tongue across his top row of teeth. Underling Magi, to me!

One by one, the underlings rose up from the smoke, heavy cloth robes billowing over their toes. Verbard felt a collective attack coming from the human wizards. They were here, but they were far from ready. The first barrage of energy came. Balls of blue light scorched across the sky, blasting full force into the mystic shield of the underlings and ricocheting harmlessly away.

Follow my lead!

Coils of red energy laced around Verbard as he summoned is power. The air crackled above the streets as he unleashed the first bolt of power, which streaked across the expanse and blasted into the wizards' pale blue mystic shield, splitting shards of magic from its edge, rocking a wizard back. The next bolt hit the wizard again, shattering his shield and sending him spinning through the air. Verbard's next bolt disintegrated the wizard completely. One down.

The human wizards huddled behind their shields together, hesitating. Verbard sensed their weakness and something else. He knew the humans couldn’t float as the underlings could. Someone or something else was using power to keep them afloat. Another mind, stronger than the rest, was pulling the strings from somewhere else.

Finish them!

Eep, where are you?

Verbard drifted downward towards the burning building tops. Below his dangling feet, Jottenhiem, the Juegen and the Badoon were clashing with a heavy force of well-armored soldiers that had charged into the market place. The war was on. Men were toppled from their horses, and underlings were trampled under hooves. The keen edge of Jottenhiem's sword split through the skull inside a fallen rider's helmet, and another soldier's head was ripped from his shoulders. Still, Verbard could see that as quickly as the men fell, two more replaced them.

Eep buzzed to his side, rough skin singed and stained with blood.

“You calls me, Master,” Eep hissed.

“I need you to find someone, a mage, somewhere nearby. And be quick about it.”

Eep was wringing his clawed hands as he said, “You want me to kill him, Master?”

“Just sniff out the strongest source of magic and lead me to him,” he ordered.

Buzz! Zip!

Eep blinked out of sight.

A barrage of arrows ripped through the air around Verbard, most bouncing harmlessly away. A row of archers had lined up along the wall, nocking and firing at his chest. He called the lightning within him. A white silver light streaked from his finger tips and passed through one soldier and into the others, cooking their bodies inside their metal armor. Verbard surveyed the battle below with wisps of lightning still dancing along his fingers. Jottenhiem and his men had the soldiers hemmed up in corridors, but couldn’t hold them back forever. In the distance, Verbard could sense more forces were coming, and coming fast.

Eep reappeared and hissed excitedly.

“Found him, Master! A fat one. Like a giant grape. Let me eat his belly.”

“Is he guarded?”

“By many. Sits on a pillow like a toad. Face is fat and sweaty. Red face ready to explode.” Eep pointed his clawed finger down the road over the heads of the soldiers. “I can kill him.”

“Perhaps.” Verbard took a moment. “Nay. I’ll handle this man myself. You, however, are needed above. Go.”

Eep blinked away.

Verbard kept his energy ready. It was time he got a better feel for how much power the humans wielded. He sailed through the smoke, a shadow that was hidden from sight, whereupon he spied the man that Eep had described. On a wagon bed sat a man as tall as an underling but ten times as round. Three rows of chins hung beneath his bald-headed face, which was beet red with concentration. Surrounding him were ten soldiers: swords and spears ready, chainmail suits from head to toe, eyes wide and jittering at the sounds of the battle and the colorful explosions that came from above.

Verbard let loose the chained lightning. The searing bolt cracked into one man, passed through the next, then fizzled out. The blood-shot eyes of the fat human wizard in orange silk robes snapped open and locked on Verbard’s through the smoke. Verbard felt a force surround him, drawing him closer, downward into the throng of soldiers that waited to chop him down.

He hissed. It appeared the fat wizard was as powerful as he was heavy, like a massive anvil wrapped around his neck, weighting him down. Verbard’s straining eyes drifted to an orb which sat in the wizard’s lap. It gleamed and swirled with intensity. His silver eyes widened. An Orb of Imbibing! He was trapped.

Not only did the orb consume magic, in this case it seemed to be feeding the wizard as well. Verbard was getting weaker, and the man, a useless sot by all appearances, was getting stronger. Much stronger. Verbard wrestled against the forces that were wrenching his power from him. His descent to the ground became quicker.

EEP! EEP! KILL THIS HUMAN SLUDGE PILE!

An arrow whizzed past his nose.

All of Verbard’s strength was fading as he descended into the awaiting swords and spears.

EEP! HURRY!

Blink!

The imp was standing on the man’s bulbous belly, hanging onto the man’s ears, poking his clawed fingers into the man’s neck and throat. The man wailed and squealed like a hog on fire.

Another arrow crashed through Verbard’s shield and into his leg. He hissed. Yet, the blanket that absorbed his power had faded. His strength renewed. More arrows came, but ricocheted away. He realized it was time to go. He sped through the air, back towards the alley from where they had come.

Retreat! Retreat!

At the end of the alley, Verbard summoned a black dimensional doorway. One by one, the Badoon, Juegen and Magi survivors passed through. Verbard made one final command.

Eep, fetch that orb!

Jottenhiem was the last in line, breathing heavily, slick with blood and ailing.

“We have failed, my Lord.”

Verbard gently pushed him through, saying, “Only if we were supposed to succeed.”

Behind him, Eep was running his way, his wing broken, the orb wrapped in his hands, a wave of soldiers on his tail. “Wait, Master, wait!”

Over Eep's head, Verbard sent a bolt that slammed into Eep pursuers as the imp jumped through the door. Verbard dove in behind him, collapsing the door as a dozen arrows clattered off the alley walls.

***

Kierway stood inside the ancient chamber below Lord Almen’s study, swords sheathed and clenched fists shaking. At his side floated two underling magi, both of whom he wanted to kill, but he needed them if he was going to get out of this castle alive.

Trembling near his feet was the flabby form of the human cleric, Sefron. Groveling.

“My Lord. Apologies. I’ve never been to this chamber. I never knew there was a secret door. I was never privy to the study . Please, my Lord, don’t kill me,” he whined, his high voice echoing all over the chamber.

Kierway slapped him across his face.

“Quiet, you failure!”

Kierway made his way over to the pegs in the alcove and touched them with his clawed finger, one by one. Seven keys, not one. His father, Master Sinway, had only required one, but which one would that have been? It hardly mattered now; they had failed.

The Vicious threw his weight into the door where the three humans had escaped. The creature's powerful talons clawed and swiped, its heavy shoulders shaking the door on the hinges, but it held. The magi, both of them, tried spells and incantations, but the door remained sealed. So did their fate as well. There was no escape from where they stood.

“Enough!” he said. The Vicious and Magi fell at attention. He kicked Sefron in the head.

“Who was this man that took the keys? It seems he knew more about them than you knew? I’m curious: why was that?”

Sefron wiped the blood from his mouth and gasped a sickly wheeze. It bothered Kierway’s iron eyes to even look at him. Certainly, he could have found someone better to serve him, but the cleric had been the most willing.

“Melegal is his name. He serves Lord Almen as his detective. He’s of little importance. Nothing more than a little rat, is all. Hack. Hack. A fool with fortune on his side this day.”

Kierway reached over and plucked a dart out of Sefron’s face.

“A fool. A fool that has seven keys to our none. A fool who it seems is much smarter than you.” He grabbed Sefron by the back of his head and held the dart tip to his bulbous eye. “You will find this man, and quickly.” He jammed the dart in Sefron’s eye. The cleric let out a howl like a wounded wolf. “Or you’ll lose the other eye, as well.” Voices could be heard over the top of Sefron’s pain-filled wails as he kicked and wallowed on the floor.

Kierway drew his blades as the Vicious bounded toward the landing on the stairwell. One of the magi muttered a powerful incantation, and they were gone.

CHAPTER 19

The glowing fire was hot on his face, but Georgio, though exhausted, was all smiles. Sucking down a tankard of ale while chewing a mouthful of food, he felt like he’d reached another plateau in his life. He felt all grown up. He’d survived a one-on-one battle with a brutal rogue, and he’d won.

“That was something,” Billip said, shoving a small pile of coins across the table. The older man, grim-faced and wiry, looked as uncertain as he was pleased. Running his fingers through his coarse black hair, he leaned back in his chair and added, “Stupid, but something. I’m not sure what possessed you, Boy … er … Georgio, but I’m certain you’ve sprouted more chest hairs today.” He hoisted his goblet up and drank.

Georgio hardly noticed a word that he’d said. His attention was elsewhere.

“Something?” The dark sultry woman by his side had her leg draped over his lap. “Amazing. That’s what I’d say.”

Her name was Velvet, the one who’d drawn the cards. Raven-haired, sensuous and captivating. She stirred his blood by running her gentle fingers through his hair and down over his chin.

“And to see such a handsome young man thrash such an ugly brute. I must say, I’m grateful. Jeb and his goons have been nothing but a menace to us girls and all the other patrons around here.”

Georgio was smiling all over himself when he said, “Aw … it was nothing.”

Billip humphed from across the table, folding his arms across his chest.

Velvet reached down, grabbed his hands and began inspecting them.

“How can you not be burned? Your meaty hands are soft like butter, yet there’s not a single scorch mark.” She started massaging them. “Are you a mage of some sort?”

“Well, I can’t exactly—”

He felt a boot smack into his shin. Billip was eyeing him.

“Ow! Er … I’m from a family of blacksmiths, is all. I’ve been around the furnaces all my life. Tough hands. It runs in the family.” He shrugged.

“Impressive,” Velvet purred. “And my hands are from a long line of … well … personal services, and they’re all yours. I’m sure you have plenty of bumps and bruises that I could,” she squeezed his thigh, “remedy.”

Georgio scratched the back of his neck.

“Uh …”

“Alright,” Billip interjected with a smile, “can you give me and the young warrior a moment, Velvet is it?” He slid her a coin and winked. “And we could use another round if you’d please oblige, Pretty Thing.”

Velvet kissed Georgio on his forehead, shot Billip an aggravated look, huffed, and walked away.

“What'd you do that for?” Georgio said, gawking at the sway of Velvet’s hips.

Billip reached over and punched him in the arm.

“Ow! What'd you do that for!” he exclaimed, wiping his face.

“No time for fooling around, Georgio! Underlings! In Bone!”

Georgio surveyed the room. The people, what was left of them anyway, were drawn up as tight as bows. Stories and chatter of the vicious creatures were spreading from one chair to the other. There was talk of a mass exodus that had begun, but Georgio had a hard time believing any of it. And the only thing that mattered to him was getting closer to Velvet. He shrugged.

“I don’t see any underlings in here.”

Billip punched him again, harder this time.

“No, but you’re about to see stars.”

“Ha! I’d like to see you try.”

Billip’s eyes narrowed, his voice as deadly as a pit of vipers.

“You think beating that curly haired slug has you prepared for the likes of me … Boy?”

Georgio gulped. He'd seen Billip angry before. On the trek down to Bone, they came across a nomad band of half-orcs that tried pushing them around. Billip skewered one in the neck with one throw and another in the belly with the other. It all happened in the blink of an eye. “Er … only teasing, Billip.”

“Fill your belly. Cop your feel, but we're getting out of here … soon. Mikkel’s checking the stories out, and when he returns, we're going after Nikkel.” The wary archer looked over his shoulder. “Something about this city just isn’t right. The whole world isn’t right and hasn’t been for a while. Underlings in the City of Three and now underlings in Bone. You’re young, Georgio. But I’m telling you, this is crazy.”

Georgio was weary again. The fire was soothing, but his spirits began to dull. He could tell by the grim looks on the people’s faces that something wasn’t right. Normally, the people of Bone, though hardened and somewhat criminal, had a more positive tone about them. Now, they spoke in whispers, under their breath, jumping a bit at every unusual sound. It only made sense. The citizens had never seen an underling before, and according to rumors, no one lived to tell about seeing one, either.

“What’s going on inside that big melon of yours?” Billip said.

“Ah … I’m just starting to get the feeling that maybe you're right, Billip. What if the underlings are overrunning the city? What if they’ve overrun Bish? What will happen to us?”

An uncertain smile broadened over Billip's thick black goatee when he said, “Well, I guess we'll all eventually be buried arses up and heads stuck in the ground. Cheers!” He reached over and clonked his tankard against Georgio's.

Reaching for his mug, Georgio saw a group of distraught men burst inside the door.

“Underlings! Hundreds!” a man dressed as a laborer shouted.

“Thousands!” the other man, thick in muscle and skull, added at his partner’s side.

The Drunken Octopus fell silent.

“The entire 21 District is overrun. Burning and mutilated. Thousands of Royal Soldiers are dead.”

The short stocky one waved his hands over his shoulders.

“All of their heads are gone. Half eaten most of them. You must flee! They're coming!”

A small quiet group of people turned into a frenzied hoard when the entire room made for the stairs and the doors. Georgio was rising to his feet when Billip pushed him back down.

“What?” he asked.

“We’ll go when Mikkel returns.”

“What if they got him already?”

Billip’s lips twitched as he popped his knuckles.

“We wait. Those fools over there are just creating a panic. I’d say there’s only ten at most out there, if that.”

Velvet glided back into her seat, trembling, and draped her arms around Georgio.

“Will you protect me?”

He could feel her shivering. Her painted eyes were full of fear. His heart began to swell.

“Sure. I’ve killed underlings before. Just stay close to me,” he said, running his arm across her back.

Billip shook his head as the room behind him began to clear out. Velvet’s arms tightened around Georgio's neck as the screaming in the streets began to rise. Something was going on out there. Something bad. Something evil.

That’s when Sam the Barkeep spoke up.

“Everyone out!”

His usual expressionless countenance now unfurled as he took rapid puffs on his cigar.

The few who remained didn’t waste any time heading out the door. Sam stormed over to the table, smacking his club in his hand.

“It’s time to get your arses out of here, too. My tavern’s closed.”

Billip said, “But we’ve already paid for our room.”

Sam cracked his club on the table.

“Tough!”

CHAPTER 20

“You try anything and I’ll scream,” Kam said as Diller shoved her towards the tub. “I don’t think Palos would be too happy with you accosting me. You saw what happened to Thorn.”

Diller shoved her hard to the floor. She kicked at his knee. He slipped past and swatted her hard in the back of the head. His calloused hands were strong. He grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her kicking across the floor. One again, she was powerless in the quick and deadly hands of one of Palo’s top men. Still, she managed to bite his hand and wriggle free.

“Ahhhh!” He said, wincing. “You keep struggling, and I’ll see the little baby starved, you spoiled wench.”

Kam froze, chest heavy beneath her robes as she drew her legs up to her chin.

“You leave my daughter alone.”

She smacked her in the face, drawing more blood in her mouth.

“That’s the plan, Princess.”

Kam fell silent. Numb inside. Her courage dissipated as quickly as it had started. There was nothing she could do. Diller reached down, fetid breath on her neck, groping her body while tying her to the legs of the tub with the absidium chains.

“You sick, wretched pervert. Wait until—”

“Until what? You go ahead and tell Palos.” He kneeled down in front of her, elbow relaxed on his knee, toothpick rolling back and forth in his mouth. “Princess, you’ll be begging to have me once Palos is through with you.”

Her green eyes lit up at the matter-of-factness of his statement.

“Ah … that’s right. I hope you don’t think you’re the one and only pretty thing he’s ever drug down here. You certainly aren’t the first Royal, and you won’t be the last.”

She swallowed hard and slunk back.

“Yes,” he brushed the back of his palm against her cheek. “It’s only a matter of time. No woman can ever satisfy a man like that for long.” He laughed, a mocking one. “Then you’ll certainly be mine … or Thorn's. Ah … there will be suitors aplenty to bid on you, my dear. But you better hope it ends up being me.”

He grabbed her chin. She jerked it away.

“Never,” she said with trembling breath.

His knees cracked as he rose to his full height and leered down on her.

“I’m a patient man,” he said, walking away, dusting off his hands. “You’ll be mine, and fortunate for you, I’m much easier to satisfy than him.” He gave her a lusty look over his shoulder. “And I’m sure I’ll satisfy you as well, not that it will matter.”

Kam fell into a fit of tears as soon as he closed the door.

***

This is my fault. My fault. My fault.

Lefty gently banged his head over into the clawed foot of the tub.

My fault!

He hit it once more, harder this time. It hurt, but it didn’t ache near as much as his heart, which was slipping inside his chest as Kam’s sobs became deafening. He wanted to reach out. Touch her. Comfort her. Say how sorry he was, but he couldn’t. The truth was, he was too scared. If anyone deserved to die, it was him. And if anyone reserved the right to kill him, it was her.

My fault!

He struck his head once more. Perhaps I can spare her the effort.

“Stop doing that,” Kam managed from beneath her sobs.

Huddled under the tub, he tilted his head back.

“Don’t!” she said, her voice stronger, regaining its fiery luster. “I might have use for that little head, after all.”

Lefty sucked up the courage to look up into her eyes.

Tears filled his eyes. Kam, still as beautiful as the first day he saw her, was misaligned. Her glorious auburn hair was a tangled mess, and her high cheek bones were now bruised. A split lip accompanied the dark circles under her eyes, and her polished nails were chipped and chewed. She was a lovely white dove now covered in soot and grime. Her robe barely covered her skinned up features and none of her shame. She’d been through something. Something bad. All because of him.

“Stop crying, you little bastard. I’ve cried enough for all of your years and mine put together.”

“K-Kam … I’m sorry,” he sobbed, wiping his runny nose. “I didn’t …” Tears streaming into his face, he curled up into a ball.

She rankled her chains.

“I said no more crying, Lefty! Now get up.”

He didn’t move. He just lay there trembling like a frightened bunny.

Kam leaned back against the tub, pulled her legs under her hips, and tried to make herself more comfortable. She blew the locks of hair from her eyes. I must look horrible. I am horrible. And now she’d terrified a boy, or at least someone who looked like a boy, but was certainly much older. She wasn’t even sure how long halflings lived, and she had no idea how old Lefty actually was. But he was helpless. Far more helpless than her, or so it seemed at the moment.

All men, no matter how big or how small, are trouble.

Lefty. His haggard little face told it all. He was exhausted, weary, over-run by the dangerous life that one can easily encounter in Bish, especially when you’re not careful. That must have been what happened to him. Or, maybe he was just trying to deceive her once more. That grin. The one he’d shown earlier, when Gillem was around. The face stuck with her, leaving an unfavorable impression. But at this point, what did they have to gain from her? Was Lefty spying on her? Why not let Diller do that? It seemed odd that they’d just leave him here with her. What else would they want from her?

She scooted over, stretched out her leg, and pushed him with her toe.

“Stop crying, you little sot.”

He kept on. She shoved him again.

“I’m miserable enough already, so don’t make it worse. Now tell me something. You owe me at least that much. Have you seen Erin?”

His trembling stopped as he pulled himself to his knees. Tears dripping from his tiny face to the floor, he nodded.

“I’m s-s-s-soooo sorry! I know it’s all … all my fault.”

The next question was the hardest for her, but she had to ask it.

“Is she alive?”

Her heart stopped as she watched him gulp and take a breath.

“I’m certain of it.”

Kam gasped. She would have hugged him if she could.

“Do you know where she is?”

“I do, Kam. It was the first thing I did, finding that out. Kam, I swear I was trying to think of a way out of this. I really was,” he pleaded. “But they killed Gillem.” His eyes watered again. “And I was scared they'd kill me and you and Erin. They all lied to me, Kam. They tricked me. The kidnapping. Everything. I never, ever would do anything to hurt you or anyone. I really wouldn’t. But, I – I just didn’t have a choice. Palos … he’s so mean and cruel and scary.” He dragged his sleeve across his wet face. “He killed Gillem for no reason at all. I’ve seen him kill other men, too. And he keeps the dead bodies in the lake. Gillem showed it to me. Told me that was where I'd live, at the bottom of the lake. I've seen them all dead. Skin hanging off of them. It’s horrifying. Terrible. I didn’t want to be drowned and staring forever up at the living. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry! I just—”

Kam nudged him with her foot and tried to sound reassuring.

“That’s enough, Lefty. I’m starting to understand.”

Lefty was always a jittery little man, a victim of seeing things that were awfully horrible. She actually was beginning to understand. If she were a little girl in the same situation, what would she have done? No. I would have made the right choice. He made the wrong one. You’re better off dying for the right reasons than living for the wrong ones. That’s what her mother taught her anyway, and she remembered passing that along to him and Georgio a time or two. The question now was, could she trust him again?

“Do you think Erin is well?”

He shrugged his small shoulders and said, “I think so. That old woman, she’s not so bad, at least not compared to the rest of them. Just ugly is all.”

It gave Kam little relief, but it was better than nothing.

“Well, you’re a thief now, right? Can’t you undo these bonds?”

“I’ve tried. This absidium is really tough, like living wire. Master Gillem could have undone it, but I haven’t figured out how yet.”

Kam winced as she fought the chains that bound up her wrists. The more you wriggled, the more they bit. It was strange that the metal wasn’t magic, but it sure did act like it, and Lefty was bound up worse than her. Still, she noticed he could wiggle his fingers and toes. It gave her an idea.

“Do you think you can cast a spell?” she asked.

“I think, but can’t you?”

“No, this choker prevents that. If I try, it will kill me.”

His blue eyes lit up.

“Maybe I can help. If you lie down, maybe I can get it off.”

“No, only magic can unseal it.”

“But I don’t know any spells. And I haven’t practiced in a long time.”

“True, but I can give you the words, and maybe you can harness the power.”

He nodded. “Let’s try.”

She looked over at the doors. If Palos or Diller stepped in, it would be all over.

Better try something small.

“Lefty, repeat after me.”

She started speaking in a slow and rhythmic series of syllables, very quiet, very easy. Lefty's lips followed her, uttering everything as if she spoke it herself. She chanted faster now, repeating the same phrases over and over.

“Urk!”

The choker around her neck seized up like a python, turning her face red as she kicked and reeled on the floor.

“Kam! Kam!” Lefty shrieked, stretching his fingers out to save her.

The choker was like a living snake around her neck, insidious and in control. All she could do was think of Erin and never seeing her baby’s face again. No! No! The choker released her. Whatever little bit of magic she’d summoned fled her just in time. Now, she lay on the floor gasping, sucking for air.

“I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!”

It took more than a minute before she recovered herself. She looked over at Lefty and said, “Lefty, don’t worry about me. If you can do anything, save Erin. Escape and free her.”

“I have to help you, too. If I take her, they might kill you,” he said with such a sad look in his eyes she felt like she was dead already.

“That’s my choice, not yours. If I can’t save her, then you are the only one who can. It’s the only way you can make things right with me.”

“But Kam—”

“Promise me, Lefty!”

He nodded his head.

“I promise.”

She sat there and let her fate sink in. Palos had her. Without her magic, she was nothing. Just an ordinary woman turned into a madman’s whore.

Lefty started retching.

She ignored it. Whatever could possibly be wrong now didn’t even matter. Bish.

CHAPTER 21

Galloping on horseback, Venir swept Brool into the nearest underling's chest and shattered another’s teeth on his shield. All around him was chaos. The underlings were fleeing. A screeching black army scurrying as fast as they could into their dark little holes. Venir hewed them down, one by one, preventing the escape of all he could. Left and right, they fell under his swath of destruction. He was a black knight filling a moat with their blood.

Kill them! Kill them all! The helm urged him on.

His hatred pushed him further.

Horses, dozens of them, spears and lance tips lowered to the ground, ran over and through one underling after the other. The Royal Riders, the stoutest cavalry in the world of Bish, had the underlings undone. The underling army fragmented. Spiders, underlings, Juegen and magi fled, bled and died. Their bones, guts and entire camp were trampled into the dust.

A desperate underling, fleeing for its life, sent a spear into the rump of Venir’s horse. He cried out as the horse bucked and sent him careening to the ground. The underlings, the closest ones that still lived, piled on him, tearing at him, their bright eyes wild for his destruction.

Venir’s arms and shoulders ached, and his wounded hand felt like it was on fire. Exhausted, he struck onward, upward, downward, until his arms gave out. His wounds many, he pressed on.

Fight! Fight! Fight! The helm urged.

He couldn’t go on much longer.

CHOP!

The last underling fell beneath the weight of his axe, its arm dangling from its shoulder. Laboring for breath, he fell to his knees. He checked his surroundings Every last one was dead or fled.

“Finally,” he huffed. Brool was sticky and bloody in his grip as he slipped his blood-soaked hand from the shaft and reached for his canteen. It was no longer there. Bone.

It was a macabre scene the likes of which he’d never seen before. Dead underlings in their dark mail armor lay baking in the suns. Stout men had fallen to weapons, and others' skin had been sizzled or melted off by powerful magic. Over-sized spider legs were twitching, and webs were scattered everywhere.

Someone stepped into his sunlight and tossed something on the ground before him. A canteen.

“You owe me a horse,” a strong and familiar voice said.

Venir looked up. It was the Commander of the Royal Riders, coated in dirt and blood, leaning over the neck of his horse, a meek but broad smile showing.

Venir grabbed the canteen and gulped down every last drop.

“And some water too, it seems,” he said, rising on shaking feet. Then a thought jarred his aching head. “Adanna!”

“Who?” the commander asked.

“Can you begin a search? Two women were taken and possibly a man as well.”

The Commander shook his head and said, “I’m telling you, underlings don’t take prisoners, but I’ll see what I can do." He turned in his saddle. "Men, begin a search. Two women and one male survivor!”

Venir walked a few steps away. He need to search as well.

“You can at least give me my canteen back. I’m sure you can pluck a good one from the dead. Huh, I hope that broad back of yours can use a shovel as well as it swings that axe, Stranger. We’ve got many good men to bury.”

Walking away, Venir tossed the man up the canteen. “And many enemies to burn as well.”

The underling camp was a small city filled with rows of dark grey tents that no longer stood. Venir limped to the nearest collapsed tent and lifted it up. A bunch of small black spiders scurried out, and he stomped them into the ground. He had an uncanny feeling. Underlings setting up camps like men. It wasn’t normal, not above ground that is, at least in his lifetime anyway.

Searching one disheveled tent after the other, he cursed his luck. And, as far as he could tell, the Royal Riders weren’t doing their best to look, either. Instead, they sat tending the wounded and catching their breath. Another hour passed, and Venir had covered little ground. His temper and vitality were wearing thin as he limped from one tent to the other. Blast, there’s so many.

It was beginning to feel like a lost cause. The underlings didn’t often take prisoners, but when they did, they usually weren’t heard from again. As the first sun sunk down over the horizon, the likelihood that his friends survived darkened as well. He hoisted up the heavy canvas of the tents, one after the other, his wounds festering and burning. His leg was so stiff he could hardly walk, and the insides of his cheeks stung from where he'd bitten them in battle. He pulled off his helm. The throbbing in his head subsided, but he groaned as the other aches and pains intensified. He eased himself to the ground as exhaustion quickly settled into his bones. He just wanted to sleep. He closed his eyes.

“Warrior!”

The voice sounded like an explosion in his ear and made his entire body flinch on the ground. Everything hurt. It even hurt when he blinked. He rose into a sitting position and looked up at the sky. It was dusk, with little more than a few minutes of daylight remaining.

He found the commander's face. “What?”

“Better come with me. I think we’ve found who you’re looking for,” he said in a somber tone.

With the help of a strong armed soldier, Venir made it to his feet and followed the man, who was still riding his horse. The commander led him alongside a deep pit that was too dark to see inside. The smell of death and decay filtered up through it. Another bottomless pit opened up, this one in Venir’s stomach, and that old guilty feeling rose its ugly head. All his friends were better off without him.

The commander slid from his saddle at his side, stroked his mustache, and said, “There’s more of them. Not as deep, but the bodies were many. No women, though. This is the last one we found.” He motioned toward a dog-sized sand spider that lay dead on its back, a pair of spears shoved through it. “That thing was crawling out when we got here. Its belly’s full.” The man spat. “I’ve seen plenty of them spiders in my day, but not so many nor so big all at once.”

He made his way to the edge of the pit and prepared to lower himself inside.

“Give me a torch,” Venir asked, strapping on his helm.

A soldier nearby handed one over, and Venir tossed it down inside. It stuck on a bed of webs and then slowly dissipated as it fell all the way through. The pit wasn’t as deep as it looked. He uncoiled a rope, tossed it over the side, and started climbing down. That’s when he noted the steps cut into the walls, underling size. Reaching the bottom, he noticed the pit was quiet and rank. When he bent to pick the torch up, the marrow in his bones chilled and the hairs on his neck stood on end.

Sssckt. Sssckt. Sssckt … A sand spider was sucking on the cocooned figure of a man.

Venir’s instincts fired. He limped over and rammed Brool's spike dead center into the spider's bulbous body. It detached with a screech and died. Venir shuffled around the bottom of the pit, waving the torch back and forth, but no other spiders were in sight. Three figures were wrapped up in spidery cocoons, one of them stretched out at least seven feet. Slim!

Venir lowered the torch along the webs and watched the spider silk shrivel and dissipate.

“I’m going to need a hand down here,” he shouted upward. “I’ve got three bodies!”

He found the cloth around Slim’s face and pulled it away. His face was gaunt, and no breath came. “Come on, Slim.” He slapped the skinny man’s face. Nothing happened. Then there was a twitch behind his eyelids.

He lowered the torch to the next cocoon and pulled the sticky webbing away from another face wrapped in cloth. It was Adanna. Her once lustrous hair was dry as bone, and the skin around her once full figure was tight as sun dried leather and sunken in all places. Venir’s chin dipped down. She was dead. Beside Adanna, her mother was gone as well.

“Blast my pride-filled hide,” he grumbled.

If he’d only stayed with them, they’d probably all be still alive. Instead, he'd doubled back to deal with Farc. Now Hogan, his wife and his daughter were dead. That guilty feeling renewed the fires within him.

“Nay,” he said to himself.

It wasn’t him that was responsible. It was the underlings. And he was going to make them pay. Every last one.

***

Venir sat by the campfire, guarding Slim. His friend looked dead as a tombstone. Above him, the moons had risen, both full and glowing in pale shades of blood. He’d just spent the last several hours shoveling shallow graves for Adanna, her mother and many of the hundreds of Royal Riders. It had been a long time since he’d been part of such a big battle, and the feeling inside his gut told him there were many more battles to come.

He took a deep breath and let out the ragged sigh of a tired lion. The throbbing in his hand made it feel like it was about to explode.

“You're going to need to take care of that wound before long.”

Venir looked over his shoulder. It was the commander. The man took a spot along his side and stoked the crackling embers of the fire while he stroked the long ends of his mustache

“Quite a battle,” he added, reaching out his hand. “By the way, my name is Jans. Commander Jans.”

Venir took the man’s grip in his and said, “Venir. Underling Killer.”

“Ha! You can say that again. You’ve got most of my men talking about you already. I’ve even found myself making a comment or two, and I’m not a man of many words.”

Jans ran a cloth over the bald crown of his head and took a deep draw from a sack of wine. Venir could see the hardened face of a battle tested soldier who wasn’t like many Royals. Some were good, most bad by his account, but Jans seemed alright. An old soldier who put his trust in steel, more so than men.

Slim moaned. It was faint, but at least he was moving. Venir checked the wound on the man’s leg. The spider bite, four holes each as big as the tip of his finger, had swollen the man’s ankle to the size of Venir's arm. Slim’s head was dripping with sweat. Venir let out a grunt.

“He’s made it this long, I’d say in a few days he’ll be moving, maybe just not walking,” Jans said, “but we’ll have to clear out first light tomorrow. You sure you don’t want someone to look at your wound?”

“No. I’ve had worse.” Venir shrugged.

“So, what were you doing with these people?”

“Heading north. There are some people I’m looking for.”

“They must be important if you plan on traversing these jungles that are thicker with underlings than they are mosquitoes.”

Venir shrugged. “It looks like you and your men have survived. Certainly there are more Royals to come.”

Jans laughed. “Our days are numbered, and our supplies run low. Almost half of our outposts in Southern Bish are either under siege or over taken.” Jans tossed him the wine sack and cleared his throat. “The underlings cut through here like a black storm one night. They burned, killed and destroyed everything living and moving for miles. This batch we just ran over,” Jans looked over his shoulder where a pyre of burning underling bodies smoked and smoldered, leaving a foul stench lingering in the air, “is only a small roving force. There are underling armies numbering in the thousands out there. The only things getting us through are that we know our lands better and horses travel much faster than underlings and spiders.”

Venir knew it to be true. The jungle-like forests of the south were difficult to march an entire army through. Filled with high hill tops that jutted outward in many places and formed steep cliff faces in other places, the southern lands were a place of sanctuary to those who knew them. As well, the deep ravines and vines thick as trees made it tough for travel.

Venir’s face turned grim as he asked, “So, what are the Royals doing to deal with this mess? Still sitting on their thrones and spinning lies to the masses, or are they gearing up for battle?”

“They’re fortifying the north.”

“And leaving the south to die.”

“Well, it’s mostly gnolls and orcs these days. But, Venir, without Outpost Thirty-One, any attempts to hold the south are in vain.”

Venir let out an angry snort. He still didn't understand why the Royals never attempted to retake their most strategic stronghold in the south. If it had been up to him, he would have rooted the underlings out before the underlings were dug in too deep. Now, it seemed like it was too late for that. Besides, it was the Royals who had abandoned their own kind. Jarla the Brigand Queen, in unison with the underlings, led the fort to its fall. As far as he was concerned, the Royals deserved what they got. But now, more than five years later, the issue had a new significance. Something needed to be done.

“Where were you when that Outpost fell?” Venir asked, taking a sip.

“Twenty-Four. And you?”

“I was there. I was part of that small group that gave the early warning.”

Jans’s brows lifted as the fire reflected on his oily face. “Ah … I know you, Man. At least, I knew of you. Are you one of the rogues who took down the Brigand Army? Hah! That horde, now that was something the likes I hope I never see again. Orcs, gnolls, kobolds and men fighting as one.”

“Under the direction of the underlings.”

Jans grunted. “Aye, of course. I think that us and the other races are in the same predicament now.”

“Have you seen any evidence of that?”

“Yes, but very little. As much as I hate the underlings, I have no sympathy when they carve down the other scum, either. Bish would be better off without all of them.”

Venir felt a little irritated at the remark. As despicable as the other races could be, he still had difficulty dealing with the Royals and their attitude of superiority. As much as he hated to admit it, it was the underlings and the other pesky races that kept the Royal egos in check, at least if that was possible. Now, as these soldiers struggled for a foothold for their own survival, he could only imagine that the Royals were too busy pointing the blame at one another instead of acting. As the underlings gained ground and dug in deeper, he imagined the Royals wouldn’t do a thing until the last moment possible.

He put the wine sack to Slim’s mouth, squeezed out a few drops that soaked right between Slim's lips, and tossed it back over to Jans. Something about what Slim had said to him a day earlier was sticking in his craw. He’d been fighting underlings on his own for the most part. Now, maybe it was time he added some more people to help shoulder the load.

“So, what are you going to do when you run out of supplies?”

Now it was Jans's time to sigh.

“I can feel it, Venir, deep in my belly." He tapped his stomach. “Time. Our time is running out. We’ve kept on the move knowing full well if we take a fort and hold out the underlings will starve us out.”

Jans took out a wetting stone and began running it across the edge of his sword.

“My men are becoming weary with worry now, as I’ve run out of answers. All I’ve been able to tell them is that help is on the way, but no aid has come. We send riders north, but none have returned.” He stretched his booted feet towards the fire. “The truth is, I figured this battle would be my last. None of my men had planned to survive, either. It was our choice, our sacrifice to distract the underlings so the rest of the force could clean up.” He became solemn for a moment, rugged face looking up into the sky. “The fewer mouths to feed, the better. We die so others can live a day or two longer and have one last belly full before battle.”

His words sank in. Jans and his men were unlike most men he’d known.

Jans slapped his leg and spit out a laugh.

“And then you show up, and here I sit, ready to live another day and die on another. I just didn’t want to die from starvation, holed up in a fort. And the thought of my own men eating one another didn’t sit right with me, either. I’ve seen that happen before, long ago.” Jans's head sagged down to his chest as his eyes got all misty.

“What happened?”

“Oh … I was a boy, my brothers and sisters starving, trapped in bonehole by brigand orcs that had seized a small outpost leagues northwest of here. My father and mother said they were leaving to gather food, but only one returned. The meat got us through the next few days until the Royal Riders showed up, and I’ve been one of them ever since.”

Venir thought he saw a tear on the man’s cheek.

Staring into the fire, Jans finished his thought. “I’d rather burn than ever do that again.”

CHAPTER 22

Brak’s stomach felt like it was being turned upside down in his belly, and he swore his head was spinning on his shoulders, but it all ended abruptly. Darkness. The rustling of bodies and the scent of something wonderful. Baked food. Brak noticed light creeping from beneath a doorway and shoved it open.

“Wait!” the skinny man interjected as he pulled on the back of his pants.

A dozen men couldn’t have stopped him from stepping out into the smokehouse, wrapping his blood-stained fingers around a hot blackberry pie, and shoving it into his mouth. The café owner didn’t contain his dismay or fury, shouting, pointing and crying out for the City Watch. He didn’t care. He ate and ate and ate.

“What have you done? Where have you taken us?” Melegal asked, holding his aching head.

Melegal stood behind Brak, watching the big young man stuff his face like a hungry pig. The baker, a man in a flour coated apron and with course black hair down his arms and over his knuckles, drew back a butcher's knife, aiming to ram it into Brak’s back. Drat! In a fluid motion, Melegal wrenched the weapon from the baker's hand and drove his elbow across the man’s chin. He didn’t bother to slow the man’s fall, just let him collapse on the tiles.

Melegal stepped outside the kitchen into the small store front, took a seat on one of the stools at the bar, and let out a sigh. He was still in Bone, and not only that, but he knew exactly where he was as well. He watched as the citizens of Bone scurried along with unusual activity. It was the time of day they would normally be working, but many of them were packed up. Fleeing from an unseen force. Underlings. He leaned against the bar to hear what they were saying.

The streets run red with blood.

The Royals have failed.

Thousands have taken over.

They shoot fire from their eyes and insects from their breath.

Thousands of women and children have been killed.

They are bigger than men and ride on the backs of Chimera.

They cut off my uncle’s head and devoured his brains.

Something tugged at Melegal’s vest. It was Jubilee: pitiful, with big brown eyes and Leezir’s flat nose.

“What do you want?”

“Can I have something to eat, too?”

He looked over his shoulder at Brak, whose face was stained in blackberries and crust as he sucked down a jug of goat's milk. The over-sized young man with the face of a hardened soldier seemed awfully content, almost serene for someone who’d just butchered more than a dozen people. Melegal had seen Venir have his own fits of rage, but he’d never seen anything like what Brak was capable of. Ew! What he did to those people? He couldn’t erase the thought of the man being bent backwards until the back of his head touched his arse. Or that Brak had almost killed him, Melegal, a moment earlier. He’d never been pinned down by such raw power before. He’d heard the term berserker, but before now it had seemed like a silly notion: a man so battle crazed that he’d fight, even without limbs, like a ravenous dog until dead. It seemed the stories were true.

He patted Jubilee on the brown-haired head and said, “Yes. But you better hurry before it’s gone.”

“Thank you,” she said, smiling up at him, “for saving us.” She wrapped her ginger little arms around his waist and hugged him.

Melegal cocked a brow over his steely eyes. After all the death, all the horror, the little girl still found a reason to smile and be grateful. He peeled her arms away, saying, “Fond of me all of a sudden, are we? Well, little Slerg, you are on your own now, so get a belly full, and don’t ever hug me again.”

He set Tonio’s sword on the bar, felt the pommels on his swords, the Sisters, on his hips, took a deep breath, and rubbed his temples. Underlings. They were actually inside the City of Bone and attacking people. The improbable had occurred. Outside of the city walls were thousands of people who had fled the south to find sanctuary in the north. Inside the city, the citizens were scrambling to find a way back outside. No doubt, the Royals would permit them to leave, only never to return. He reached inside his vest, produced new darts, and reloaded his launchers. If I’d only used poison, Sefron would be dead by now.

Though thankful for his escape, he still had immediate problems. Lord Almen. Was he alive or dead? Sefron had come to the man’s aid, and Melegal had witnessed his moving hand. Slat. I should have cut his throat. It wasn’t his style, however, and killing wasn’t something he was accustomed to, but sometimes that was the only choice if you wanted to live. Jarla the Brigand queen had witnessed the entire ordeal, and he’d tried to dispatch of her, but she had still been fighting when he’d fled. Should have just done what the Lorda said and killed her. I’m not sure what possessed me to gut Almen. He looked over at Jubilee, who was chomping on a biscuit. She had Leezir’s eyes as well. Melegal grabbed a loaf of bread and had started picking at it when two surly men walked up, eyeing the food.

Melegal's eyes narrowed as he slid Tonio’s sword from the sheath, saying, “Keep walking. This store's closed.”

“We’ll pay,” one man said, licking his lips as the other fidgeted at his side.

“I only take blood,” he replied, twirling the sword over his wrist.

The men grumbled and shuffled along.

He stuck the sword in the ground and resumed his thoughts. The underlings had been his unlikely ally in all this. They must have slaughtered all of the living in the arena, which should include Lord Almen and Jarla. They’d taken Sefron prisoner and pursued him. They wanted the keys.

“Ha!”

All this time, Sefron, of all people, had an alliance with the underlings. Sefron wanted the keys for the underlings. Melegal ran his hands over the hidden inner pockets of his clothing. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. All present and accounted for. He pulled a key out, fingering the topaz gem encrusted in the square head. It was the one he’d used on the last door. Then he remembered something. The Brigand Queen. She had arrived through another door with her men. How did she manage to do that? Were there more keys? Or did she get there by some other means?

“What is that key for?” Jubilee asked, crawling up on the bar, her legs dangling over the edge, mouth full of a biscuit and appearing happy as a lark.

“Trouble,” he said, sliding it back into his clothes. “Now don’t bother me. I’m thinking.”

“All right,” she said, beginning to hum a tune.

Now where was I? Keys. The underlings want the keys. Which means, the underlings will be coming after me. Slat! He couldn’t shake the image of the Vicious, the beastly creature that could rend through stone with its nails. Was that creature coming after him as well? He remembered that the last time he saw one, at the Warfield, the nasty thing had slit Georgio's throat. Oh my. That made for two things even he’d hope the boy’d never see again: the Vicious and Tonio. He counted his enemies again. Kill Sefron. Fail. Lord Almen. Fail. The Brigand Queen. Fail. It’s only safe to assume that all live. After all, evil has an uncanny ability to survive. And now the Underlings. Aren’t they supposed to be the problem for that brutish friend of mine? He turned towards his friend's son, whose eating pace was now a slow chew. Brak's Venir-like eyes drifted into Melegal's, leaving a haunting feeling in his gut. Was he sane or a madman?

“Er … Jubilee, uh, how well do you know this man?”

She perched her eyebrows, smiling, wiping the crumbs from her lips.

“Brak? He’s good. Nothing like my uncles or my grandfather, who weren't too bad, but still did many things I thought were questionable.”

“Is that so?” How interesting for a little Slerg.

“Hagerdon said Grandfather Leezir had gotten soft in his age, but I never thought of him as old, not for a man, anyway.”

“Hmmm … an interesting observation for such a young person. I’ll tell you something else about your grandfather, Leezir. You are right. He wasn’t one of the worst, not when it comes to Royals. Not that he had a soft side, he didn’t, but, uh … how should I put it? He was reasonable and resourceful, just flawed.”

Jubilee dusted the crumbs from her hands and hopped down on the ground.

“Everyone is flawed. If they weren’t, then the world would be perfect. But if that were so, we’d be quite bored.”

“You are smart for one so young.”

“I know. Say, where’s everybody going?”

“Why don’t you go ask them?”

Jubilee didn’t say another word. She just stood and stared at the crowd.

“My back hurts,” Brak said.

Melegal turned and looked at the man’s grimacing face.

Two feathered arrows still protruded from Braks’ back. Moving like a sloth, he made his way over and rested his arms on the bar.

Melegal looked up into his big face with the thick tuft of hair that was marred with blood. “Are you sure the hurt is not your stomach? You just inhaled enough to fill two cows.”

“No …”

Brak's speech was a little garbled, low, and his pronunciations were long. It irritated Melegal.

“… it’s in my back. It hurts. Did someone stab me? I can’t remember.”

“What do you remember?”

“Seeing Hagerdon killed. Leezir getting shot and Jubilee screaming. The next thing I remember, my back was on fire, and I was following you through a castle.” He lifted his chin in repose. “Those paintings were wonderful. I'd never seen anything like them before.”

A brute with an eye for art. Utterly ridiculous. But what isn’t these days?

Jubilee wandered back over and gasped. “Brak! Your back! We have to do something!”

Brak’s eyes narrowed on Melegal.

“You said it was just a scratch.”

“Well it is, in a manner of speaking.”

“Take them out,” Jubilee demanded.

“You’re the smart one; you take them out.”

“Give me a knife, and I will.”

“Pah … just get out of the way.” He removed Braks’ shackles and inspected his back, needling his fingers around the wounds. Though they were not well defined, he could feel the brutish muscles of an ox beneath the meaty skin.

“If your arms were long enough, you could pull them out yourself,” he muttered under his breath.

“What?” Brak said, cocking his meaty neck.

“Nothing.” He wrapped his fingers around the shafts. “Now be still. This shouldn’t hurt a bit.”

Yank!

Brak roared like a savage beast, sending everyone nearby scattering in all directions. Melegal was twirling the arrows through his fingers as Brak whirled on him, snorting with rage, fingers clutching in the air.

Melegal took a step back and said, “You’ll be fine. Target arrows. See?” He banged the bloody tips together, showing that they were only pointed, not serrated. “It’s what they use to kill baby deer with.”

“Or my grandfather!” Jubilee sniped, arms folded over her chest, frowning.

Brak snatched the arrows from his hands and snapped them in front of his face.

“Don’t ever do that again, or else I’ll break you in two.”

“Sure. In the meantime, try not to get shot again. And with that, I think it’s time we went our separate ways.”

“What?” said Brak.

“What? No!” said Jubilee.

Melegal tossed the girl a small purse of coins.

“Get cleaned up and find a private place to live in this big city. I’ve got problems of my own. They’ll be coming for me.”

“The Royals will find us and find you no matter where you go. It’s best we stick together. They’ll be after all of us now. You know that. You tracked us down.”

Indeed, she was smart. Street smart to say the least. There would be no hiding Brak, however. He’d only get bigger and bigger. But it wasn’t his problem. And what about the Almens? Maybe none of them had survived. Was it possible the underlings had wiped them out? If Lorda Almen lived, she’d expect him, unless she assumed him dead. But without a body, what proof was there of that? He looked up. Dusk had begun. Where had the time gone? It was as if the last few hours had been lost. Where had the past few hours gone? If they did indeed come looking for him, they’d know where to look first. Then he took off in a run. Haze!

CHAPTER 23

Exhausted, Fogle Boon forged ahead, Cass’s screams giving him the energy he'd lacked a moment earlier. So far as he was concerned, she was his woman, as he’d never been with another, and as things would have it, he probably wouldn't live long enough to meet another. Instead, the impulse to rescue her overcame all reason. He ambled over a dusty hilltop on weary legs.

Not again! It can’t be!

But it was. Another giant. Cass kicked and screamed like a wild woman in the monster's clutches. But where was Chongo? He could hear the dog barking, the sound as powerful and carrying as a dwarven gong, but the two-headed beast was nowhere in sight.

All around he looked. Nothing, but all he was truly concerned about was Cass.

“Let go!” She yelled, kicking the side of the giant's nose.

It sneezed, getting a spray of snot all over Fogle, as well as on Cass’s magnificent face.

She shrieked in fury!

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” she yelled, her lungs recharged to their full power.

Fogle stumbled down the hill, his mind racing, trying to figure out what the best course of action would be.

“FOGLE!" Cass cried, "get me away from this behemoth! Now!”

He closed in about thirty feet away, summoned all the energy he had left, and flung a small barrage of glowing missiles from his hand.

The giant grunted and sneered when the missiles struck its leg, fizzled, and extinguished like drops of water being poured on a campfire.

He caught the worried look in Cass’s eyes. I’ve failed. His shoulders sagged, and he could barely lift his chin up to face the inevitable death of his lover. Chongo. Mood. Where are you? We need help!

Chongo’s barks were in full agitation, yet the beast was nowhere in sight. Perhaps he was trapped by more giants, but there was nothing nearby where the creatures could hide. He looked up at Cass, whose struggles were as futile as an infant’s in the arms of a man. She's going to be crushed. He tried to summon that well of energy he’d tapped before, but unable to find it, he stumbled forward on weak knees and pitched face first into the ground.

Cass let out another blood curdling cry as he rose back to his feet into the blinding light of the setting suns.

“FOGLE! SAVE ME!”

He tried not to look. He didn’t want his last memory of Cass to be a picture of her head exploding. He fought the urge to plug his ears. The sickening sound of Ox the Mintaur’s bones being snapped and pulverized still rung there.

Chongo was still barking, a little closer now than before.

“Where are you, blasted beast?”

He shielded his eyes from the suns with his hands.

“What?”

There was Chongo: a giant two-headed dog suspended forty feet in the sky, running in mid-air, but going nowhere.

Who in Bish did that? Underlings!

“Look out behind you, Fogle!”

As he tried to twist around on his feeble limbs, something hard and painful cracked him in the back of his head. The lights of Bish went out.

***

“Ow!”

Fogle stirred. A throbbing headache greeted him. He had no idea how long he’d been out, but night had come, and it was dark, very dark. Unnaturally so. Where am I? He blinked and tried to wipe the grit from his eyes, quickly learning he could do no such thing. Slat! He was bound. Cass! There was nothing. Only his muffled efforts to speak could be heard. He struggled against his bonds once more, only to feel his strength fade from the effort as he slumped over and sucked for air.

Think, Fogle. Use the over-sized clump of brain matter in that over-sized skull of yours. One of the main things Mood had taught him in their many months together was not to panic. When goininta the unknown, don’t ferget ta use yer udder senses, he could hear him say. Without having anything better to do and no other options that mattered, he rolled onto his back with a sigh.

Blinking his eyes and staring upward, or at least what he thought was upward, he allowed his eyes to adjust. Black. Still black. Even blacker. He closed his eyes and slowly drew a long whiff of air in his nose. Dirt. Mud. Hmmm … a foul odor mixed with salt. Oh … it’s bad. Not the scent of an animal. A chill air drifted through his robes. Underlings! An unseen force coiled around him like a python and squeezed out all of his courage. The story came to mind of what underlings did to men way down below, under the ground. Why else would he be here in what must be a cave of some sort? He’d been dragged underground by the most deviant race of all. Mood had said that Bish was now crawling with them—and how easy it would have been to find him after all the commotion they'd caused, battling the giants. And now that they had not a single dwarf in tow, the underlings had struck the weakened party.

He could feel his heart pounding in his ears now. A tide of panic was rising. It only made perfect sense that the underlings worked with the giants, sending monstrous men then springing the trap as the giants wore their prey down. Chongo was floating, and Cass was being crushed by the last giant. No! She's gone! He wanted to scream out. He wanted to say he was sorry that he had failed. Why me?

A little fire ignited inside him suddenly as a vision of Cass’s light vibrant features, sharp and picturesque, drifted into his thoughts. Her slender hips, sensuous legs, pale lips and perky breasts had left a life-long impression in his mind. He swore he could almost smell her. The faint smell of flowers and a twinge of an exotic perfume mingled inside his nostrils. I'll kill anyone that hurt her! I just need out of here. He fought against his unseen bonds until, exhausted, he fought no more, slumping to the ground

In the distance, something he hadn’t noticed before echoed. A muffled crunching sound like a dog chomping on a ham bone. All he could think of was the giant. He recalled seeing one stuff a dwarf in its mouth and bite down. He winced. Cass! He had to get out of there. He had to find her.

He summoned his mystic power into his thoughts and reached out for the minds that held him prisoner. He jerked up off the ground. What? Something strong, very powerful, unlike anything he’d encountered before, now mingled with his thoughts. His invading powers surprised it and it was coming, coming for him right now. Merciless, unrelenting and formidable. He clutched at the dirt. A sharp stone or anything. Nothing. Nothing there to help him at all but the dark.

“Who are you?” He sat up. “Where are my friends?”

The presence remained. Strong and silent.

“What do you want?” he asked.

Nothing.

He struggled within his bonds. The ropes that bound him did not seem natural.

“Huh?”

He could feel the presence growing impatient, and his wrists began to burn as he renewed his struggles.

The mind intertwined with his let out a frustrated groan.

In the distance, the chomping sounds became louder, like tree branches snapping in a storm. He shivered.

Fogle muttered a quick series of words. Part of an old binding spell. His wrists and legs became undone.

“About time,” a familiar scratchy voice commented.

Fogle sat up. Can it really be?

“Grandfather?” he said, pushing away a thin veil of cloth that was wrapped around his head. It dissipated like twinkling dust. He rubbed his eyes and allowed them to adjust to the dim light that filtered in through the mouth of the cave.

Before him stood an older man with a long wispy white beard: tall and broad shouldered with forearms as stout and wiry as a pit fighter.

“It is you!” he gasped.

“Aye, Grandson.” Boon's eyes twinkled as he reached down and helped Fogle back to his feet.

He gawped at his grandfather, whom he hadn’t seen in over a decade. The man seemed a little older, yet his grip was as strong as iron.

“Where have you been?” Fogle asked. “Wait! The giant! Cass!” He began to shuffle around.

“Ah … your woman. Yes, she is fine,” Boon reassured him. “Very fine, indeed. Fine like a crystal vase pouring chilled wine. Fine as the hairs on a baby’s head. Fine like the scintillating, titillating colors of a rainbow.” Boon smacked his lips. “Fine like a —”

“Enough already, I know how fine she is,” Fogle said, irritated.

Boon looked down and patted him on his head.

“I’m sorry, Grandson. It’s just that I haven’t seen a woman in an awfully long time, and I’m certain the last one I saw didn’t look anything like her. She’s absolutely gorgeous.”

Fogle shoved his grandfather's hand away and said, “It’s Fogle. And she’s a druid.”

“Interesting,” Boon said as he turned and teetered deeper into the cave. “Come on.”

“But what about the giant?” he objected, looking around.

“Come on,” Boon said, beckoning for him, moving more like a man of his wizened years as he shuffled over the loose footing, holding his deep blue robes up over his toes.

Unreal. Unlikely. Weary from head to toe. Fogle tried his best to assess his situation, wondering if it was real. Then he threw his hands up and swung them down through the air. Just take what the adventure gives you. Trying to make sense of it is of little help, Mood had said. “Never mind.”

“What was that? Did you say something?”

“No.”

Boon motioned for him. “Come along then.”

The farther they traveled downward through the tunnels, the more Fogle noticed something. There was no source of light. No torch. No suns or moons. No candles or lanterns. Yet the walls were dimly lit with a soft blue hue. In three long strides, he caught up with his grandfather and grabbed him by the elbow.

“Did you do this?”

“Do what?” Boon said, this time a little irritation in is tone.

“The light. What is making this light?”

“Ah. That’s the underlight. Incredible, isn’t it?”

“Do you mean under as in underling?”

Boon looked at him as if he was stupid and said, “Of course. What else would the underlight be?” Boon jerked his elbow away. “Now come on. Your friends are down there.”

Fogle didn’t move. He was in a cave, an underling cave, being led downward by his grandfather, who he hadn’t seen in well over a decade. Nothing tingled or raced down his spine like a trickle of lightening. His senses had heightened over the past few months, yet nothing told him anything was wrong, but something had to be, certainly. If anything, the moment seemed quite ordinary, and that’s what worried him most of all. And now the strange munching sound returned, echoing up the massive cavern which he was being led down. Boon was already moving on. Fogle looked back toward the mouth of the cave. It was gone.

“You’ll be lost if you don’t follow,” Boon said. “Don’t be such a baby. You always did worry about everything that could possibly go wrong. You can’t control everything, just like that whack I gave you on the back of your head. You should know that by now.”

Fogle rubbed the small knot on his skull. That was real. By why had his grandfather hit him and brought them all into this cave?

“Your questions will be answered soon enough. Now come. You’re beginning to annoy me.”

Fogle followed, one slow step at a time, through an enormous cave illuminated by the strange blue light. As the munching sound became louder, the scent of vegetation and water wafted through the air. One second Boon was wandering up ahead, then the next second he dropped out of sight. Fogle rushed over and found himself standing on a ledge overlooking a strange garden. There were trees whose leaves glowed and bushes filled with bright red berries. A stream passed over glittering stones and disappeared from sight. Boon was traversing a narrow pathway that led into the garden more than twenty feet below. And that’s when he saw her. Cass!

She was lounging alongside Chongo, a curious and happy expression on her face, watching a giant stuffing something that looked like bamboo reeds into his mouth.

“Cass!” he yelled.

She jerked her head up and waved, saying, “Come down, Fogle! This is the most amazing place.”

“But,” he started to object, looking at the giant as he made his way down the path.

“Come on! His name’s Barton. He won’t hurt you. He’s a friend.”

He made it into the garden, dashed by Boon who’d taken a seat on an oversized mushroom, and embraced Cass. She was the real thing. Smelling like honey and roses as her pale eyes and lips seemed to glow in the underlight.

“I-I thought,” he looked away, “I’d failed you.”

She grabbed his chin and smiled, saying, “I thought so, too, but it seems fortune found us anyway.” She eyed Boon. “Hmmm … now I see where you get your striking looks. Your grandfather is quite … interesting, to say the least.”

“I guess you could say that. So, are you well? Did that giant hurt you? I thought you were going to die.”

Pulling Cass into an embrace, Fogle got his first hard look at the giant, Barton, who was ripping more of the bamboo reeds from the stream bank and stuffing them in his mouth. One of the giant’s eyes was disfigured, an impression of scarred flesh, while the other stared right at him, unblinking, a little deranged.

“You burned Barton with magic. No-No. Barton not like that. Do that once more, Barton smash you good. Understand?” Barton said, balling up is meaty fist and snapping the bamboo within.

“Er … yes,” Fogle said.

“Grandfa—Boon,” he said, turned his attention aside, “where have—”

“I been?” Boon responded less than a foot from his face.

Fogle flinched, then folded his arms behind his back and started pacing around.

“Don’t do that again … and yes, where have you been? What are you doing here? Where did this giant come from? How did you find me?”

“Easy Fogle,” Boon said, “you always were as uptight as a dwarf. Just give me a few seconds, and I’ll explain. I’m tired, you know. Running from giants isn’t the easiest thing to do. It takes a lot out of an old man like me, but I tell you what … It sure feels good to be back.”

Fogle folded his arms across his chest and faced his grandfather, saying, “What do you mean, ‘running from giants’? Why would they be chasing you?”

“I’ve been their prisoner, and I’ve befriended one of their own, Barton. I guess you could say that I’m an escapee and he is a fugitive, and a bushel of men twenty feet tall want to kill us. Well, me at least. Sorry to have to drag you into this.”

“Wait a second,” Fogle motioned to himself and Cass, “we didn’t want any part of this.”

“Well, you probably didn’t want to be my grandson, either, but you are.”

Cass giggled.

Boon slapped his knees and sat back down.

“Now, let’s get some rest. We’re going to need it for the journey ahead. Say, where’s my spellbook? I need to bone up on a thing or two.”

“It’s my spellbook,” Fogle said, looking around, “and where is it?” As he looked back at Boon, it was laying in his lap, where the old wizard's eyes glimmered with admiration. “Give me that back.” He snatched it.

“Pah,” Boon shooed him away, “I still remember it all, anyway.”

As Fogle opened his mouth to speak, Boon was already snoring. He looked at Cass, who shrugged and lay down on a grassy bed.

What is happening? Is there anything I can control?

CHAPTER 24

Verbard sat on a roughhewn throne of stone beneath the City of Bone, enjoying the celebration. The underlings had struck a nasty blow to the world above and lived to tell about it. Commander Jottenhiem stood at his side, holding a bottle of underling port up in celebration. Verbard was moved. He’d never seen his kind, reserved yet tenacious, so charged up before. Now they bragged, one underling to the other, of the exploit, and the news spread like fire. Perhaps leading underlings into battle wasn't so bad, yet he still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

“Some port, Lord Verbard?”

“Certainly,” he replied. “I see no reason to exclude myself from this celebration. After all, a handful of us just slaughtered hundreds. Just think what we can do with the entire army.”

“I’ve been wondering the same thing,” Jottenhiem said, handing him the goblet. “I think with a thousand more underlings we could take the entire city.” Jottenhiem ran his black nailed fingers though his short course hair and showed him a fierce grin. “My sword arm is at your will and command, my Lord. I’ll take all the soldiers you can give me back above right now. The more dead humans, the better.”

“I agree, Commander.” He picked up the object resting between his legs. The orb of imbibing. “But they will be ready next time.”

“They won’t be able to anticipate our strikes. They’ll assume it's only a handful, but next time it will be hundreds. Whoever responds first will be wiped out.”

But Verbard wasn’t listening. Instead, he stared into the orb. The human mage wasn’t nearly as powerful as he was resourceful, but the fat man’s resources almost cost him his life. The magic in Bish was formidable. More so than he'd suspected. If a few more seconds had passed, he’d have been undone if not for Eep. Plus, the imp had followed his command, retrieving the orb to him. A costly move for Eep. The orb prevented him from teleporting, and Eep had a severed wing to show for it. Now the little horror sat behind the throne, mumbling in anger. Eep couldn’t return to his world to heal. Verbard chuckled within, stroking the dark mirror-like surface of the orb. He'd had something to do with that. It was worth the death of all those underlings combined.

“We have company, Lord Verbard.”

It was Kierway, escorted by the Vicious and two magi.

“Where are my Juegen?” Jottenhiem demanded, hands drifting to his swords.

“Dead, Jottenhiem,” Kierway fired back, iron eyes smoldering. “Perhaps with better training from the likes of a true swordsman they’d have fared better.”

Verbard rose from his throne, silver eyes flashing like lightening.

“Those are my men! And I’d also know the whereabouts of my other magi. Did they perish as well?”

“They died in battle, taking ten humans at least to their one,” Kierway said, eyes flitting back and forth between the two. “And I see plenty of other soldiers missing on your watch as well. I’d judge not if I were you, Verbard.”

“And yet I don’t see a single scratch on you, Kierway. With so many fallen, I can't imagine how you’d come out unscathed. Yet here you stand, like a babe drawn from the refreshing waters of a cave bath. Pah!” Verbard let out a long seething hiss as he struggled to keep down his rage. “Well,” he added, “can I at least see the key that my soldiers have died for?”

Kierway took a half step back, fingering his bandolier of knives.

“YOU DON’T HAVE IT!”

Every underling stopped as the dust and bat dung from the cave ceiling drifted downward.

Kierway pulled his shoulders back as he braced his fists on his hips.

“There were no keys! Only an empty chamber!”

Verbard fought the urge to shove the Orb of Imbibing down Kierway’s throat. The underling was nothing but lies and disappointment all wrapped up together.

“Ah, so am I to understand that Master Sinway sent us on a fools run? Is that the case? And what do you mean by keys? I thought there was only one.”

“No, many. Seven pegs, no keys.”

Liar. Verbard resumed his place on the throne. For all he knew, Kierway had the keys. Or, there never had been any keys, and Master Sinway had sent them both to meet their final fates in Bone. After all, Kierway was clearly the biggest disappointment in Master Sinway’s family. Kierway was a skilled swordsman, the stoutest of fighters, yet his career in leadership was marred in failure. His bloodlust led to the demise of more underling troops than most army commanders combined. Now, here he sat, paired with the most unpredictable underling of all. Might as well play this ruse through.

“And what of this cleric you mentioned? Is he dead … alive? I see no prisoners.”

Kierway showed a grin of sharp teeth and lied, “He paid the ultimate price.”

“I can only assume you mean he’s dead?”

Master Kierway nodded.

“So, let me understand this. There were seven pegs and no keys. The only lead you had was this human, which you now claim is dead. Hmmm … I’m having a hard time believing you, Kierway.”

Verbard pulled out a brass amulet with a clear crystal in the center. Kierway took a sharp draw in his nose.

“Of course,” he added,” I’m not going to take exception with your thin explanation. I’ll let Master Sinway handle that.”

Kierway’s eyes filled with hatred as Verbard draped the amulet over his neck, clasped his hands around it and chittered mystic words. The amulet felt like black fire in his hands as he let go. The humanoid image shimmered to life between the stone throne and Master Kierway. Verbard abandoned his throne and bowed. Master Sinway’s apparition was as real as if he was standing there. Verbard’s silver eyes drifted onto the amulet that was warm in his hand, radiating with black power, before turning them back to the all too realistic shade.

“What an unexpected surprise,” Sinway said in his powerful voice as he gazed upon his son, “and all this time I thought you were undone. I can only imagine that the delay was because you have taken over the entire City of Bone.” Sinway’s head glanced around. “But, this hardly looks like the interior of a castle.” The Master of all underlings turned his attention towards Verbard.

The iron eyes of Master Sinway were a swirl of copper and black, his expression cold and snake-like. Verbard found his tongue cloven to the roof of his mouth as he began to speak.

“I’ve led one small force inside, and we decimated hundreds. Among them, Royals and many magi. All ours that went in returned alive, and are now rejuvenated and craving the destruction of the Humans and their vile city more than ever. At this very moment, plans are being laid out for the next strike,” He bowed again, “Master Sinway.”

“Excellent, Verbard, and now, my plans of conquest shall be even easier with the acquisition of the key. Let me see it!” Master Sinway clawed and clutched at the air before him.

“Master Kierway led a small force into Castle Almen to recover the key,” Verbard said as he looked over at Kierway, whose eyes bore into him like lances of fire, “but his mission failed. He—”

“WHAT!” Sinway yelled, his vocal power frightening the bats from their roosts and bringing the buzzing underling army to a standstill. He turned on his son. “Kierway! Is this true?”

Kierway opened his mouth to speak, but Sinway cut him off.

“You are a failure! An imbecile! If you were not my son, I’d have you chopped up and fed to the urchlings. But, your mother insists I keep you around. That you will redeem yourself. Instead, you find another failure, this one grander than all the others!”

In a flash, lightning coiled around Master Sinway’s arms and blasted into his dumbstruck son. Kierway was bewildered as the bolts passed through him without so much as a singe. Sinway let out an angry hiss and turned his attention back to Verbard.

Verbard wanted to look away but didn’t. Don’t say it! Don’t say it!

“I want that key. You,” Sinway pointed at him, “will get it for me.”

He glared at Kierway. The underling had smirk on his face.

I knew it. The fool fails, and I now have to bear the full responsibility. Is this what success breeds? Escapades of conquest outside the realm of even dreams. He wondered if he should mention there were seven keys. It seemed strange Master Sinway wanted only one, yet Kierway seemed truthful there were seven. It will be easier to find one that seven. The best laid plans are kept to yourself.

Master Sinway turned his focus back to his son.

“As for you, Kierway. You are now at the will and pleasure of Lord Verbard, as is my Vicious.”

“No, Father!” Kierway objected as the Vicious took his place along Verbard’s side.

Verbard looked up at the Vicious. Things are looking up all of a sudden.

“Your life is in his hands, Kierway. Failing me is one thing, I’m your father. Failing him is another. He’s not.” Master Sinway’s image began to fade away.

Yes! Perhaps I’m not being set up, after all.

“Father, a moment!” Kierway said. “I’ve seen a grand chamber that hosted key pegs. There were seven in all, not one. I assumed Lord Verbard would have mentioned that. I thought you should know.”

Bastard manipulator!

As Sinway faded away, his gaze locked on Verbard’s as he said, “I only need one, but now I want them all. Get the keys. Continue the assault on humans! And await my next ordersssss …”

Verbard squeezed the amulet with all his might, sneering at Kierway, who snarled right back.

CHAPTER 25

Lefty barfed out two globs the size of eyeballs into his tiny hand.

Kam turned her head away, only to turn it back to him.

“Ew … what is that? Have you got a sickness, too?”

Lefty just stared at the objects in his hand, unable to hide his fascination. The look in his eye worried her. It was as if the halfling was possessed. Perhaps he was. He’d been awfully strange, after all.

“It’s disgusting, Lefty. Are you ill or not?”

He shook his head and began polishing the murky color from the stones. A flare of red light lit up the entire room, then winked out.

“What was that?” Kam said, exasperated. Magic!

Lefty concealed the gems under his clothes as the front door creaked open and Diller entered. Lefty curled back into a ball, and Kam glared at the man.

“What was that?” Diller said, looking around.

“What?” Kam replied, sneering.

“There was a light. A red one, spilling out from under the door.”

Kam didn’t say a word. Diller walked over, grabbed the chains that bound her, and pulled her up. He ran his rough hands over her bound wrists, brushed his paw all over her, squeezed open her mouth, and looked inside. She decided right then and there that if she got the chance she would kill him first. He shoved her back to the ground.

“You better not try anything foolish, Pretty Lady. I’d hate to bury your fine corpse,” he said, walking away and closing the door behind him.

“Lefty, where did you get those gems?”

The halfling rolled up into sitting position with a playful look in his sagging eyes. He looked more like himself that she’d seen him in days. The youthful energy in his voice returned when he spoke.

“The first time I met Venir, there was this underling. A powerful one …,” he looked up, “uh …, yes, I wrote it down in my tome.”

“I don’t care about your tome.”

“Oh … well, sorry, but I found these gems in the dead underling’s robes. You should have seen that underling, Kam. Venir cut his head in half with Brool. Really gross. So, I’ve had these gems ever since, and I know they have power; I can feel it. And I meant to tell you about them, but I was always worried someone might steal them, so I stored them in my stomach.”

“In your stomach? You can do that?”

Lefty made a cheerful shrug.

“Melegal said it was a gift. Just like my light feet.”

Kam cocked an eye at him and said, “Well, did you ever think to store a key to those chains in there?”

“Huh … no,” he said, looking sad.

“What else do you have?”

“Nothing, just these gems. Do you think they can help us?” he asked, holding them out in the palm of his hand.

Kam motioned with her hands to put them on the floor.

“We don’t need that glow again. Something you did triggered them before.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe you’ve had them in your belly all this time. And you never got sick?”

“No.”

“Or pooped them out?”

He made a disgusted face, shaking his head.

Kam’s fingertips drifted closer to the gems. She wanted to grab them so bad. Find out what kind of power was within. Underling magi weren't anything she’d ever toyed with before, but she’d been taught that all the mystic powers in Bish came from one source. There must be something within them that she could use.

“What do you think they do?” Lefty asked, nosing closer.

Kam hunched a little closer, too. The gems were a deep red like rubies, and their cut wasn’t the quality of gemstones, but more rounded on the edges, similar to river stones. Inside each one was a black swirl, like a tornado that she swore either pulsated or throbbed, like a living thing. Dark and mysterious, it beckoned her closer. Her fingers fanned out over the tops of the stones.

“Don’t Kam,” Lefty warned.

She bit into the soft flesh of her lip as her fingers curled up into a fist. There was power there. Dangerous. Seductive. Liberating. She could feel her heart pounding faster in her chest as beads of sweat burst on her brow. Take them. They can help. They will help.

“Kam?” Lefty said, pushing her hand away.

“What?” she snapped.

“We need a plan. For Erin’s sake.”

She held her aching head in her hand as she eased away while Lefty tucked the gems back under his clothes. Erin. Now wasn’t the time to be reckless, but what other chances would she get? What would happen if she and Lefty were separated and she didn’t get a chance to get her hands on the gems again? She couldn’t let that happen. She had to do something. Die doing something or die for nothing. Isn’t that what Venir once said? Maybe that was Billip or Mikkel, even Georgio, maybe.

“Lefty, do you think you can get those chains off, or not?”

“I think I can, but it might take a while. Why? Do you have a plan?”

She nodded as she shifted her hips to face him, saying, “I want you to free yourself. If you can do that, you can free me as well.”

“But then what?”

“Then I’m going to find out what those little gems can do, and when I do that,” Lefty’s blue eyes were looking right into hers, “I’m going to use it, if I can, to help you fulfill your promise to me. Whatever power I can give you, or me, you are going to use it to get Erin to safety.”

“No Kam! Using magic will kill you,” he objected. “I can’t let that happen. Maybe you can teach me to use the stones.”

She ran her finger underneath the choker on her neck and sighed.

“No, if you could use them, you’d have known already. Lefty, you’re going to have to be strong,” she pointed at him with her shackled wrists, “for you, for me, and especially for Erin.”

“But I mess up, Kam.”

“No, you messed up.” She poked him in the chest. “Now you fix it. Now you use all of your know how to make things right. Whatever happens, get Erin to safety. Find Joline; she’ll know what to do.”

The distraught look on Lefty’s face left a sad feeling inside her, sadder than the one she already had. How hard it must be to do the right thing when evil had you in its grasp. Now, surrounded by thieves, liars and murderers, she’d asked a tiny boy to somehow save her daughter. She shivered under her robes as she pulled them tight and leaned back against the tub. Guilt washed over her as her chin sagged above her breasts. She could have gone to her family for help. She just hadn't wanted to. Over the years, she’d convinced herself they didn’t care for her anymore. But now she was in over her head. Blasted pride! Now her daughter had to suffer for it. And she had to trust in a halfling boy who didn’t look much older than ten, if that.

She sat there, eyes closed, unmoving, gathering all of her thoughts and plans. What would it take for her and Erin to escape? It seemed every plan and scenario met with a dead end.

The sound of Palos’s door creaking open brought her chin up. The Prince of Thieves emerged, arms outstretched over his head, yawning in all his glory.

Disgusting.

“Well, it seems I can’t sleep with all the excitement going on,” he said, tying the belt around his robe, taking a seat, and pouring more wine. “I just love cat naps, so refreshing, brrrrrr. But Kam, my dearest, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Diller!”

Swift as a ghost, the man entered, crossbow ready, concerned eyes drifting towards Kam, before returning to Palos. “Yes, Palos?”

“Prince Palos, mind you. Now, remove her chains and take this little person to the Quarter. I, well, we, will be needing some privacy. I’m in the mood for another extravagant bath already.” He rubbed his skin and leered at Kam as he guzzled his wine. “It leaves the skin so smooth.” Lefty and Kam glanced at one another as Diller made his way over.

Kam rose to her feet as Diller unbound her, his hands much lighter to the touch this time.

Palos tipped his chin at her, and he swaggered over and said, “Fetch those warming salts. I want my water to make you sweat. It glistens so well on your body.”

I need those stones.

As Diller bent over to unshackle Lefty, Palos said, “Better leave him in the chains. I don’t want him wandering around here stirring up trouble. See to it the Quartermaster keeps a close eye on him.”

Kam almost dropped the bowl of warming salts when she caught Lefty giving her a wink.

“Enjoy your bath, Princess,” Lefty said, tongue hanging from his mouth.

She reached down and grabbed a handful of his thick yellow hair and said in his face, “I should kill you, little halfling Bastard!”

“Alright you two, cut that out!” Diller sat, pulling Lefty away, leaving Kam with a fistful of his blond hair.

“Ow!” Lefty said in an angry cry.

“Get him out of here, Diller! And as for you, Kam, you need to calm yourself and focus on me. Get those salts in the tub. Now!”

Kam dabbed her hand in the bowl of bath salts as Diller slung Lefty over his shoulder. A sinking feeling settled in: that she might not ever see the boy again, or the gems either, for that matter. She tossed a ball of bath salt in the tub, bringing the water to a sizzle. The next one she grabbed was as hard as a stone. She looked at it and almost gasped. It was one of the gemstones. The other was resting in the bowl.

When the door closed behind Diller, she realized she was alone with Palos, but with a glimmer of hope this time.

“What are you gawking at?” he said, disrobing as he slipped into the tub. “Throw in more salt; it’s not hot enough, you lactating witch.”

I’m not going to live another moment like this. I’m sorry, Erin!

She tossed the rest of salts in the water and let the bowl clatter to the floor.

“Ah, that’s better,” Palos said, closing his eyes .

Inside her hand, the red stones throbbed. The choker around her neck began to tighten. Summon it! Do something! The gem stones' magic made contact with the magic within her and rose her to another level. Kam felt more power than she’d ever felt before. Dark and wondrous. Magnifying the magic within her. Her face purpled, and her knees began to buckle. Hang on, Kam! Think! But no words came to mind.

Palos wasn’t paying her a lick of attention as she hung back to the side of the tub. The water was all bubbles, fizzles and steams. But any second he was certain to notice that she was about to choke to death. Think!

Gems in hand, she touched them to her neck and focused her thoughts on the choker. Remove this harness from me! She envisioned it unraveling in her mind. The choker squeezed her neck so hard she swore her brains were oozing from her ears as she fought for her life. One magic force in a fierce battle against the other. Her body a punching bag. She summoned all her anger, all her hate, every bit of desperation, and turned it on the white hot line on her neck. Something inside her mind screamed.

Snik-ting. The choker slackened on her neck, yet remained there, its magic spent. She'd won.

She gasped for air, saying, “Oh my.”

Palos turned his head,” Did you say something?

Kam disrobed, swung her legs into the tub, slid into the bubbling waters, and began rubbing his head with one hand as she pressed her breasts into his back.

“Just a little choked up is all,” she said. “It’s been a long day.”

“Ah … that’s better,” he said, leaning back into her. “Nothing like being a Prince.”

The steam from the sizzling hot water did little to relieve the tension in her taut muscles. Filled with power she’d longed for, only one question came to mind. What now? She had her magic. She had more power. But she still didn’t have any idea where her daughter was, and she couldn’t go blasting her magic through the tavern like a bull gone wild, even though that’s exactly what she wanted to do.

“It would feel much better if you used both hands, Kam!”

She tossed the red gems on her robes and twitched her fingers at them. The robes moved, concealing the gems.

I should kill you now. She grasped Palos behind the muscles on his neck. But I just don’t think it would be that easy.

She dug her thumbs deeper into Palos’s supple muscles. The man might have gotten hefty over the years, but his svelte feline muscles were still at work under there. She had to be careful, very careful. The man could overpower her in a second.

She brushed her lips against his neck and said, “Feel better?”

“Without question. My, it’s a sudden twist in your attitude. Why so sudden?”

“I just want to see—”

“Pah! Of course. You just want to see your daughter,” he said, mocking her. “Pathetic. It would be best if you lied about liking it. It would make things better for the both of us.”

“I see,” she said, kissing his neck. Bastard! “Does this feel better?” She kissed it again. Like kissing swine.

“You’re learning.”

As much as Kam longed to see her baby and get her to safety, she’d have to play along a bit longer. And hope her shameful acts wouldn’t lead her to kill herself in the meantime.

CHAPTER 26

“OUTPOST THIRTY-ONE!” Jans shouted, slamming his helmet to the ground. “That’s Absurd!”

Venir wasn’t surprised at the reaction. He’d grown accustomed to it over the years, seeing how he’d suggested it a few times before.

“It’s the only foothold the underlings have, Jans,” he argued. “And by the looks of things, I think it’s the best choice. You are low on supplies and getting lower on men. No word has come from the Royals.”

“You are a madman!” He pointed at Venir, gesturing to his men. Each and every one of the commander's top leaders was stark-faced and glum. “I know you swing a mighty axe, but that’s hardly enough to take on an entire underling army. They're thicker than thieves in those forests. Thousands if not tens of thousands.”

Venir shook his head. “You don’t know that, and I don’t believe it. The Royals have done nothing but turn tail and run since the day it was overtaken. One swift assault from the beginning would have gotten it back. Instead, they went back home, hid in the castles, and left all the rest for dead.” He looked down at Jans. “You know I’m right.”

“That’s treason, you renegade,” Jans warned. “I’d be more careful what you say.”

Venir balled up his fist and started to draw back, but stopped. Now wasn’t the time to fight with fists. Maybe, for a change, he could try using words.

“Now is not the time to worry about upsetting a bunch of pouty Royals. Now’s the time to figure out how to survive. You can’t keep running through these hills and jungles until your horses drop dead. You can’t wait for orders from the north. They aren’t coming. What you need to do is take care of these men. If we can get into the Outpost, spread the word, then a greater force might come.”

“You can’t possibly believe we can penetrate an impenetrable Outpost? Hah! It’s not possible. Not even if I had another thousand riders. We’d need siege equipment, too. You can’t really think we can pull this off, can you? Be reasonable. I say we make a bee line for Bone and don’t look back.”

Venir wanted to stick his fist in Jans’s mouth. Certainly the man realized the Outpost had already been overtaken once before.

“They’ll expect that. What they won’t expect is battle at the front gate. We only have to take one gate, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it isn’t as heavily defended as you think. The hilltop’s been as quiet as the dead since the Royals departed.” Venir lifted his brow. “Besides, I think we can take it back the same way they got in.”

“I’m not getting all my men killed.”

Venir looked around. The Royal Riders were a proud group of hard riding adventurers who had battled more than a few times in their lives, judging by the looks of them. Battered and weary, armor dented, chinked and gashed, they looked like they were up for another fight or two.

“You men,” he said, standing tall, “you didn’t become Royal Riders because you wanted to live forever, did you?”

No one said a thing, but the crowed began to stir.

“Do you want to sink your spears into more underling bellies?”

“Aye!” a few responded.

“Have you burned enough of their stinking hides to last you a lifetime?”

“Nay!”

“Are you ready to trample their bones into dust? Stomp their guts in the mud? Or do I have to light a fire under your arses!?”

“Nay!” all of the surrounding men chanted, raising their spears and swords.

“Do we need more forces to show us how to kill the underlings, or do we just need the sound of thundering hooves under our feet?”

“Aye!”

“Are you ready to fight?”

Aye!”

Are you ready to die?”

“Aye!”

“But most of all, are you ready to make the underlings pay?”

“Aye!”

“Aye, Venir, I’m with you!”

“I want to stick my spear so far up their arses I poke their eyes out!”

The Royal Riders shouted and cheered. The entire camp bristled with energy.

Venir hoisted his axe high in the air.

“Release the Hounds of Chaos!”

CHAPTER 27

The days of caring about himself had evaporated over the past few months, now replaced with a strange sense of nobility. Slat! I’m going to save my woman. Well, a woman. And she’s not even that pretty, at that! Melegal traversed the city streets like a grey ghost, the shadows of the dipping suns quickly leaving the street mysterious and deadly compared to the day time.

Looking over his shoulder and ducking into alleys, the city’s craftiest of thieves felt pressed for time. The city had never been like this. The people’s faces and voices were full of panic, and a chronic series of alarms was being raised. The underlings were here. He’d seen them. The rumors and stories were so rampant he’d have sworn the entire city was on fire. This can’t be happening, he thought, running up one narrow set of steps and down another. Underlings in Bone. Insanity!

He climbed up the window sills to the top of an apartment building, then jumped across from one rooftop to the other. Huffing for breath, he hunkered down in the shadows of a chimney stack and peered at his building across the way. Haze shouldn’t be in there. Below him, people were pushing and shoving, gathering their gear and heading towards the gates. He could hear windows being nailed shut and deadbolts sliding into place. Not all of Bone’s residents were going to flee. He assumed most would fight to the death before they moved. Still. I’ve never seen it this bad before. But I don’t see any underlings, either. Oh my!

For the first time, his steely eyes noticed the smoke in the distance and the flames licking from the rooftops. He’d seen plenty of fires in Bone in his lifetime. Civilian riots were the main cause, but they were small and easily quashed under the boots of the City Watch. This, however, was big: an inferno by comparison. He shook his head. What in Bish is going on?

Haze. She’d been nothing but kind, in an odd sort of way, since the first time they met, and he’d almost chopped her fingers off for it. Now, he felt compelled to save her, and for all he knew, she wasn’t in any real danger. He wouldn’t figure they even knew where he lived. It was McKnight’s apartment, after all, the former detective's secret place of privacy. But, the Royals' reach was as long as it was deep. After all, they’d found him once before.

It wasn’t likely that with all the commotion the Almens would be focused on him. And if anything, they were all dead. Lord Almen, Sefron and the Brigand Queen should really already be eliminated from his life, after what happened in the arena. He should be a free man. He could, perhaps, return to the Castle and console Lorda Almen. Who knows, maybe the Brigand Queen is dead. He grinned. Now that would be special. He glanced at his apartment building. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Taking a seat, he leaned back, closed his eyes, listened to the chaos in the streets, and tried to relax. Give it some time. Just a few minutes of peace and quiet.

In his lap, he laid a long rectangular case that he’d removed from Lord Almen’s study. He gently ran his fingers over the edges. I wonder if this is what I think it is.

“What’s in that case?”

Melegal’s eyes snapped open. It was Jubilee.

“How did you get up here?”

“I climbed.”

“You couldn’t have kept up with me,” he said, hiding his incredulity.

“But I did. Why, were you trying to abandon us? I thought we were sticking together,” she said, frowning.

“Little Slerg, just to be frank: yes, I was trying to leave you.” He looked behind her. “Where’s Brak?” Maybe he’s dead and I won't have the blame for that.

“Hidden in the sewers. We can go back after him later. Unless he gets hungry again. Then he’ll leave,” she said, taking a seat beside him.

“We aren’t going back after anyone. You are.”

“I’m not leaving you, and you can’t get away from me. I’m a shadow. That’s what my grandfather said.”

“Do shadows have wings?” Melegal asked, narrowing his eyes.

Jubilee made a strange face and said, “Uh … no. Why?”

Melegal snatched her by the cuff of her shirt and dragged her across the rooftop towards the ledge, saying, “Because you’re going to need them after I toss you over this edge.”

“No! No! I’ll scream!” she cried.

Jubilee’s toes were scraping the ledge.

“I’m not worried; no one will listen. Now, are you going to leave me be, or am I going to have to drop you like rotting cabbage?”

She eyed him, saying, “You wouldn’t drop me. I’m a girl.”

“No, you’re a Slerg,” he said, shoving her farther out. “Are you going to … eh?”

He pulled her back. The sounds of heavy boots were coming down his apartment stairs. Three Watchmen emerged from the entryway and onto the street. One wiped his bloody dagger on his pants leg. Melegal felt his heart in his throat. Haze! The man shoved his dagger back in his sheath, adjusted the black-billed brown cap on his head, laughed, and motioned for his men to follow. Down the street they went. Melegal gawped at his bricked up apartment window.

“Who lives in there? Your wife?”

“No.”

“Your whore then?” Jubilee asked.

“No. Be silent, will you?”

“Well, you look very sad. It must have been someone that meant something to you. So it’s either your wife, a whore, or your mother, and it couldn’t be your mother because you already told me you were a bastard. So which is it? A whore or a wife?”

Melegal heard, but he wasn’t listening. He made his way back down onto the street. Jubilee followed him down, still talking.

“Grandfather says there are only four women in a man’s life: his mother, his wife, his whore … Ah.” She snapped her fingers. “Your sister. But, it couldn’t be your sister, seeing that you were an urchin. So,” she proudly said. “It’s a whore. Grandfather says there are wives and whores and whores that become wives — eek!”

Melegal wrapped his fingers around her neck and said, “What do you call a woman that is not married. A whore? No. Are you married? No. Are you a whore? No.”

“But I’m a sister,” Jubilee squeaked out.

“No, you are an urchin now. And not being married doesn’t make you a whore. Being a whore makes you a whore. And your grandfather, well, it sounds like he knew a lot more about whores than he did about women. Now shut your mouth and come on.”

Melegal was accustomed to seeing the dead, but the thought of Haze covered in blood with frozen eyes affixed to the ceiling caused a feeling of fluttering moths in his stomach. Crossing the road and taking the steps up three at a time, he found himself at the top staring at a busted door. Please, no!

Stepping through the doorway, the fireplace was the first thing he saw, its embers cold. A table was overturned, two flower vases were shattered, and his easy chair was turned over. Anything that wasn’t affixed to something was broken, except the door to the tiny bedroom. In two long steps, Melegal made it from one side of the room to the other and stepped inside.

Haze lay face down on the bed, unmoving, the sheets red with blood.

He touched her bare leg, noting the bruises on her ankles. Gently, he rolled her onto her back and studied her battered face. She looked like she’d fallen face first down a stone staircase, but she was breathing, barely. Her skinny legs had been sliced and poked. But she was alive.

“Is she dead?” Jubilee said, peaking in the door.

Melegal said nothing.

Jubilee stepped up to the foot of the bed and watched the feeble rising of Haze’s chest. The little girl’s eyes traveled from Haze’s toes to her head. “You do have a sister. I’m sorry. I had it all wrong.”

Haze’s good eye fluttered open as she tried to say something.

“It’s Me. Don’t talk. I’ll get you some aid, Haze.”

Haze’s voice was garbled, and she winced as she spoke, but he could still understand what she said.

“No. I’m fine. I’ve taken heavier beatings from Sis and Frigdah before. Just get me up and find me some wine, water or something. Oooh,” she moaned, “face feels like it got hit with a sack of gravel.”

“It looks like it, too,” Jubilee added.

“What?” Haze looked at the little girl, then up at Melegal. “Who in Bone is she?”

Melegal helped Haze back to her feet. “I’ll explain when it matters. I suppose those men were looking for me?”

“Yup,” she said, pulling out a loose tooth and flicking it away. “Why?”

Slat! That meant either Lord Almen, Sefron or possibly the Brigand Queen were looking for him. But how had they managed to find his apartment so fast? Very little time had passed since he’d left Almen Castle. But that door, something about that door, the magic portal they sailed through. He was certain it had been later in the day when he arrived than when he'd left. At least a couple of hours had been lost. He led Haze to the living room. “What did they say?”

“They wanted to know where they could find you.”

“And what did you tell them?”

Haze managed a smile. “I told them you had a woman in District Seven and you stayed there sometimes. I told them you were a dirty bastard that had a thing for bloated whores. I told them your—”

“I get it,” he said, patting her on the backside. “Why District Seven?”

“Just a place where someone I don’t like lives, is all.”

“Good girl,” he said, stopping to take one last look at his apartment.

Haze hugged his side and said, “We had good times here, didn’t we?”

Sadly, he said, “Some of the best.”

“You’re an awfully strange brother and sister,” Jubilee added, “but don’t worry: I have a nice place you can stay with me down in the sewers.”

And the rat returns from whence he came.

CHAPTER 28

“How much longer are we going to wait out here, Billip?”

Since being tossed from the Drunken Octopus, Georgio felt tired and agitated. The entire city, a place he’d become quite accustomed to at one time, screamed insanity. The City of Three was so much better. Now, he sat on a melon crate, twiddling his thumbs.

“Stop fidgeting,” Billip said, cracking his knuckles for the 1000 time. “We’ll go shortly if we have to. Whatever he’s doing, he’s taking his sweet time about it. Wouldn’t surprise me if he was lost.”

That wouldn’t surprise Georgio one bit. He’d gotten lost in Bone a few times before, himself.

He looked up at Billip and said, “Do you ever get a funny feeling that things aren’t right? I mean, I just don’t feel like myself right now.”

Billip slid an arrow from his quiver and started scratching the tip in the dirt. “Ah … that’s just your young loins talking. That girl, Velvet, got you all stirred up down there. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. It’ll show til the day you die. A woman does that to a—”

“No Billip. Not that!” Georgio pressed his hands to his ears, shook his head, and then let them back down. “That’s all you and Mikkel talked about coming down here. It’s disgusting.”

“One day, you won’t think so.” Billip smiled, then snapped his fingers. “I bet he’s with a woman!” His green eyes widened. “Oh no!”

“What?”

“I just remembered. I think his wife lives in this town.”

“Mikkel’s married?” Georgio asked.

“Used to be. Hmmm … but where in Bone would she be? You should see her. Something else.”

Georgio leaned forward.

“Really pretty, huh?”

Billip made a sour face. “Bish, no! She’s squat legged like a kobold and as barrel chested as an ogre. Feisty as a hungry badger. I’d rather cut off my arm than spend a night with her.”

“She couldn’t be that bad,” Georgio said, laughing.

“Well, every woman has her graces. Mikkel's woman just hides hers much better than the rest. Like a squirrel hides a nut, that is.”

Georgio chuckled so hard he fell off his crate. Billip had the funniest way of putting things. He tipped the crate back up and resumed his seat.

“Billip, really, do you have a feeling that things are not normal? Lefty’s feet used to sweat when things weren’t right. Right now,” he patted his tummy,” I’m not even hungry. I’m always hungry!”

Twirling the arrow in his fingers, Billip said, “Whatever it is, I’m sure it will go away. Now let’s go.”

“What? Already?”

“I’m not waiting on the brute a minute longer. It wouldn’t surprise me one bit if he was frolicking with that heifer,” Billip said, slinging his bow over his shoulder and walking away.

Georgio jumped to his feet and followed.

“He said he was going to look into things. Maybe he ran into underlings.”

“I don’t see or smell any. Now come on. He’s smart enough to know where we’ll be.”

“The stable?”

“Yes, but first, I want to check out the main gates.”

“Why?”

“Look around. All the people are gone.”

“What about Velvet?” Georgio said, stopping to turn around and look. She’d made quite the impression on him, and he hated to leave her.

“She isn’t going anywhere. You can look for her when we come back.”

Billip led; Georgio followed. Ahead of him, the man strutted through the alleys and down the abandoned streets, elbows swinging and head on a swivel. Billip looked like he was trying to keep an eye on everything at once. Not nervous by doing so, but casual. Georgio found himself looking around, too, but he didn’t notice anything. Just ugly buildings that should be torn down. He missed his bed in the City of Three. It was soft and warm. He wondered how Kam was doing. I bet she’s glad I’m no longer around.

“Quit gawking, Boy. We’re almost there.”

When they rounded the next corner, Georgio was bewildered by the sight. Thousands of men, women and children now crowded the inner gate. They had pack mules, carts and wagons loaded, fighting and pressing as hard to get out as what he’d seen on the other side to get in.

“I’ve never seen so many crammed together before. Not even for a hanging,” he said.

“Look up there,” Billip said, pointing at the top of the wall.

Georgio had never seen so many soldiers before. Where there were normally ten spaced out along the perimeter, there were at least a hundred, if not more.

“There really must be underlings in this city,” he said, looking at Billip and all around. “What do we do now?”

“If I had a business set up, I’d be making a mighty profit now!” Billip said, clenching his fists and teeth. “Now I’m missing out. Nothing like a crisis to fill a smart man’s pockets. Nothing, indeed. Wouldn’t surprise me one bit if the Royals were the cause of all this.” Billip eyed the spire of the nearest castle. “No. Wouldn’t surprise me one bit at all. Bloody thieves. Come on. Let’s lay low in the stable. We aren’t going anywhere this way.”

“What about Mikkel?”

“He’ll figure it out.”

Georgio followed on heavy feet, trying to make sense of what was going on around him. Underlings had invaded his last two homes, and that unsettling feeling was only growing in his gut. Where are you, Venir?

It wasn’t long before the scent of hay and fresh manure wafted into his nostrils, and some of that odd feeling drifted away. The old barn was quiet and dark. Billip slowed his pace, eyeballing his surroundings. Nothing seemed out of place to Georgio, but as he started to speak, Billip cut him off with his hand. The archer slipped an arrow from his quiver and notched it on the string. One thought raced through Georgio’s mind. Underlings!

Georgio had just slid his sword from the sheath when a stark realization hit him like a pan in the face. Every stall and gate was the perfect hiding place for an … Ambush. Had he not seen it used for the same purpose? The time had come for him to start thinking fast for a change. Should we retreat? What about Quickster? He had to make sure the shaggy pony was well. The hilt of his sword was slippery in his palm as they crept farther into the barn.

Billip stopped and pulled his bowstring back as a stall gate creaked nearby. Something darted across the dirt: black, brown and grey. A cat! One moment there, the next it was gone.

Billip looked back at him and gave him a wry smile.

“I almost shot that thing. The poor light can be tricky if you’re not careful. I’d hate to waste an arrow.”

Georgio swallowed hard and wiped the sweat from his brow. After a few dozen more steps, they stood at Quickster’s stall. Billip guarded the corridor, and Georgio swung open the stable gate. In the dimness, he could see the shaggy pony lying on its back, legs upward, knees bent downward, without a care in the world.

Georgio entered, bent down, rubbed the pony’s shaggy black belly, and said, “Can I light a lantern?”

“Go ahead; just don’t burn down the place. Wait a minute.”

Georgio froze.

“Someone’s coming.”

He stepped out of the stall and looked down towards the end of the barn. A man carrying a bottle was swaggering their way.

“Where’d he come from?” Georgio whispered.

“I don’t know. He just slipped out of those shadows.”

Georgio remembered the old stable hand who’d always been there over the years. The old man, a toothless dullard with flakes and lice in his hair, hadn’t been present when they arrived. It was odd. He usually saw the man most of the time. But this man was different. His gait was somewhat staggered, and his tall frame slightly hunched.

“Looks like a drunkard or vagrant,” Billip said from the corner of his mouth. “I’ll handle it.”

But Georgio couldn’t stop watching the silhouette that approached. The closer he came, the bigger he was, bigger than most men, almost as big as Mikkel. Venir? He took two steps forward, and that’s when he heard it. The sound of a ragged breath, like someone exhaling broken glass. His fingers started to ache, and the muscles in his body froze. It wasn’t Venir. It was Tonio.

“You! Tonio pointed Georgio’s way, his voice garbled and broken when he spoke. “I know you. I knew someone would be back. I wait. I find. I kill.”

“Sh-Sh-Sh …,” Georgio tried to say Shoot but couldn’t.

Twang!

Billip’s arrow plunged into Tonio’s armored shoulder. The split-faced man locked his hand down on the arrow, took a swig from his bottle, and yanked it out.

The sound of the shaft pulling from the muscle and bone made Georgio’s innards flex.

“Who is this man?” Billip said, pulling back the next arrow.

“T-Tonio …,” Georgio said, sputtering.

“Ah, I see. One more step, and I’ll add a third to your head,” Billip warned, pulling the string back along his cheek.

Tonio dropped the arrow to the ground. Georgio’s eyes froze on the half-dead man. Tonio was tall, plated from the waist up in mismatched armor. Two swords hung on his hips; another was sheathed on his back. His jaw hung to the right side of his mouth. In the twilight darkness, his black eyes sparkled, demented.

“Shoot him again,” Georgio managed.

Tonio held up his hand. “Tell me where the Vee-Man is, and I might spare you.”

Billip said, “Oh, so you are the Yellow Hair Butcher, are you not? There is quite a nice bounty on your head.”

Tonio’s chin dipped down as he eyed Billip.

“You’ll never collect it. Tell me where the Vee-Man is … NOW!”

Tonio’s voice scattered the pigeons from the rafters.

Billip let another shaft fly.

Tonio snapped his forearms in front of his face.

Chink.

The arrow juttered on the metal bracer.

“Impossible!” Billip nocked another arrow and fired.

Chink.

Tonio took another step forward. Georgio took a step backward, trying to blink the living nightmare away.

“Tell me where the Vee-Man is!” Tonio growled, ripping a sword from the sheath on his back. “I remember those fingers, Boy. They might grow back, but your head won’t. Not after I eat it.”

Twang! Twang!

Billip pinned one foot to the ground, then the other.

“Pah! You’ll be out of arrows soon, Little Man.”

Tonio guzzled down what was left of his whine and tossed the bottle aside.

“Shoot him again, Billip!” Georgio said, shuffling behind the man.

Billip unloaded another feathered shaft at Tonio’s face. Tonio knocked it aside in one fluid motion with his sword, reached down, and pulled the other shafts from his feet. He drew his other sword. “When Vee-Man comes, I’ll be eating your bones.” He pointed one sword at Georgio. “But I’ll be saving yours for last.”

“Run, Georgio!” Billip said, backing away as he reloaded.

Twang!

This arrow caught Tonio full in the chest, but he was already running. Tonio’s bigger body slammed into Billip, driving him hard to the ground. Billip had his fingers wrapped around one of Tonio’s wrists as the other sword hand came down. There was a sickening sound of metal meeting bone as Billip cried out and went limp. As Tonio rose his arm to deliver the next deadly blow, Georgio charged.

“NOOOOO!”

He whacked Tonio full in the chest with the edge of his blade, knocking the man backward. With one mighty swing after another, Georgio drove the monster man backwards. Tonio parried again, again and again, then let out a frightening laugh.

“Tired are you, Young Man? Do not fear, you’ll not feel fatigue much longer.”

Tonio swung.

Georgio parried. The powerful blow stung his hands. Gasping for breath, Georgio took another swing.

Clang!

Tonio swatted it away like a child’s rattle.

“Come, Boy, just lead me to the Vee-Man. His head is all I want. Vengeance I must have for what he did to me. See?” He ran his finger down the face of his nasty scar. “Vengeance so I can rest. Tell, and I shall go away.”

Georgio’s arms quavered as he rose his sword up. He’d never been so tired before, not even during the challenge. There was quite a big difference between swinging a heavy sword and swinging a Dussack knife. Huffing and puffing, he said, “You won’t find him. You’ll never kill him. He’s gone.”

Clang!

Tonio knocked his sword from his hand, grabbed him by the throat, and lifted him from the ground. Georgio couldn’t get over the putrid smell of rot and alcohol as he gawped for air, his face turning red as a beet.

“He must come back. I must kill the Vee-Man.”

Tonio looked as cunning as he was deranged, horrifying Georgio, who kicked and struggled, but Tonio was too powerful. Unyielding. Unnatural. It was like that final moment with the Vicious before it cut his throat was happening all over again. I can’t let him eat my head. Fight or Die! He kicked at Tonio’s belly harder and harder, but the man was like a statue.

“I wait for Vee-Man. But you die.”

He could hear the leather in Tonio’s gauntlet squeak as the pressure began to build behind his eyes. I don’t want to die again.

Clatch-Zip!

Something rocketed past his ear, and he found himself on his hands and knees, coughing. He rolled to his back and looked up to see Tonio reeling, a large crossbow bolt lodged in his neck.

Clatch-Zip!

Another bolt ripped through the air, hitting Tonio in the leg, sending him spinning to the ground. A large man with a heavy studded club started pounding the man into submission. The club rose and fell. Wham! Wham! Wham! It was Mikkel.

Georgio reached for his sword and rose back to his feet.

“Who is this man, Georgio?” Mikkel cried out, bringing down his club with all he had.

“It’s the Yellow Hair Butcher,” Billip said, blood dripping from his mouth. “And the bounty’s mine.”

Mikkel hit Tonio again, harder than the last. Georgio could see the sweat glistening on the back of the man’s neck. Tonio was regaining his feet, a golem that would not be put down, swords still dangling in his hands.

Whack!

Billip hit him in the arm.

Whack!

In the knee.

Whack!

Upside the head, but Tonio kept on coming.

“What in Bish is this man made of?” Mikkel said, laboring for breath.

“Hit him again, Father,” an unknown voice cut through the darkness, or maybe that was the torch being carried by a young man, about Georgio’s size, who was also holding a heavy crossbow.

Whack!

“Good thinking, Nikkel.”

Whack!

“Enough!” Tonio groaned, swords flashing in the light.

Slice! Slice! Slice!

“Argh!” Mikkel roared, dropping his club. Tonio cut deep into his arm, leg and across his belly.

Clatch-Zip!

Tonio stopped. A bolt was planted square between his eyes. He teetered backward and fell to the ground.

Mikkel was gasping for air, blood dripping from his wounds. “Great shot, Boy.”

“That’s my bounty,” Billip managed. The archer was grimacing in the torch light. His arm dangled from his shoulder. “I’ll need money to stitch my arm back together. Pah!” He spat a mouthful of blood. “Well … what are you looking at? I’m about to die over here. Do something!” His eyes rolled up in his head as he slumped back to the ground.

Georgio dashed into the stable and led Quickster out. Mikkel was carrying Billip in his arms. “What do we do?” Georgio asked, worried.

“I’ve never seen him this bad before. We can head for the nearest castle,” Mikkel shook his head. “We’ll just have to ask the Royals for a favor.”

“What about Tonio?” Georgio asked.

When he looked back. Tonio was gone.

CHAPTER 29

“Delicious, simply delicious,” Morley Sickle said, nibbling on another morsel of food. It was the finest dining he’d ever had. He’d never imagined there was so much that the tongue could experience. “The bread, the roasted meat and those vegetables that you … er … what did you do to it?”

“Sautéed’,” a prosperous man replied, sitting by his side at an unusually long dining table.

“Yes, yes! Sautéed. Excellent. I’d never known food could be prepared as such before. Marvelous.”

“More wine, My Lord?” a blossoming servant girl asked, with hands and face as delicate as the fine cloth draped over his lap.

Morley licked his teeth and said, “Absolutely,” while reaching over and patting her on the rear. My. A man could really get used to this.

“Are you enjoying yourself, Morley, my friend?” the most dashing man asked from the far side of the table.

It was Scorch. The man who could do anything it seemed, which included making him a Royal.

Morley could feel his face stretching into a smile as wide as a canoe. It must be this wine! He couldn’t contain it, marveling at the excellent dining hall. The chandeliers, each candle lit, hung twelve feet high in the air. The walls were cut limestone, where the most extravagant painted scenes of landscapes and battles were displayed. His wine goblet was pure silver, and his plates a fine porcelain. He never imaged so much wealth in the world. The Royals did well to keep that hidden from the citizens.

“I am, Scorch, but … I don’t think the rest of us are,” he said, sucking down more wine as he eyed the others seated at the table.

“No! Er .. excuse me, no ,ahem, Lord Sickle. It’s just been a busy day, is all,” said one Lord dressed in a tunic and pants as expensive as a suit of armor. On each side of the man, two others were face down in their food, dead. “And, ahem, quite frankly, I’m not accustomed to eating in the presence of the dead.” The Lord’s head lurked back on his neck. “Not with my brothers, anyway.”

“Well,” Scorch said, rising from his chair and tossing his long blond hair over his shoulder, “perhaps they should have known better than to interrupt my friend, Lord Sickle. And,” Scorch twitched his finger on his nose, “I’m not so sure what to make of your tone, Lord Ashlorn. I sense agitation in your tone.”

The satin clad women at the table, five in all, one just as pretty as the next, let out gasps. All except one, quite weathered, almost ancient. She was scraping her spoon on the soup bowl.

Slurp. Scrape. Slurp.

Lord Ashlorn dabbed his forehead on his cloth napkin, shaking his head.

“Forgiveness, Lord Scorch—”

“Lord Sickle is over there,” Scorch nodded. “I’m not a Lord. I’m well above this drivel.”

“Er … yes, forgive me, Lord Sickle. But, I must confess, I am somewhat … uh, “ he eyed his dead brothers, “frightened.”

Morley hiccuped as he waved his wobbling hand at the man. “Oh, phish-posh, Lord Ashlorn. How could I ever be upset with my father-in law? Especially after he’s blessed me with such beau—beautiful brides.” He reached over and patted the trembling arm of the woman on his right. She was young, barely a woman, hair long and black like a sparrow. Her chin was quivering as she closed her eyes. “Hah. Now that’s pretty.”

In the other chair on his right, another woman sat, older, full figured, with a frown as big as a hat. She was Lorda Ashlorn, Lord Ahlorn’s wife. Morley leaned over, puckered his lips and kissed her half on the lips.

“Heh-heh, I kissed her. I haven’t kissed a girl since I was a young man,” he said, licking his lips. “And she was as ugly as a mountain goat.” He tried to kiss her again and slipped from his chair onto the floor. “She kicked like one, too. Heh-heh.”

“SOMEBODY HELP HIM UP!” Scorch ordered, the polish in his voice turned hard as a wetting stone.

Everyone at the table moved, aside from the old woman, whom Scorch resumed helping with her spoon. Morley felt several pairs of hands helping him back up into his seat and dusting off his clothes.

“Thank you,” he said.

Every face was stark, leaving him with an uneasy feeling. Before in life, most people hardly noticed him, now they were all terrified of him. Friendly or not.

“Oh, this is ridiculous. I don’t belong here,” he said, dropping his face into his hands.

“Certainly you do,” Scorch said. “You’ve as a much reason to be here as the rest.”

“Certainly," Lord Ashlorn agreed.

“Absolutely, here, let me rub your shoulders. They must ache after that fall,” his eldest bride said, showing a slight smile.

But Morley, dispatched as he might be, could still feel their uncertainty. Their fear was mixed with loathing and self-preservation. They only did what they did because they had no other choice. It was either that or die. He snorted. He’d not spent much time around many people, but he’d been an avid listener over the years. The Royals in Hohm City, though not as intrusive as the others, still did not hesitate to exert their will. Serves them well.

“What was that, Morley?” Scorch said.

Pickles. Pickles. hic. Pickles.

“Nothing, I just .. I just want to lie down. I think I’m getting sick.”

“Have they poisoned you?” Scorch said. As he did so, all of the knives and forks on the grand table rose up on end.

A collective shiver filled the room. Even Morley, as dull as he senses were, blanched at the sudden height of danger.

“Scorch! Blast you! I’ve no quarrel with them,” he said, watching the forks and knives slowly rise from the table. “Please, put the silverware down. I’ve seen too many die today. I don’t want to see any more.”

Scorch looked at him, blue eyes shining as bright as the sky. “But these people don’t like you, Morley.”

“No, we do like you,” Lorda Ashlorn fell to her knees, “You are excellent, Lord Sickle. Worthy of the most high on highs.” She clutched the silk of his pants and whispered. “Please don’t let him kill us. Please.”

The desperation in the pretty woman’s voice and face sunk Morley’s heart down between his knees. In a matter of hours, Scorch had over taken a castle, wiped out an entire garrison of guards, and delivered unto him everything he could ever hope for: the finest wine, women and clothing a man could find, but in all its splendor he was still not content. All he wanted was peace. Pickles. Pickles. Pickles.

The women trembled and sobbed, huddling close to one another while the knives and forks flashed and spun in the air. Every Royal was wide-eyed with terror when their heads weren’t hunkered down. All accept the leathery old woman, whose satin sleeve now rested in the bowl of soup she scraped, determined to get every last drop in her mouth.

“She's lying, Morley,” Scorch said, his silvery voice as hard as stone. “She wants you to leave. You repulse her. She thinks you are unworthy of the dirt beneath a chair.”

“No,” the Lorda said, rubbing his thighs, “It’s not true, Lord Sickle. I’ve no such inclination. Your will and pleasure are mine. I assure you. I’ll show you.”

“Hah! She’s a convincing one. Aren’t they all?” Scorch said as the knives and forks continued to spin over their heads. “Come now, Morley. You have everything you want now. A beautiful woman grovels on her knees. Your belly is filled, and you’ve drunk wine pressed from mystic vineyards you didn’t even know existed. Yet still, you are unhappy. Why is that? Is it these people?”

“NO!” Morley shouted. “NO! NO! NO!” he slammed his fists on the table. “It’s YOU, SCORCH! Why won’t you leave me alone!” Morley rose to his feet and began tearing off his clothes. He ripped his shirt off. Scorch replaced it with another. He pulled of his shoes and tossed them across the room, only to see them reappear over his toes. “STOP IT! STOP IT!”

“MORLEY!”

The entire castle shook as Scorch rose from the floor, his eyes flashing with anger. All the Royals who lived were scrambling for the doors.

WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!

The Royals fell to their knees, begging for mercy, waning at the threshold of the secured doors.

For the first time in his life, Morley felt something overcoming his fear: anger. He didn’t care what Scorch said, what Scorch did. He could not take it anymore.

“Leave me be, Scorch or whoever you are! Be the curse of someone else. Follow these people! Read their thoughts! Leave mine alone! Ulp!”

Morley stood as still as a tree as the whirling knives and forks lowered around his head. The look on Scorch's face was one he had not seen before. Impatient. Dangerous.

“I suppose you would rather die than spend another moment with me; is that it?”

Morley swallowed hard. His sweat dripped into his mouth. Scorch had given him everything he ever wanted, except the power to make his own choice. He couldn’t take it anymore. No life like this was worth living. Not like this. He just wanted his old life back. To be left alone to make his jig. He nodded.

The silverware hummed to life, spinning faster and faster, the circle narrowing around his neck. Morley heard a woman scream. He shut his eyes. Pickles. Pickles. Pickles. Blasted Pickles!

One eye snapped open at the sound of silverware clattering to the ground. The first thing he noticed as he scanned the room was that Scorch was gone. He let out a strange little laugh, like a man whose sanity had returned after a long absence. He opened his mouth to speak. No! Don’t say his name. Don’t even utter it. Don’t even think it again.

Lord Ashlorn was the first to rise back to his feet. Hawking, long-limbed and heavy set the man ambled over, casting quick glances all over the room.

“Is he gone?” the Royal said, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder.

Morley showed a bewildered smile and said, “Yes, I believe so. Ur … Lord Ashlorn, I am sorry for all of the — urk!”

Morley felt a dagger being rammed through his stomach and out his back. His knees weakened as his body slid from the blade, and he crumbled to the ground. He could see his brides, young and old, sneering down on him as if he was an old rabid dog. His lips stammered under his nose as he tried to summon his last gasping word. Scorch. There was no reply, and he died with the taste of blood and pickles in his mouth.

***

Hohm City was such dreary place. Devoid of the suns' brilliant light and the moons' soothing glow thanks to the chronic company of mist and fog. No. It wasn’t something that was going to be missed by Scorch. But Morley Sickle was. Why the man wouldn’t accept all that had been given him, he didn’t understand. It was clear though: the people of Bish were a stubborn lot. They would rather die than change.

Scorch made his way on foot through the marsh until he passed through the great pillars that marked the entrance to the road to the city. Before him, a hot dry land of cracked mud and hard ground awaited for miles in all directions. He'd learned enough about it before, when he traveled to Hohm City. The kind folk he’d traveled with had taught him a lot about the lands in the world of Bish that they knew. Certainly, there had to be a better place than Hohm.

“Where would you like to go?” he asked.

A woman, maybe thirty, with light brown hair down to her wide hips, strutted like a warrior by his side. She’s a gutsy woman, big boned, rough-handed and durable. Perhaps she'll better handle what Morley Sickle could not. Plus, she had a funny way of talking, and Scorch liked that.

“Well, I’ve been south, as far as the settlements beyond dwarven hole. Met my first husband there, but buried him here.” She thumbed the marsh. “Well, not really buried. Just killed him for cheating and dropped his bones in the swamp. He’s a troll’s booger now. Naw, I says we go to the City of Three. I hear it’s really pretty there. That’s where most all the nice things come from anyway.” She tied her hair up in a knot and swung it back over her shoulder. “Of course, you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Scorch smiled.

“Indeed, I did. So, Darlene, do you prefer to walk or ride?”

She set her hands to the hunting knifes at her hips and looked around.

“Well, I don’t see any horses. Do you? Besides, I don’t mind walking. My mother says my father was a dwarf, but I just think she says that cause I’m not very pretty. Besides, with these new boots you got me, I feel like I could walk forever.” She scratched her head. “Can you make horses, too?”

Scorch chuckled.

“I can make anything. I just can’t make you happy.”

“Aw, don’t worry about that.” She spat on the ground. “I’m always happy so long as there's game to be tracked, shot, fetched and skinned. I’m going to feed you like a mountain king. You’ll see. I can shoot a swamp rat cutting through the marsh at fifty yards. I once killed a bobcat with my bare hands. I smashed a boar with a log …”

CHAPTER 30

The City of Bone. Panic. Chaos. Confusion. The Royals were walled up in their castles while the soldiers and Watchmen marched through the streets in heavy armor and heavy hands. The underling strike had shocked the very core of the hardiest citizens in Bone with its effects spreading and long lasting. District 27 wasn’t any different, but the people there, long forgotten, were not in a panic. Instead, they went about their business, rebuilding one block at a time.

Trinos was perched on a bench facing the soothing waters of the fountain. Her platinum hair was brilliant in the light, along with the rest of her as well. The people who served her had worked hard all day long, and now they sat along the busted roads and dipped bread into soup bowls. A little girl, no more than six, was filling a pitcher with water. Her little smile was as warm as the suns as she curtsied towards Trinos and scurried away. It felt good, seeing people get things done, despite themselves. If only more of them would act the same.

“Ahem … Trinos?” said Corrin, taking a seat beside her.

She continued her gaze into the fountain and replied, “Yes.”

“The people, well, they are getting nervous, despite their graces. Frightened, unlike anything I’ve ever seen.” Corrin pulled the cloth coif from his head and held it to his chest. “The Royals are one thing to deal with. But Underlings, well that is quite another. They say they are the most atrocious creatures in all of Bish. Vicious. They eat people as they live!”

The underlings. Yes, they indeed were vicious. After all, she was the one who'd created them for such intents and purposes. Well, they were a loose creation copied from another world. Just a spice to give the boiling pot more flavor. Now it felt odd being among the people witnessing and hearing the testimonies of personal terror. She ran her delicate fingers through her hair then patted Corrin on the knee. The man’s grim face brightened a little as he pulled his narrow shoulders back and offered a toothy smile.

“Corrin, tell the people they’ll always be safe with me. As for the underlings ….” She stopped and cocked her head. Someone close by and coming their way was near death. “Corrin. A man needs aid down Warrow’s street. Lead him and his companions to me.”

Corrin’s heavy lids blinked as he said, “But, we’ve helped enough—”

“Corrin,” she warned, narrowing her eyes.

He nodded.

“As you wish.”

Stubborn man. They all were. But Corrin was faithful. Being a man of notorious ilk left his compassionate side as barren as a burned bee hive. But he kept the people working, much harder than they cared for, but as he reminded them, he was merciful compared to the Royals. Even though he really wasn’t. They were just better fed and not whipped, at least not that she saw.

She rose to her feet and watched down the street. Four men approached her sanctuary: two young , two older including the one who was near death from his wounds. As Corrin led them from the street buildings' shadows and into the courtyard, she got a better look at them. They were a durable group, not attached to anything like the other people, with an amount of unusual pain and suffering carrying on their faces, unlike the rest of the people.

The biggest one, built like a black marble statue, was the first to glance her way. She saw the whites of his eyes as he gawped and stared. She felt him fight the urge to fall to his knees and beg for her hand in marriage. Yet, his concern for his friend prevented him from doing so.

“This one’s wounded,” Corrin said, “very bad. His arm’s almost chopped in two. I’d say he’s pretty much dead already by the look of him. Shall I get a shovel?”

Trinos stepped around the bench and made her way over to the man on the shaggy pony. The wounded man’s clothes were soaked in blood, and the young man behind him strained to hold him up.

“Hold him still,” she said in a soothing voice.

The wiry man moved his head around the back of his comrades to gaze upon her. “I’ll be still,” he sputtered, “so long as you stay right there. But I go where you go.” He gawped and grimaced, continuing his stare as if he’d seen a woman for the first time.

She laid her hand on the wounded man’s bloody shoulder and let her power run its course. The sound of muscles and bones stitching together was sickening. The man lurched up in the saddle. His chin cracked back into the face of the man behind him, but that man held on.

“YEE-OUCH!” the man cried as he gulped for air and blinked a dozen times.

No one said anything. All the men just stood in the courtyard watching her, eyes filled with wonder, lust and amazement. Corrin stepped in front of her.

“Your man is healed. You can all leave now.” He held his hand out. “But, I’ll be needing a contribution … a big one. It’s not every day a man gets brought back from the dead.”

“I-I wasn’t dead,” Billip said, craning his neck to get a better look at Trinos. “I was dreaming, and even in my dreams I’ve seen nothing like you. Will you—”

“Marry me!” Mikkel interjected.

Trinos let out a polite laugh.

“You are a passionate pair, I’ll say that much. But I have other things in mind for the both of you.”

Billip slid from Quickster’s back and started rolling his shoulder.

“My hitch: it’s gone.” He opened and closed his fingers in front of his face. “And I feel stronger, more like when I was young.” He looked at her and said, “Whatever you have in mind, I’m up for it.”

“So am I,” Mikkel said, stepping in front of his smaller friend.

“But we have to find Venir!” Georgio objected.

“Venir doesn’t have legs like that,” Mikkel said, smiling from ear to ear.

“Father!” Nikkel said, giving Mikkel an odd look.

Billip’s head snapped at the tall black young man with pale blue eyes and broad shoulders and said, “Nikkel! Where’d you come from? Why, you’re practically a man!”

“I’ve been with my mother for the past few weeks. Made the trek with the merchants.” He slapped the steel on his hip. “I worked as a guard.”

Trinos took her place back on her bench as the men got reacquainted. They were unlike the rest of the men in the City of Bone: fearless, dangerous and even jovial, they spoke with course words and high spirits. They were men who had seen it all. They were just what she needed.

“Come, men. Sit and drink from the fountain,” she said. “Corrin, please find them food and goblets.”

“But … Eh, as you wish,” Corrin said, frowning.

“And fetch some bandages for this man’s wounds.” She nodded at Mikkel. “Are you well, man of many thews?”

Mikkel almost blushed as he said, “Ah, the bleeding stopped, but I could still use a stitch or two.”

With a snap of her fingers, two women appeared almost in an instant, sitting Mikkel down and getting to work.

The other men seated themselves on the fountain's edge, the youngest sampling the waters.

“Billip. Georgio. Mikkel and son, Nikkel. It’s a pleasure to meet you all. My name is Trinos, and I’m the caregiver of this District. I could use a few men such as you.”

They all stared at her as if they’d never heard language spoken before, except one. The younger man called Georgio. He had other things on his mind, though he still found her fascinating, just not to the point where it bridled his tongue.

“We are trying to find my friend, Venir.” He glared at the others. “And we were, well, about to leave, when Billip was wounded. But now that you’ve healed him, I think we can continue on.”

“Will you hush your mouth, Boy?” Billip said. “This lady saved me, and I’ll not be leaving her side to find Venir. Nor would he expect me to. Whatever he’s into, I’m sure he’ll be just fine.”

“Yeah, be quiet, Georgio, and show some respect to this fine woman,” Mikkel said, gesturing toward her with his hand, “whom I’m certain I’d eat my hand for. Pardon me, Trinos, but not in all of Bish has a woman such as you touched her toes on this dirt. I’d fight an army of underlings for you.”

It was Billip’s turn to step in front of Mikkel. “I’d fight ten armies!”

Trinos smiled. The men’s passion rose like waters from a dam, almost blocking out all reason. They’d kill for her, and she knew it. It seemed foolish to think a man would go to such great lengths over a woman, even though it was her. Maybe it was time she put a damper on things. She shifted her face and figure into something less bewitching.

Corrin arrived with two women who set food and goblets at their feet.

“Men, eat and drink,” she said, flipping her brown hair over her shoulder.

“Ah,” Corrin said, gaping at her, “see what you two did? I hate it when she does that.”

Billip and Mikkel blinked and stared, eyeing her less pronounced features. She could feel their thoughts returning back to normal.

Billip clutched at his shoulder. “Mercy. I hope your healing is not an illusion as well.”

“Oh, I assure you your arm is healed, yet your vile thoughts, well, they need some work.” She eyed Mikkel. “Yours, too. After all, you’ve a son to set a good example for.”

“Uh …,” Mikkel said, staring blankly back at her, “yes.”

“So, you men have fought many underlings, have you not?”

“Er … well, of course. We’ve slain a great many,” Billip said, pushing his chest out.

“I’ve slain more than him, Trinos. At least two to his one,” Mikkel interjected, flexing his muscles. “He’s never fought any face to face.”

“What! I’ve saved you from more underlings than you killed.”

Mikkel stood up and pointed in Billip’s face.

“One time! One time you saved me. I’ve peeled those black leeches from your back a dozen times. In the mud. In the water. You’re a dead goose as soon as they get within ten feet of you, Billip. You know that!”

Billip jumped to his feet and started poking Mikkel in the chest.

“You’re as stupid as a troll with the memory of a slug and the accuracy of a toad. I’ve seen kobolds that shoot, slat and fight better than you!”

“That’s it!” Mikkel pulled off his shirt and snatched his crossbow from Nikkel’s hands. “We’re gonna see who’s the better shot, right here and right now!”

Trinos liked the bravado. The men were fearless and full of fire. It wasn’t something she’d experienced much of in the City of Bone. The young men, Georgio and Nikkel, were all smiles as well. But Corrin, his hands fell to the pommels of his blades, eyes and feet shifting around as if the fountain was about to explode.

Billip snatched up his bow and snagged three arrows from the quiver.

“Georgio, take the pitcher and hold it up over your head, yonder.”

“I’m not doing that! Go hold it up yourself, you knuckle cracking fool!”

By this time, a crowd of Trinos's people had gathered. She sensed their emotion rising at the thought of the competition. It was the most energy she’d felt from them ever. It shouldn’t have been a surprise to her. After all, it was a big part of their makeup. She stepped between them.

“Men, I have no doubt about your prowess—”

“My prowess is bigger than his prowess,” Mikkel said, snarling.

“Is not!”

“Stop it, please!”

Everyone fell to their knees, except the newcomers. Even Corrin kneeled.

“Listen everyone! These men, Billip and Mikkel, have slain multitudes of underlings, and they are here to protect us.”

Mikkel and Billip’s bodies slackened as they looked around and lowered their weapons.

Trinos raised her arms and continued.

“So, treat them as one of us. Fear the underlings no more. Fear the Royals no more. You have food, water, and now, protection.” She lowered her arms back down. “Now, rest. We’ve much work to begin tomorrow.”

“What about the competition?” a thickset woman with a head full of curls asked.

“Aye! I want to see them in action!” a man added.

“I’ve got ten coppers on the bald headed one.”

“I’ll match that!”

“I’m taking the bowman!”

The wave of emotion began to sway even her as she raised her arms and said, “So be it then! Let the competition begin!”

With that, a red ball of energy appeared in one of her hands and a blue ball in the other, each scintillating in its own brilliant color.

“I call red,” Billip said, nocking his bow.

Trinos flicked her fingers up, sending the balls soaring into the night, getting small as lit fireflies as they went.

Twang!

The red ball burst into a thousand sparkles of light, much to the delight of the crowd.

Clatch-Zip!

Mikkel's bolt ripped through the air and disappeared into the night.

“Blast!” he roared

Twang!

The blue ball burst in the dark sky; its shards of magic raining down on the people in tiny light blue speckles.

Billip bowed as the crowd applauded.

Mikkel looked at her with a frown.

“Alright, Mikkel, one more time,” she said as two more orbs flared up in her palms.

Mikkel loaded his crossbow as Billip nocked another arrow.

“From the hip,” Mikkel said. “You aren’t getting a jump on me this time.”

“Hah.”

Up the balls of energy went.

Clatch-Zip!

The red one burst into sparkles of light not even twenty feet above.

“You shot the wrong one, Mikkel!”

“I didn’t shoot it,” Mikkel said. Clatch-Zip! His bolt sailed into the night, disappearing with the blue sphere as well.

“Well then who shot it?” Billip said.

“I did.”

It was Nikkel, standing on the fountain's rim, holding a crossbow.

“That’s my boy!” Mikkel exclaimed, thumbing his chest.

“Well at least he can shoot. You couldn’t hit a frog's arse on a Lilly pad from ten steps.”

“I’ve seen cats swing steel better than you,” Mikkel retorted.

Trinos resumed her seat on the bench. All the people were in good spirits, except the young curly haired one. He was glum. Strange. Still, she had the kind of men she wanted, including Corrin. She would need them to keep things in order. I can’t always be here. But that wasn’t all she needed them for. Royals and Underlings were a problem. There were other things as well. They’ve much to offer, but will it be enough?

CHAPTER 31

Chongo led the way over the Outlands, tongue wagging, his big faces panting. Cass, as radiant as a beam of light, sat atop his back, her lithe body swaying along with the beast’s rhythm. She was still the most fantastic thing he’d ever seen, but now Fogle was bitter. On one surviving Clydesdale pony, he, and on the other, his grandfather, followed her and the dog. Behind them, the giant Barton ambled along, silent, yet disturbing like an avalanche ready to fall. His grandfather Boon had said little, other than restating that they must go. Fogle complied, and that was what disturbed him the most. Let it be. Just let it be.

“You look troubled, Grandson. You haven’t spoken all day. Care to tell me what’s going on?”

Fogle gave his grandfather a disgruntled look and said, “No.”

“I tell you, if I were you, I’d be talking with the pretty woman, instead of sulking back here alongside me.”

Fogle glared at his grandfather. Every time he rode along Cass’s side and started speaking, his grandfather joined the conversation. And her ears were all Boon’s, not his.

“Oh … well, you have to realize, I’ve not been around people very much. As a matter of fact, I’d hardly even said a word in years until your friend, Vuh …,” Boon glanced over his shoulder at Barton, who was busy staring at the clouds, “you know who, showed up. He’s a funny one. Grim, but funny.”

Fogle had heard enough about Venir as well. His grandfather had been rambling on about him and Cass ever since he’d arrived. And when he wasn’t doing that, he wanted to stick his nose in the spellbook, which had been his at one time, but he’d given it to Fogle. He could have shown more thanks, more respect, but he didn’t want to. Just be silent, Old Man. Your ramblings give me a headache.

“The sack. Have you seen that sack, Fogle? The things that it can do. The power that it contains!”

“What?” This is different. He saw a lustful look in his grandfather’s eyes, like a vagrant thirsty for more grog.

“That staff,” Boon motioned with his finger. The broken staff slid from Fogle’s pack and sailed into Boon’s fingers.

“Quit taking without asking. First my spellbook, now this.”

Boon wasn’t paying him any mind. His eyes were locked on the staff, living in the past, searching for a future. “It’s from the sack.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yes, from the sack, something I know quite well. Your friend told me about it, but I wasn’t so sure that I believed it. But Barton confirmed what I was told. Your friend wields a power so great,” he ran his fingers over the weathered wooden shaft, “I think it could destroy anything in this world.”

Except your chatty mouth, I’m certain. He huffed. Fogle recalled his dreams of his grandfather, battling before an abyss and blasting through a coven of underlings. It was that staff he had wielded, with braces and an amulet as well, glowing with gemstones like fire. Boon had wiped them out with a single stroke and hurled their corpses into the abyss like a blood mad warrior. Fogle could see the muscles rippling in Boon’s forearm as he clutched the staff like a hoard of gold. There was still much fire in there. Uncontrolled fury lurked deep within.

“I had the power, for years. I hunted underlings, and they hunted me. Back and forth we went until my last battle. The day this staff shattered and the sack disappeared. Gone, like a wisp of smoke.” Boon’s eyes were smoky and lost for a moment, his wispy white beard blowing in his face. “So many underlings were dead and fled that day. I’d won, so it seemed. Those fiends hunkered back down in their caves and me, hee hee, well, I wandered the world, lost, purposeless, unable to reconnect myself.”

Boon’s worlds weighed heavy on Fogle. He could feel his grandfather’s anguish, so it saddened him a little. Only a little.

“So, what is it you want?” Fogle’s voice began to rise. “To re-acquire the sack and resume your fight with the underlings? Is that what this journey is all about? Just to be clear, I’m here to find Venir and reacquaint him with his dog. And then, I’m heading home.” He looked back at Barton. The giant, now the oddest thing he’d ever seen, trudged along, scratching the nose on his disfigured face. “You and the giant can fend for yourselves.”

“There’s strength in numbers, Grandson.”

“They are looking for you, not us!”

“You are foolish, Fogle. Much like your father. How many more giants do you think you can handle without the dwarves to aid you? You’d be dead without them.”

“Well, as you said yourself, it wasn’t likely more giants were near. That they were an initial assault. You said there are not so many.”

“The giants will want to avenge the deaths of their kind. Most likely, they will take it out on the dwarves.”

“What? Well then we should warn them!” Fogle said.

“Hah! You fool, the dwarves are fully aware of the giants. They’ve fought them all their lives. Besides, they like it.”

Fogle couldn’t imagine anyone liking to fight giants. Of course, he couldn’t imagine many things that he’d already experienced. How can one prepare for the unexpected? He sighed, wishing Mood or Eethum were still there. “Will you do something for me, Boon?” he asked, looking up at Cass.

“Ah … I see. Go on. I’ll stay back. Of course, I’d never have left her side in the first place if I were you.”

Fogle trotted up alongside Cass and Chongo, smiled, and said, “How are you doing, uh, Cass?”

“Never better,” she said, chin up, eyes forward.

He looked up into the sky that was streaked with white clouds. In the distance was nothing but more dry land, covered in rock, sand and caves. He’d never been this far south before, either, and by the looks of things it was dreadful, judging by the mountains that were east of them.

“So, is Chongo leading, or are you?”

He scratched the big dog’s necks and smiled, saying, “He is. His friend is out there; he knows it. I don’t see how he could smell it, unless the man is close. But he senses it. Such an amazing beast. Strong and faithful. You can learn much from a dog, you know.”

“He looks tired,” Fogle said.

“He’s not tired; he could walk for days,” she said, looking at him like he was foolish.

“True, but perhaps his back could use a rest. I think my pony could handle the two of us,” he said, swallowing as he looked at her, “for a little while, anyway.”

Cass kept riding and said nothing. For the past few days, they’d had very little contact with one another, which was bad. With all the dwarves around he talked even less. Now, Boon kept talking and talking until Cass was fast asleep, barely taking a breath so Fogle could get a word in with her. As difficult as it was to communicate with a woman, it was even worse doing so with his least favorite elder appearing from out of nowhere. Him not getting close to Cass was like a thirsty man unable to reach the waters of a waterfall. He couldn’t take it anymore.

He rode close, his leg brushing against hers.

“What are you—”

He wrapped his arm around her waist and with great effort pulled her into his saddle and held her tight.

“Are you a brigand who snatches women now?” she exclaimed.

“No, I’m a wizard who only snatches the most beautiful one in the world,” he said, looking down into her pink eyes.

“I should kill you,” she said, sliding in behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist and squeezing him hard.

“Ulp!”

“But I think I’ll let you live,” she said, brushing his ear with her lips.

Fogle felt the tightness in his back and neck fading away. It was the best he’d felt in days. He found it astonishing how a single woman could turn this upside down adventure upright so easily. No wonder houses rise and fall so quickly.

Chongo led, his stiff tails snapping back and forth, large tongues dangling from his mouths. It was strange, following a dog into the unknown and what for. He was pretty sure the dog didn’t need them anymore. Maybe I should let the dog do all the thinking for a change.

“What are you thinking, Fogle?”

“About you.”

“No, I’m pretty sure I know what you think about with me!” She giggled. “What else is going on in that over-sized skull of yours?”

“Life is so different in the wild. I don’t know how you do it.”

“I was born in the wild. It is my way,” she said.

“Do you want to return to your icy home in the mountains?”

“You just got me, and now you wish to be separated from me?”

“Never,” he smiled. “I just wondered what your plans are when this journey’s over. Assuming we all survive.” He tried to turn back and look at her, but she evaded his attempt. “I don’t want to be the cause of any harm coming to you, Cass.”

She squeezed her fists into his gut, draped her chin over his shoulder, and said in his ear.

“It’s my choice, Fogle Fool. My home is where I choose it to be: the mountains, the forest or the Outlands. It’s all fine by me. Now my home is here, with you and the dog. Besides, did you ever think that maybe it is me protecting you and not the other way around?”

“No,” he admitted.

“And to think, you have far less experience in the wild than me. I’ve lived outside the cities most all of my years, yet, in less than one, you suppose to know more about survival than me.”

“Ah … I didn’t suppose anything. I just thought protecting you was the right thing to do.”

“Because you are a man?” she said, digging her nails into his side.

He fought against his laugh as her fingers half hurt, half tickled. He squirmed in his saddle and replied, “No, because you're my woman.” Her fingers went still.

As they trotted along, she didn’t say a word. Fogle was trying to be strong, to say the right thing, without pissing her off. But, so far as he could tell, his chances were usually half wrong and half right. Oh, Bish. She’s gonna hop off any moment now.

“I don’t recall giving you any claim to me,” she said. “Did I mutter such a musing to you in my sleep?”

“No, but for crying out loud, I like you is all. And you like me.”

“I do? Since when, Fogle?”

“Ah … never mind it then. I’m sure my grandfather or Barton could find better words to say than I. Perhaps I should mumble uncontrollably more,” he said, stiffening in the saddle.

Cass wrapped her slender arms around his stomach and held tight. “Oh, don’t be so impossible. I’m just teasing you. And it’s not as if my wiles are so hard to come by. After all, I did deflower you the first day we met. Do you think I’d have done that if I didn’t like you already?”

“Well, those Mountain Men, —”

“Don’t mention them again if you know what’s good for you. They were protectors, nothing more, nothing less.”

But what about the snow ogres? They were an evil brood according to Mood. It didn’t seem likely that someone as unique as Cass would take up with such a race. Yet she had, and that was a disturbing thing that stuck in Mood’s craw. Something about Cass was odd, dangerous, but he couldn’t help but be captivated by her. He knew he needed to be more careful, but it was hard. After all, she was the only woman he truly knew, and he should be wary of that. His memories flitted to Kam. I bet she’s not so complicated.

“Are you still with me, Fogle? Has a nymph got your tongue?” Cass said.

“No, I just—”

Chongo’s ears perked up as the two-headed dog snorted the air and let out a rumbling growl. A split second later, the dog dashed ahead, plunging into a rocky gorge and out of sight. Cass jumped from the back of his saddle.

“What are you doing?” he said.

Cass rubbed her hands together, muttering an incantation. She transformed into a large slender dog with a grey and white pelt that sped after Chongo’s trail.

“Wait!” he shouted. But Cass and Chongo were gone. “What did she do that for?”

Boon led his pony along his side and said, “That’s a woman for you: unpredictable.”

“We’ll never catch them on these ponies if we don’t get going!”

“Looks like a good place to have an ambush up there. I’d proceed with caution.”

“Then you do that,” Fogle said, digging his heals into his mount. “YAH!”

He could hear Boon say as he thundered ahead, “Barton, make sure you keep up.”

CHAPTER 32

“How are you feeling?” Venir asked.

“Like my veins are filled with sewer,” Slim said.

“Ah … you’re getting stronger then. Yesterday you smelled like a sewer, but now, look at you, a full seven feet of Bones and manure, living and breathing like a new born calf.”

Slim let out a raspy grumble, reached out his hand, and said, “Help me to my feet, will you?”

Slim was light as a feather as he pulled him up onto his sandaled feet. The man was pale as a wight and skinnier than a post, but he was alive. Venir was relieved for that. Adanna and her mother hadn’t made it, and he hadn’t told Slim that yet.

Slim was leaning against his side when he said, “They didn’t make it, did they?”

Chin down, Venir shook his head.

“How’d you know?”

“I didn’t think any of us would make it, but I could see it in your eyes. Your voice. Don’t blame yourself, Venir. The underlings did this, not you.” Slim patted him on the shoulder, his bird-like face peering around. “Say, where are we, anyway? And who are all these people?”

“Royal Riders, remember?”

Slim shook his head.

“This forest seems oddly familiar. Are we?”

Venir nodded. “Just south of Outpost 31.”

Slim went into a fit of coughing and spit black bile. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and said, “Ech … tastes like a spider’s butt. Nasty things. I hate spiders. Never hated them before, but I hate them now.” Slim teetered up on his toes, stretching beyond his full height, stretching his fingers into the sunlight that peeked through the branches. “Ah … that feels good. The suns are like warm rainbows. Venir, I was so cold. Colder than I’d ever been before. I never would have imagined one could be so cold. Ah … those beams are a blessing. I’ll never complain about the heat again.”

An older man, stout in frame but shorter than Venir, walked up and nodded.

“You’re a survivor I see?” He extended his hand towards Slim. “Commander Jans. Uh … my, you are tall as a crane. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Slim said, then turned back into the light.

Jans stroked his mustache and said, “Say, I understand you’re a healer.”

Slim nodded.

“I’ve got some men that are ailing. Do you think you could help out?”

“Certainly, Jans, but I’m unable at the moment. That spider pretty much sucked out all the power I had left in me. I should be dead, you know.”

Jans’s grunted.

“So should we all. But today, we live.”

“And tomorrow, if you stick around Venir much longer, we die,” Slim said, laughing.

“And who gives a slat about tomorrow,” Venir added, taking a seat on a log. “I’m not going to give it consideration anymore.”

Jans pulled up a log and sat beside him. “Certainly you don’t care, else you wouldn’t be running to your death at Outpost Thirty One.”

Venir shot Jans a glance, but the older warrior shrugged.

Slim frowned at him and said, “What? We’re going to the outpost?”

“No, I’m going to the Outpost … alone.”

“Of course you are. After all, that’s what you do: leave everyone behind.”

“They need you here, Slim. And you are far from fit to travel. I’m not saying I wouldn’t let you come, either.”

“Let me come!” Slim threw his lanky arms in the air, smacking them into a tree branch. “I’ve been here many lifetimes, and no one has ever let me do anything. I’ll come if I want, Brute. You need me.”

The last thing Venir wanted to do was rile the man. He’d just sent him to his death once, and he didn’t care to see it happen again. Three had died: Hogan, his wife and Adanna, since he’d returned. It wasn’t his fault, according to Slim, Mood and many, but he couldn't help but feel that way. Still, it was their life, they could choose to do as they wished. And if they wanted to tag along, so be it.

“Fine. Come along, then. I’d be glad to have you.”

Slim eyed him.

“Really?”

Venir smiled. “Sure, if you want to do something as foolish as following me to a certain death, then who am I to stop you?”

“Well,” Slim sputtered as he pulled his robes tighter, “I’d at least like to know the plan first.”

Jans was laughing now.

“Not so eager, are you now. Heh-Heh. You’d be wise to stay back here with us and await the signal … though I doubt it will ever come.” Jans tossed a wooden canister he had in his hand at Venir’s feet. “We’ll be able to see that for miles all around. But,” he pointed at Venir’s face, “don’t you dare use it if you don’t open that gate. We aren’t a rescue party. We’re a stronghold storming army, no thanks to you.”

“Hold on,” Slim said, stretching his long arms in the faces of the two of them, “am I to understand that Venir is going to infiltrate the Outpost and open the gate from the inside?”

“Yes,” Venir said as Jans’s nodded.

“Venir, you’ve lost your mind.”

“You’re the one who suggested I lead the fight against the underlings. Getting back that Outpost is the best place to start the battle.”

“Venir, there may be thousands of them in there.”

Venir stood back up and grabbed the canister.

“And there might not be that many. Besides, they won’t be able to see me. If it’s not possible, I can always come back.”

Jans stood up and said to Venir, “You better not waste any time with that, either. My men are exposed down here. We’ll need all the time we can get to gallop out of here if you fail and the entire underling army spills out. You’ve got a day. If not, we're gone.”

Venir slung his pack over his shoulders.

“I know.” He bumped arms with Jans, picked up his axe, and strapped the helm on.

“What? You’re going right now?” Slim exclaimed.

“Why let underlings live a second longer than they deserve to?”

Slim's jaw dropped to the forest floor as Venir jogged into the woods and out of sight.

***

The hunt. It had seemed like a lifetime ago since Venir had been on his own, hunting the underlings. As he passed through the brush, it didn’t matter if it was one or a thousand of his enemy. The only thing that mattered was that many more would soon be dead. He’d had enough of the underlings to last him a hundred lifetimes. He wanted them gone.

He kneeled down, took a swig from his canteen, and checked his bearings. He was near the base of the hill, less than two miles from the actual fort, with no signs of underling activity or tracks for that matter, which was odd. The road that led to the southern gate was overgrown when he crossed over. It was strange. He was certain the terrain would be buzzing with underling activity, yet it was not. The metal on his helm didn’t even throb.

He rubbed his bearded chin then renewed his journey up the hill, his mind focused on one thing: vengeance on the underlings. All his life they’d been a jagged thorn in his side. Now, he’d just as soon be rid of them once and for all. And now he was free. Unshackled. Unfettered. Simmering with inner fury. And it was good. Alone, in the woods, war-axe singing in his grip with only the remote sounds of nature filling his ears.

He pressed his large form beside a tree. He heard a rustling sound. Brool was warm in his aching grip as he held it tight to his chest. There were other creatures in the forest that were as dangerous as underlings: razorback bears with claws as sharp as steel, forty foot snakes and ten foot lizards with poisoned bites and tails. Any one one of them could kill him if he didn’t strike first and fast. A drop of sweat fell from his nose into his beard as a ringed python as thick as his arm wound around the tree and over his toes. Venir shifted Brool’s shaft in his hand, point down, as the creature's crushing weight slithered over his boots.

Hurry up! Ringed pythons, all black with bright yellow rings, unlike most of their kind, were not only fast, but fanged and poisonous. Venir knew the slightest tremor in his body could set the thing off. As the serpent slithered on, he noticed a bulk under its scales. The serpent's bloated belly dragged over the leaves, not slowed by the hump. I hope it was an underling. Venir exhaled through his lips as he watched the tail of the serpent disappear down the slope.

He tugged at the buckle under his chin and resumed his trek. He noted he wasn’t so far from where he'd left the last time as he made his way into a ravine. The water that once trickled in the creek was gone, its surrounding greenery withering and dead. Over the past five years, the lush landscape had been forever changed, now darker and quieter. He tightened his grip on Brool. Underlings had to be near. They just had to be. Where are they?

In the dim forest, Venir’s keen eyes could pick up what the average eye could not: deer droppings, animal impressions, and critters' burrows hidden within the ferns. He patted his palm on the helm. This has to be working. Yet not the slightest murmur came within his iron skull. Certainly the underlings would not have abandoned the Outpost? The Royals would have known about that.

He huddled down in the brush at the sound of rustling in the trees. Spiders! He’d seen enough of them to last him a lifetime already. Peering up, he noticed two black squirrels, jumping from tree limb to tree limb. He grunted. Getting rusty. He crept up the ravine another half mile before he stopped again. The humidity had the sweat dripping from him like a waterfall. He took another drink. Eyeing. Listening. Smelling everything around him. Nothing. It was as if the hilltop was dead.

Pressing through a row of man-sized ferns, he found himself alongside a patch of bright green, black and brown mushrooms as tall as his knees. They were unlike anything he’d ever seen before. Not even the Red Clay forest that was filled with wondrous plant life, or even what he’d seen in the Under-Bish. This is different. He’d scouted these forests all his life and wouldn’t have forgotten something like this. Backwards he retraced his steps and froze.

The mushrooms began to warble with tiny tremors. Their tops sprouted with strange trunk-like mouths.

Venir’s ears felt like they were about to split open as the mushrooms ripped out a howling whine. He pressed his palms over the metal of his ears. Slat! Madness this is! His knees buckled, and his stomach churned as he stumbled up the bank and crashed into a pit of mud. Trying to regain his wits, he crawled from the mud hole. The underlings would be here at any moment. On his hands and knees, he crawled up the hill at an agonizing pace. The shrieking sound was agonizing and distorting. His stomach churned as he spit up bile. That’s when he noticed movement above him. His enemies were coming, and he couldn’t hardly move.

CHAPTER 33

Palos’s apartment door closed shut, and for a change Palos was on the other side.

Finally!

Kam let out a sigh of relief and slumped her head down on the table. I thought he’d never leave. Quietly, she observed Thorn and Diller bringing in purses of coin and other treasure. Palos always moaned that it was never enough, each and every time. It was sickening. The man had more gold than most Royals and then some. To make matters worse, she’d had little time with Erin, despite every defiling attempt she'd allowed from him. Palos would not let the baby girl stay.

“You aren’t broken yet, Princess,” he’d said.

Now what? The room, despite its gaudy décor, was comfortable. The fire, warm and soothing with the slow burning Everlogs, was her only source of comfort most of the time. She stared at it for hours while Palos napped, conducted business and so forth . It was there that she planned, conspired and contemplated her next move. She flicked her fingers towards the fire. It roared with new life, hungry for air, the same as the mystic power in her belly. She released her magic, and the fire returned to normal.

Diddling with her choker, she said, “It would be a deserving home for Palos in there.” Rising from her chair, she paced around the room. She wiggled the handle on the bedroom door, but it was locked. She couldn’t help but think that Palos would have a secret exit from there. After all, sometimes he appeared to be in there for hours, and she swore she never heard him make a sound. He couldn’t just be in there doing nothing.

“Think, Woman! You must be smarter than these stupid men!” she whispered to herself. She shifted the gems in her fingers. Their power should help. It had to. She tucked them in a small pocket in her robe. Now that her anger had subsided, she found herself missing Lefty. And now was one of those times he would be quite resourceful. If there was a secret door in here, Lefty would find it. Another thought crept into her mind as well. What if Lefty was dead? She had not seen him in days, and she was worried. No one ever said a word about him, either.

Another hour passed as she wandered around, contemplating her ideas. Her first imaginings were always of Palos dying: drowning him in the tub, choking him to death, casting him into the fire, running a snake of mystic energy through his groin and out his nose and ear holes. There were more passive options as well, such as an illusion that she was there when she wasn’t. Would that fool him? She shook her head and beat her hands on the table. She knew very little of what was behind the wall. She had to secure Erin first. I’ve got to save my baby!

Once again, she found herself by the fireplace mantle, this time staring up at the great sword that hung above. It fascinated her. Its blade shone of the brightest steel, its pommel and hilt guard were worked with the most intricate metals. She knew little about weapons and combat, but she knew a fine piece of work when she saw it. Whoever forged the sword must have been as much an artist as a weaponsmith. She reached up, touching the blade.

A flood of emotion washed over her.

Free me!

Gasping, she jerked her hand away. That’s not possible, Kam thought to herself as she watched her fingerprint disappear from the blade.

“I must have imagined that,” she mumbled. “A trick of the thieves, maybe.”

Her reflection in the sword's blade shimmered, contorted to an image of another person, then faded away. She blinked. Rubbed her eyes. Her reflection was now gone, as well as the other. That’s not possible. Not possible at all. Her teeth dug into her lip. She reached out to touch the blade one more time, trembling.

Free me! the sword moaned, its eerie voice not discernible as a woman’s or a man’s.

Kam jerked away. Her finger tips were ice cold, which didn’t seem possible from touching a metal object that hung over a mantle filled with burning wood.

She combed her fingers through her hair, trying to decide if the voice was real or some kind of delusion. Why would a sword need to be freed? Perhaps it's one of Palos’s tricks.

Her gut told her not to touch it again, but she leaned closer. Here we go. She took a quick glance over her shoulder, saw the door was secure, and grabbed the great sword by the hilt. A thousand thoughts and images assailed her, standing her hairs on end. The room spun around her. She thought she was screaming as she tried to tug her hand free, but the sword would not release her.

***

The Quarter was the working quadrant of the Nest. It was there that the worst of rogues, urchins and smugglers hammered crates filled with stolen goods under the stern supervision of the Quarter Master.

Crack!

“Hammer those nails faster, else I’ll hammer them into you, Halfling!” said a full blooded orc, snapping his whip in the air for the hundredth time in a day.

Lefty had never worked so hard before. All day and night he worked. His gentle hands were calloused, and his back was sore. So tired he was, he could barely lift a hammer, but he did anyway, somehow … someway. How did this happen? He paused to wipe the sweat from his eye.

Crack!

He didn’t even flinch.

“Halfling! No break! You nail! Or I break you!”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

He hammered. Both hands wielding the heavy hammer, shoulders aching. All the others, working near the end of the docks, hammered away with tools no bigger than his. Men, dwarves and mintaurs were there: all had failed Palos at some point, and this was part of the punishment. But all of them, excluding the enslaved urchins, left for the night when each day's labors were done. He sighed. He’d never sighed before in his life he didn’t think, until now. Now it was a habit.

Don’t quit, Lefty! You’ve got to free Erin. You owe that to Kam! If he could only get some rest. Clear his head so he could think straight. He was given a few hours a day to sleep, but it always ended as soon as it started. And it was uncomfortable sleeping in these absidium chains he was bound with at all times. The more you moved, the more they constricted. He thought of Gillem. He missed his halfling mentor, who, though bad, had still been good to him, as best as could be expected, anyway. He sighed. He swore it was his fault that Gillem had died, too. He shook his little head. No! Palos is a madman. I’m going to get out of here.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Crack!

“Work faster, you ugly toads!”

Lefty snorted a laugh. The quartermaster was the ugliest person he’d ever seen. A warted toad was handsome by comparison. The orcen quarter master's face was pock-marked and lumpy. His skin was covered not only in warts but also in moles, and his teeth were half missing. Worst of all, he always scowled like he'd just eaten a basket full of lemons. The only thing the orc had going for him was a lash and the frame of two stout men in one. He’d seen the quartermaster snap a chain anchor off the deck. Every bit a s strong as he is ugly. I won’t ask what his parents looked like.

Crack!

“What are you looking at, Halfling?”

“Nothing, Quarter Master. Nothing at all.”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

His tummy rumbled. He never remembered ever being so hungry before, either. Had Georgio always felt this way? All he’d eaten the past few days was gruel, and unlike the rest, he wasn’t given any honey. He blinked the tears from his eyes. How can I help anyone if I can’t help myself? Ugh, somebody help me.

CHAPTER 34

Brak nibbled the last bit of meat from a ham bone and tossed it into the corner. His stomach still rumbled, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been a few days ago, in the arena. It was just him and Jubilee, basking in the feeble glow of a lantern tucked away beneath the streets of the city.

“Brak,” Jubilee said, “You weren’t supposed to eat all that. Melegal will be mad. Again!”

“He’s always mad,” he said, rubbing the hairs on his arms. It was always cool down in the sewers. He preferred the heat. He missed the suns. “And he looks like he has an aversion to food.”

Jubilee giggled.

“You’re funny, Brak. And 'aversion' is a good word. You’re learning,” she said, teetering around the dank little room, draped in a dirty blanket that barely covered her arms. “Here’s a new one to learn. Abhorrence: detestation, indisposition.”

A long look formed on Brak’s big face.

“Don’t worry, Brak, they all mean the same thing as aversion. Lot’s of different words mean that same thing. The more you know, the smarter you’ll be. That’s what Grandfather told me.”

Jubilee had led them back to the exact same room he’d been brought to when they met. It was here he’d trained with Hagerdon, Leezir and the other men. It was little more than a moldy storage room with a few chairs and a table, but it was far better than the dungeon. It was the only home he’d known since his mother, Vorla, had departed. Every time he thought of her, the sadness within returned..

“Abhorrence.” He paused. “Detestation.”

Jubilee nodded, lips beginning to mouth the next word.

“Indisposition.”

“And," a cold voice interrupted, “don’t forget disinclination, disfavor, loathing and horror.” It was Melegal, scowling as he tossed a bundle on the floor. “For example, my disinclination festers as I return to a man who always hungers and a girl who cannot seal her tongue.”

Jubilee crossed her arms and stuck out her tongue.

“Bish, Brak!” Melegal gaped. “You’ve eaten the entire ham.” Melegal grabbed Jubilee by her shirt collar. “Teach the man what rationing means, you little Slerg. Allowance: apportionment, consignment, provender.” Melegal slung his cap against the wall. “Next time we need supplies, I’ll send you two dally wiggles to get them.”

“A dally wiggle’s a ne’er-do-well, Brak,” Jubilee explained. “Or a wastrel or a loafer. I had many uncles with that quality.”

“Oh, shut up!” Melegal said, taking a seat at the table, frowning as his steely eyes drifted away.

Brak wasn’t fond of the man, but he didn’t dislike him, either. Despite the man's dour demeanor, he was always relieved when Melegal showed up. Especially since the rogue always promised he was leaving them. Plus, he brought the food.

He reached down and unraveled the bundled sack. It was filled with bread loaves, hard biscuits and dried meat.

Jubilee’s quick little hand snagged a baked apple tart that she quickly stuffed in her mouth.

“Save a crumb for me, you brats,” Melegal sneered. “Food's not so easy to come by now, with or without money. Especially when this entire city is spooked.”

Brak picked up the sack and stood. Bending his bullish neck down beneath the ceiling, he walked over towards Melegal and set all the food on the table.

“Thank you,” he said, returning to his seat.

Melegal waved his hand at him in a downward motion, lightly shaking his head.

It was odd. Brak couldn’t tell if Melegal liked him or not, but he treated him better than the Slergs had.

“Morning, youngins,” Haze said, entering the room and tossing a small sack at Brak’s feet. The woman was in much better shape than she had been a few days ago. Her black eye was no longer swollen, but the red in her eye remained. “That’s some good stuff there. I had to slip it away from Frigdah while she slept. You’d like her, Brak. She likes to eat as much as you do, but she evens it out with ale and all.” She placed her hands on her narrow hips. “Enjoy.”

Melegal huffed.

“What?” Haze said.

“Melegal’s been lecturing us about rationing. Saying that Brak eats too much.”

“Oh, well, I see his point.” She took a seat by Melegal and rubbed his arm. “Sorry.”

Brak felt guilty. If anything, he ate even more than he used to. He just didn’t want to be so hungry, ever again. He rummaged through the bag. A cake of fruit and nuts was in there. He tore off a piece and stuffed it in his mouth. It was good. Not like the pies in the bakery he devoured, but better than dried meat and hard cheese, for now.

“So, Me, have you come up with any bright ideas yet?” Haze asked.

Melegal pulled his arm away.

“No. But we can’t stay here much longer. If they're coming after us, which they are, it’s only a matter of time before they find us.”

“I don’t know about that. It was you and me that found the Slergs the last time.”

Jubilee glared at Haze.

“And I don’t think they have the man power to pursue right now. If anything, they're more worried about underlings than you. Those castles are under full guard. Everywhere.”

Melegal pulled out a knife and began cleaning his nails.

“I know that. We can’t stay in Bone, however. They’ll catch us. The Royals always get their man.”

“They never got your friend Venir, the fighting man.”

Melegal shot Haze a look. He’d told her not to say anything.

Brak jumped to his feet and banged his head on the ceiling.

“Venir! You said you didn't know my father!”

“Brilliant, Haze!” Melegal said, scooting back in his seat.

The time for silence was gone. Melegal was a liar! And Brak was going to squeeze the truth from his throat.

The last thing Melegal had wanted to do was trigger the rage within the young giant. Brak had almost killed him once already, and he wasn’t about to risk it again. But now, as with all things, the truth he’d been trying to hide, for Brak’s safety, had surfaced. Melegal found himself within the big man’s cross hairs. Big meaty hands and short powerful arms clutched at his throat.

“Easy now, Brak!” Haze squeezed her narrow body in between them. “If Melegal isn’t telling you something, I’m sure there’s a good reason.”

Brak pointed at him.

“He told me my father was dead!”

Slat, where’s my hat? It was out of reach. Soothing words. Be honest. Distract the beast. “I only said I thought he was dead.”

“Well he isn’t,” Brak said, clenching his fist.

“I’ve no way of knowing that.”

Brak thumbed his chest, saying, “I do! I see him in my dreams. He’s fighting, fighting for his life, out there. Somewhere. He must be.”

A silence fell in the small room that’s only illuminating source was the glow of a small lantern. Brak was convinced that Venir lived. Melegal could feel the truth of it in his bones. If anything, news that Venir lived gave him one thing nothing else could. Hope.

Melegal showed a wry smile.

“Is he fighting underlings?”

Brak shrugged his shoulders.

“I don’t know. But I must find him. I want to meet my father. My mother is gone,” Brak said, choking out the last word.

Jubilee reached over, grabbed his meaty hand with her tiny ones, and said, “I’ll help you find him, Brak.

Haze grabbed the other.

“I’ll help you, too.”

Brak’s head dipped into his chest as he started to sniffle.

Both of the women were eyeing Melegal now.

Melegal, tossing his hands out, said, “I don’t know where he is! And I’m not going to look for him. If he’s still out there, I’m certain he’ll show up here eventually. He always did before.”

Haze added, “You always said he’d be wherever the underlings were, didn’t you?”

“Yes, Haze. I did. And right now, there’s thousands of underlings out there. And they're probably trying to kill him. What are you suggesting, we walk up to them and ask them if they’ve seen The Darkslayer?”

“What’s The Darkslayer?” Jubilee asked.

Brak’s face was a mask of curiosity.

“Oh …” Melegal rubbed his head. “...I thought these days were over. That’s what the pig farmers call him. He’s their hero. He’s rousted as many underlings into beds of death as an entire army. The truth is: when’s he’s got that get-up on, that massive axe and helm, he becomes, oh, disturbing. Dangerous, but dismaying, foreboding, ominous—”

“Vexing?” Jubilee piped in.

“Well, that’s not the best word to describe him, but partly. It’s rather hard to explain. All I know is you’d better be on his side.” Melegal cleared his throat. “Brak, your father, despite his brutish and impulsive intellect … is a hero to many.”

The small wooden chair groaned as Brak sat down.

“The Slergs … they told me Venir was a fighter. My mother said he was good. A hero?” He looked up at Melegal.

“Barring all of the ideal characteristics of a hero … yes.” Melegal leaned over, grabbed his hat, and put it back on his head. “It’s not something you hear very often in Bish, but your father tends to save as many lives as he takes. Which isn’t really a good thing, especially if you get it wrong. In his case, so far as I know, his bloodshed’s been on the right side of things. Though some sources might disagree.”

“So, what happened the last time you saw him?”

I was hoping you wouldn’t ask that. To lie or not to lie. Still, everyone was looking at him.

“His last trek was to the City of Three.”

“Ooh … I’ve always wanted to go there,” Jubilee said. “They say it’s named after waterfalls as big as the mountains. And they have otter cats there. My grandfather said so.”

Haze grabbed him by the vest.

“I want to go there! Please, Melegal, take me!”

Melegal huffed.

“And separate you from your stupefying siblings? Your detachment would be overwhelming.” He pulled away and stood up. “I’m not entertaining any thoughts of traveling. The Outlands is far from ideal for traveling for a man like me. I need shelter.” He looked around. “And even this is better comfort than the Outlands.”

“It’s not so bad,” Brak said, “It’s how I got here.”

Of course. The young are always so hopeful.

“With your mother's aid, I presume?”

Brak started to rise from his seat.

“Don’t be a child, Brak. At least you knew your mother. That’s far better than many of us.” As Brak sat back down, he added, “Besides, the last I heard, your father wasn’t there anymore. He’d gone on to Dwarven Hole. Never to be heard from again.”

“Who told you that?” Jubilee piped in.

Such a dreaded little girl. I’ll not be getting anything over on him with her around. At least Haze knows how to keep her mouth shut. He glanced over at Haze who nodded without even moving her head. At least she realizes I’m trying to protect them.

“Men. Acquaintances. Associates. Colleagues. Comrades. Cohorts.”

“I know what that means. When did you see them last? Perhaps they will be willing to help us,” Brak said.

That’s actually a really good idea.

“They wouldn’t want to fool with a little rodent like you. They’ve their own quests and charges.”

Brak stood up and banged his head again.

“Ow!” he rubbed it. “I want to meet these … cohorts … too.”

“I’ve no idea where they are.” At this very moment. But I can find them. The Octopus.

Haze opened up her mouth to ask a question when her tongue froze.

“Haze?” he said, “Are you well?”

That’s when he heard it. A faint hiss. A hiss he knew all too well. It cannot be!

He turned his head the direction of his eyes. Two underlings, bright yellow-eyed, sharp weapons in their grasp, cut off the exit from the room. Melegal’s blood ran cold then froze as Jubilee let out a stone shattering scream.

CHAPTER 35

Seven keys. Does it even really matter?

Verbard twitched his fingers together, igniting them in blue fire.

“Nooo …," a human mumbled, head down inside his robes.

Verbard touched his finger tip to the man’s head, searing the skin as the man cried out, his moans echoing through the caves.

How many humans would he have to torment to find the man he sought? A man with skinny bones. Pale complexion. Salt and pepper hair. Moved like a ghost. So Kierway had said. So, maybe Kierway had lied. For all he knew, there was no man, or keys, for that matter. But, he had to find out.

“Human, is there such a man as I speak of?”

The man, a Royal dragged against his will from the Almens' very castle, shook his head. He was a tough soldier, but human. He’d sent in some of his kindred to snatch the man out from the night. It was all part of the wave of terror he’d begun from beneath the city. Underlings, in pairs of two and groups of three and four, spread out in the sewers, striking quick and returning with reports. Above, the humans were in full panic, torn by whether to stay or go.

“No …”

Verbard jabbed his burning blue finger into the man’s cheek.

Again the man cried out in pain.

“You lie, Human. I can see it in your eyes, which you are about to lose.”

The man’s eyes opened wide as Verbard waggled his burning finger close to them. He knew the man was lying; he could tell. But the man’s aversion for underlings was strong. Natural. He was loyal to the humans and a natural predator of the spawn of the underworld. Not all men were like that, but this one was.

“Bring him,” he said, floating back through the cave until he found himself in a room with a pit.

Two underling soldiers dragged the Royal soldier by the nooks of his armpits. Inside the deep pit, illuminated by the underlight, were two albino urchlings, fighting over a bone. A human one, still covered in sinew and flesh.

“That,” he emphasized, “is the last human who did not cooperate. So, answer truthfully, or be eaten alive. And, just so you know, while one holds you down, the other starts devouring your toes.”

The man sobbed, shaking his head, quivering from head to toe.

“He is a Detective. Melegal is his name,” the man stammered. “That’s all I know.”

Excellent. There is such a man. Kierway’s words are true. But how will I find the man? It's a very large city. Eep … to me!

A buzz filled the air, and in a blink the imp appeared, hovering."Human, tell this creature what you know of this man. Every last detail, starting from the top of his head, down to his toe, and I’ll set you free. Maimed. But free.”

The soldier looked down in the pit, up at Verbard, and nodded.

“Uh … uh … he wears a floppy cap … d-d-d-dark gray … that hangs down over the side of his face. Hair more white than black. A dimple in his narrow chin. Eyes like cold steel. Fingers long and slender, almost like a g—”

“Master!” Eep hissed, “I know this man of which he speaks. I’ve seen this man before. He’s the man who travels with The Darkslayer.”

Verbard felt his stomach tighten in a knot.

“How can you be certain?”

“It’s him, Master. He’s the one,” Eep wrung his taloned fingers in his hands. “McKnight, the detective, was to dispatch of him that day.”

Verbard felt his silver eyes begin to twitch inside his head. The mere mention of The Darkslayer was unsettling. After all, the man never perished. He’d only been banished into the Mist.

“What else can you tell me of this man? How dangerous is he?”

Eep’s serpent tongue licked out and around his mouth.

“He’s a pest. Nothing more. Just a man. A stick with flesh and bones. I can hunt him and kill him if you like.” Eep hovered towards the disheveled Royal soldier and chomped his razor sharp teeth down. “I’d like a meal first.”

Of all the things in Verbard’s life, the only one that gave him an ounce of security was Eep. The heartless horror of Bish brought him as much security as delight. He thought of his brother Catten, 'the wiser of the two,' most had said. He regretted all the times he’d wanted his brother dead. It was one of those things he'd never imagined possible. Now, without him, he found himself lost. Catten'd had focus and purpose. He missed those glaring evil eyes and all of the conspiracies they’d plotted together.

“Eep, find this Melegal, and you shall have a treat upon your return.”

“But, you said you’d let me live!” the soldier said, struggling to rise. The two underling soldiers shoved him down.

“Toss him in the pit,” Verbard ordered, floating away from the edge.

The man screamed as he was pushed over the edge. Not a moment later, his cries were cut short.

“Master! I wished to have that one!” Eep screeched.

“Be silent and fill your charge, Imp,” Verbard said, floating out of the smaller caves. “Contact me when you find him. Not a hair is to come off his head. I want him alive. I want those keys.”

“Yes, Master, but there is something I must tell you, first,” Eep said.

“Be gone!”

The imp’s black wings buzzed with new life. It zipped away and blinked out of sight.

Verbard looked at his soldiers.

“Dismissed.” As he watched them go, he muttered like a curse, “The Darkslayer.” Somehow, someway, that impossible man had managed to creep back into his life.

Making his way back to the shoreline, he watched his commander, Jottenhiem, organizing the small army. The Royals would be better prepared for the next strike, but not for one of this size. Not for one that could overtake and fortify an entire castle. Jottenhiem’s ruby eyes caught his. He waved the commander over.

“We are ready, Lord Verbard. Master Kierway, I believe, delays our tactics,” Jottenhiem said, sneering.

“He’ll be back as I’ve ordered, else, as he well knows, he’ll have my Vicious to contend with.” Verbard almost smiled as he said it. With the imp and the Vicious under his full control, even he felt invincible. “Despite his shortcomings, he’s an excellent tactician. He’ll find out which castles will give us the superior advantage.”

“It shall be a hard fought battle, my Lord. The castles have many soldiers, hundreds in some cases according to Kierway. And how can we be certain he won't set you up for failure?”

“As it is with all of us, Kierway hates humans vastly more than he hates even me. No, he’ll plan this one right.”

The thought of overtaking an entire human Castle was both frightening and exhilarating. He couldn’t imagine the humans ever having the audacity to occupy the Underland. That was unthinkable. But, with the Current, the underlings could run endless supplies, and within a solid fortress they could hold out forever. Perhaps this was what Master Sinway had in mind to begin with.

Verbard continued. “How are our agents performing beneath the streets, Jottenhiem?”

“Every day we quietly fill their sewers with their own dead. We cornered a small force of men in their own streets and slaughtered the frightened dogs.”

“Excellent,” Verbard said, stretching out his arms, resuming his feet from his stone throne. “Your efforts are appreciated, Jottenhiem. Enjoy the sanctuary of the caves for now.” He looked to the cave ceiling above. “You might not be seeing them again for awhile.”

As Jottenhiem saluted and sauntered off, Verbard's clawed fingers fiddled with the Orb of Imbibing. “Such a precious possession.”

Master, a voice sounded in his head. It was Eep.

Have you found the human already?

No Master. Soon, but I fear there is something I must tell you.

What could it possibly be? If you are so ravenous, have one of those urchins.

Master, I’ve news I failed to mention earlier.

And?

The Darkslayer, Master. He lives.

Verbard didn’t feel the orb bounce off his toes as it rolled down the stone steps of the throne.

“NO!”

CHAPTER 36

The chamber was illuminated by a single crystal chandelier that glowed with the light of a lone candle. It was Lord Almen’s bedroom. Inside, the Lord of Castle Almen lay still, gray skinned, the gentle rise and fall of his chest the only signs of life. Sefron rubbed his throbbing eye. Now blinded in it, he seethed within. Melegal’s fault.

“He is strong, Lorda. I’m certain he’ll survive his predicament.” Sefron replaced the warm damp wash cloth on Lord Almen’s head with a cool one. “He needs his rest.”

Lorda Almen was in charge now. Graceful. Demanding. Demeaning. She did not hold back her revulsion from him. But for now, she needed him, and he needed her.

“If he dies, you die, Sefron. Are we clear?”

Sefron couldn’t fight the lump that formed in his throat as he swallowed and replied, “Certainly, Lorda Almen. I’d rather die than live with my failure.” As Lorda turned away, he couldn’t tear his gaze from her legs underneath her garish tunic dress.

I’d die just to run my fingers along those thighs of yours.

The Lorda was perfect. Everything a man could desire and then some. For many long years, Sefron had longed for her, spied on her and fantasized of her. The Lorda of all Lordas. There was none like her. She, among the women, was revered and reviled. Most Lordas held true power: Magic. Skill. Poison. Words. Lorda Almen was different. She used nothing to control the wills of men and women but her comeliness ... and cunning.

She snapped her fingers in his face.

“Sefron! You ghastly cleric! Pay attention!”

Sefron shook his head. Her magnificent perfume had unhitched his fantasies again.

“Yes, ahem, my Lorda.”

“I need Detective Melegal found and brought to me,” she ordered.

Biting his lip, he nodded. She had a fancy for the man who he loathed with all his might. Melegal had foiled him. The rat from the streets had managed to snare the Lorda’s attention. Had saved the woman from her own son, so witnesses had said. Sefron never believed any of it, but he’d yet to prove otherwise.

“As you wish, Lorda,” he said, adjusting the patch over his eye. It ached to do so. “The City Watch is scouring the streets as we speak, and I cannot rule out the possibility that the man, stricken by fear, fled the castle. He should have defended it. Instead, he’s gone.”

Lorda remained expressionless, stroking her husband’s arm, beautiful eyes in contemplation.

“No, he would do no such thing. He’s fulfilled all of his charges with the utmost proficiency.” Lorda stared into his eyes. A dangerous intent was there. “If you know something, you’d be wise to tell me now, Sefron.” She glanced back at the other men in the room. Shadow sentries, presence dulled by their ghost armor, stood eyes forward and at rest. “If I’m given the slightest doubt you’re lying to me, on my word, I’ll have you chopped into bits.”

“No worries, Lorda. If he lives, I’ll find him. The Watchmen—”

“The Watchmen are not capable! Slaggards! Over trained thugs is all they are! Hire the Bloodhounds if you must. Just see it done!”

“The Bloodhounds?”

Lorda pointed to the nearest Shadow Sentry, then at him.

“Oh … mercy Lorda—”

Two quick strides, and the tall warrior walloped him in his saggy gut. Sefron couldn’t breathe as he fell to the floor, but he could still hear.

“I want that black-haired witch, Jarla, accounted for, too. Dead.”

Sefron petted the rug that broke his fall as he watched her sensuous legs walk away. So pretty. One good eye is all I need. The two shadow sentries remained as she departed with two others who bowed to her in the hall. After a few more minutes, he clutched at the spread on Lord Almen’s bed and rose back to his feet, wheezing.

“Shew,” he said, wiping the sweat from his pasty forehead. It hurt to even do that. Thank goodness I can still heal things. He scratched at one of the places were one of Melegal’s many darts had found a new home. Find the rat. Trap the rat. Kill the rat. No lying needed to be done in the 'pursuit of Melegal' department. Lorda Almen wanted him. Kierway wanted him. And Sefron wanted him, too. It wasn’t likely any man could avoid all those clutches for long. But the Bloodhounds? That was a reckless call.

He dipped a small cup into a bowl of water and whetted Lord Almen’s lips.

“That’s better. Can’t have you drying out on me.”

He did it a few more times before setting the cup back down.

“Bloodhounds,” he whispered. “Of all the stupid ideas. Those cretins will foil everything.”

The Bloodhounds were a guild of henchmen bounty hunters that every Castle used, from one side of the City of Bone to the other. They were the best at what they did, but the price always ended up higher than the gold you paid them. Lord Almen never dawdled with them. He considered their ilk, “Gormandizing Bastards.” Sefron couldn’t agree more.

He peeled the bandage back from the wound beneath Lord Almen’s arm. He could have let the man die, and wasn’t fully certain why he hadn't. He’d managed to stop the bleeding, but Lord Almen had lost an awful lot of blood. Still, he hadn’t figured out who had stabbed the man. Melegal had accused Jarla, and it was likely the woman was an assassin. But what about Melegal? Could he have the stones to have done such a thing?

“Fiddle me,” me muttered, replacing the warm wash cloth on Almen’s head with another cold one. “This will help you rest well as you recover, Lord Almen.” He glanced back at the two stone-faced Shadow Sentries. They looked like they could break him in half just by staring at him. “It helps if you talk to them. Sing him a delightful song, if you like,” he said, waddling out the door holding his finger to his lips, “I won’t tell.” Slat sucking soldiers!

Down the hall he went, limping and wheezing, carrying one lie on top of the other. It was hard lying to the Lorda, given all of her powerful wiles. But, lacking any witnesses from the torrid massacre that had befallen the victims in the arena, he’d convinced Lorda that Lord Almen had fallen battling the underlings. As for Lord Almen when he awakened? Sefron chuckled. I’ll let the man awaken when I’m ready. But it’s my castle for now.

CHAPTER 37

“Wine!” Jarla slammed her fist on the table.

The young man jumped out of his stool, wiped his hands off on his apron, and blinked at her.

“Why do you stand and look at me so stupidly, Fish-face?” she asked, carving the tip of her dagger into the table.

“We’ve no more wine,” he stammered, wringing his hands. “Perhaps—”

“I’ve never been in a tavern that ran out of wine. Where is it, Stooge?”

The young man crouched behind his hands.

“You drank it all … er … what we had left, that is.”

Jarla slung the nearest wine jug at him, followed by another. The man scurried behind the bar. “Get me something! Else I’m going to carve another hole in your nose!” She slung the last remaining jug, and it slammed into the shelves behind the bar with a crash. “Idiot!”

Jarla was rattled. She’d faced death before but nothing quite like what had happened the other day in Castle Almen’s arena. Madness. One second, she'd been watching the decimation of the Slergs and in the next, a bullish man exploded in a fit of frenzied rage. Her head ached still from the moment she’d momentarily blacked out. Fighting the sudden urge to sleep, she'd come to, only to see one of the skinniest men she’d ever seen sliding a dagger out from between Lord Almen’s ribs.

She picked up her goblet and tilted it over her lips, catching the last remaining drops on her tongue. “Where’s my drink, Boy?” She slung the goblet across the room.

Lord Almen was probably dead. He was one of the few allies she still had. They’d served together long ago as soldiers in the Royal forces. He’d taken her under his wing and then some. They’d learned to use each other for their wants and needs over the years. An alliance of great mutual benefit. He'd been the one who financed her Brigand Army from the outset. She dispatched of many of his enemies, and hers as well. But it had been her deal with the underlings that took it to another level. The demise at Outpost Thirty-One. When she'd come to Almen later, she'd been pleasantly surprised that he hadn't even seemed to mind. She hadn’t figured that one out. But for some reason, he'd always been there when she needed him, until now.

“Slat!”

That detective had foiled her and escaped. Out of nowhere, the underlings came. One moment she was fighting for her life, spilling blood of the Royal soldiers, then came the underlings and she was overwhelmed. Something had struck from the air. A glimmering black javelin had sailed into her chest, searing through one end and out the other. She'd blacked out, only to awaken in excruciating pain. Alone but alive. She'd crawled over the dead, the slaughtered, the mutilated, managed to make it to her feet, and stumbled through the corridors.

The tavern boy interrupted her thoughts.

“I-I found this,” he said, holding a bottle out with shaking arms.

“Grog will do.”

He set it down, pushed his sweaty locks back, and backed away.

She scanned the room. The fireplace was dead, and the tavern was absent of all people. She liked that. It was only her and the boy, as far as she knew. She pulled the cork out of the bottle with her teeth and drank. It burned all the way down her throat and into her wounded belly. “Ah.”

She wiped her sleeve across her busted lip and recalled her thoughts. Bleeding from a half dozen wounds and wracked in pain, she'd dragged her sword over marble floors in the halls. The sounds of battle'd been ringing out from all directions. Distancing herself from the sounds, she'd made it to the garrison, into the lower courtyard, and slipped past the abandoned post out into the streets. She took another swig from the bottle.

“Now what?” she said to herself, tossing her head back.

She was alone again. Lord Almen had given her comfort, sanctuary and pleasure after she'd sought him out, but now that was gone. She reached inside her cloak, pulled out a key as long as her hand, and set it down on the table. The key was crafted with brass and iron with a rectangular amethyst setting. Lord Almen had given it to her, not a gift, but a charge.

She twisted a matching ring that was on her finger.

When the gem twinkled, it meant Lord Almen summoned her. The Key, once entered into any key hole, would take her back to the ancient chamber. At some point, Lord Almen might summon her back into his chambers. But she wasn’t going to wait around.

CHAPTER 38

“Why so glum, Young Man? Are you not enjoying the food?” Trinos said, running her fingers through his curly hair.

A rousing sensation raced from his head to his toes. He panted out his words.

“No. The food's great.” Georgio took a breath. “I just want to find my friend, is all.”

Trinos set him down on the bench alongside her and patted his knee as she looked him up and down.

The woman was the most beautiful thing he ever saw. Prettier than Kam even, and he felt wholly inadequate in her audience. Small. Miniscule. Her long platinum hair seemed to cascade over her shoulders like a living waterfall. Her light blue eyes changed from green to gold in the light.

“Tell me about this friend. What is his name?”

Georgio swallowed hard as he tried to avert his gaze from the plunging neckline on her perfect chest, but had difficulty doing so.

Trinos flipped her hair forward, smiling as she repeated,

“What is his name?”

“Uh … Venir.”

“I like that name. It’s a strong one.”

Georgio’s thoughts shifted back to normal. Excited, as he’d felt for days, he said, “He’s the strongest. The strongest man that ever lived!”

“Is that so?” Trinos said, crossing her legs and placing her hands on her knees. “Stronger than your comrade Mikkel?”

“Hah! Venir whipped him once already. He’s beat an ogre with his bare hands, too.”

She reached over and squeezed his bicep.

“You look like you’re going to be a strong one, too.”

“Well, I guess so.” He couldn’t help but smile. “I’m still growing, and I’m already big for my age.”

“Uh-huh,” she nodded, “So then what do you need your friend Venir for? By the looks of things, you can take care of yourself. And by the sounds of things, he can take care of himself. So why do you think you need him? You seem to be doing just fine without him. I’m certain he’d even be proud of the young man you’re coming to be. I know if I were your friend that I would be.”

Georgio shook his head a little, scooting back from her. Why did he need Venir? He’d never thought about it that way before. When he looked back up at Trinos, her face was a warm ray of sunshine.

“I don’t need him.” He felt his heart stiffen in his chest. “I miss him. You see, he’s my best friend. He’s my hero.”

***

Trinos felt her heart tug inside her chest. Since she’d inhabited her world, she’d found little of the qualities she’d find to be noble: love, loyalty, friendship. It was a hard world, filled with as much good as evil, but the good ones, the defenders of right, had trouble showing it. This young person, not yet fully a man, still blossomed with all the things right in the world.

“Georgio, this Venir, I hope he knows how fortunate he is to have a friend like you. You are a true friend, and I’m grateful to know you.”

“Me?” Georgio said, looking at her funny.

She laughed and said, “Yes, you. Your loyalty blinds you from all the other circumstances, and that is a good thing. It can be a dangerous one, as well.”

“Why?” he said, grabbing a baked biscuit and stuffing it into his mouth.

“You don’t want to be loyal to a fault. If Venir were to do bad things, would you still follow after him?”

“Phmpf … Venir would never do anything bad. But Melegal would. Now, he’s bad news. All he does is pick on me, but I’m almost as big as him now,” he smacked his fist into his hand, “and I’m going to get him good.”

Georgio was a breath of fresh air compared to the rest of her crew. He was naïve, yet weathered. His round face was beginning to chisel, and the handsome ruggedness of a man was beginning to show. He combed his fingers back through the long locks of curly brown hair and dusted the crumbs from his chest. Noting his grubby but otherwise perfect complexion, something puzzled her. He was different. Vastly so from the others.

Reaching over, she dug her nails into his wrist, drawing blood.

“Ow!” he cried. “What did you do that for?”

Holding his arm tight she watched the minor wound instantly heal up.

“I apologize, Georgio, but my curiosity got the best of me. Forgive me.”

“Ah … sure thing. It wasn’t nothing anyway. I’ve had my fingers cut off and even had my throat sliced open, too.”

Trinos slapped her hand over her chest and said, “That’s awful. When was this?”

He shrugged.

“No so long ago. I was shorter and chubbier back then, but Venir took care of all that. Melegal too, though I hate to admit it.”

“What did they do?” she asked.

“Venir has a mystic sack, and inside it he keeps his battle axe that he calls Brool. He went after that underling thing … some black monster … and chopped it to bits and pieces. Chongo ate what was left of it.”

“Who’s Chongo?”

“That’s Venir’s giant two-headed dog. Anyway, Melegal chopped up Detective McKnight into chunks and fed him to the hogs.”

Trinos formed a bitter face. What a horrible thing for a child to go through. Was this her intention when she created Bish? All of this suffering for her entertainment? It all seemed quite dreadful when standing on the ground, where it occurred.

“You don’t look well, Trinos. Here, have a drink,” he said, holding a jug forth.

“No, I’ll be just fine, Georgio.”

But she wasn’t. Guilt. She felt it stronger than any other emotion she’d felt before. Something knotted in her stomach. Compassion and mercy were one thing. You could act and feel good about yourself. But guilt was an entirely different monster to wrangle. Perhaps it’s a good thing, knowing how they feel.

Georgio tapped her on the shoulder and said, “Trinos, I’m well. I heal. I’ve been through some bad things, real bad, but I’m better for it now. This is Bish, Lady. The land of fight or die. And like my friend Venir says, “Every day you live is another day to make the underlings die.” He shook his fist at the ground. “And I’m going to kill underlings, like my friend, because they’re the source of all the problems in this world.”

His strong words not only brought her comfort but relief as well. Perhaps that is why I’ve made it so tough. Something else he’d mentioned seemed familiar. “You mentioned a sack, Georgio. Tell me more about it.”

CHAPTER 39

The fast ride into the pass was cut abruptly short by treacherous terrain that was difficult to navigate. Fogle cursed. At this pace, there was no way he’d be able to catch up to Cass and Chongo. All he could do now was hope they’d come back, and come back soon. The fragile muscles behind his narrow shoulders knotted up again when he saw Boon opening his mouth to speak.

“Haste is the mother of destruction in a situation like this. We need to be careful,” the old man said, swatting a fly from his nose. “There are narrow passes like this all throughout the valley. Havens for underlings and other recreant life.”

Fogle didn’t turn, focusing on what was ahead instead. Cass was gone, and Chongo was the one that was supposed to be leading them to Venir. If Mood were here, this would not have happened.

“On a better note,” Boon continued, “Barton will provide much protection. The smaller creatures, even underlings, are fearful of the giants. Their odor scares them. Not because it smells …

It does smell.

“… but rather because they are unfamiliar with it. That’s why dwarves are such good giant hunters. They can smell them.”

Fogle brought his pony to a halt and twisted his back around, glaring at his grandfather.

“Then why didn’t the dwarves sniff them out before the attack?”

“They were down wind, as were Barton and I. But they were close, so very close to our path. It’s a good thing you came along, or I’d have been back to the Under-Bish.”

“The dwarves are dead!” Fogle snapped.

“And the giants are, too. The dwarven people couldn’t be happier. There’s nothing they enjoy celebrating better than giant soup,” Boon smiled, patting his belly. “Makes me hungry to think about it!”

“WHAT?” Barton said, shoving his way through the trees. “WHO EATS GIANT SOUP?”

“Just a joke, Barton. Nothing to get excited about,” Boon said a bit nervously, then turned back towards Fogle with a wink, saying, “Oops.”

Barton the giant was strange. Harmless like a child, yet threatening as an angry bull at the same time. Fogle had seen what giants could do to a fully grown dwarf. He’d eyed this smaller giant's powerful hands. They could crush him like a squirrel. Still, he pitied the creature. It’s large head was stooped over, and the skin was mangled over its eye, keeping it closed, and the jaw was askew. Barton was discarded. Alone.

“BARTON want to find Venir. Barton wants to find his toys, Hee. Hee.” the giant said, pulling bushes from the ground and tearing out trees.

“Will you tell him to stop doing that? We don’t need the entire valley to know we’re here. And what is he talking about now? Toys?”

“Eh,” Boon twisted at his beard, “seems that your friend tricked Barton in order to escape from The Mist.”

“And?”

“Well, Barton’s upset. It seems that Venir was supposed to leave him the contents of the sack, but failed to do so.”

“And?”

Boon looked over his shoulder. Barton’s back was to them as he chewed on a blue-berry Dackle Bush. “So Barton wants to kill him.”

“What?” Fogle was aghast. “Why in Bish are you helping him?”

Boon put is fingers to his lips.

“Ssh. Ssh. Ssh. Don’t fret it. I’m sure he won’t follow through. Just don’t mention Venir's name around him. It upsets him.”

“What do we do when we find him?”

“If we find him.” Boon corrected.

Clenching his teeth, Fogle dropped his head in his hand. He wanted to take out his spellbook and slap Boon in the face. Idiot!

“Don’t worry, Grandson. If we find him …”

Fogle shot him a look.

“When we find him, I’m sure I’ll have figured out something.”

“Just come on,” Fogle said, digging his heels into the ribs of the pony.

He’d tried to look for signs of where Chongo and Cass had passed. After all, he should have picked up a thing or two from Mood. There was nothing, though. The dirt, rock, trees and bushes that went up one side of the pass and down the other all looked the same to Fogle. The problem was, he couldn’t find his way back, despite all the wreckage Barton had created. Come back, Woman!

Because the pass seemed to narrow the deeper they traveled, he muttered an incantation under his breath. A feeling of security enveloped him, easing his mind, but it did little to shield him from the hot suns as he sweltered in his own sweat. He jerked.

Something twirled by his head, a radiant swirl of orange energy that buzzed through the treetops, up one side of the pass and down the other before it disappeared around the next bend. He stopped, looking back at Boon.

“What was that?” Fogle asked, frowning.

“A scout.”

“Is that so?”

“Sort of. It’s good for finding underlings, that is.”

Barton was standing behind Boon and his pony, scratching his bald head.

“Where did the pretty light go?”

Boon bent his head backward, looking up into Barton’s face. “Keep your eye up in the sky, Barton, and you’ll see another pretty light … possibly.”

Fogle lifted his chin upward. There was nothing but blue skies for miles all around. But his mind began racing through the pages of his spellbook. The Scout. What was that incantation from?

Turning his attention back to Boon, he asked, “What does the Scout do?”

Boon’s left eyebrow was cocked as he gazed into the sky, his wizened face unable to hide his concentration.

Fogle felt the air around him begin to prickle, and his mouth was suddenly dry.

“I don't see anything,” Barton said, in his slow way of speaking.

“Ah … Yes!” Boon exclaimed.

“What are you doing?” Fogle said.

But Boon was no longer there. Instead, the feeble old man sat tall in the saddle, tanned and sinewy arms raised high in the air. Eyes shut, brows buckled, he pulled his elbows down, then shot his fists back up and shouted in a voice of thunder:

“STRIKE!”

Fogle had both hands gripping the saddle when Boon’s voice carried down the pass. Above, it sounded as if the sky had split open. The air thinned around him, and the ponies stomped and nickered.

What has he done!

A black slit opened up in the blue sky, and a roaring tower of flame emerged, striking the distant ground of the pass. Beautiful and terrifying, the orange-yellow-red torrent of flame came down upon the land like a powerful waterfall.

Fogle shielded his eyes with his hands. He could feel the heat on his knuckles and through his robes. As quickly as it had started, it stopped. He took a breath.

Beside him, Boon’s eyes were glowing with energy, burning with new life and an old hatred. Pure intensity.

“Let’s go, Fogle,” Boon demanded, snapping the reins on his pony, “there will be survivors. There’re always survivors, but not for long. Prepare for battle, Grandson. Yah!”

CHAPTER 40

He knew someone was coming, but that hardly mattered now. Venir, for all his efforts, was immobilized. He fought it, though. Move or die racing through his mind. The cocoon of caterpillars writhing in his stomach did not fade, nor did the shrieking sound of the mushrooms subside, either. Venir dug the mud from his eyelets in the helm as he crawled on his hands and knees up the hillside. It was miserable, the sound, the sweat, everything. Bish proved once again to be full of surprises.

What am I doing?

Straining with tremendous effort, he rose to his knees, leaned forward, and stepped slowly up the hillside. The mushrooms screamed louder and louder with every hard fought step as his mind began to dizzy from the maddening sound.

He screamed, but not even his own voice could be heard. He might have jammed Brool’s spike in his ear if it were possible. His tortured mind had a better idea. He tore his helmet off and threw it to the ground.

REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!

The sound amplified. He’d expected the opposite. BAD IDEA! He fell to his knees, fingers in his ears, Brool slipping from his grasp as he kicked and writhed on the ground.

REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!

The blue veins rose in his forearms as he clutched for the helm. Fighting the madness, his fingers clawed at the dirt, getting him closer, inch by inch, when he swore he heard a chitter. They were here. The deep instincts of his mind spoke to him a warning.

Underlings!

A pair of underlings appeared, eyes glinting like blue sapphires. Hunters. Armed with small curved swords, metal bucklers, and wearing odd helmets, they scanned the forest. Venir got his fingers around the chinstrap of his helm and dragged it towards himself. That’s when the first underling's eyes locked on his. The underling hit his comrade in the arm, who in turn hissed, raised his sword and charged.

Venir’s fingers were numb when he realized he didn’t have Brool in hand. The deafening sound sapped the strength from his arms and legs. The first underling was on him, sword high and chopping downward. Venir ran the helm's spike into its chest, bowling the smaller humanoid over. The other's blade hit him hard but glanced off his scale mail. Fighting through the dizzying blackness that was trying to overcome him, Venir grabbed the creature by the leg and jerked it down to the ground. The underling bit his hand, kicked him in the face, and twisted and writhed in his grasp. Venir’s grip slipped.

REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!

Everything was fuzzy when both the underlings pounced on him, claws digging into his arms and face. Venir grabbed whatever he could, holding on for his life. His strength was fading. He reached back and caught the lip of something in his fingers. The underling’s helmet. He ripped it off.

The underling jolted to its feet, fanged mouth wide open, clawed fingers inside its ears. It was screaming, but there was no sound other than the high pitched …

REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!

Black blood trickled from the underling's nose as it fell to the ground and pitched forward, face first.

Somehow, Venir jammed his bloodied helm back down on his head and secured the strap under his chin. The high pitched wail was dulled, but far from no longer being annoying. Brool! Where was his axe? Certainly more would be coming.

REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE—

It stopped. The screeching stopped. Venir felt the weight of the world vacating his broad shoulders, aside from the ringing in his ears. He retched. Then retched again.

“SonuvaBish … that was nasty!”

Venir picked Brool back up and skewered the unconscious underling. Ripping the spike free, he put as much distance between him and those mushrooms as he could. Finding a cleft along a pile of moss-laden boulders, he tucked himself inside, gasped for breath, and took a long swig from his canteen. Better lay low awhile. He smashed a large mosquito that landed on his cheek and flicked it to the ground.

The underlings. Certainly, the hillside would be crawling with them by now. At any second, he expected to hear the angry mutterings of at least a score of underlings searching for him. Where are they? A drop of underling blood dripped from the helm onto his toe. One minute passed. Another drop fell. Two minutes passed. Something’s wrong.

He closed his eyes. The forest smelled like a rotting log, and even the bugs in the air were thinned. He heard something. The sounds of dogs. And voices. It can’t be! Human voices? But it was.

“Come on, men,” he heard a gruff voice say from the bottom of the ravine. Dogs were sniffing and snorting, paws rustling the dry ground.

“What about the shriekers?” one man asked.

“No need to worry. These are old ones. My, pretty big, too. No wonder that shrieking was so bloody loud. Huh … dead now. Look at this …”

Venir slid out from the rocks, craning his neck forward.

“… see, they’re dead now. Once they blow, they blow until they're dead. Haha. And so you’ll be as well.”

Another voice from the small party said, “A comrade got too close to one of those once. A littler one that is. He said that blasted thing turned his guts into worms and his ears ring to this day. Well, he’s dead now, so I don’t assume he can hear anything, I suppose.”

Venir heard the jangling of weapons and boot steps stomping over the dirt. Whoever they were, they weren’t trying to hide from anything or anyone. There must have been five of them at most. What on in Bish were men doing outside of Outpost Thirty-One? And where were the underlings?

“Hah,” one said, his voice higher than the others, “we got two dead over here.”

“Underlings?”

“Come take a look for yourself.”

Venir eased his way back down the hill and bunched himself over a rocky outcropping.

“I’ll be!”

“Aye!”

“I’m taking their eyes!”

“Fools!” the one that sounded like a leader said, “They’ll have our heads. Slat! This is trouble. Nothing but trouble. It’s been bad enough up here, but at least it’s quiet and the food's hot. Now this.” Venir saw a man’s arm chop down a sapling with his sword. “Slat on it! They’ll have our heads!”

Venir crept farther down the rock edge as the man below smashed the sapling down under his boot. He got a view of the men, who were less than thirty yards below. Royal soldiers? It can’t be! They were in full view now. He could even see the royal insignia on some of their shoulders. Bone if it isn’t.

The leader wore a crested metal helmet, a full shirt of chainmail, bracers on his arms, and steel worked shin and thigh guards strapped to his legs. A bastard sword hung in his grip. He was a sizable man, Venir noted, when another one stepped along his side. Sweet mother of Bish!

The second man was bigger, taller than Venir and heavier, thick thewed and iron-jawed. A thought of Farc entered his mind at the sight of the man's bald crown rimmed with thick black hair, wearing a leather cuirass that bulged some at the gut. Venir noted the pair of long swords strapped at his sides and the thick course black hairs on his arms. A part orc with Royals? What madness is this?

The other three men were in similar uniform to the leader, one holding the leash to two large hunting dogs. All bigger than the average man, typical of Royal soldiers, each holding a small buckler and longsword. Venir bit into his lip as he tried to make sense of what was going on. Did these men occupy the outpost with underlings? How many more men would be up there? How many more underlings?

One of the men poked an underling with his sword.

“Don’t do that,” the leader kneeling among the dead said, “it’s dead. Look at the hole in it. Bish! What kind of weapon hit the vermin?”

“Spear.”

“Lance.”

“Who’d be carrying a lance in these woods, Fool?” the leader said to the smallest of the soldiers.

They all looked at the half-orcen man who stood like a statue with oversized biceps crossed over his chest, chin up, nostrils flared, not paying them any mind.

“Have the hounds got a scent yet?”

The big dogs, both with medium coats of black, brown and white, snorted at the ground. He’d worked with such dogs before. They were excellent trackers and hunters, fast as gazelles. It wouldn’t take them but a few seconds to track him down. Unless the armament protected him from dogs, which it wasn’t known to do.

“Everyone spread out, and look for some signs. We need to get an idea of how many men we're dealing with before this hunt begins.”

Venir remained frozen on the rocks and watched. Less than a minute later, the part-orc spoke. He voice was dry and deep.

“One man. Big.” The soldier had his hand in the impression where he’d fallen in a mud hole. “Must be pretty strong to survive the shriekers.”

“A mage, maybe?” the leader asked, eyeing the area.

“No mage has ever been that big. Not a fat man, either. Big boned. Wearing armor.”

“Seeing how there’s only one of him … er … it is a him isn’t it?”

The big part-orcen man shrugged.

“Could be a part ogre woman. Har. If that were the case we’d've all smelled her rotten crack by now. The flies would be thicker, too.”

The soldiers showed a disturbed look.

“What?” the part orc said, chuckling “you men haven’t lived til you've made woo-wu with an ogre.”

Venir hunched back behind the rocks. All he'd wanted to do was make it to the Outpost wall by nightfall and try to slip in. Now, he was trapped. If he ran, there would certainly be more patrols out there. There’s got to be another way.

“Let loose the dogs then,” said the leader, tipping a flask to his lips, eyeing the hill.

“No, I’m not sending them into the unknown,” a feisty voice retorted. “Whoever it is has killed two underlings. It can certainly kill my dogs.”

“Fine, keep the dogs leashed, but you’ll still be taking the point.”

Great! Time's running out!

Turning to flee, Venir sent a small boulder tumbling down the hillside.

All the eyes in the ravine locked on him, and the dogs howled. Swords scraped from their scabbards as the leader yelled, “Cut him down!”

CHAPTER 41

“Don’t despair, huh.”

Lefty kept his head down, ears open, hammering away.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Huh. You listenin’? Huh.”

Lefty peeked over the crate. The quarter master was farther down the dock, lash cracking with rhythm and fear. Still hammering, he glanced to his right. An old dwarf with a short white beard tied off in black and white tails hiding his chin was staring at him with beady black eyes. He looked like he was a thousand years old as he chewed the bottom of his mustache that hung inside his mouth.

“Huh. You seein’. Huh. You hearin’ now, too? Huh.”

Lefty remembered every face he’d come across, but this one he didn't know. The dwarves he’d been acquainted with, they were always gruff or short, unless of course they were telling a nasty joke. He held his tongue and hammered away. I don’t need any more trouble.

“Listen to me, Boy. Huh. I knows many secrets. I’ve been here very long. Huh. You listen, Halfling. Huh,” the dwarf said, his voice drawing a few curious stares from the other workers.

“Keep it down, Codger. I have no reason to converse with you. I’m in enough trouble already,” Lefty replied, shifting his aching body away. The last thing he wanted was a lash on his back to add pain to his misery.

“You do listen. Huh. Good. Jubbler talk. You listen. Listen good. Huh. Jubbler. Me Jubbler. Else I’ll talk louder. Huh.”

“Yes. Huh!” Lefty said as his hammer slipped free of his sweaty hands and clattered on the planks. “See what you did?” he whispered, glaring at the old dwarf man as he snatched up his hammer.

The orcen quartermaster was coming back, a whip in one hand a leather lash in the other.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

“What was that racket, Halfling? You trying to skim off some work?”

Crack!

Lefty felt the whip's tip licking a foot from his back.

“No. No, Quartermaster. A little slip is all. It won’t happen again.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

The Quartermaster was eyeing him when he noticed the dwarf.

“Ho. I see you’ve found some help, Halfling.” The orcen man showed him a toothy grin. “Jubbler will have you wanting to drive those nails in your head within a few hours.” The Quartermaster leaned down. “Tell you what, though. Once you feel you can’t take it any longer, let me know. I’ll be glad to drive the nails in your skull for you.”

Jubbler jumped up on the crate, faced the quartermaster and started beating his chest like an ape.

“Huh! Huh! Huh! Huh! Huh! …”

The Quartermaster cocked his arm back and laid into Jubbler with the lash.

Jubbler curled up into a ball as he continued his insane mutterings.

After about ten lashes, the orc kicked the old dwarf off the crate, sending him crashing onto the planks with a thud.

“Remember, Halfling. I’ll drive those nails for you,” the Quartermaster said, holding his big paw of hand in front of his face, “but I’ll be needing a bigger hammer.” He turned and farted as he walked away.

Melegal'd told him, "People often say, 'Misery loves company, unless you’re me.'" Lefty looked at Mumbling Jubbler the Dwarf and couldn’t agree more. More people and more problems to follow.

Jubbler rocked back and forth with his arms wrapped around his knees and head tucked in between, muttering, “Huh. Huh. Huh. Huh…”

***

I am Zorth the Everblade. Mind … Magic … Metal … now one.

Kam’s arms trembled as she held the great sword before her.

Once I was a dying man, ages ago, a Royal on a throne of blood and gold.

Kam felt her will intertwined with another. A mind grumble of sorts. She fought against the foreign entity with everything she had. Nothing would control her. No man. No woman. No sword.

I asked for longer life, and a mage did this to me. It was not what I had in mind.

A great sadness filled her as tears streaked down her face. She could feel a cold metal tomb surrounding her, forcing the icy breath from her lungs. Long, cold and lonely Zorth’s life in the sword had been.

I am thankful for you, Kam. I’ve not spoken for so long. I know your dilemma. I can help you if you can help me.

Help. It was the word she’d almost given up on. It wasn't someone who could help her it seemed, but rather something.

“How?” she asked.

Lend me your magic. I need strength.

She could feel the sword’s hunger nibbling for her power. An invasion, but unobtrusive. The will of the sword was weak, like a fire lacking fuel.

Free me! Kam, please! the sword moaned inside her head.

She was stubborn. She fought back. She wasn’t going to freely give what Palos had temporarily taken. She wouldn’t be anyone's slave ever again. If only the sword had a woman’s voice and not a man’s, it would have been much easier; she was certain. It would be hard to trust men anymore.

“You release me first,” she ordered.

I cannot. I will not. I cannot risk this torment any longer. I implore of you, Kam, a woman who is good, intelligent and mystic. I know you can feel my suffering.” The sword whined inside her head, miserable. “You must HELP ME!

Kam winced as the word bit deep into the recesses of her mind.

“I will not, Zorth Everblade!”

Alas, Kam. I mean you no harm. I can help. Give me power, and I shall release you. Such is the word of Zorth. Think about it, quickly, if you will.

Zorth. The name seemed as if it should have been familiar. Perhaps that was only what the sword wanted her to think. The thought of a mind infusion by magic with metal was another thing. As far as she was concerned, that wasn’t possible. It wasn’t even heard of before. As she struggled, her numb fingers remained frozen to the blade. She didn’t like being controlled. She was sick of it entirely. She remembered what Joline had said time and time again. “Sometimes, you have to give in a little before you get what you want.” She never liked that saying. She’d been giving way too much of herself lately, and it hadn’t helped at all. The thought of Palos pawing at her made her mind recoil.

He is less than the crust between an orc's toes. I’d never let a man such as that within a league of a noble woman such as you. I’ll make him pay … if you let me.

“No, I will make him pay!”

Her anger was boiling over. Strengthening her. Filling her with new power. She wasn’t going to have a man to do things for or against her ever again. Her fingertips lost their icy touch as new warmth flowed through her hand.

No Kam! Please! Help me! Free me! I need—

The giant sword clattered to the ground.

“Blast!” she said, flapping her hands as a headache came on. “I can get out of here all by myself!”

In her heart, she knew that wasn’t true. She needed something or someone. The sword, however, was nothing but another problem. A big one. How was she going to explain why it wasn’t on the mantle? She certainly didn’t want to pick it up again.

“What am I going to do now?”

The long blade gleamed back at her, tantalizing like a diamond. The fire’s light on the metal reflected and wavered on it like a living thing. She brushed her hair back over her ears, wondering how she could even consider carrying the massive thing out of there. It was the biggest sword she’d ever seen. Shaking her head, all she could think was how badly she needed to get out of here, somehow, someway.

Erin! She wanted to see her baby girl. When Palos found the sword on the floor, he’d be furious. He might not let her see her baby again. Think of something, Kam. She’d have to have an answer and have it soon. Her heart jumped as the door knob turned, the door opened, and Palos and Thorn appeared.

CHAPTER 42

Staggering through the streets, Tonio paid no mind to the gawping stares, nor the bolt jutting from his forehead. Something had rattled his mind, making it fuzzy again. A big black man with a knotted club had beaten him like a drum, jarring his skull and his bones. He needed something, but what was it that would help him focus?

“Whoa, Man. Watch where you’re going!” a drunken bystander he jostled said.

Tonio leered at him, tall, ugly and scary.

The man rammed his knife into Tonio's shoulder, not once but twice, eyes in full alarm.

“What are you?”

Tonio backhanded the man in the face, spinning him to the ground, and then picked up a jug of wine from the ground and staggered on.

He muttered to himself but couldn’t talk. A woman with one good eye and a head full of yellow hair passed out as he yanked the bolt from his head. He groaned an awful sound as tiny webs of flesh filled in the hole.

“What am I?”

Ducking into an alley, he found a narrow set of stairs and went down.

“Who am I?”

He sat down in his suit of battered armor, watching the big rats scurry beneath his feet. He tipped the jug of wine to his lips and drank. It was not long before clarity came. Memories of his mother flashed in his mind. The haughty face of the Vee-Man angered him most. He bashed his fist into the wall over and over, screaming, “What has happened to me?”

There was no answer, and not a single rat scurried. He used to be somebody important, but then the Vee-Man ruined it all. He had to kill him to make things right. He remembered the men back at the stables. The place where it all began. Where the beast had mauled him. And then the underling had healed him, bringing him back less than a man. And what had those spiders done to him? The arachnamen, McKnight had called them. What part did they play in all this? Mother. Should he not seek her out? And there was another woman in his life. Significant. Meaningful. Rayal. Raven-haired and beautiful.

He hungered, grabbed a rat, and bit into it as it squealed. Plecht! He spit it out, wiping his mouth and staggering farther down the stairwell where a sewer grate awaited him. He ripped it from the ground and crawled back in. The sewers, as foul as they were, he could not smell. He washed the taste of rat from his mouth with a swish of wine. Traversing through the corridors, he managed to find his spot. A small cell with many jugs, some empty, some full. He took a seat by his stash, closed his eyes, and drank.

He remembered the boy saying that the Vee-Man was gone. If that was true, then what would he do? Where would he find him? If the Vee-Man wasn’t in the city, then where? He was confused. Angry. Without purpose now.

A thought drifted into his mind. Home.

“I am a Royal. Am I not?” he said in his raspy tone.

He swallowed down another jug of wine and smashed it into the wall. From now on, he was going to walk like a Royal, talk like a Royal, and take whatever he wanted like a Royal. Rising to his feet, he strapped on the sharpest sword he could find in the hoard he had gathered. He filled two flasks of wine and slung them over his shoulder. He didn’t need any more confusion. Why the wine helped, he could not explain, but it did, or so he thought. Without it, his mind was rubble.

“I’m going home,” he said. “Whether they want me or not.”

And back onto the streets he went, picking his way through the alleys, ignoring the desperate faces, and ready to fight anything that stood in his way. A mile into his journey, he forgot where he was going. Vee-Man!

CHAPTER 43

Everyone was frozen or screaming, aside from Melegal. Move! His swords, the Sisters, slipped from their sheaths in time enough to deflect a blow that would have split his skull. The underlings were quick and taunting, playing with him, the living shield between the underlings and the others.

“Defend yourselves, fools! They’re killers!” he exclaimed, chopping his swords in the air as fast as he could, keeping the underlings at bay.

The dark creatures jangled his nerves. Lithe and fluid, rippling in muscle, with sharp teeth chomping the air, they fearlessly came at him. If they got him on the ground with their sharp claws, they’d rend him to pieces, if they didn’t chop him to death with their small curved swords. Clang!

He parried one blow.

Clang!

Then another.

He was quicker and taller, but they were smaller and stronger, a better fit for close quarters.

Jubilee was still screaming.

“Shut up, Jubilee!” he yelled.

She didn’t.

Clang! Clang! Clang! Slit!

A sword tip slashed through his shirt, cutting him under the arm. Sheesh! Fast little monsters! Already, Melegal’s arms were tiring. The underlings were cunning and content in their efforts to wear him down. He needed help.

“Brak, have you a sword or not?” he shouted.

Brak remained huddled back in the corner with the women. Sonvuvabish! Even Melegal couldn’t choke down his fear, but it wasn’t his first Fight or Die moment, either. If he was going to do something, he was going to have to do it fast. Think!

The underlings chittered back and forth with each other and one of them broke off and dashed for the lantern, grabbed it, and tossed it to the ground. Everything went pitch black.

Melegal lunged, driving the tip of his sword into the last spot he saw the underling's chest a split second earlier. A ghastly hiss filled the air as he felt the sword tip plunge through muscle and bone. Clawed fingers ripped into the skin above his eyes. He cried out in pain when a metal blade whisked across his side, but he felt the wicked creature give and die under his blade.

Haze moaned out his name.

“Melegal … help!”

He heard a chop into flesh, chittering and screaming all bound together in commotion. In the dark, they were helpless while the underlings tore into them like weasels in a chicken house.

Panting for breath, blood dripping into his eyes, fighting the burning gash in his ribs, Melegal rummaged through his clothes.

There was a sick chopping sound coming from the corner, and the screams of the women were no more. Haze! Jittery fingers found the hidden pocket in his vest, the silk pouch within.

Glitch!

No, don’t be dead!

He dropped the magic coin into his hand, letting the light spill out.

Melegal was dismayed. The blood. The wounds. The twitching. He was at a loss for words, his thin lips twitching.

Brak had the underling pinned up to the ceiling with its own sword. The dark blood was dripping on Brak's face. Haze and Jubilee were huddled together, but breathing. Brak was squinting, head turned away from the brilliant light.

“I think you got him, Brak,” Melegal said, hustling over.

“Haze!” He grabbed her, shaking her quivering shoulders. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head. Jubilee opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by Melegal’s hand. He looked over his shoulder at the entrance. No underlings. “No more screaming, please.”

He helped the women up.

“We need to go. Gather all the gear and supplies.”

No one wasted any time.

“I’ll get the food,” Brak said, while Melegal was gathering the rectangular case he’d taken from the corner of Lord Almen’s study.

“Uh, you do that, Brak,” he said, turning around to look.

The mangled underling remained pinned to the ceiling.

Melegal sniffed a chuckle. “Seems you have some of your father in you after all, Brak. Well done.”

Jubilee hugged Brak’s legs. “You saved us.”

“All right, enough of that. Let’s go,” Melegal ordered. “As Venir used to say, Brak, 'Where there’s two underlings, there’s a dozen more waiting.'”

“Slat,” Haze said.

Melegal pulled his blade from the underling he'd killed. Its citrine eyes seemed more alive than dead. People always said it was best to burn them or cut their eyes out, but Venir said that wasn’t the case. ‘Just chop them up til they move no more, and you’ll be fine,’ Venir’d said. A bad feeling still hung with him, though. Bone was under attack, and for the first time in months he missed Venir.

“Hurry, we need to leave,” he said, leading the way out the door.

It was dark, but Melegal allowed a little light from the coin when needed. He cupped his ears, expecting sounds of underlings. Nothing but the scurry of rats and dripping water. Better make this fast.

Jubilee's hiding spot beneath the city streets was adequate but not as far removed from the heart of the city as he’d like. Popping up into the streets now would leave them exposed to any soldiers or Watchmen who were looking for them. To be safe, they’d have to travel farther down below the city.

“It stinks down here,” Haze commented, holding her shirt up over her nose.

“Life stinks,” Melegal replied with a wry smile, reaching back and grabbing her hand, “you’d think you’d be used to it by now.”

She squeezed his hand back. “I’m worried about my sisters, Me.” She was still shaking. “I’ve never seen anything as scary as an underling before. I’m scared, and my sisters are probably guarding that Everwell. They’ll die before they abandon that post.”

“We can’t fret that at the moment. Let’s make it topside first. I’ve got another spot to roost. They’ll be fine until then, I’m certain,” he said, trying to reassure her.

Bish! All I need is another big mouth to feed. Melegal and his family of big bellied urchins. What you won’t eat, they will.

Twisting and turning, Melegal quietly led them through a half mile of tunnels and stood at the threshold of an abandoned door. There were stairways all over the city like this, all part of a long failed infrastructure filled with catacombs. Melegal had learned much about it as he chased down the Slergs. It was another world: dark, dank and lonely. Most tunnels were caved in by dirt or heavy rubble, making it impossible to move farther down. Whole families resided there, the most desperate citizens Bone had to offer. Still, despite the sanctuary, not as many people haunted the tunnels as one might expect. He wasn’t sure if that was because of the underlings or something else. He remembered the presence he'd sensed months earlier: powerful and evil, unlike anything he’d ever known. Perhaps that’s what kept it purged of more life.

“Put on your cowls,” he said, making his way through the door and up the stairs.

One by one, they went by him, up the stairs on heavy legs. Using the coin's light, Melegal took one last look down the tunnels. The bright beam cut through the muck and slime covered walls, giving it an odd radiant shine. He exhaled through his pursed lips. Ah …

“Where are we going?” Jubilee asked, eyes bright and curious beneath her cowl.

“Be quiet, and you’ll soon find out.”

The southern part of the city was humming with activity. Crowds of people were pressed down the main street towards the gate. There was talk of nothing but underlings, unexplainable deaths and misery.

Perfect.

Melegal led them to the barn, taking the side entrance, avoiding all the traffic at the other barns where Royal soldiers were preparing horses. There was shouting, ordering and hollering from the barns next door, but this barn was still quiet and abandoned near the south entrance of the wall. He looked up into the rafters and saw the rope he’d used to kill McKnight. It was eerie.

“You sure didn’t do a very good job avoiding the stink,” Haze said. “Why would you bring us here, anyway?”

He opened the small door that was Quickster and Chongo’s stable and ducked inside. No Quickster. That wasn’t a good sign. The little bit of hope he had fled. Maybe they’d taken off.

“Now what?” Jubilee said, plopping down in a bed of hay.

“We wait,” he said, closing the small door.

Jubilee and Haze both pulled the cowls from their faces, saying, “How long?”

At least Brak was quiet. The big man moaned like a wounded cow and sank to his knees, holding his belly. His fingers were covered in blood. How had Melegal missed that wound?

“Brak! Brak!” Jubilee jumped and pulled the cowl from his face. His face was grey and pasty, and his eyes fluttered up in his head.

Melegal braced himself behind the man to keep him from falling.

Brak was panting. “It’s all right, Jubilee. You … you’ll be better off without me. M-More food that way. S-so ssssad, dying and st-still being hungry.”

“Don’t wail, Slerg,” Melegal hissed in warning, “or we'll all be dead as well.”

He lowered Brak into the hay and ripped off the man’s dirty shirt. The wound was deep and fatal. How had the man made it this far? It didn’t seem possible. Brak might be a thick skinned slow bleeder, but time was running out. He looked at Haze, who only had a haunting look in her eyes as she shook her head. The son of Venir was a goner.

CHAPTER 44

“Venir calls his hand-and-a-half axe Brool. It’s the deadliest weapon of all. I saw him chop an underling in two with it… more than once. One time, he chopped off a forest mage's head and batted it down the path. It was the funniest thing I ever saw, in a weird sort of way. I’ll never forget that.” Georgio slapped his knee. “And those Forest Magi won't, either; I’m certain.”

The young man kept rambling, and she let him go. I was good to be in the presence of someone more cheerful than dour for a change. But Trinos’s mind was racing, recalling what she knew about the sack, the tool she'd created to keep Bish balanced between good and evil. She rubbed her arms and shoulders. An unnatural chill was in the air, raising goosebumps on her arms as a stiff breeze tangled her hair.

“And the helm. It can heal him. Brought him back from the dead—at least I think he was dead—at least once. I saw it for myself.”

Trinos wouldn't have thought she'd let such an important detail slip her mind. But it had. In her own crude way, she’d put it upon one man, one person at a time, to use a mystic power that would sway the balance back and forth forever and ever. What a charge that would put a person through, handling such awesome power. Yet, it seemed to do its job. And here sat a young man who'd witnessed it in action.

“Melegal was there. I swore he was crying over my almost dying, but he’d have sworn it was sweat. He’s still mean, though. Lefty was there, too, along with Mood and Chongo,” Georgio’s voice trailed off. He had a saddened look on his face.

“What is it, Georgio? What's wrong?” she asked.

“Ah … nothing.”

“No, please tell me.”

“My friend Lefty, the halfling I told you about, the one with sweaty feet.”

She giggled and nodded. It was another one of the touches from her creation she’d forgotten about.

“He caught up with another one named Master Gillem.” Georgio’s face bunched up. “Turned him rotten, that halfling did. Always lying and stealing. And no one said a thing about it but me. They were all stupid to it or something. Ah, he acts happy, but I know he’s not. Just a miserable little halfling.”

“You really care about your friends, don’t you?”

“Sure, I guess.”

“Georgio, I care about people, too. Perhaps we can bring them all here, and I can help you keep them out of trouble.”

Georgio looked around, frowning.

“I don’t think Venir would like it here. He likes the Octopus and drinking the nasty tasting Grog. Lefty might like to come back, though, but I don’t see how that’s possible.”

“Ahem,” a voice interrupted. It was Corrin, holding his hat to his chest.

“Yes, Corrin?” she said.

“Trinos, ah … well, the people are worried about the underlings. They think we need some … er … fortifications. Some are even talking about leaving, but I don’t let them. I tell them if they go, they can’t ever come back,” he finished with a firm nod.

“Corrin, must you always be so harsh? They are just frightened.”

“Yes, I fear I must be,” he said with a bow, “unless you say otherwise. And, those men, Mikkel and Billip, well, they're getting frisky with the women.”

“And how do you know this?” she said, closing her eyes and raising her face to the sun.

“I can’t find any of them, aside from the new boy, Nikkel. He’s working with the others, as well should be this one.” He tipped his chin at Georgio.

Trinos huffed as she rose. There were many things to consider now that she’d become involved. The people needed protection. They also needed self-control. Georgio, who she liked very much, wanted to leave rather than stay within her sanctuary, and Corrin was nothing but a worry wart. It was a wonder that her world managed to keep it all together, yet it did, and somewhere on Bish, a man named Venir unknowingly had that responsibility now. It didn’t seem fair.

“I must leave you momentarily. Get along and behave, Corrin. And Georgio, I hope you’re still here when I return.”

***

Georgio was wiping his clammy hands on his trousers, admiring Trinos's beautiful face and tranquil speech, and then she was gone as if she wasn’t ever there.

“Huh?”

He looked at Corrin, and Corrin looked at him, both looking around. He’d never seen anyone disappear like that.

“I’ll be. Not again!” Corrin said, wringing his hat. “Why did she just do that for?”

“She said she’d be back,” Georgio added.

“Sure, and the last time she did that she was gone more than a week. And that’s no picnic when these people have to survive without her. They get antsy. And with the talk of all the underlings, it’ll be much worse than the last time.”

Georgio didn’t know what to say. It seemed Corrin had his hands full as he stomped his feet, hands on hips and twirled around. It couldn’t be that bad, though.

“We can help, Corrin.”

“Who, you and those leg chasing louts? I’d rather you didn’t bother. It’ll only make things worse. If anyone asks, you don’t know anything about Trinos. She often comes and goes. Pah!” Corrin spat on the ground and started walking away, “Just stay out of my way and keep your mouth closed. Blasted responsibility. It used to be so much easier: killing them rather than taking care of them.”

All Georgio wanted to do was go and find Venir. He needed to find Billip and Mikkel and convince them it was time to go. As he walked around the District, the only person he could find was Nikkel, who was pushing a load of stones with a wheelbarrow.

“Do you know where your father is?” Georgio asked.

Nikkel shrugged his broad shoulders. It was clear he was growing into a sizable frame like his father. “No, why?”

“I want to get out of here.”

“So, go already,” Nikkel suggested. “You’re a man, aren’t you? You can do whatever you want to. Me, I have to do what my father says when he’s around, but not when he’s not.”

Father! With all the commotion, Georgio had forgotten about his own family that resided south of the Red Clay Forest. He wanted to check on them as well.

“Tell Mikkel and Billip I’m heading home, to the Red Clay Village.”

“Don’t be stupid!” Nikkel said, tossing a large stone from the cart. “Underlings are as thick as a hive of bees out there. Besides, last I heard, the Red Clay Village was gone. Even if your family survived, they wouldn’t still be there now.”

Georgio fell down on his butt. Nikkel’s words stunned him. In all these months, he’d given little thought to his family at all. And now, for all he knew they were dead. He’d given little consideration to them before. All this time, he’d been more worried about Venir than his own family. What kind of son did that?

“You aren’t going to cry, are you?” Nikkel said, sitting down by his side. “Father says crying’s for women and scrawny little men. He also says ‘You’re safer dead than alive in this world.’"

“What in Bish is that supposed to mean?” Georgio said, wiping his eyes.

“I don’t know. It just seemed like the right thing to say about now,” Nikkel stretched back up and resumed unloading the wheel barrow. “Want to help?”

Georgio missed his family. He wanted to see them so bad right now. He wanted to find Venir as well. Mikkel and Billip, as well meaning as they were, weren’t the most reliable. And Trinos, as captivating as she might be, could certainly handle herself. Venir had said, ‘If you want to be a man, act like a man. If you can’t take care of yourself, how do you expect to take care of others?’

Georgio got up and said, “No. I’m getting out of Bone.”

CHAPTER 45

“Will you get down?” Darlene said as she settled her wide hips behind the rocks. “Please?”

Scorch didn’t feel the need to do any such thing. Why would he bother to hide from anything? Still, he didn’t want to ruin all the woman’s excitement by not participating. As Darlene had told him on the trail, ‘It's not sportsmanlike.’ He huddled by her side, watching her beady eyes shift back and forth under her uni-brow.

“Good,” she breathed through her puffy lips, “just be still and quiet while I sort this out.”

Scorch locked his fingers behind his head, lay down and closed his eyes. He’d gotten used to this. Darlene was a devoted hunter. She’d killed a boar, a hawk, and a pair of rather large horned rabbits. She’d convinced him she was quite the fisherman, too. Her pale brown eyes were always filled with energy as she tirelessly skinned the bloody meat from the bones. She was truly content with her role in the world, even though the meat she cooked wasn’t particularly good.

“Scorch,” she said in a harsh whisper as she nudged him.

He popped open his eye and looked at her. It was hot, just like any other day, but Darlene’s head was always bone dry. Now, beads of sweat adorned it like rain, and her tanned cheeks were flushed. He rolled over to his belly and peeked over the rocks.

“Hmmm …” he said.

Over a hundred yards below their rocky perch, a squad of small, well-armed grey skinned people were digging holes in the outback ground. They weren’t human, but the frightened screams of their prisoners were. Scorch rolled onto his back and closed his eyes. He could feel Darlene’s uncertain rustlings at his side.

“Er .. well … um … Scorch … uh, I think those are underlings. What do we do?”

He could sense her heart pounding inside her chest and the fear of the unknown in her sweat. But that wasn’t all.

He spoke in a calm and reassuring voice, saying, “We are safe here, Darlene. No worries at all. Just keep an eye on them, and when the moment is right, we will go.”

“I guess you’re right,” she replied, her voice more steady than before.“You’re safe with me... Yet,” she said, sitting down beside him.

He could feel the intensity of her eyes on him. He re-opened his eye.

“Yet?”

“Um … you see, I can’t just sit and watch those people die. It wouldn’t be right.”

“Why not?”

“Why not!” She grabbed his clothes. “Underlings are evil. All they do is kill people. They torture and mutilate them. I can’t just sit here and not do anything. It wouldn’t be right.”

He propped himself up on his elbows. “But what makes you think those people need saving, and why would you put yourself in peril? You’ve known bad people, like your husband and such sorts. What if they’re just as bad as them?”

“It doesn’t matter if they're good or bad.” She pulled an arrow from her quiver and loaded her bow. “They’re men, not underlings.” She stepped over Scorch and took a step down the hill, looking back at Scorch with a smile. “Besides, I’ve always wanted to kill an underling before I die. If I don’t make it back, I’d appreciate it if you buried me instead of them.”

Scorch found himself perplexed as he watched her go. The woman, durable and crafty as she might be, didn’t stand the remotest of chances. And the men and women prisoners, though not as bad as some people could be, he sensed were hardly worth saving at all. Still, the hearts of the underlings were unlike anything he’d ever encountered. The things they did and were capable of.

Below, as silent as a deer, Darlene had closed within fifty yards of the underlings when she let the first arrow fly. It sailed true, catching a shoveling underling in the throat and knocking it into the grave. The next arrow caught an underling in the chest, piercing through its mailed armor. The black creatures scurried up the hill now, zeroing in on the doomed woman.

Scorch rose to his feet, shaking his head. Darlene was terrified, but she kept on shooting when most people would have fled. Her next arrow buried itself in a tree, and the following in an underling skull. He had to admit she was pretty good with that bow, but her wisdom lacked the same accuracy.

Now, the human prisoners were on the run. Good for them. She’s spared them momentarily from their agony. At least she’d given them a few more moments of freedom and the hope for escape. But Darlene’s daring was only seconds from coming to a chilling end. Once the underlings got a hold of her, they’d rip her to pieces.

Scorch sighed. Was she brave or foolish? If she'd stayed with him, no harm would have come to her. He could have given her anything she needed, just about. So he stood in contemplation, wondering if he’d grant her request to bury her or not.

CHAPTER 46

Shards of lightning blasted a pair of underlings that were crawling from the fiery scene. Their bodies sizzled and popped as muscle was charred to a crisp on their bones. The smell was as malodorous as Fogle had ever experienced, so he held his nose under his cloak. The underlings, more than twelve of them, were nothing but remains.

Boon’s eyes were filled with energy; his arms were draped over his head, fingertips crackling with power. He was a man possessed, standing in the middle of a smoldering hole on a mission to destroy every black thing that tried to crawl out.

Fogle held a spell on the tip of his tongue, eyeing the ridges and the sky. If there were more underlings about, they would come, unless they were scared. He led his horse by the burning trees and smoking bodies on a direct path for Boon. A moment later, the old man’s eyes returned to normal.

Boon took a deep draw in through his nose and said, “Ah, there’s nothing quite like the smell of roasting underling in the morning, is there?”

Fogle didn’t know if it was a question or not. He didn’t know whether to be upset or glad. But he didn’t hold back the words on his tongue.

“At least if the giants and underlings are trying to find us, they know where to look.”

“I hope so. I’m just getting warmed up,” Boon said, trying to shake the radiant wisps of energy from his hand. “Oooh, that felt so good.”

“Do it again!” Barton said, stomping the remains of an underling to ash. “Smelly. But bad things always smelly.” Barton held his nose, stomping another and another.

Fogle grabbed Boon by his robes and said, “Did you even take a second to think that you could have hurt Cass or Chongo? You could have scorched them as well!”

Boon scratched the thinning white hairs on his head and replied, “Well, no, but I wasn’t trying to destroy them. I sent my Scout to destroy the underlings ... not them.”

“How could you know if they were engaged with them or not?” he said.

Boon grabbed his wrist. The old man had a grip of iron that Fogle struggled to twist away from, hurting his arm in the process.

Boon then said, “Instinct, Grandson. You worry too much. If they wish to run off, let them. We’ll catch up … eventually. Barton!”

Barton had pulled a pine tree from the ground and begun sweeping the underlings up. “What, Boon?”

“Do you smell anything?”

Barton scratched is head. “Huh?”

“Do you smell anything?”

The giant took a long snort through his nose.

“Just underlings. Dead ones,” he said, brushing more of the bodies aside.

“No other giants, then?” Boon asked.

Barton didn’t say anything as he swept more piles into the flame, stirring up the dust.

Fogle caught a mouthful of the tiny debris.

“Barton! Quit that, will you?” He shot a look a Boon. “Stop him, will you? He’s your child, not mine!”

“Oh, you’ll be fine.” Boon hopped off his horse, stuck his hand into the skull of an underling, and pulled out its eyes. He rubbed the soot covered eyes on his sleeve. A dark blue color was underneath. Boon’s face crinkled up when he twitched the marble like objects in his fingers. “Eh, just hunters, it seems. Hardly any magic in them at all.” He tossed them into Barton’s fire.

Fogle spat the grit from his mouth and asked, “Do they really have magic in them?”

“Finally, a question worthy of my attention,” Boon said, taking a seat on the ground.“Just wait a second. We can’t just be sitting around. We may be downwind from the north, but I’m certain the south can smell us coming by now.”

“Oh, even if they do, they’ll proceed with caution. We have a giant, after all. Even underlings are unsettled by giants, being so small and all. Plus, I’m tired. That took a bit more out of me than expected.”

“We need to keep moving. It’s risky to stay in this spot too long.”

“I need rest!” Boon huffed. “Oh, if it makes you feel any better, I’ll procure some additional security. Barton!” The giant swept with a mind of his own.

“BARTON!” Boon tried again.

Barton stopped and turned. His face was scrunched, and his head cocked as he slung a tree onto his shoulder.

“Yes, Boon Wizard.”

“Will you be so kind as to keep watch on the south side of the fire? It’s possible more underlings will come, and I’d like to be prepared.”

Barton started tearing the branches from the tree he carried with his bare hands. Fogle felt miniscule in the presence of the giant's raw strength and power. How did we ever overcome giants even bigger than he? He felt a small amount of pride realizing he’d pulled off the incredible.

“Yes, Grandson, they are big and powerful on the outside, but it’s better to be big and powerful on the inside.”

Fogle combed his fingers through his hair. He realized it had never been so long before. Not even when he was a boy. “What’s he doing to that tree?”

“Barton!” Boon yelled up at the towering figure, “What are you doing with that tree?”

With his good eye, Barton looked at them both like they were stupid, and said, “I’m making a club so I can smash the underlings.” He slapped the club into the meaty palm of his hand and disappeared through the smoke.

“Feel safer now?”

Fogle sat down and replied, “Actually, I do.”

“Good then. Now, what was your question?” Boon looked up into the sky. “Yes, yes the underlings' eyes. I’ll tell you all about them. Of course, if you’d read all of my spellbook, most of it you’d know.”

Fogle pitched a stick over into the fire. He’d always been reluctant to delve into the works of his grandfather, seeing how he believed, as did the rest of the City of Three, that Boon had gone mad. How could a madman be a great wizard? But even in his own young age, he knew that the dynamic power of magic could erode the mind. It seemed improbable that it could happen to him, so he’d considered such accounts weakness. Yet, here was his grandfather, quirky but in control. He sensed he was in the presence of the most powerful wizard he'd ever known. And for the first time in his life, he decided he would listen. The way things were going, he could stand to learn a thing or two.

“Not all underlings use magic, but they have it. Some can use it, some can’t. Those we just killed were hunters. I’d need a dozen pairs of their eyes at least to cast the simplest of spells.”

“They hold power?” Fogle asked.

“They can give you a charge if you know how to use it. But you don’t want to carry too many of those eyes around.” Boon said.

“How come?”

“They’re heavy. Like rocks or gemstones. No, it’s best to burn them like the rest. The underlings hate that. Seeing their kin burned. It makes them extra mad, and they’re mad enough at men already.”

Fogle wasn’t even going to ask why that was. Even if Boon somehow knew the answer, he was pretty sure he wasn’t ready to know. He had enough on his plate already.

“But, if you kill an underling mage, well, then you have some power. For the strangest reason, underlings leave power in their eyes. I collected them like a dwarf hoarding gold.” Boon’s fingers tickled the air. “Oh how I enjoyed turning their own power against them. Delicious,” he said, licking his mustache.

Fogle felt a prickling sensation on his neck.

“What color eyes did you collect?”

“Now, there were all sorts. Of course, underlings, whether it be fighters or magic users, still have a variety of color. But the magic users tend to be the lighter shades than the others. I’ve seen many colors, some like rubies, others like sapphires, peridots, an odd violet quartz in color. The oddest I ever came across was rose-colored pink. You ever seen a pink gemstone before?”

“No.”

“A fascinating thing—”

“Boon, have you ever seen golden-eyed underling eyes before?”

His grandfather looked like he’d swallowed a bug.

“Aye …” he said with a loathing sound under his breath, “and silver, too.”

Fogle felt a chill race up and down his spine. He and his grandfather had more in common than they'd realized.

Boon’s eyes were intent, and his voice had a dangerous tone. “Tell me what you know, Grandson.”

Fogle grabbed his grandfather by the arm and said, “Why don’t I show you instead?”

Boon grunted, a wry smile coming to his lips.

“I like this way of thinking. So be it then, Fogle. Take my mind away.”

It was a mind grumble of a different sort. Two willing minds coming together with no concern or conflict, only the sharing of knowledge. The trick was keeping your most closely guarded secrets from coming loose, as it was difficult for invading minds to fight their natural tendency to pry. Muttering, Fogle opened the doorway, and Boon quickly stepped through.

Boon tugged at his mind, strong but not forceful. Fogle shoved back, bringing forth a hollow chuckle. Show me. There they stood, two apparitions sharing one mind, one memory of a cataclysmic sort. Fogle showed him the battle he'd shared with Venir and the silver and golden eyed underlings.

Ha! Boon exclaimed. It cannot be. Catten and Verbard!

Fogle could feel his grandfather’s respect for him building.

A grumble! With the most powerful of underling Lords, and you live?

Barely, Grandfather.

Fogle showed him the rest. The grave of boulders. The underling's corpse. The battle with the earth elemental and the exchange of the eyes for the spellbook.

Fogle felt a tremor of anger rippling through his mind. There was a brilliant flash of light, and his mind was again his own.

Boon punched him hard in the arm.

“Grandson, I cannot tell whether I want to hug you or kill you!”

The word kill stung, and the dark look in Boon’s eye didn’t leave him feeling very comfortable.

“Kill me? Why?” he asked, rising to his feet, readying a defensive spell on his tongue.

Boon swallowed hard before he opened his mouth to speak.

“OOOOOOOW!” Barton cried out from beyond he smoking crater.

Bang! Bang! Womp!

“What now?” All he wanted to do was track down Cass, and now something else had to happen. Fogle dashed towards the sound of the commotion with Boon on his heels. Emerging from the trees, he spied Barton with one hand full of an underling and the other swatting the club.

Wham!

Barton pulverized the underling into a greasy black smear. The bones of the other one cracked in his mighty grip before Barton bit its head off and spit it into the oncoming horde.

Fogle lost his breath. He’d never seen so many underlings before. They were coming from up one side of the ravine and down the other. If those underlings were alive, were Cass and Chongo dead? He felt the strong hand of Boon squeezing his arm.

“Whatever you used to save yourself from the gold and silver eyed underlings, you better unleash it now, Grandson!”

With so many underlings, Fogle didn’t even know where to begin. Cass!

CHAPTER 47

“Come on then, rabbits!” Venir said, rising to his full height, staring down on the men. “The first one up will be the first one down!” He whirled his axe around his body. “Any takers?”

The scouts stopped their advance, but the dogs howled on.

“Let your mangy curs loose, you raggedy man! I’ve not eaten in days!”

The soldier yanked back on his dogs' chains. They fell silent.

Venir had their attention. Their eyes passed back and forth between one another. Even the large part-orc slid a half-step back.

“What! I’d expect better from Royal soldiers. Is there not a valiant one among you?”

He hopped off the rocks. The small band shifted back.

“What about you, Orc? A big one, I see. Looks like your mother was diddled by trolls, I’d say!”

The orcen man’s eyes darkened, his canine teeth flashed, but not a muscle moved.

Venir chopped Brool back and forth, low strokes beneath his knees that trimmed the foliage like wheat.

“Awfully quiet for an orc. I’m used to more talk and bravado.”

The leader, tall and rangy, made a quick nod with his head. His men, aside from the half-orc before him, began to spread out. Venir’s veins were charged with energy as they pulsated under his skin. These men, shady in movement and décor, disturbed him.

“Who are you, Man?” the leader spoke up, lowering his sword.

“Man? Aye, indeed, I am a man! I’m not some slug that crawled from the sewage to cavort with underlings. I’m a killer of such things, along with their cohorts, such as you.”

The leader stuck his bastard sword in the ground and said, “You have us wrong. We are not cavorters but slaves. We’d just as well see these vermin skinned the same as you. But we’ve over a hundred men—”

“And orcs,” the orc said.

The leader nodded up the hill and continued, “shackled, starving and half-dead. Mostly depraved. It’s better to serve moving on two legs than serve with none at all. There are many of our brethren living with less than that already.”

Venir sensed some truth in the man’s words. But he was going to need more than that before he lowered his blade.

“Tell me then, Soldier, how many underlings hold that Outpost?” Venir asked.

“Oh, well, now I can’t readily answer that, nor my colleagues. Such talk would be treasonous and put all of our heads at the mercy of our masters. No, you over-sized metal shade. I’d rather die that let you be privy to that.” The leader pulled his sword from the ground and flicked the edge of the blade. “And at this point, a meaningful death in combat is vastly more preferable than facing the consequences of failure.”

Treason! How could any man stand to be accused of treason by an underling? Venir had been deceived before by Jarla. The woman consorted with them. She'd been ready to turn him over to them and collect a bounty they had on his head. It was beyond him how any man could serve an underling, willingly or even unwillingly. Certainly death would be preferred. His knuckles whitened on Brool’s shaft, his blood bristled, and the air became hot and stale. The shadow of death hung in the air. The men spread farther apart, blades ready, creeping in.

“Why don’t you drop the axe and come quietly, Fool? You cannot defeat as all,” the orc said, stepping up the hill.

“Maybe, but I’m certainly going to kill you,” Venir said, pointing Brool’s spike at the part orc's chest. .

Venir was never comfortable killing men, no matter how rotten they were. It was something he sought to avoid over the years. But sometimes, it couldn’t be avoided. He hadn't hesitated to kill the brute Baltor; he'd sensed the evil. But with this group, he was uncertain. He couldn’t just kill every man he didn’t trust, or like, for that matter.

“Turn the dogs loose,” the leader ordered.

Bish! And killing dogs was another issue. He was used to Chongo settling such matters. He shifted his feet down into the dirt.

The orc raised his arm and said in his rough voice, “Perhaps a challenge then, Stranger?”

“No, I like the odds I have at the moment, and I don’t gamble with swine.”

The orc was buying time. Not only for himself but for all of them. The men, as rugged as they appeared, now lacked the overbearing fortitude of being Royal soldiers.

The orc laughed, his brown teeth breaking into a grin.

“Heh-heh. You’ve got a sharp tongue for a man. Brassy as a lantern. But a fight is not what I had in mind.”

“True,” the leader interjected. “Stranger, we’ve no quarrel with the murderer of our tormentors, but our predicament is dire.” He held a hand up. A sign of peace and welcome for some. “I don’t want to die any more than my men, or you, for that matter. Perhaps we can sort this out.” The soldier pointed up the hill towards the outpost. “And, time is short. The shriekers alerted more than us and them.” He chopped a sapling down. “We’re only the first patrol. There will be more, and they’ll be in no mood to parlay.”

Venir didn’t sense any such thing, however. The soldiers were still making their way up the hill. The dogs' necks were straining on the leash, claws digging up the loose soil. The threat wasn’t there. But something about the man’s body language wasn’t right. The leader was nervous, more desperate than a moment before.

“I’m beginning to think there are not so many up there as you say. Over a hundred Royals, you say, prisoners? I’ll tell you what. How about you name me some names?”

The leader rubbed his leather gauntlet under his chin and said, “How about I start with mine first, then?”

“No, I don’t know you, but I’ve known men inside.”

“I see, so you were a soldier like us once?”

“No, nothing like you.”

“A mercenary then?”

“A hunter. Now, let me hear some names.” He waved his axe in the air. “I’m getting antsy.”

The leader said nothing at first, then he began, “Well, it seems unlikely your sort of character would have known any of those honorable men. Perhaps if you removed your garish helmet, one of us would know you?”

“If you knew me, you’d have recognized me already,” Venir said, stepping back up the hill.

His mind was beginning to catch up with his brawn. For all he knew, these men only wore the uniforms of the Royals. Only the leader, aside from the orc, offered much talk. At first, he'd thought they might be holdovers from the Brigand Army, but he would’ve recognized them. They didn’t carry themselves with the gaits of soldiers, either. Their movement was not refined or disciplined. Even the dogs seemed more savage than trained. Who in Bish were these men?

“A challenge, Stranger?” the orc said again, sheathing his blades. “You and I.”

Venir looked at the leader and said, “I thought you said more would be coming. It seems you have more time than you bargained for.” He hefted his axe back over his shoulder. “What exactly did you have in mind, Orc?”

At the moment, Venir didn’t have many options. Whoever was running the Outpost would be alerted to his presence soon enough. He seethed inside. His plan had been to slip past the underlings like a ghost. He'd assumed only underlings would be there, but there were humans and orcs, too, the occupants of the Outpost, men and underlings, and only Bish knew what else. The smart thing to do would be to abandon his plan, but then what would Jans’s Royal Riders do? It was times like this he could have used a mind like Melegal’s. He could hear the rogue’s voice in his mind, saying, Think first, Brute! Fight as the last resort. Fighting only increases your chances of getting killed. The gray matter is what counts, not the red meat that hides your bones.

“First the terms. I win, you come quietly. You win, you go quietly,” the orc said.

Venir countered, saying, “I win, I go in peace and you tell me all that I want to know about what lies within the fort. After that, I’ll be on my way.”

“Huh,” the leader said. “Why you’d care to know is beyond me. Only death and misery are in there. Hmmmm … I think I see. You're looking for someone, aren’t you?”

Venir didn’t reply.

The leader added, “I’ll have my men keep an eye on things up the ravine. Far enough away to only use the whistle call. That way, you don’t need to be concerned with any interference. My word on that and my men’s as well. Men?”

The other soldiers nodded.

“It seems like a risk. Odd, foolish, even for an orc,” Venir said. “Makes me wonder if your situation is as precarious as you say.”

“Heh … well, Stranger, the truth is I’m bored. We all are. Might as well make things as interesting as I can in the meantime. You win, it’s on us, or me rather. I win, I’m taking you up this hill to suffer with the rest of us.” The orc dropped his sword belt to the ground and pitched away a few knives. He unbuckled the straps of his leather hauberk and slipped it from his shoulders. The part-orc was knotted with muscle, but his ruddy skin was bare. He cracked his neck in his hands and smiled, a large canine popping up from the bottom of his mouth.

“Don’t get his hopes up,” the leader said, leading the other soldiers away. “He’ll suffer far more greatly than us. He killed two underlings, remember. There will be a price for that. A leg for each perhaps, but maybe just his ears or eyes. One never knows with them. Fiends.”

It was a surreal situation. A subtle churning in his gut made him think of his time in the mist, the unnatural atmosphere that had cloaked him like a blanket. At some point in the mist, he’d become used to what was expected, but now he wasn’t certain what to expect at all. I should just run. But where? There was nowhere to go, and a host of men depended on him, including Slim. He had to play things out, wait and see where they went. Isn’t that what Melegal would do? Perhaps when he won, he could get more information from them.

He shuffled up the hill alongside the rocks, where he’d spied on the soldiers before.

“Where are you going, Stranger?” the half-orc said, eyeing him with intent.

Venir held his axe out and said, “Just disposing of my gear. You don’t want it too close. I might get tempted to jam it down your throat.”

“Hah! Take that scale dress off, as well. What is that, Dwarven?”

Venir nodded.

“Hmmm,” the orc rubbed his chin, “looks like it’d fit me just fine. Can I have claim to it if you don’t survive… the hill?”

Venir unbuckled the side straps, slid it off, and tossed it to the ground in front of the orc.

“If I die this day, it’s yours.”

The orc's eyes filled with glee as he eyed the scale like a mound of treasure. As he did, behind the rock and out of sight, Venir slipped his helm, axe and shield into the sack and stuffed it into his pack.

When the orc turned his attention back to him, he grunted.

“Not often do I see another as big as me, Stranger. Or one so ugly, either. That yellow hair of yours is considered a weakness among my race.”

“And every aspect of your race, from your hair to your toes, is considered a weakness by ours,” Venir said, combing his fingers through his beard before he put his hands on his hips. “So, Orc, what will the challenge be, then?”

The orcen soldier glanced up the ravine. The other soldiers were out of sight, but their rustlings could be heard. The orc held his long arms up and extended his fingers. They were a good bit longer than Venir’s.

“I must say, I never thought I’d get another chance at this game. As soon as I saw you, I didn’t want to fight, I want to beat you in a game of Mercy.”

Venir would have laughed normally, but this orc wasn’t going to be a push over. Besides, Mercy wasn’t a challenge he’d ever done before, and it seemed that this orc had, judging by the grin on his ugly face. He looked at the insides of his hands, then rubbed his palms together.

“What are the rules?” he asked, stepping down the hill and coming face to face with the orc.“

“Very simple. First one to cry Mercy loses.”

Venir eyed the wrists on the orc, which seemed twice as thick as his. Not good. None of it was. He was fully exposed. His plan had washed down the gutter, and there weren’t any options available other than to fight or die. Of course, he hadn't had to volunteer to be there in the first place. What had he been thinking, "Do the right thing"? Preposterous! Yet, here he was.

He asked one final question before they locked fingers.

“Have you ever cried Mercy before, Orc?”

“Heh-heh-heh … not even to an ogre.”

CHAPTER 48

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap …

Head down, shoulders aching, Lefty resigned himself to his duties. Jubbler had quieted, opting to pick the flecks of sawdust from his hair and eating it momentarily. The Quartermaster made his rounds back and forth, but at the moment he’d moved to the far end and was talking, having struck up a conversation with smugglers departing with goods from the dock.

Any plans he had of helping Kam and Erin were abandoned. He had to find a way out of this jam first, and that wasn’t likely any time soon. Tapping with one hand, he toyed with the absidium chains that kept him shackled. He was the only one shackled on the dock. All the others were free. He wasn’t sure why they worried about him so much. He was hardly a threat.

Rolling his wrist, he felt the metal bonds slip down past his wrist and onto his hand. He swore there was just enough room to slip his hand free. He jerked his elbow back. The chain constricted faster than thought, pinching deep into his hand, almost turning his fingers blue. His eyes started to water. It hurt.

“Whatcha doin’? Huh. Huh. I saw. I saw that. Bad chains. Huh. Absurduim. Huh. Seen em’ squeeze a head off … huh … before.” Jubbler gawped at Lefty’s hands and patted his own hands together.

“Go away, Jubbler,” Lefty said with all the venom he had in his voice.

“Huh.”

Whack! He crushed a nail head with his hammer. “I said … ah, never mind.” Whack! Whack! Whack!

Perhaps that’s what they wanted. To make him crazy. Erode his mind like they’d clearly done to Jubbler.

“Don’t despair. Huh. Listen to your elders. Huh. I’ve been here longer … Huh … than you’ve lived. Huh. Many lifetimes. I know where the smoke is. Fire makes smoke. Huh. Smoke, smokey smoke.” Jubbler diddled with his beard as his eyes drifted away. “Smoke. Smoke. Huh. Smoke. I like smoke. Huh. And chicken.”

Lefty grabbed two nails and stuck them in his ear holes. It caught the eye of Jubbler, who cocked his head like a curious bird.

“Huh. Why you do that? Huh. Nails don’t go there. Huh. Huh. Huh.”

“Can you use a hammer, Jubbler?”

“Huh. Yes. Huh.”

Lefty handed the dwarf his hammer and said, bowing down, “Would you be kind enough to drive these nails into my ears, so I don’t have to listen to you anymore?”

There was no reply. Not a mumble, a grumble, a huh or a sigh. Just silence among the resounding sounds of hammers hammering. Lefty closed his eyes. He envisioned the jabbering Jubbler taking him up on it and whacking him upside the head. I bet Melegal never would have thought of this.

“Well,” Lefty started, “what are you waiting for, Jubbler? Tack them in.”

He felt two gentle hands remove the nails from his ears and heard a soft soprano voice say, “Master Gillem was proud of you, Lefty. It would be a shame to waste your brain. You’re going to need it to save Erin and Kam.”

***

“What is the meaning of this, Kam!” Palos’s paunchy face was filled with fury. “Have you found a new hobby, polishing swords?” In three quick steps, he came across the room and backhanded her in the mouth. She spiraled to the floor.

“Apologies,” she said through her split and bloody lip. “Palos, I was only curious—”

Smack!

He hit her again.

“Silence, you red-headed heifer! Do you take me for a fool?” He grabbed her under the chin and leered into her eyes. “I know you’ve been trying to escape. I know you plot in your mind. You aren’t the first whore to reject my musings.”

“I’m sure I won’t be the last either—ulp!”

Palos shoved her to the floor, both hands wrapped around her neck, squeezing her. She could have bit her tongue, but she couldn’t take it anymore. The abuse and humiliation had finally snapped her cord. She forced the words out. “Kill me then, Coward!”

Palos’s face became darker.

“Oh no, my pretty. You’ll not escape life so easily. Suffer you shall. Suffer you and your baby like you never suffered before! Thorn!”

“Yes Prince Palos,” the tall man said, stepping into view.

“I’m here as well, Prince,” Diller said, arriving on the other side. “The door is secured.”

Kam couldn’t muster a spell. The pressure on her neck was too much. What had she gotten herself into? The sword. The sword of Zorth had caused this. Cursed thing! She strained against her captor.

“She struggles. Always struggles. I tire of that.” Palos kept her pinned with one hand and brushed his hair from his eyes. “It seems she was not broken entirely, as I suspected. Too much fight in the lass.” His eyes drifted back towards the sword for a moment then back on her. A blank look came on his face. “What did you possibly think you could accomplish with that sword? Put her in the chair, men, and hold her still.”

Diller grabbed her by the hair and jerked her up from the ground. Thorn stuffed the chair beneath her legs, bringing a sharp pain to the backs of her knees. Both men leered at her like hungry dogs as they held her down. Diller winked. Pig. But at least she could move her mouth now and wriggle her fingers, too. Concentrate.

Palos kicked the sword along the floor with his toe, a milder tone in his voice.

“It’s magic. The Sword of Zorth.” He looked back at her and smiled, hands clasped behind his back. “One of my most prized possessions, actually. Would you like to hear how I acquired it?”

“No.” I want to kill you!

Diller grabbed her hair and pulled her face up towards Palos.

“It’s quite interesting, really.” Palos leaned back on the table. “And you might not believe this, but I came across it honestly.”

“Pffht,” Kam stated. She wasn’t going to believe a word he said. Not that it mattered. She wanted to summon something, but his eyes were all over her. Stop looking at me. She only needed a few seconds was all. Why hadn’t she prepared a spell earlier?

“It was given to me by my father, a gift. As the story goes, Zorth was the founder of the City of Three. Yes, it was he who led the battle against the giants. It was he who subdued them with this, his magic blade. They yielded to him and his army, and in exchange for their lives, they built this city, which would explain why the towers are so tall and unique.” Palos smacked his lips. “All of this talking has made me thirsty.” He nodded at Thorn.

The man found a bottle and a half empty goblet, refilled it, and handed it over to Palos.

“Mmmm … now, I must say, this wine is something. I could drink it all day.”

Kam snarled, “You do drink it all day, Louse.”

Palos wagged his finger at her.

“Oh Kam, you’d be wise to show more interest, because once this story ends, the genuine suffering of you and your child begins.”

Kam couldn’t fight the lump in her throat as her lips tightened. I can’t let this happen! He’s a madman!

Palos looked at Thorn and Diller, saying, “You see? You just have to know the right words to keep a woman quiet, men. Now, oh yes, where was I?”

Diller tugged at her hair.

“The sword, the giants and the towers. So, the wizards and the Royals wanted the giants to look up to them, not down. But the ruins outside the city show a different thing. Many towers were felled there, busted, broken and overgrown. You didn't know about that, did you?”

Diller and Thorn looked at one another, but Kam didn’t say a thing.

“I’ve been there. Many secrets of the old ways lie hidden there as well as untold treasure, too. I’ve been there before and even spied a gem as big as the moons.” Palos' eyes glossed over, and his hands were reaching out to grab something that wasn't there.

“What happened to the gem, Prince?” Diller asked.

“What kind was it?” Thorn added.

“A ruby as fiery as a dragon's breath. As bright as the daylight suns. Like an apparition, it appeared,” his fingers tickled the air, “and like the wind, it was gone.”

A strange silence fell on the room. Even Kam found herself captivated by his words. She shook it off.

“The Star of the Rising Suns,” Kam murmured. “A bedtime story told to children, the same as giants, dragons and magic swords. Do you dogs wag your tails at everything he says?”

Diller cracked her in the mouth with his knuckles.

She glared up at him and spat a bloody tooth out, saying, “You’ll pay for that!”

Diller drew his hand back again.

“Stop!” Palos held out his hand. “I’ve not finished my tale.”

She’d had enough. There wasn’t much she could take of this anymore. She had to do something and do it now. Stay focused. You have to be smarter than these fools, Woman!

“Oh, please do, Mighty Prince. I’ve nothing better to do, and your hounds are all ears. Perhaps you can add in the tale of the Dragon Clawed Throne or the Hive of Everwonder. Please spoil us with your tongue.”

Diller pulled back on her hair, harder this time.

“Is that all you have, Diller? My daughter's stronger than that.”

Diller turned red-faced.

“Palos, my Prince, must I stand for this?”

Kam stretched her fingers toward the small pocket in her robes.

“Be patient, Diller. You as well, Thorn. She’ll be all yours after my story is done.”

“What?” Kam exclaimed.

“You mean it, Prince?” Diller added.

Palos drained and tossed the goblet on the table.

“I’ve no need for a battered and toothless strumpet. I’ve a reputation to uphold. What would my men think if I was caught with her? But for you men, well, she’s quite a prize, being a Royal.”

“Palos, you Bastard! You mangy dog! YOU’LL PAY FOR THIS!”

He was laughing.

“And just think of when her daughter is fully grown, if I let her live that long. Ha-Ha-Ha. Now, where was I?”

Kam couldn’t take it. She wasn’t going to live with this a moment longer.

Diller leaned down in her face saying, “I told you that you’d be mine.” He stroked her hair and tugged it, too.

She cringed. Biting her tongue wasn’t an option anymore. She was going to get her fingers on those gems and let them have it. Just do it! Her fingertip touched the first stone.

“ … so, you say the tales are not true, Kam, but I’ll have you know that I saw the very Star of the Rising Suns as well, and I’ll make my trek back one day, much better prepared than last time. But that’s not where I was going, however. No, the sword,” he opened a drawer in the table, removed white cotton gloves, and put them on. “My father says it’s not to be touched by human hands, well, skin rather. It could burn you to the touch.”

Her fingers wrapped around one of the gems.

“Which I see is not the case,” he said, looking at her, “at least for a woman. But magic has its own mind, all the same. The important part I wanted to mention was that this gift, the Sword of Zorth Morgwaggyn, was a gift to me from my father Palzor, who received it for services rendered to …”

Kam had both stones between her knuckles, the magic surge tickled her nose.

“… your father, Lord Kamdroz.”

“What?” she said as a glimmer of light twinkled inside her hands.

“She’s got something!” Diller wrenched her wrist. Kam felt all her hope flee as the red stones clattered to the floor.

CHAPTER 49

“Is he dead?” Melegal asked.

Jubilee had tears streaming down her face. The child had seen enough death in the past few days. It was amazing she kept it together at all.

Haze wiped her bloody forearm across her head.

“He breathes, but the bleeding is only staunched, not stopped. Just stitched, and poorly at that. If he’s bleeding inside as bad as he was on the outside, I don’t think he can make it much longer.”

All eyes were on Melegal. What am I to do? I’m no healer … I’m a stealer. Melegal couldn’t ignore the feeling in his gut, however. He had to do something. He didn’t want to, but felt compelled to. “Stop staring at me. I’m thinking.” He stepped over into the corner and sat down. He’d stitched his fair share of wounds in his time, but nothing quite like this. It was just one of those things where you gave a man some water and let him bleed out and die. Why me? I just want to leave this place.

“You can make it, Brak,” Jubilee was saying, over and over again.

The man’s head seemed monstrous in her tiny lap.

Like a woman tending an ogre.

“We need water,” Haze said. “I can fetch us some.” She started to get up.

“No,” Melegal said, rising to his feet. “I’ll go. He needs the likes of you, not me.”

As he made his way through the door, Jubilee said, “You will come back, won’t you?”

“Of course he will,” Haze said.

But Melegal didn’t say a thing as he left. Smart child. Even for a Slerg.

***

Dreams. Nightmares. Most experience both. Brak only experienced the latter. He hung on the edge of an abyss, a great fire licking at his toes as he struggled to pull himself up. On his feet, a man hung, long and broad, a bearded face full of fire. It was Venir, his father, hanging on for his very life as he held on for his own. Brak had never felt such weight before, like a cart of heavy stones.

His father was screaming up at him, but he didn’t understand the words. All he could do was try to hang on, his strength fading, the pain in his arms and neck excruciating. If only his father would let go, stop screaming, he could save himself. But he knew if he did, he would forever lose his face. He hung on. His father began to slip and fall. Still screaming at the top of his lungs.

***

The next barn was a stark contrast to the one he just left. It was a hive of activity. Horses were being led up and down the concourse. Royal soldiers were adorned in armor from head to toe. Commands and shouts rang out from one end to the other. No City Watch, at least.

Melegal threw a coarse blanket over his head, pinched it below his neck, stooped down, hunched his shoulders, and shuffled forward. Eyes down, ears up! From one stall to the other he went, doddering along with a discarded rake he found. All he needed to do was snatch a bucket, refill it in a water trough, and disappear as easily as he came. Why am I suddenly responsible? He’s not my bastard child.

An urchin stumbled into his path, carrying a metal pail.

That will do. He grabbed it by the handle and said, “Child, is that your stall?”

“Let go of my pail, Hag. I’ll be whipped if I stall,” the boy said, trying to rip it away. He was quite strong.

“Nay, Child. I shall fetch it for you,” Melegal suggested.

“Nay, Hag!”

“I’m no hag,” he warned, ripping the pail free from the boy's grasp.

The boy opened his mouth wide. Melegal shoved a large silver talent in it.

“Taste that silver? Hush your mouth. Fetch another pail, and run along.”

The boy had the strangest expression on his face as his eyes shifted back and forth. “Ulp.” He swallowed the coin.

Melegal snorted. He’d have done the same back in those days. Royal urchins could not have coins, but it would serve him well.

“Go along now. My master's horse is thirsty,” he said.

Ahead was a row of troughs where a few lathered up horses drank. It would have been better to get water from an Everwell, but that was too far away. What good is a bucket of water going to do, anyway? 'Keep the fever down,' they say. Pah, he’ll be dead before I return.

He waited a moment, along the outside of an abandoned stall. Two Royal soldiers chatted from horseback by the troughs. Four stable hands, men and boys, checked the fasteners on their saddles and harnesses. Hurry up!

“On good report, the underlings number in the thousands leagues south, outside the city walls. They say hundreds lie below,” one soldier was saying.

“Thousands, you say? By my sources, there are tens of thousands and even more below,” the other responded, slapping his comrade on the shoulder. “Ha Ha Ha! My, the tales grow taller all the time. I say we ride south into their belly and they’ll never come this far north again. Black fiends. They fight like girls with steel and armor. High time we stopped toying with the brood. The pests are getting annoying. I’ve lost two of my finest house boys.”

“Yes, I lost the same. I thought I was going to have to polish my own boots,” the other soldier let out a laugh, “I’ve not done that since my training days.”

The banter. It was that tireless banter that he’d grown accustomed to in his childhood, and he’d never grown sick of it. All the boots he'd shined until his arms were numb. And now, it seemed the soldiers weren’t going to move. Their chatter continued.

I’ve got to move.

Melegal rambled over, a little hitch in his step, and dipped his pail in the water. The soldiers paused their conversation. He could feel their eyes on him as he withdrew the pail filled with water.

“Ahem,” one of the soldiers said.

Melegal shuffled back.

“I don’t think she heard you.”

Why do they insist I’m a woman!

“A fragile thing.”

“A husk with skin.”

“Deaf. Mute. Rankled.”

They were getting under his skin now. Just go!

He teetered away, turning his back to them.

“Perhaps it’s an underling,” one soldier said, leading his horse around and blocking his path. “Show me your face, Old One.”

“My pail! My pail!” a little girl screeched. “That hag has stolen my urchin's pail!”

It would have been easier to fetch water in the Outland. Of all the fool things!

“Elizabeth,” one of the soldiers said, chuckling, “Has your pail been stolen?”

Melegal kept his head down, shuffling his feet, trying to go around. Seem confused. Sell it, Man, sell it!

“Dullard!” Elizabeth snapped up at the soldier, “Of course I’ve been robbed. This hag has stolen my property, and my stable hand is now with a broken arm. Now, I’m shorthanded.”

“I’ll summon the Watch and have this one arrested,” the soldier said, dismounting.

“I’ll have the hag whipped now!” Elizabeth screamed.

Of all the ridiculous things. Whipped over this? A child no older than Jubilee, nonetheless.

“I think this matter is better served in the hands of the Watch,” the soldier added, “and I’m surprised you are out with all the trouble of late. It’s not safe—”

“Be silent, Cretin! I’ll have you whipped as well. How dare you address me like your child? I am a Kling! And you are a soldier! A pawn to my whims. It is you who has to worry about the underlings, not I.”

The air was ripe with tension. Melegal noticed the man’s hand falling to his sword. Split her skull. I would! Impudent Royals.

“Elizabeth!” a familiar voice cried out. “Mind your tongue! You are creating a scene, as usual!”

“Stay out of this, Rayal! This old bitch stole my pail, and I’ll have her head for that! And this soldier sneered at me! No man does that to a Kling and lives. Now give me my pail!” Elizabeth stormed over and wrapped her fingers on the handle.

Melegal held it tight in his grip as the girl, about as big as Jubilee, tugged away with all her strength.

“Give it to me!”

He let go.

Elizabeth lurched backward and tumbled onto her rear, the pail of water spilling all over her. Everyone fell silent as her face erupted in red rage, except Rayal, who was holding her belly and laughing.

Elizabeth pulled out a knife, raised it over her head, and charged.

“I’ll kill you, Hag!”

Rayal caught the girl by the wrist and twisted the knife out of her hand.

“Enough of this, Elizabeth! You’ve gone too far. Men, apologies for my sister's trepidations. She gets carried away with her evil self!”

Elizabeth took the metal pail and swung it into Rayal’s knees.

Bang!

“OW! Blast you, Little Fiend!”

Elizabeth ran away, screaming and pointing. “You still owe me a two-headed dog!”

So that’s the one. Now what? He’d encountered Rayal before, briefly, and was certain that she would remember him. Rayal, another beauty, was unlike the typical Royals. Not only did she display strength, but grace and kindness as well. But what if she knew about the treachery at the castle? Melegal stepped around in his own private circle, showing he was uncertain where to go.

“Milady,” one of the soldiers said. “Shall I send for the Watch? After all, she did, it seems, take a pail?”

“No, but I am curious why this one hides her face,” she said, walking over, “and why she took the pail in the first place.”

“Er … Milady, she could have a sickness, or a horrible face.”

“A spy perhaps,” the other soldier suggested.

Melegal swayed in place, looking down at her booted toes. Her perfume was incredible, just like the Lorda’s. I can’t risk it. He concentrated, sending a tingle through his mind.

“No,” she said. “But I’ve run into the strangest people that shuffle around here in cowls and cloaks. You’d be surprised. Please, men, go about your business, I think I’ll be fine. Thank you.”

“As you wish,” the men said, trotting away, their stable hands in tow.

Melegal let his mind ease.

She huffed. “Now, tell me, Old Woman, are you thirsty?”

Melegal didn’t reply. I can’t tell her to sleep, run or look away. The first two would look odd, and the latter wouldn't be enough. Think!

Rayal turned, picked up the pail, and handed it to him.

He grabbed it, shuffled over to the trough, and refilled it, then started to shuffle back the way he came. Eyes down, feet moving forward, not looking over his shoulder, he continued on. Rayal was right behind him. Melegal could hear not one set of footsteps, but three, trailing close behind him. Drat! An Escort.

“I’ll be curious why this person is so desperate for water that they’d cross a Royal,” she said under her breath. “And there’s always something strange going on in that barn over there.”

Just as he made his way over to the doorway that traversed between the barns, Rayal said, “Halt!”

Melegal kept going.

“Detective Melegal,” she said again, “I suggest you stop.”

His heart jumped a beat. Not possible. He kept going.

“Don’t think to fool me; I'd recognize those delicate hands anywhere, especially those scars on your knuckles.”

He didn’t slow.

Her voice turned cold. “You are a wanted man, Detective. And with a word, I can have every soldier in these barns coming after you.”

Mercy, is there no limit on my pursuers!

CHAPTER 50

The Under-Bish. Preposterous. Verbard sat on his throne deep in thought. Eep had filled him in on The Darkslayer. It seemed the man lived after all, but in another world below his. One that he never would have believed for himself. Eep had given him few details, other than the fact that he’d bitten the man’s fingers off, or a portion of them rather.

He’s no longer a threat. Could he escape the world beyond the Mist? Perhaps, but I cannot worry about that now, without proof. I’ll forge ahead and press on. Stay on course.

Eep was still after the keys. Kierway still made preparations to overtake a castle. Jottenhiem kept his men in good order, biding their time. With or without keys, a living Darkslayer or not, he was going to press on. Bring the wretched humans to their knees, one citizen at a time.

Eep, have you found that man yet?

No, Master, but it won’t be long. Do you require anything else? I hunger. A quick bite, perhaps?

Stay on course!

At his side stood the Vicious: tall and silent with the musculature of a hairless feline. How many of these powerful creatures did Master Sinway have at his disposal? How many, indeed?

“If I had a thousand of you, this would be much easier,” he said, rising to his feet and drifting away. He cast his silver eyes above. How many thousands of humans could they take out with one lethal strike? With enough force, could they take the entire city? Eradicate the humans once and for all. If anything, he just wanted to get his charge over with.

Now wasn’t the time to second guess himself. No. His plan was sound: take a Castle by force, and have a stronghold. It would work, but Kierway was an important part of that plan. He didn’t trust him. No, once the castle was located, he’d send a portion to invade. He would lead a full scale assault on the world of men above first, in one giant wave. The castle would not expect an attack from within.

He rolled his fingers. The orb of imbibing floated from the ground and into his grasp. Then he noticed someone was coming. It was Kierway. That was quick.

“You have good report?” Verbard said.

“Castle Almen,” Kierway stated, running his clawed fingers over his shaven head.

“Again? Have we not drawn enough attention to ourselves at that point?”

Kierway sauntered up, poured himself a glass of wine, and slumped down on the makeshift throne of rock and stone. “Fitting for you, vastly inferior to the one I’ll inherit from my father. But for a lesser family, it will do.”

Verbard sneered. “I believe your father was very clear with your role and mine. You are beholden to me, and you’d be served well to remember that.

The Vicious stepped forward and bared its fangs. Kierway remained in place.

“You need me as much as I need you, Verbard. Now, let’s set our differences aside. I want to fulfill this quest as much as you.”

“Go on.”

“Castle Almen. Yes, its access to the Current is now overfilled with guards, but they number less than a hundred. Still, it would be difficult to penetrate that small but heavily defended port.” Kierway took his first sip and spit it out. “Pah! Did an urchling make this? I wouldn’t let a cave dog drink it.”

Verbard's silver eyes flashed. It was his favorite port. “Get on with it, Kierway.”

“The strange thing is,” he tipped his finger up, “the passages to the other castles are quite narrow, and most castles don’t have any access at all to the Current. Most are sealed off, as if no passage was ever there to begin with. It wasn’t always so. That leaves us with taking one from the upside in, or from the downside up. Castle Almen, it seems, is the only choice.”

Kierway kicked his legs up on the armrest and leaned back with his arms behind his head.

“I say we attack from the up and the down. We have more than enough w—”

Kierway’s eyes were full of alarm as he sailed from the throne to the ground. Copper eyes filled with rage, he jumped back to his feet, swords ripped from his scabbards.

Verbard rose from the ground, spikes of energy fueling his claws. He’d had enough of the impudent Kierway, and he didn’t have to take any more if he didn’t want to. The time to let it loose was now.

“Take him out!” he ordered the Vicious.

The Vicious sprang like a cat, claws ripping at Kierway’s feet. Kierway twisted away, sword chopping backward, clipping off a pair of the Vicious’s fingers. It did not howl or slow. It pressed on. The edges of Kierway's blades danced through the air, licking across the hardened skin of the Vicious, sending black slivers of flesh into the air. The creature's ears matted down on its head. It wasn’t accustomed to fighting a faster opponent.

Curse those magic blades. Verbard watched in amazement and alarm. Kierway was a split second faster than the Vicious at every strike or blow. It was as if he’d fought against one before. I should have known. What an excellent sparring partner one would be.

“It’s only a matter of time before I whittle him down,” Kierway said, shifting, juking and parrying. “I can do this all day, but he won’t last that long; trust me.”

No. Verbard could see that now. But once the Vicious pinned the man down, it would be all over. Perhaps it’s time to intervene. Good-bye Kierway!

The fluid motion of the Vicious’s body had begun to slow.

Slice! Slice! Slice! Slice!

Kierway rolled his wrists with the rapid rhythm of a drummer, whittling two fingers off. The Vicious was hobbled, chopped and gashed like a wounded dog.

Verbard summoned his power. Let’s even the odds, shall we? The rock beneath the combatant’s feet turned to mud.

“No! What are you doing, Verbard? There is no honor in this!” Kierway cried out, sinking to his ankles as the Vicious closed in.

Verbard waved good-bye.

Kierway’s blades chopped and parried, keeping the pressing Vicious at bay. A look of concern formed in Kierway’s eyes, his legs now sunk knee deep in the sludge. The Vicious was not slowed. Its mighty limbs still lunged. Kierway clipped its ear off as the Vicious wrapped one good arm around Kierway’s neck and drove him into the mud.

Excellent!

Kierway thrashed like a fish on a line, small daggers from his bandolier rising up and down in his hands, blades breaking on the hardened back of the creature. Kierway shouted a plea with a mouthful of mud.

“I yield!”

Verbard dusted his hands off. He wanted to laugh out loud as the Vicious pushed Kierway face down below the mud. In but a moment, it would all be over. One of his least favorite underlings would be gone forever. Bubbles of mud popped on the surface. Verbard glided back to his throne. So be it. Taking a seat, he brought a cup of port to his lips. Might as well enjoy this.

“STOP!”

Verbard went numb.

CHAPTER 51

Bamf!

One underling burst into dust.

Bamf!

Another did the same.

Bamf!

Followed by another. The rest of the underlings fled back down the hill, leaving Darlene’s shattered body bleeding over the pine needles. Scorch took long strides down the slope, over the slippery terrain, watching the underlings go. Several black heads were running at full charge, one exploding into black dust after the other until they were nothing but fertilizer for the terrain.

Darlene lived, blood trickling over her puffy lips that sucked like a catfish out of water. How disturbing it was to see such a lively person dying like this. She tried to speak, lips struggling to form words. The gashes in her belly and chest prevented the effort.

A shame.

Scorch looked over the bright horizon towards the east. It was still a long walk to the City of Three. He kneeled down, grabbed her bloody hand and smiled.

“I still require company on my journey, Darlene. But I can’t have you doing whatever it is you want. Stay close to me and live, drift away and die.”

Darlene’s rugged frame twitched with spasms. Despite the evident pain within her dying body, she nodded. Relief overtook the anguish in her face as Scorch pulled her up into her sitting position. Her eyes were wild with fire as she licked her lips and wiped the blood from her mouth. Then she began fingering the places where the puncture wounds had just been. She gaped at him. Blinking a hundred times before she spoke.

“You don’t have to tell me twice, Scorch!” She lunged over and hugged him.

It was the strangest feeling. He couldn’t remember ever being hugged before, but the affectionate gesture was touching. He struggled to peel her arms from his waist.

“That’s enough of that,” he said in a firm tone, “but my, you are strong as a dwarf, I’d say. There may be something to that.” He patted her on the head.

She smiled back.

“I’m strong for a girl.” She looked around. “I got five of them, I think,” she said, shuffling down the hill and inspecting the bodies of the fallen underlings. “WOOOOO HOOOOOOO!” She hoisted a bloody arrow in the air. “I killed me some underlings! There ain’t nothing I can’t kill!” She rushed over to all the bodies and retrieved all her arrows, then went for the eyes.

“Stop that,” Scorch ordered.

Darlene looked up at him and froze.

“But there’s magic in their eyes. We have to cut them out and burn the bodies.”

“No you don’t. It’s time to go.”

“But …”

Scorch felt irritated, and his power ebbed the ever slightest, but he didn’t like it. It made him feel vulnerable.

“It is time to leave, and there will be no more of this savage talk. Come Darlene, or not. I’ll entertain no more chatter.”

Darlene slammed her knife into her sheath, fetched her bow, and returned to his side as he walked about the hill and onto the path they had abandoned. They traveled over a mile before Darlene broke her silence.

“I’m with you, Scorch. You saved me. I’m grateful. I saw what you did, too. Turned those underlings into smoke and dust. Incredible,” she said, strutting along his side.

That’s more like it.

“But …” Darlene hunkered down a little as she said it.

He felt that mild irritation return.

“What are you going to do about them?”

Scorch looked down on her. She was eyeing him and the path behind her. She pointed.

A small huddled group fell to their knees as he turned. It was the people that Darlene attempted to save earlier.

“Want me to shoot them?”

“What? You almost got yourself killed trying to save them!” he said.

“Well,” she licked her lips, “I was mostly looking for a fight, is all. And I really wanted to kill an underling. Plus, I owe you.” She readied her bow and arrow.

“Ask them what they want,” he said, combing his fingers through his long locks of hair.

“What do you idiots want?” she screamed, pulling back her bowstring.

“Service!” One man shouted back. “We owe you our lives! We seek only to repay the debt.”

Darlene looked up at Scorch from the corner of her eye and said, “Just say the word, and I’ll put a red dot in his head.”

Scorch could feel their willingness and sincerity. He liked it.

“Tell them they may follow, but they must do as they are told.”

Darlene eased the string on her bow.

“Does that mean I can tell them what to do?”

“Certainly, but that doesn’t mean they will listen,” he said, turning forward and continuing his journey to the City of Three.

Darlene started barking orders.

“Don’t get closer than thirty paces!”

“Keep up because we ain’t slowing!”

“You get your own food and water! And no singing! Unless I say so!”

CHAPTER 52

“What do you mean he left?” Mikkel said.

Nikkel rammed the wheel barrow of stone into the wall and dropped the arms down. He wiped his hands on his knees and shrugged.

“He’s going to find Venir. He seemed pretty determined. But I just think he didn’t want to help out with any of the work.”

“Why did you let him go?” Billip said, slipping away from the woman who held his waist. “He’s not supposed to go anywhere without us. You should have stopped him! Bone!”

“I’ll handle this, Billip,” Mikkel said, holding out his arm. “Nikkel, what did he say?”

“He just said he was going to ‘get out of Bone’.”

“And then what?”

“He left.”

“Which way?”

Nikkel shrugged. Mikkel swatted him in the back of the head.

“Ow!” Nikkel pushed his father in the chest. “Don’t do that again!”

Billip stepped between them as the fires ignited behind the eyes of both father and son.

“Let’s not come to blows—”

Mikkel shoved him aside, hooked his arm under Nikkel and slammed him into the ground. Nikkel fought back, but it was over before it started, and Mikkel shoved his face into a pile of dirt.

“Son, you already had my attention, but it seems I didn’t have yours. Do I have it now?”

Nikkel nodded, spitting out a mouthful of dirt. Mikkel lifted his son back to his feet.

“Georgio is my friend, Nikkel. Venir is, too, and he wants us to look after him. I’ll need your help, too. Do you understand?”

“Sure, Father. And I’m—”

Mikkel cut him off as he helped his son up.

“You don’t have to say it, Nikkel. I want you to stick up for yourself, but don’t pick a fight with your father. Your mother, maybe?” He slapped his son on the back. “But me? No, no, that’s a bad idea.” He squeezed Nikkel’s arm. “Don’t worry, in due time, you’ll be more than I can handle.”

Nikkel nodded, pointed down the road, and said, “He was trying to find the both of you, but,” he looked over his father’s shoulder at the giggling women, “you were indisposed. I’m not so sure that man, Corrin, is too pleased with that, either.”

“Ah, it’s none of that rogue's business.” Billip pushed his woman back. “Give me a moment, Jess.” She backed away with a giggle. “As I was saying, we need to retrieve Georgio. The streets are dangerous out there. Blast!”

“What?” Mikkel said.

“He’s taken Quickster with him,” Billip said. “How long’s he been gone, Nikkel?”

“An hour, I’d say.”

“I bet he’s back to the stables by now,” Mikkel said. “We can catch up if we hurry.”

“No, don’t leave me,” a brown-haired woman said, tugging on Billip’s arm.

Two other women draped their arms on Mikkel. “We can’t let you go! You must protect us.”

Billip popped his knuckles. The thought of the stables unsettled him. What if that man, Tonio, had returned? He was inches from his death the last time they clashed. It was possible the deranged man could still be waiting at the stables. At the same time, he felt very compelled to stay back and help Trinos.

“I’m sure he’ll come back,” he offered.

“What? You can’t be serious, Billip. You know that boy’s as hard-headed as a bull. We have to go and get him, and my pony Quickster.”

“I’ll go,” Nikkel said. “I can run. I might even beat them back to the stables. Assuming that’s where they went.”

“Has anyone seen Trinos?” Corrin yelled, storming their way. The man looked beside himself.

“No,” Billip said, “we were about to ask you the same.”

“Why would you be asking me?” Corrin said, looking at the hungry-eyed women, “…fornicators. Perhaps if you weren’t diddling the help, you’d know. But know this,” he pointed at the three of them, “with Trinos gone, I’m in charge.”

Billip and Mikkel laughed.

“I am!” Corrin stomped his foot. “This isn’t a brothel, mind you. Chip in, or get out!”

“You better watch yourself,” Mikkel said, pointing his finger down in Corrin’s face. “I could break you in half, Little Man.”

“Hah! Then you better be able to sleep with one eye open,” Corrin said. A pair of blades blinked out of his clothes and back in. “The both of you.” He twisted around and walked away.

“Huh,” Mikkel said, swallowing.

Billip perked up his eyebrows. It seemed there was more to Corrin than originally appeared.

“If we're going after Georgio, we might as well all go, and make it fast. Daylight is burning.”

“Yeah, we’ll all go,” Mikkel said, putting his hand on Nikkel's shoulder. “I could use the run myself.”

Billip saluted the women as they went, saying, “I was sure looking forward to keeping one eye open on them. Eh …”

The women in all directions started screaming. A sea of rats was scurrying over the cobblestones by the hundreds, if not thousands. Mikkel and Nikkel stopped in their tracks, eyes wide, watching the vermin run over their booted toes. He and Mikkel looked at one another as the ground began to shake.

“What in the world of Bish?”

Ahead, cutting off the road that lead south towards the stables, the streets erupted. The stone and dirt bulged from underneath with a popping and grinding sound. The men joined the women with shouts, screams and yells as a monstrous hairy bulk unlike anything Billip had ever seen before emerged.

“Sonuvabish!” he cried.

CHAPTER 53

Fear. It was an adventurer’s enemy and friend. Fear could drive a man to crawl within himself in despair, which was precisely what Fogle Boon wanted to do right now. Or, Fear could spur action and powers deep within you that you’d never known. That furnace was depleted, replaced with a reservoir of icy stone. Help me. Help us all!

“Oh my!” Boon said, his hands charging up like fire. “If you have a helmet tucked somewhere in those robes of yours, you better strap it on. You’re going to need it!”

The underlings, they weren’t all in one spot, but they were many, black forms scurrying all over, spread out from one side of the ravine to the other. A dozen here, a small squad there, all peeking out from behind the rocks and trees, their gemstone eyes twinkling. Shiny steel weapons glinting in the suns' light. There were at least a hundred, if not more, and almost twenty had surrounded Barton. Think, Fogle! Think! He crouched down and huddled in his robes.

Boon let the first blast go.

Ka-BOOM!

Fogle cringed and held his hands over his ears as shards of rock and wood scattered all over.

A shower of debris cut his hand, and a chunk of rock clipped his shoulder, sending him to the ground. He hurt all over.

“I cannot do this without you!” Boon was screaming as a litany of small bolts filled the sky. “HOSLOMAN-DEEK!”

A transparent barricade shimmered with flecks of blue and green, deflecting and vaporizing the underling volley. On the other side of that barrier, Barton swatted at a small horde of underlings with his club and had moderate success. Quick and fast they were, driving javelins into his legs and lassoing ropes around his arms and neck.

“YOU CANNOT STOP ME WITH THREAD,” Barton roared, grabbing hold of the rope and slinging two underlings across the ground. “YOU CANNOT HURT BARTON! I’M A GIANT, AND YOU ARE COCKROACHES! HA!” Barton stomped on another.

The underlings retreated, reformed, and slung javelins and shot bolts into his face. Barton shielded his face with his arm and stomped the ground, shaking the trees, and screamed at them all.

“Have you finished gawking yet, Grandson? More come! Come to your senses, Man!”

Death. The thought of if dulled his senses. Thrusting oneself into peril with no future knowledge of the outcome could sap the will of a man. Slowly, he rose to his feet, trying to grasp the chaos around him. How could he protect himself with so many things going on at once?

“Courage, Fogle! Have courage!” An array of bright green missiles burst from Boon’s finger tips.

A knot of underling soldiers stormed up the ravine, small bucklers raised. They caught the full force of Boon's missiles and chittered with rage. Some were dead, others twitched, but they were still on the move. Fogle managed to make his way alongside his grandfather, where the air was thin. He couldn’t breathe, think or do anything.

Boon grabbed hold of his arm.

“Now is not the time to be idle, Wizard. Now is the time to fight! What is wrong with you? You’ve fought underlings! You’ve fought giants! What are you waiting for?”

Fogle flinched. Another barrage of bolts slammed into the magic barricade a foot from his face. The underlings were less than a few dozen yards away. They were the most evil things he ever saw. What if he had to fight them with his fists? They’d cut him into little pieces.

He gave his grandfather Boon a blank look. The strong features on the elder's face were beginning to weaken. The wrinkles deepened, the pressure built. Boon couldn’t hold up the barricade much longer. Just cast something. Anything!

He closed his eyes, muttering the words to the first spell that came to mind. Magic swelled inside his chest and throat, and something eerie oozed in one side of him and out the other. He opened his eyes and found the oddest expression on his grandfather’s face.

“It’s a start,” Boon said, panting “Now do something with what you have done.”

Fogle was beside himself, literally. To his left he was, to his right he was, and behind him as well. Three identical Fogles awaited his beck and call. It was an illusion he'd hoped would throw off the giants when he encountered them again.

Fogle pointed down the ravine with both fingers.

“Spread out and attack.”

The three Fogles sprang into action.

I can’t even move that fast. Concentrate. What shall I have them do?

Illusions were tricky things. Sometimes they worked, and sometimes they did not, depending on the mind of the other. Much of the time, it had more to do with the minds of others than your own. Fogle concentrated on his vision, gave his idea life, and let it go.

The underlings surged toward the direction of Fogle’s apparitions, blades slashing, overwhelming the figures. The first one rose into the air, dousing the underlings with rays of arching light. The second fled, evading underling pursuit. The third multiplied from one to three, then fifteen more, all fighting for their lives against the masses.

“Impressive,” Boon shouted. “You’ve bought us some time at least. But how much?”

Fogle half-smiled, “It’s the least—”

Boon’s barricade fizzled out. The old wizard shrugged. “Well, it was going to happen, but I thought we’d have at least a dozen more seconds or two.”

Fogle took a deep breath. He had regained control for the moment, but Boon was right: the illusion wouldn’t work forever, a minute more at the most. “What’s the plan, Boon?”

“I was hoping you were thinking of one as I doddered around. My plan however, is simple: kill them all.” Boon’s hands were on his hips as he took a deep draw of air. “But, I’m afraid I’m lacking the firepower at the moment.” Boon gritted his teeth. “Seems I don’t have as much juice as I used to.”

Fogle started to reply, “I’m not so—”

“RAAAAARGH!”

Barton cried out as he crashed into the ground and underlings piled all over him.

“GET OFF ME, PESTS!”

The giant’s arms were pinned to his sides by ropes.

Fogle had to do something. Scanning his surroundings, he noticed his apparitions beginning to disappear. The underlings cried out in triumph and confusion. Some broke off after the apparitions that continued to multiply. There were more than twenty scattered throughout the ravine. He retrieved his pack, withdrew his spellbook, and tossed it to his grandfather.

“Find something in there,” he said, making way to help Barton. “And get our arses out of here!”

“Giants are friends of fire, Grandson!” Boon shouted.

Fogle shook his head. He didn’t see how that would help. Knowing a better weakness for underlings would have been better.

“HELP BARTON! HELP BARTON, WIZARD!” The underlings were on him like a hive of angry bees.

Fogle’s heart went out. The giant was big, deformed, but more child than man. It was torment to watch him suffer such savagery as the underlings struck with all the venom they had. Barton cried out again, sending shivers down Fogle’s spine. Barton began to bleed.

Move, Fogle! Act! He’s about to die!

Four underlings hoisted a rope behind Barton’s neck and yanked his chin back. Three others chittered with wicked glee as they hoisted their javelins back and took aim at Barton’s last good eye.

CHAPTER 54

Venir could hear the leather squeak as the bald orc twisted his bracers on his wrists. Venir had a similar pair once that he discarded, never feeling the need. Maybe now would have been a good time to make use of such things.

“I am called Tuuth,” the orc said, cracking his bullish neck in his hands. “It’s best you know the name of your opponent.” The orc bared one magnificent fang.

A fitting name. Venir stretched his limbs one last time. He couldn’t have beaten an ogre, not a full one anyway. Yet there was truth behind Tuuth’s words. Of course, orcs were notorious liars. Venir couldn’t afford to worry about that now. He’d beaten ogres before, Farc and Son of Farc, in mortal combat and won. And if anything, he felt much stronger now than he did then.

Tuuth eyed him.

“No name, huh?”

“My name has many enemies,” Venir responded, coming eye to eye with the orc.

Tuuth was rangy and powerfully built, as fine a specimen of his race as Venir had ever seen. Still, the thought of calling out mercy to anyone, even if a ploy, wasn’t an easy one.

Toy with him. See what he’s got.

Venir looked back up the ravine.

“They won’t be near. Heh-heh. It don’t matter.”

Venir took one last look over his shoulder. Hidden behind the rocks, in the sack inside his pack, the armament was safe. No one could get to it but him. But being without it was disconcerting. I don’t need it. Not for this. I never met an orc I couldn’t handle before. He raised his arms up and spread his fingers out.

“Ready?”

Venir nodded.

He and Tuuth gripped hands. He felt the raw power behind the orc’s squeeze. Bish!

“You make the count to three, Stranger.”

Both man and orc braced their legs in the dirt, arms pressing, but holding back.

“You strong for a man,” Tuuth muttered, showing an evil grin.

“One,” Venir started.

“Tuuth strong for an orc.”

“Two.”

“Very strong. Not too late to back out, Stranger.”

Jaws clenched, eyes filled with fire, he said, “It’s not too late for you either, Orc. THREE!”

Tuuth’s hands felt like dried leather and were as strong as vices. He pulled Venir’s hands up and drove him back. The pressure built quickly. Tuuth squeezed his fingers at the same time, pinching the bone. Sweat beads burst on Venir’s brow. Blast! What kind of orc is this!

“Say the word, and I’ll make this easy,” Tuuth mocked, pushing him backward, crushing his hands.

Venir wanted to tear his hands away, but held on. Fight, Venir! Tuuth dug his fingernails into the backs of his hands, drawing blood. Venir fought the urge to scream. He was losing. NO!

Blocking out the pain, he shoved back. Tuuth grunted, muscles knotting up in cords. Venir squeezed back, fighting with everything he had. Tuuth’s feet slid back over the dirt. No, Mercy was not his game. Not in this case it wasn’t. Either Tuuth never sweated, or he hadn’t broken one.

“Give up you, Stranger? Ha. Just ask for Mercy.”

Venir couldn’t find the breath to respond. He put everything he had into forcing the orc’s wrist back.

“Maybe if you had all your fingers it would help,” Tuuth huffed in his face.

Venir couldn’t remember the last time he’d been mocked. It stoked the fires in his belly. Spit frothing from his lips doubled his efforts, legs surging and driving the orc backward. Tuuth's eyes widened as Venir began to bend his wrists backward.

“Harrumph!” Tuuth exclaimed. He jerked Venir’s arms left then right. Bullish shoulder against bullish shoulder. The orc gave no more, his thick wrists again forcing Venir’s backwards.

“Come on, Tuuth!” The leader said, appearing from the brush. “No man can beat you!”

“What game is this?” Venir managed to spit out. “I’ll not be bushwhacked!”

“Peace!” The leader said. “Battle on. My men can’t pass on a show like this. We’ll keep our distance. Our word, Stranger!”

“Aye,” the soldier with the dogs said. “I’ve never seen Tuuth have a struggle before.”

Venir blocked them out. The jeers and cheers had no meaning as he and Tuuth struggled back and forth. Keeping his breath and strength up was enough to worry about. Bone! What strength! His hands were killing him. It felt like they would break at any moment. A stone gargoyle didn’t have a mightier grip.

“You tire, Stranger! Your chest heaves like an excited woman!”

Venir’s wrists were back more than before.

“Ye’ve got him, Tuuth! Now break him.”

Fight, Venir, Fight!

He fell to one knee.

A chorus of triumph burst out.

Tuuth towered over him, leering downward, powerful arms pulsating with life and vitality.

“Say it, Stranger!”

Melegal would kill me if he saw this. All the gold he would lose. Hang on! He must tire! He cannot be so strong!

The soldiers said, “Cry mercy! He’ll cripple you! He will!”

“Pride’s the doom of a man!”

“Tuuth will show no mercy to the foolish.”

Venir’s sweat-coated face was red and purple. His wrists were bent fully backward. The pain was becoming unbearable.

“Slat!” he yelled.

Tuuth’s hot breath was in his face.

“Give in, Stranger! My patience runs out!”

“NO!”

Venir had suffered so many things. The Mist. The underlings. The Marsh. The Pit. A shallow grave. How could he not survive this? How could he be beaten? His heart was ready to explode in his chest. Big purple veins rose inside his temples. His nose bled, and his eyes rolled up in his head. Was it the armament? Fool! Was he weaker without it?

“Do it, Tuuth! Break him!” the Leader cried.

“Say the word!” Tuuth snorted.

Venir knew that he had to hold on. Just a little longer. The orc was soon to tire, he was certain. Save your strength, Venir. He can’t keep this up. Certainly he’d have a second wind. He always had. But the orc shouldn’t.

Tuuth shouted in his ear.

“Last chance, Stranger!”

“For you maybe,” Venir spit through his lips.

Tuuth roared, wrenched downward and twisted.

Snap!

Venir’s wrist broke. His fingers bent back to the edge.

“NOOOOOO!”

The soldiers jumped and hollered.

“Say it!”

Venir's right wrist was folded up to his arm. He might as well have been stabbed in the gut. That much he could understand. This wasn’t possible. He screamed as the pain of a thousand fires shot up and down his arm. His stomach repulsed as he choked down the urge to vomit.

Snap!

Agony! His other wrist now shattered. How! He couldn’t take it anymore. Dazed and defeated, he looked up into Tuuth’s face. The orc’s chest was heaving as he wiped the sweat from his brow. Venir didn’t even realize his hands were freed. He couldn’t feel them. They hung limp as his sides. He couldn’t bear to look at them. Broken. Foolish. Ashamed.

“I didn’t say mercy,” was all Venir could manage to say.

Tuuth shook his fist, saying, “No, Stranger. I’ve no words for it. But you’ll wish that you did.” Tuuth then let out a cry of triumph to the cheers of his fellow soldiers.

Venir closed his eyes. I can’t believe it. What happened?

The dogs howled.

The leader said, “Button it up, men.”

Venir opened his eyes in time to see the small party scrambling around. Tuuth shoved him face first to the ground, held a knife to his throat, and said, “Keep silent, Stranger, if you want to live.”

In all his life, Venir had never felt more helpless than when the underlings arrived.

CHAPTER 55

Did Jubbler just say that?

No one else was around. Lefty removed the other nail from his ear. Jubbler picked at his beard and twitched his large nose.

“Did you say something?” Lefty asked.

“Huh.”

Lefty huffed. He muttered. He cursed.

“I see you’ve picked up a few words in the Nest, now haven’t you?” Jubbler said. The rugged dwarf's maniacal tone had turned around into something serene and wise.

He looked over at the Quartermaster, who was still down the dock.

“You did say that!” Lefty exclaimed, picking up his hammer. “Do you really know Gillem, or are you just acting crazy?”

Jubbler reached over, took Lefty’s hand in his, and said, “I’m crazy because I want them to believe me to be. But I’m quite sane all the time. Now Lefty, pay attention. You don’t have much time.” It was Jubbler’s turn to peer around. “Keep tapping. I’ll start talking.”

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap ….

Lefty didn’t know what to make of it, but the sound of a friendly voice energized him. Connecting with another living person elated him. All of his aches, pains and hunger subsided under a tide of hope.

Jubbler cleared his throat and spoke in a low and rich tone, his comments quick and direct.

“Master Gillem. Murdered. Let me say he was my friend and yours as well. But, he and I were doomed scoundrels from the start. Nothing but bad blood running through the both of us, most all the good parts long gone …” Jubbler drifted off and wiped his eyes.

Lefty scooted away. Was this dwarf someone he should be listening to?

“… but even the worst of us have some honor and loyalty. A code, you might say. A redeeming quality we can take to our deaths one day. Master Gillem served us all well, but he had enemies: Palos, Thorn and that dreadful Diller among them.” Jubbler punched his gnarled fist on the deck. “It wasn’t always this way in the guild. Palzor followed the code, but his deranged son does not. At least not anymore. It’s one thing for a thief to be greedy, but Palos has taken it to another level. Our tributes and contributions are outrageous, almost triple what they’d been. And the clientele above, the additional costs for their commodities, well, they aren’t so happy. Heh. Heh. Not happy at all. They ask for less for the smuggled goods, and Palos charges more.”

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap …

Lefty was enthralled. His small body filled with new energy. I cannot believe the same person speaks. From roughshod and rambling, Jubbler was now a polished stone, poised and in control.

“Us pick pockets are getting antsy, and with your arrival, the Royal woman and her baby, well, our bones were unsettled. Something must be done. The thin ice he’s put us on is about to break.” Jubbler clenched his hand and teeth. “Master Gillem was a friend, and many want him avenged.” He stuck his knotty finger at Lefty’s nose. “Most thieves come and go, their lives given as little consideration as their deaths. We’ve seen Palos snuff members out before. The man rules with an iron gauntlet. Cruel and unpredictable. But killing Gillem,” Jubbler wiped his eyes and cleared the lump from his throat, “that was wrong. Wrong as a dwarf mating with an orc.”

Crack!

The Quartermaster was coming back their way, eyes baring down on the both of them. Lefty picked up the pace.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap …

“Do some work, Jubbler, you babbling runt!”

Crack!

Jubbler squealed as the lash licked across his back and shoulder.

Lefty kept his head down and hammered away.

Crack!

“Ow!” Lefty cried out, the hammer slipping from his lashed wrist.

The orcen man growled, “Pick it up, Halfling!”

Tears streamed down Lefty’s face as he reached for the hammer.

Crack!

Fingers an inch from the hammer, the lash caught him across the fingertips.

Blasted orc!

“I said, 'Pick it up!'”

Lefty snatched it like a snake strikes its prey.

Crack!

The Quartermaster missed.

“You’ll pay for that, you blond-haired rodent.”

Lefty balled up. Anchored down by the absidium chains, what else could he do?

Splash!

“What the!” the Quartermaster said, head and big shoulders whipping around. “You hooved fools. Clumsy as blind kobolds!”

Toward the other end of the dock, a wooden crate of goods found its way into the lake. A small craft capsized. The Quartermaster stomped down the dock, saying, “Someone’s going to die for this!”

“Are you well?” Jubbler said, rubbing his shoulder.

Lefty shook his hand. Red and swollen, it hurt worse than it looked. He opened his fist in and out a few times. “I’m fine, but that hurt! What about you?”

“Heh, nothing but a sting, is all. A dwarf's hide thickens as he gets older, but it's not as flexible.” Jubbler winked. “Just can’t stay out in the sun too long. It can dry you up like a seed. Now, we have the get you out of here. Plans are now in motion.”

“What do you mean?” Lefty said. “What plans?”

Jubbler snorted.

“You don’t really think a bunch of cutthroats and smugglers accidentally dropped crates of goods into the lake, do you?”

Lefty perched his eyebrows and said, “I suppose not.

Jubbler grabbed him by the shoulder and gave it a tug.

“The Quartermaster, well, he's another Palos recruit. Not one to belong here. He’ll have his hands full for now. But we have to get you going and out of here. Once it starts rolling... we can’t stop it now.”

Lefty had no idea what Jubbler was talking about, but he was willing to try anything to help Kam and Erin. Anything at all, he was ready. He held up the absidium chains that dangled in his fingers.

“Ah, yes.” Jubbler rubbed his chin. “I never figured those out, not like Master Gillem. I was certain you would figure it out, however. Can you not do it, Boy? You have to be free if this plan’s to roll.”

Lefty looked at his bleeding, swollen and throbbing hand.

“How much time do I have?”

“Little! Make haste. You can figure it out. Gillem said so.”

Lefty began to fidget his fingers and tug at the bonds. The chains constricted like a living thing. “Why would you and Gillem talk about these chains? Seems odd. Did he foresee my incarceration?”

“Ho-Ho. No, not at all. We had a bet, was all. He said you could, and I said you couldn’t. I’ve never seen another trick the chains before, but Gillem was like a magician. Juggled ten coins at once, he did.”

“Really?” Lefty continued wrestling the chains, twisting and turning his tiny wrists all sorts of ways. The more he twisted, the deeper they dug. It was killing him.

“I saw it for myself,” Jubbler said, a smile turning to a frown, “but I never seen my coins again, either.

Lefty huffed out. “Blast! I can’t do this, Jubbler.”

“Hurry, Boy,” Jubbler urged, motioning his finger in the air. “You have to trick it. That’s what Master Gillem said, but I could never figure it out.”

Sweat glistened on Lefty’s face. Maybe Gillem broke them, but they’d said they were unbreakable. Oh no, I cannot do this. I cannot!

“Hurry, Lefty, time is short! You must save the baby before they take her.”

“Take her where? Ow!”

Lefty’s hands were purple and red, both wrists bleeding now.

“Palos has another deal. He’s ransoming the baby girl. It seems there are people above that want her. Much money they shall pay.”

“Who? Don’t they want Kam?”

“No, just the baby. Hurry now, there’s little time before they move her.”

He had promised Kam he’d take care of Erin, first and foremost. But he couldn’t leave Kam behind. How was he supposed to get out of here? What if Jubbler lied? He didn’t know what to think or believe anymore. Think! Move! Act!

“Did you see Gillem use anything?” Lefty asked. “Maybe he had a key hidden.”

“Maybe a pick? But I didn’t see.” Jubbler reached inside his vest and produced a small key, similar to the one Diller used to lock the chains. “Perhaps this will work.”

Lefty snatched it.

“It’s too big! What’s that for, anyway? Drat! I’m undone. I … Am … Undone.”

Jubbler tossed the key in the lake and sighed.

“I don’t remember. An unfortunate thing this is, very unfortunate. Still, the plan moves forward. You must go, chains or not.”

Lefty eyed the shackles on his wrists and feet. It wasn’t possible. He’d be seen. But what choice did he have at this point? He at least had to try and save Erin.

“Jubbler, what do I do? How can I even get her out of here? It will be impossible to cross the lake unnoticed.” He held up his chains.

“There is another way.” Jubbler eyed the giant smoke stack. “It’s dangerous, but if you can get the baby, you can take her up there.”

Lefty looked up at the massive smoke stack, red brick marred by soot, smoke puffing from gaping holes in the brick. “You can’t mean that?”

“I do. And you have to move. Your feet are forming a pool.”

“Bone!” Lefty’s heart was pounding in his chest. Something was wrong. He could feel it. Kam and Erin both were in grave danger.

CHAPTER 56

“What have we here?” Diller said, shoving Kam to the ground.

She cried out as Thorn twisted her arm and shoved his knee into her back.

“Let go of me! Palos! Have you not treated me badly enough?”

Palos’s soft eyes revealed something darker inside as Diller handed over the gems.

“She’s turning into a thief, it seems,” Diller said, chuckling. “Perhaps we’re wearing off on the Royal wench.”

Kam scraped her chin on the floor as she got a better view of Palos. The Prince of Thieves studied the gems in every detail, eyes dancing in the firelight. He kneeled down before her and spoke with a venomous tone.

“Where did you get these? I’ve never seen the likes before.”

She held her tongue.

Thorn grabbed a handful of her hair and snapped her head back.

“Stop doing that!” Kam said.

“Answer the Prince.”

“Certainly,” she said, spitting blood. “I took them from your own coffers, you sot. Not that you could ever keep track of every bauble in your hoard.” She laughed. “I thought you’d craft me a pair of earrings. I think I’ve earned them,” she batted her eyes, “dear Prince.”

“Diller,” Palos ordered, “bring me that halfling. I’ll be having words with him.” Palos grabbed Kam’s face with his pudgy fingers. “I’ve a feeling you and the boy are conspirators, Kam. And when I discover the truth, I’ve a feeling another halfling will be dead.” He smacked her hard across the face. “Earrings, my arse. Though, they certainly have a unique twinkle to them. Perhaps they’ll make a fine gift for my next Royal conquest.” He snorted as he rose up. “One of your sisters, perhaps?”

Kam remained silent as Thorn picked her up and slammed her into the chair. At least Palos hadn’t mentioned Erin again. But now Lefty was in danger. What a clumsy fool I am. I should have attacked when I had the chance. Now, things are worse than ever!

Palos sat down at the table, placed an eye piece in his head, and held up the gems.

“Fascinating. Hmmm …. The inner core sparkles like a piece of broken coal.” He let out a haggard moan. “The cut is unlike most stones. Polished. Oval.” He muttered and groaned, switching stones and studying every last detail.

I need those! I must get them back. She glanced at the sword. Had her father, Kamdroz, really given Palzor that? She didn’t have the best relationship with her father. He was a withdrawn and mysterious man who dabbled in politics and other powers she didn’t care for. And there were many things she never understood or cared about in the Castles and Towers where her family resided. People of all questionable backgrounds and character came and went in the night. Palos had revealed many things. The thieves were the main vein of supply for wizards' spell components. She had always wondered where the weird and rare items came from, and now she knew.

“Tell me more about my father, Palos, and the sword. I don’t think you were finished with your story.”

“Quiet!” Thorn said, pressing knife to her throat.

Don’t push it. The last thing you need is a gag in your mouth. Think up a spell. Have it ready.

“It’s quite alright, Thorn,” Palos said, still looking at the underling eyes, a softer tone in his voice. “This is quite a find. I’m possibly grateful. Huh, yes, your father and the sword.” Palos set the gems down on the table, locked his fingers on his chest, and teetered his chair on its back legs. “One doesn’t reach the top without playing dirty, you naïve woman. He’s had help, much help from the likes of me and my father. You might even say, to some degree, we’re Royals as well.”

“You can fill your mind up with all the lies you want, but it still doesn’t change the lowly person you are and ever will be,” Kam remarked.

“Said like a true Royal. Always justifying their position.” Palos laughed. “Perhaps you’d be more tolerable if you understood your own family’s history. As I recall, all in this city were beggars and thieves at one time. You’d do well to remember that.” Palos coughed. “My throat is dry, and it seems my last bottle is empty. Thorn, grab two more from the rack.”

Thorn twirled his knife into his belt and lumbered away. Palos picked the gems back up, juggling them in one hand, eyeing them with glee. This is it, Kam. Do it now!

Thorn returned, back towards her, blocking Palos's view. She whispered and muttered as Thorn refilled the goblet. A spring of mystic energy came forth. Remembering Palos’s words about the sword burning skin and also the sword's promise to help, she let her suggestion out. Thorn.

The tall man stiffened, turning his chin her way.

She had his attention. Eyeing the great sword, creating a perfect picture in her mind, she made a powerful suggestion.

GRAB.

Thorn turned, looking at her, his burned face a mask of confusion. Kam felt another level of exhaustion seep into her bones. She was almost spent. Her consciousness drifting. She needed those gems. The underling's eyes. Thorn bent over, hand reaching for the great blade.

Palos stopped juggling, set the stones on the table, and said, “Thorn, what are you doing?” He glared at Kam. “What have you done, Witch? Thorn, don’t touch that blade, I COMMAND YOU!”

Thorn wrapped his big hand around the hilt and lifted up the sword. A rush of energy filled the room, blowing the hair back from all their faces. Thorn turned, a dark look in his eyes, his mind no longer his own.

“Drop that blade, Thorn! Drop it now!” Palos jumped on the table and drew his dagger. “What have you done to him, Kam? Make him stop now!”

Swish!

The heavy blade cut where Palo’s legs a moment earlier had been standing.

“I am Zorth, an Avenger, a King, a Giant Slayer.” The voice was unnatural, strong, powerful. “You,” Thorn’s body pointed at Palos, “are a flea.”

Kam had never seen fear in Palos’s eyes before, but it was there, real, his forehead crinkled.

Palos lunged in, stabbed Thorn in the thigh, and jumped back.

Slice!

The blade licked out over Palos’s head, clipping his ear.

“Bone!” Palos said, holding his bleeding ear. “Thorn, stop this madness!”

Kam fought to rise on her weakened knees. The spell had taken a toll on her. She needed strength. Get the gems!

The possessed Thorn jumped over the table and chopped.

“The time has come, Rodent Prince. Your evils shall be undone.”

Kam slipped behind Thorn and grabbed the stones. Yes!

“No! Help! No, you witch! You cannot use magic! How did you do this?”

Thorn, great sword of Zorth in hand, chopped and sliced, but Palos was quicker than a rabbit to his oppressor's charging bull. The prince of thieves evaded all of Thorn’s lethal blows, but they were getting closer.

What does he have in his hand?

Palos had a vial. He dove away from the next decapitating blow.

Kkk-rang!

The sword of Zorth chopped into the metal tub, hewing half way through the metal until it stuck. Thorn fought to free the blade.

Kam rushed over to the front door. Where’s Palos? Scanning the room, the man had disappeared. No!

“You cannot escape your evils!” the possessed Thorn yelled. “There is no escape for your kind. I shall purge this city once again.”

She summoned the power in the gems. Clatch. Palo’s bedroom door locked shut. The front door was still sealed. Where is he? Her body turned clammy. She realized what had happened. The vial must have turned him invisible.

Wham! Wham! Wham! Someone pounded on the front door.

“Are you in there, Prince? We heard you shout!”

“Death awaits you, fools! Come and greet him!” Thorn cried.

A silence came from the other side of the door.

Kam backed towards the corner, stones clenching in her fists, glowing like fire. Where are you, Bastard!

“Er, Thorn, was that you? Let us in. We’ll sort it out,” a man said from the other side.

The great blade slipped free of the tub, and the possessed man said, “A moment in life … a moment in death … comes the cold kiss of vengeance.” Thorn strode across the room to the door and shoved the sword through one side and out the other. Men wailed behind the doorway.

Kam shivered. Oh my! Something grabbed her from behind by the neck and squeezed. No! It was Palos. She knew his grip, his scent, every vital detail.

“Drop those gems, Witch! Drop them now!” he warned. One arm held her tight by the neck, the other held the dagger at her belly. “I’ll not waste another moment on you. I’ll gut you and let you watch your innards spill out!”

She could feel his tongue on her ear. No! This was her last chance. There would not be another. It had to end here, one way or the other. I’m sorry, Erin!

“Kill me then, you bastard!” Her hands became brilliant balls of energy as she summoned the power forth.

“So be it, you crazy whore!”

Palos choked her with all his strength and slid the dagger in her stomach. Her eyes popped open. The gem stones dangled in her grip. She clenched them one last time. Come, Snake! Come!

A glimmering snake of green and yellow burst from the fireplace, eyes a brilliant white fire. It came fast, slithering over the planks like living fire and coiled itself around Palos and Kam.

Palos screamed. His grip slackened, the dagger clattering on the floor. Kam fell to her knees, holding her belly, eyes watering. “No,” she murmured. “I can’t die.”

Behind her, the snake struck and squeezed Palos, who she could now see, wailing and thrashing like an animal gone mad. Good!

Thorn pulled his sword free of the door, the blade streaked red in blood.

“Come! It’s time we free ourselves!”

Kam was numb. Washed over with nausea. She was dying, she was certain this time. “You must take my...” she gasped, blood spitting from her mouth, “find my baby. Save her, Zorth. Save her …”

“You’ll pay for that!” a man screamed from the other side of the door. “That was my brother!”

Wham! Wham! Wham!

Something heavy hit the door.

“Just pick the lock,” another cried.

Straight and true, Zorth rammed the sword through the door again.

Zorth’s voice was hollow, loud, direct.

“No evil shall escape. No power can stop my edge. I am Zorth.”

The unseen force of Palos screamed for mercy. None came.

Kam collapsed on the floor. Erin. I tried. I’m sorry.

CHAPTER 57

“A wanted man, you say?” Melegal said, righting his slouch and facing Rayal.

Rayal smiled, her teeth white, her face as pretty as a rainbow.

“Certainly wanted. However, I’ve heard nothing but the highest of comments from Lorda Almen. She’s very keen on you.” Rayal stepped over and pulled the blanket from his shoulders and straightened his cap. “And she is far from easy to please, Life Saver.”

Why must they smell so good? Gives me the weak knees of a swooning woman, it does. How do they do that?

“I only do what is expected of my service, Rayal,” he said with a slight nod. She does not know. A lift in fortune for one miniscule moment for the day. Still, persistent and nosy. Aren’t they all? Scars on my knuckles. Should’ve stuck them in a hog waller first.

“Odd, Detective, seeing you in the barns, and going to great lengths to steal a pail of water … my bratty sister's at that.” She took a deep breath into her chest, straining the leather cords on her riding corset, and yawned. “I’d hoped Elizabeth’s enemies had the best of her. So, is this an investigation of some sort? And don’t be coy. The Lorda and I share many things.”

Rayal’s escorts, one tall and lean, the other stocky and gruff, fingered the hilts of their long swords, eyes on Melegal. Between them, Rayal stood out like a sunflower planted between two beds of jagged rocks: hair and features dark, warm and mysterious. Was she not the one betrothed to Tonio? Such an odd situation that all their lives were intertwined. Clearly, beauty cannot compensate for good senses. He didn’t sense the same level of cunning Lorda Almen had, either. But it was clear Rayal was sharp. In another decade or so, she’ll have it down. For now, take advantage of what she lacks.

“I’d rather not trouble you,” he said, switching the pail from one hand to the other, “but perhaps I can fill you in later.”

“No. Now would be a good time. After all, trouble abounds from all corners with underlings about. They press from within and without. Many fear the great walls of Bone will come down. And I find it peculiar you are not within the walls of Castle Almen, affording protection.” Her escorts bristled as she tossed her hair and folded her arms over her chest.

I don’t have time for this. Brak is dying. I must act. Do something!

Melegal gave another slight bow. Added a nervous stammer and some desperation to his voice. “I-I apologize. As a commoner, I’ve my own troubles I’m trying to, oh how can I say it?” He grabbed his hat and wrung it, then placed it back on his head, “Rectify. I’m certain it would be frowned on by the Lorda, as it’s outside of my tasks. I’ve much to do and little time.”

Rayal’s eyebrows perched.

“Perhaps I can help? I insist.”

Melegal let out a slight sigh.

“A friend is injured. He lies in the stable bleeding and hot with fever.”

Rayal’s hand fell over her heart as she gasped. “Take me to him. I can help.”

“But, Rayal, I could not impose.”

With a hot look in her eye, she grabbed him by the arm and said, “Ooh, those blasted Almens only care about themselves. Just take me to this friend of yours. I’ll help in spite of them.”

“Eh,” Melegal said as she pulled him away.

“I bet this is the barn, isn’t it?” She gasped. “That’s a lot of blood.”

Large drops were just outside the door, but they weren’t noticeable to an untrained eye.

“In here?”

Melegal nodded. Play it through, and be ready to run.

“Rayal,” one of the soldiers said, shoving past Melegal, “let me enter first.”

The other soldier stood holding his arm out between Melegal and the door.

“It’s clear,” the soldier yelled.

Rayal stepped inside, followed by Melegal and the last soldier.

Brak still lay in Jubilee’s lap, pale as a sheet, unmoving. Haze was holding a bloody rag on his belly. The smell of death was in the air.

“Melegal,” Haze said, her voice cracking, “I don’t think.” She sobbed.

Rayal looked at him and said, “Is this your family?”

NO!

He gestured.

“So to speak.”

Rayal kneeled down alongside Brak and pulled off the chain that was around her neck. Haze glared at Melegal. He shrugged. At the end of the chain was a locket of some sort. Rayal popped it open.

“Let me see the wound,” Rayal ordered in a firm but pleasant tone.

Haze revealed a gaping hole with blood seeping out.

“Mother of Bish! And yet he still breathes,” Rayal dumped the contents of the locket, ground herbs of a strange pink and blue hue, on the wound. She rubbed it in and snapped the locket shut.

“What was that?” Jubilee said, wiping her eyes. “Will it help him?”

Rayal shook her head and sighed, “Not if I’m too late, Little One. I hope that I am not.”

Brak’s body remained still. The sweat that once beaded his face was now gone. Silence crept into the stable. Everyone took a moment to look around at one another.

Strange group. A stallion among the hounds.

Rayal broke the silence.

“Are you the Detective’s sister?” she said to Haze.

Haze looked at Melegal, then back to Rayal and said, “No.”

“Look,” Jubilee gasped, pointing at Brak’s stomach.

The bleeding stopped.

“So much blood lost, yet he mends,” Rayal said, incredulous.

Brak’s chest began to rise and fall again. His eyes snapped open as he rose up.

Melegal felt the sadness in his heart melt away with exhilaration. One life was saved today. Now what am I going to do with them?Rayal rose to her feet and said, “It seems you owe me now, Detective.” She smiled at him and looked down at Brak, who had Jubilee all over him. “What an odd looking fellow. I’ve never seen the likes of him. And he’s got blood all over him. Some of it black. Who did you battle?”

“Underlings.” And Royals.

Rayal made her way past him and said, “A moment outside, Detective. Ladies,” she looked at Haze and Jubilee, “I’ll just have him a moment.”

Haze frowned while the soldiers followed him outside.

Good thing Haze is not a lycan. She’d tear Rayal’s head off. Nothing like a jealous woman to tear the skin from your bones.

“I’m grateful, Rayal. My friend's loss would have been quite difficult to bear, I’m afraid. And I’m not one to mourn.” He hated to say the next line, but he felt compelled to. “How can I repay you?”

Rayal leaned against the stable door and twirled her fingers in her hair. She licked her tongue over her perfect apple-red lips, thinking. Melegal quickly glanced from her toes to her head. Riding clothes couldn’t be any more snug, from her long leather brown boots to the stitches in her leather breeches. He would have ridden with her anytime, anyplace, anywhere. No need to be smart if you don’t have to.

“Tell me more about these friends of yours,” she said, looking him dead in the eye. “The girl, in particular. She has the mannerisms of a Royal, among other things.”

Oh my, she’s one of those. Melegal knew the type. Rare, but honest. Rayal was proficient at discerning the truth from a lie. Slat. She’d caught every last detail up to this point. It wasn’t likely she would miss one now. Of course, Melegal was as good a liar as any, but why risk it now? It was time to gamble. He didn’t owe Jubilee anything, anyway.

“Can we have more privacy?”

“Give us some space.” Rayal ordered.

The soldiers walked out of earshot.

Melegal continued in a quieter tone.

“Rayal, it may disturb you to know that my service with the Royal Almens is questionable.”

He watched her eyes, but her expression remained unchanged.

“There was an incident. A battle in the Royal Arena that went wrong.”

Rayal clenched her fists, “Ooh, I hate those bloody games. Cruel it is. Savage! Am I to take it that man in there is a survivor?”

“And the girl, but the woman, she is my friend.”

Her brow perched over one eye.

“I see. And then who are those …”

Melegal held his finger up.

“A moment, I’ve hardly finished. Underlings. They infiltrated the castle and attacked. Lord Almen fell, but his condition remains unknown. It seems no one has been accused of this infiltration but the Castle Cleric, Sefron.”

Rayal's eyes drifted away from his as she looked at her guards.

Get ready to run, Melegal!

She returned her gaze back to him.

“Oh, he’s a sickly one. Bulbous and perverted. I could wear ogre skin, and his bulging eyes would still strip me naked.” She slapped her hand on his shoulder. “Detective, the Almens are my allies, but they are not my favorite people. The Lorda, I enjoy: how could one not? She’s the most charming creature I’ve ever known.”

The both of you, I’d say.

“But, I only owe them one thing.”

“And that is?”

“My hand in marriage to her beloved Tonio. My beloved as well.”

Melegal could feel the palpitations under his skin, but he kept his eyes on her. Can my shallow grave go any deeper? This woman betrothed to a murdering abomination. This world will not be rid of him soon enough. Slat if that impudent man isn’t what got us into this mess in the first place. Melegal cleared his dry throat and said, “I’ve a feeling I know what you’ll require of me, Rayal.”

“So you can read minds, then?” She came closer. “Tell me what I ask for.”

“You want to know what happened to Tonio.”

Rayal combed his hair behind his ear, bringing an erotic shiver through his spine.

It’s not fair. Not fair at all.

She said, “I’ve had many conversations with Lorda Almen. She said if anyone could find him, you could.”

I wonder if she told Rayal the brute almost killed her. That I saved her? So to speak. How can this woman notice every last detail, yet be fooled by Tonio?

“Eh, did she say anything else?”

She came closer, lips so close he could feel her breath on his ear.

“She adores him as much as I do, but, I know of all the things rotten in his core, and if I am pledged to marry him, I’ll be a dutiful Almen. It will strengthen my family as well as theirs.” She reached over and ran a hand down his shoulder. “But if Tonio does not appear, our alliance will erode like a rotting log.”

What is going on in that head of hers? She makes no sense at all.“I need you to find him, and both you and I will be served well,” she said, stepping away.

Bah, I don’t need to play such games. She's more likely to marry a kobold than that butcher. I’ll not find the man! Not for Lorda. Not for her. Not for a thousand gold. Well, maybe.

“So, Rayal, I’m not certain where we stand,” he said, frowning.

“Check with me in a few days. You know where to find me,” she said, waving to her guards, walking away.

Zip!

Melegal ducked. Something very fast flew through the barn, stirring up hay and dust. An eerie fluttering of bat-like wings came from the rafters above.

“What is that thing?” one of the soldiers said, drawing his sword and shielding Rayal.

Melegal got his first look at the creature. The muscles in the small of his back knotted as his hands fell to his swords. Slat! He’d taken them off to complete his disguise. The eye, a single eye bigger than his fist, was fixated on him, blinking. A hulking little creature about three feet tall hissed, clutching its black-clawed fingers in and out. Whatever it was, it was evil, menacing, dreadful and from all appearances, more than capable of ripping him into shreds.

“I’ve never seen such a thing!” one soldier exclaimed.

“Is that an underling?” the other added.

Something about the creature seemed both horrifying and familiar, as if Melegal had seen it somewhere before. Venir had mentioned such a thing during his battle at the great Forest of Bish. Melegal felt his bones turn cold as it licked its eye with its serpent tongue, pointed its clawed finger at him and hissed, “Time to eat!” Its red snake-like tongue whipped about as it patted its belly.

CHAPTER 58

“Who dares?” Verbard said, unable to shake the nervousness in his belly. What is Master Sinway up to now?

Kierway crawled out from under the Vicious, gasping and wiping the blood and mud from his face. No one else moved, not one soldier, Juegen, albino urchling, or the other creatures that creeped and crawled.

Stone-faced, Verbard dusted the debris that had fallen from his robes. A robed apparition floated his way, eyes gleaming in the darkness. The Vicious, hobbled, rose along his side. Strange, I’ve not ordered the Vicious to stop. Only one underling is superior in my command. Verbard squeezed the Orb of Imbibing, which pulsated in his hand. It wouldn’t surprise him one bit if Master Sinway had shown up to execute him. Maybe killing his son wasn’t such a good idea after all.

The closer the apparition came, the more solidified it was, robes black as night with intricate patterns of silver woven in, similar to his own. It floated past Kierway, who was stuffing his knives back into their sheaths.

You only have one superior, Verbard, but you also have an equal …

The underling pushed back his hood, revealing his golden eyes.

Brother.

Verbard let out an audible gasp. He’d experienced many things in his life. Shock. Amazement. Pain. Joy. Elation. Dismay. But what he felt now could not be explained. His brother, Catten, once cinder and ashes, now lived. There were no words for that. None at all.

Kierway slogged his way from the mud, arms dangling at his sides, shaking his head. At Verbard's side, the Vicious stood like a mute, studying its missing fingers.

Catten’s smile stretched from one side of his head to the other as he softly landed on Verbard’s throne.

“Verbard, I can see you weren’t expecting my arrival, but here I am. And it would not have been so without you.” Catten motioned him over.

Verbard remained where he was. Catten, yes, it was his voice, his eyes, but the body was not what it had been. The body was taller, thinner, the chin more knobby at the end. But there was no mistaking that the mind of Catten was within. It was eerie. It was his brother, yet it wasn’t.

“Have you checked in with your family?” Verbard asked of his brother, smiling. “I’d be curious to know their reaction. I’d think they’d be even more overwhelmed than I.”

Catten bounced his fingertips together and said, “Oh, that can wait, Verbard. I’ve a more important mission right now. And I don’t think Master Sinway restored me for the sake of reuniting me with my family, aside from you.”

“Why are you here, then?” Kierway said, stuffing a knife back inside his bandolier.

Catten spoke with a sinister look at Kierway.

“To save your life for one thing, you fool! If your brain acted as fast as your swords, you’d be more useful, Kierway. Not only are you under my brother's command, but now mine as well.”

Verbard came forward.

“This is my command, Brother. Not yours. Your timely appearance garners you nothing without Master Sinway’s express authority.”

“It will all be clarified soon enough, Verbard. Please, Brother, I’m here to offer my thanks and assistance.”

“Yet you sit on my throne,” Verbard fired back. He didn’t like his brother's tone. There was a lack of sincerity about it, more so than even before. “That’s what almost got Kierway killed in the first place, until you interrupted.”

They locked eyes. Gold glaring at silver. Silver at gold. Verbard felt Catten’s gentle knocking in his mind. He opened the door.

Verbard, I cannot openly show my gratitude to you, my dearest brother. It would be construed as weakness. I am grateful. You saved me. Vanquished the Darkslayer without me. You did alone what we could not do together. I’m humbled, but still resourceful. This is your command, your charge, but I sense you need me, as I’ve needed you. You stand at the threshold of greatness, set to conquer the great City of Bone. You lead, I’ll follow. I know to trust your instincts now.

Verbard was overwhelmed by the sincerity, but Catten was holding back. He knew it.

And as time permits, I’ll explain more of what I know of Sinway. He revealed things to me I believe I was not meant to know. It might be just what we need. I need you. You need me.

Verbard liked the cunning thoughts behind that.

Now, let’s join armies and release the Underland’s greatest terrors on the world above!

Verbard returned his own thoughts.

I welcome you, Catten, but we still have much to talk about.

There was nothing like family to give one new strength. For months, Verbard had felt alone and wayward. Now, his brother, best friend and confidante had returned. For most of their lives, each had been the right hand to the other. Cocky. Calculating. Condescending. Cruel. They did whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted. Now, at the threshold of the most impossible mission of his life, he needed a friend he could count on. And if he could pick anyone in the world to see this through, it would be his brother, Catten.

“My Lord,” Jottenhiem arrived at his side, “more barges of soldiers have arrived …” he noted Catten and grunted.

“How many soldiers did you bring, Brother?”

“Oh, enough to destroy a few castles or more.” He rose to his feet. “And what lies on the outside of those walls is enough to destroy the rest.

“Even without the keys?” Verbard asked.

“Master Sinway said, ‘What would be easier with them will still be done without them.’”

Catten rose in the air and put his hands on Verbard's shoulders.

“And, I’ve already sent a few terrors into the streets above. Consider it a gift. There’s nothing like a few rain drops before the storm.”

Master!

Verbard blinked his eyes. It was Eep.

I’ve found the human! Kill?

I need the keys, Eep! If he does not have them. Bring him to me. Alive!

Then I eats?

Verbard shook his head.

Only then! Do not fail, Eep!

“I see our little friend is still with you,” Catten said, “and he bears good news, eh? I can see it in your eyes. Well done, Brother.”

Verbard nodded, but having Catten around was going to take some getting used to. He needed to re-established himself now.

“Master Kierway, prepare your soldiers for the underground assault on Castle Almen. Commander Jottenhiem, prepare yours and my brother's reinforcements for the surface attack above.”

Kierway dug his sword from the mud and said in a smug tone, “So, one moment you’re having me killed, and in the next, I’m taking back my command.”

“Have you not learned your lesson, then?” Verbard said. The Vicious turned towards Kierway, teeth barred. “You can always pick up where you left off, but the mud will be deeper next time.”

“Pah … Verbard, it bodes you well to know that I’d rather see human blood than yours.” He sneered at Catten, walking away. “The same goes for you.”

“I like how you handled him, Brother,” Catten said. “I couldn’t have done better myself.”

No doubt you really think you could have; I’m certain.

CHAPTER 59

“What is that thing?” Mikkel yelled.

It was big, almost a story tall on its spider-like legs, a round horse-sized hairy circle with four fanged mouths above four hairy insect legs. A host of well-armed underlings now crawled out of the hole with it. It was the weirdest thing Mikkel had ever seen. There was nothing like the unknown to get your blood flowing. All his instincts told him to run. But the screams of the scattering people galvanized him to stay.

Twang!

Twang!

Two arrows sunk into the black bulk, but it charged on, unfettered, its barbed tongues, as course as wire, licking out over the streets. It snatched one man by the leg and sucked him screaming into its fanged maw.

“Find cover!” Billip ordered, stepping back. He sent two more shafts into an underling’s chest.

Mikkel was on one side, Nikkel on the other, crossbows ready.

Clatch-Zip!

Clatch-Zip!

Both bolts hit center of the monster's mass, but it didn’t slow. Its tendrils whipped out, killing one person after the other.

“This is bad, Billip! Really bad! How can we stop that thing?” Mikkel said, taking cover behind the pile of stones Nikkel'd been working on before.

The monster was having its way with the people. The underlings dashed over the cobble stone road, a swath of well organized devastation. Trinos’s sanctuary was coming undone.

“Father, I’m scared!” Nikkel said, his eyes wide with horror as he struggled to reload his crossbow.

Mikkel lowered himself beside his son, grabbed him by the neck, and bumped his head. “Listen to me. Find somewhere safe.”

Nikkel, trembling, was shaking his head.

“No! I’m staying with you. Like you said. I’ll live a fighter; I’ll die a fighter. I’m not leaving you!” Nikkel locked the string in place and loaded his bolt. “I’ll do the best I can.”

Mikkel never had a prouder moment when he said, “Son, it’s better to fight scared than not fight at all, but if you see me running, you better run, too.”

“Slat!”

Twang!

“That monster's snatching up people faster than I can load my bow,” Billip cried.

The monster dashed left, right, backward, forward in short bursts of speed. Mikkel’d never seen anything so big move so fast. He kneeled down along Billip’s side. The tide of chaos and blood was rising. He was used to the sounds of battle, but not the sounds of slaughter. The people of District 27 didn’t stand a chance. One fell right after the other, some of them being devoured.

“Run, you idiots!” Mikkel roared. “Where in Bish are they going?”

Billip punched him in the shoulder.

“Fool! Better them than us! Now listen. Go for the underlings first. There’s not so many. We’ll just have to figure out how to deal with the monster later.” He pulled the bow string along his cheek. Twang! An underling attacking a woman pitched forward, an arrow in the back of its head.

Clatch-Zip!

Another underling spun and fell.

“Good shot, Nikkel!”

Clatch-Zip!

Bolt Thrower's missile cut though the neck of one underling and into the chest of another.

Nikkel looked at his father and said, “Can I use that?”

Mikkel grinned. “One day, Son. One day soon!”

Twang!

“That’s the last of them,” Billip said. “Now let’s get after that monster.”

There it was, feeding on dead bodies. Its barbed tendrils swiped back and forth as its legs dashed left, right, back and forward, destroying everything in sight. Mikkel wasn’t sure what to do, so he reloaded. He’d rather fight a dozen underlings than fight it. He understood them, but this thing was bizarre.

“What are we going to do?” Nikkel said, peeking over the wall. More than a dozen people were dead already, and at the rate that thing was going they’d all be dead soon enough. He looked at Billip.

“Keep firing and hope it stops?”

“Should we shoot the legs? The mouths? That’s all that thing's got!”

Billip grunted a laugh and cracked his knuckles.

“I’ll take the legs. The mouths are much bigger targets.”

“Ten gold to the man who drops it, then,” Mikkel added.

Twang!

Twang!

The creature wobbled, two arrows sticking in one leg.

“Easy,” Billip said, “I shoot five to your one. I’ll have this beast down in no time.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Mikkel said, taking aim.

Clatch-Zip!

The bolt was true, sailing through the creature's teeth and into the back of its mouth. It lurched up, all mouths squealing in a high pitched frenzy.

Clatch-Zip!

Nikkel let it have another.

It shuddered and charged their way.

Twang!

Twang!

“Get of here, Mikkel! The both of you! We can’t stop this thing!” Billip yelled, reloading.

Two tendrils whipped out, one wrapped around Billip’s waist, the other catching Nikkel by the leg.

Nikkel screamed, sending a jolt of lighting through Mikkel’s spine as the monster began dragging the men towards its snapping maw. “Father, help!” Nikkel cried, fingers clawing at the ground.

Mikkel snatched his club from the ground and charged, all concern for safety abandoned. He had to save his son. The first blow smacked the monster dead center over its mouth, jolting his arms. “Bish!”

He swung again.

WHAM!

And again.

WHAM!

The creature slung Billip aside, skidding him hard over the road.

“Look out, Father!” Nikkel warned.

He could see his son still being dragged towards the mouth, the rows of sharp teeth snapping up and down.

Skull Basher rose and fell, driving the body of the creature down. It hissed and recoiled.

“Hang in there, Son!” he gasped out. “It’s almost—ulp!”

A tendril coiled around his neck and squeezed. Mikkel could feel his eyes bulging from their sockets. He tried to yell for Nikkel, but could not. But he caught his eye. He could see his son being dragged to his death. NO! He had to stop that.

He forced a smile and winked at his boy. I’ll live a fighting man! I’ll die a fighting man! But I will save my son! He raised Skull Basher high over his head and brought it down with all his might.

WHOP!

The tendril released from Nikkel’s leg.

WHOP!

Billip was pulling Nikkel kicking and screaming away, fingers grasping wildly in the air. Mikkel’s club rose and fell two more times and fell no more.

CHAPTER 60

Friends of fire. What is that supposed to mean?

Barton’s deep voice was still crying out with childlike fear. “Get them off me! Get them off!”

More than a dozen underlings had the giant pinned down, piercing weapons poised to strike. Fogle’s boots slid down the bank, where he stopped and drew back his arms. There was no time to second guess himself, or Barton would be permanently blind.

You better be right, Boon!

He drew his arms out and summoned the power within. The air in the ravine rushed over him, swirling his robes. A spark ignited in front of his face, turning from a small flame into a fire, the air and his energy feeding it. Before his eyes, a ball as big as his fist grew to twice his own size. Fogle poured whatever he had left into it and let it loose. The fireball roared over the ground and slammed into the unsuspecting underlings and giant.

KRA-BOOOM!

The entire area was engulfed in flame. The small bodies were afire, scrambling and screaming. Fogle shielded his face in his robes. The fire was real now, no longer the magic power he could control. It hit. It touched. It burned.

The underlings were decimated, dying, burning in a pyre of flesh. Somewhere beneath the flames lay Barton. Either alive or dead, he did not know which. The roar of the flames grew louder, and black smoke began to roll. The stench of burning underlings had returned to greet his nostrils.

He held his nose. His eyes watered.

“Ew!

He fanned his hands in front of his face and coughed. The wind hadn’t done him any favors, and he was well aware that underlings still abounded in all directions. He couldn’t decide whether to shout or be still. Find Barton.

Fogle had taken ten steps when he found himself face to face with a pair of underlings patting the splashes of flame from one another. Their emerald eyes sparked to life as they bared their claws and charged. Fogle ran, caught his foot on his robes, and tumbled to the ground. He screamed as a claw ripped open the back of his leg. He rolled and swatted. He needed another spell. He caught one in the nose with his heel. The other drove its fist into his face.

Smack!

It was a sickening sound. Fogle swore his jaw was broken as pain filled the space behind his eyes. His scream gave him little reassurance as the underling pinned him down and dug its claws deep into his shoulders. It was his turn to make a plea.

“Boon! Hel—”

Crack!

It felt like a rock hit him upside his head. Maybe it was, but he was too dizzy to know. As his blood dripped into his eyes and onto his robes, he fought to cry out once more, but his efforts faded, and only the sound of evil chitters remained. He thought of Cass. I’m certain she’s safer without me. I make a lousy adventurer.

The underling was ripping up his robes when a powerful force tore the underling from atop him. Through the corner of his eye, Fogle could see a giant naked form of a man with steam rising from his body. Through the smoky haze, he hoped it was Barton because the giant slammed the two screeching underlings into each other like dolls before pitching them away. Fogle found relief from his pain, but his limbs were spent, making him unable to rise.

“Come on, you fools! They close fast!” Boon said from atop one pony and leading the other.

“I can’t move!” Fogle screamed.

Two big arms reached down, picked him up, and leaned him over a shoulder like a baby.

“Wizard help Barton! Now, Barton help wizard.”

Odd and humiliating, but I live.

Boon led the mounts back over the hill where they'd started, and Barton’s steps shook the ground as he followed. Fogle had a better view of the vast ravine now. Underlings, dozens, were in pursuit, and even one of his apparitions remained in chase. Slat! It wasn’t possible to outrun them on horseback. In minutes, they'd catch up and overwhelm the party.

“Boon,” he shouted, turning his eyes to the front, “where are were going?”

Boon did not slow. He charged ahead, white hair whipping in the wind. That’s when Fogle saw it. Another swarm of underlings had cut them off from the north and were closing in.

“Boon, are you mad?”

Less than fifty yards away, the underlings closed in like a black sea of fury, hundreds if not a thousand. In moments, it would all be over. He was certain of it. Fogle tried to form another spell on the tip of his tongue, but the jarring steps of Barton only clattered his teeth. Two dozen yards separated them all now from life and death.

“Boon! What are you doing?” he yelled.

A black shimmering hole opened up, as tall and wide as Barton. Boon and the horse rode through and disappeared. Two giant steps later, Barton charged through. Fogle’s entire world and life flashed before his eyes coated in black. A brilliant glare emerged a split second later, drawing colorful spots in his eyes.

Barton grunted and lowered him down onto the ground. Fogle rubbed his eyes and blinked. It was the Outland. Same time of day, different place, no underlings. But where, exactly? And where was Cass?“Boon?” he said, holding his head and looking around.

A raspy voice replied, “Easy now, Grandson. We’re safe at the moment. And you look like death rolled over you. Save your strength while I sort things out, huh?”

Fogle looked up Boon, who had a curious look on his face, his eyes elsewhere. Barton stood, blocking the suns, scratching his naked buttocks, and looking around.

“I better see if I can find a spell to remedy that, but that one I just used...” he shook his head and grimaced, “It’s gone from the book forever.”

Fogle pressed his robes onto his bleeding head and said, “Well, you always told me, ‘You lose it, you lose it, so you better make it count.’ My breath reassures me its magic was not wasted, and I’m grateful for that.” He noticed Boon’s face was unchanged. The old man looked like a master who’d lost his dog.

“You almost didn’t use it, did you? You contemplated full peril after all!” Fogle grabbed his head. He swore it was about to split open. He’s crazy!

“Well, don’t misunderstand me, Grandson. I’m not used to fleeing from underlings, is all. I’d rather die taking as many as I can with me. I just can’t stand the thought of them living in my daylight.”

If Fogle had the strength, he’d have stood up and punched Boon in the jaw. The man was obsessed with the evil brood. His actions were dangerous and irresponsible. It was time to corral his grandfather’s impulsive behavior, else they might not live to see another sundown.

Through the hole in his robes, he checked the gash in his thigh. It burned and needed stitches. That will leave a scar. I wonder if Cass will like that? His narrow shoulders were sore and bleeding as well. He grunted.

“Yes, Fogle, you fought hand to hand with an underling and lived. That feeling will stay in your blood now. The burn will always be there.”

Fogle nodded towards Barton.

“I had some help, and no, I’m not on some mission to wipe out the entire race of underlings.” He managed to make it back to his feet. “I’m going to find Cass, that man, and that dog—and after that, I’m going back to the City of Three, with or without any of you.” He dusted the dirt from his robes and grimaced. “Except Cass … maybe.”

The truth was, she was all he cared about now. It seemed the dog was all she cared about. And he wasn’t so sure anyone cared about him other than himself. And what his grandfather cared about, other than killing underlings, he was the least sure about.

“Barton help you.”

The giant spoke with his broad back to him, his voice somber.

“Wizard saved Barton from the tiny people who tried to poke out my eye. I help you little man with big head. Find dog, pretty woman,” Barton scooped dirt into his hands and rubbed it into his wounds “and find the tricky man that hid Barton’s toys.”

Fogle couldn’t help but feel touched.

“Well, thank you, Barton. It’s good to know that someone is looking out for me, but I believe you saved me as well. I was as good as dead before you came.”

“Ha. Saving people is easy. Saving a giant is hard,” Barton said, resting his chin on his knees, and gazing into the dipping horizon. “I help.”

“We need to find safe ground to rest,” Boon said, “and, as for the dog and woman, I’m not sure as of yet how to track them down. A little more study in the spell book might be needed.”

“I thought you had it memorized,” Fogle said, shuffling towards one of the horses and reaching into his pack.

“Mostly,” Boon said, smirking. “I’m still foggy on a few pages.”

“The dog goes where the man is. And if we can find the man, we can find the dog and the druid,” Fogle said, loosening the cords tied around an object in burlap. “And just because it didn’t work last time, doesn’t mean it won’t work better this go around.” He tossed Venir’s long hunting knife onto the ground, reached under his robes, and dumped the totem of his bird familiar Inky beside it.

“Good thinking,” Boon said, fingering the knife in the pile. “Interesting blade this is. Very interesting, indeed.” He ran his finger over its keen edge. “A shame we don’t have a lock of the dog's hair, or the woman’s, for that matter. A shame, indeed.”

Fogle snatched it away and tossed it down.

“Whether it works or not, at least we can have a scout. And who knows? Maybe they’ll find us.” He set some component bottles along the ground. “Otherwise, we travel south.”

Fogle took a seat. He was battered and exhausted, but he was getting used to it. Underlings were everywhere, and it seemed unlikely Cass and Chongo could avoid them. They’re better prepared than me. It wouldn’t have been so bad if Mood was here, or Eethum. A few dwarf trackers would be good. Instead, it was he and his grandfather, relying on magic to do things for them their natural instincts could not. Weary and worried, he began to cast his spell, after he made a silent promise to himself. I will see this through.

CHAPTER 61

Empty. Empty as a dry gulch. Barren as the Outlands plains. Broken like a glass window pane. Tuuth grabbed him by the hair, pulled him to his feet, and bound his broken wrists behind him. Venir didn’t respond. He was listless, eyes averted from his captors. Underlings. Two had become four, and four had become eight. Everything inside him recoiled, yet he had no fight left inside him. It was disgraceful.

“Two dead,” one said, gesturing to the black bodies Venir had broken earlier.

He could feel the underling’s eyes looking up at him, glowering. His typical urge to slaughter and destroy was gone. Now, only a growing concern for his safety remained. He closed his eyes and tried to remain confident. Let it play out.

The underlings chittered back and forth, checking the wounds on the dead bodies.

“Where are his weapons?” the underling said, its common accent clear as a man's. “What did he kill with, orcen one?”

Venir felt Tuuth shift in discomfort. He knew what that was about. Tuuth wanted his weapon for himself, but that wouldn’t make for much of an explanation.

“Here, I have it,” the leader of the men said, stepping forward, holding a long sword. “It’s a fine blade, and I’d considered keeping it for myself.”

The underling snatched it from his hand and ran his clawed fingers over the blade. He made a sharp chit, and the other underling soldiers spread out and began a search of the area. The underling lifted Venir's chin up with the tip of the sword. So many underlings he'd fought and killed, but he’d never gotten as close a look at a living one as he had now. Usually, they were dead before he extended any formal pleasantries. For the first time in his life, he gave an underling a study.

Its features were a smooth granite under its thin rat-like pelt. The nose, eyes, and chin were similar to a man’s, more lithe and refined, but the features tight and calculating. Something primordial and evil lurked in the depths of its eyes. Natural. Deep. Compassionless. Cold. Maniacal. They were like humans, and the other races for that matter, but lacked the empathy of men, even of orcs. No, even as Venir had killed multitudes of underlings without mercy, he'd had a reason. The only way to stop their killings was to kill them. The underlings hunt me, not the other way around. They enjoyed killing and torture, it seemed. Venir, he only killed because he had to, or did he?“Human,” the underlings hissed, “and such a large one at that. You are even bigger than this orc, such a strong one at that. What brings you here? Here on this hill? A spy, perhaps?”

Think. Venir had to set his emotions aside. Having a conversation with an underling was foreign to him. It began to stir his blood. He leaned forward over the underling and said, “I was hunting wild boar, but I found this orc instead.”

The underling jabbed the sword tip an inch into his thigh.

Venir clenched his teeth in silence.

“I don’t enjoy your chatter, Human, but I do enjoy drawing your blood,” the underling said, “Now, tell me: why are you here?”

Another underling appeared with Venir’s backpack in his hand, along with the signal cylinder Jans had given him earlier.

“What’s in that? Dump it out.”

The contents were spilled on the ground, including the sack, which the underling opened and revealed nothing. Tuuth grunted in his ear. At least that is safe.

The underling leader picked up the cylinder and waved it in his face.

“Tell me what this is, Human, or else I’ll make your life more miserable.”

Venir was certain he was going to do that anyway. Stupid. I should have put that in the sack, too. He clenched his teeth. String them along. Let them think they need you.

Venir looked away.

The underling twisted the blade in his thigh. He screamed at the top of his lungs until his throat was dry. He sank down on one knee when the underling pulled the blade from his thigh.

“Bring him along,” the underling said, flipping the canister up underneath his arm. “We’ll let the underling master decide his fate.” The underling turned and led the way up the hill.

“Grab him,” Tuuth said to the other humans. Two men came over and helped Venir limp up the hill as Tuuth drifted back.

***

“Borsh!” Tuuth said. He was seething. He couldn’t find the axe or the armor anywhere. All that was left was the leather sack, backpack, a pair of canteens and a few other supplies. There was something about that axe and helm, something powerful he craved. He looked at his trembling fingers. The Stranger had almost broken them, should have broken them with all the pressure he felt. That man was more than a man. It had taken much of his magic to bring the man down.

“Who is that stranger?”

It bothered Tuuth.

He rubbed the leather bracers on his wrists. The rich hide texture was beginning to fade, and the leather cords that laced them were beginning to wither. How many charges were left until the magic was gone completely? It was the only thing he had to protect himself and his family. He grabbed the shirt of armor and tossed it into the backpack along with everything else, slung it over his shoulder, and hoofed it up the hill.

***

The southern gate of Outpost Thirty-One was big, but nothing like the City of Bone. Venir couldn’t remember being so close before. He half limped and was half carried under the metal portcullis, where another set of massive doors waited to be opened.

“Blind him,” the underling ordered. “The Master always likes to be the first to see their reaction and expressions. Heh, Human, consider this compassion. It will take time for your mind to adjust to what lies within.”

Venir would like to think that he could handle seeing anything, for he’d seen many horrors before, but the odd smell suggested otherwise. He offered the underling one last scowl as a burlap sack was tied over his head. The big doors creaked open. Limping, blinded, wrists broken, he was led inside Outpost Thirty-One. He must have taken a hundred agonizing steps in stark silence before they stopped.

“Lock him up and leave him,” the underling's voice said.

A heavy device was locked around his neck and wrists, both feet bound and chained. A stockade? The sound of footsteps became distant and faded. Only the throbbing in his neck, legs, wrists and knees remained to keep him company. Bone.

CHAPTER 62

“Take this and go,” Jubbler tucked a dagger inside his belt. “And this,” the old dwarf said, stuffing a vial inside his pocket. “Now go!”

“What does it do?” Lefty said.

“Just take it when you need it.”

“How do I know when that is?”

“There’s no time,” Jubbler shoved him away, “just go!”

Lefty ran. Small feet splashing over the docks and away he went, darting from one alley to the next, blending in, and avoiding prying eyes, just as he’d been taught. The odd thing was, not so many people were to be seen. The Nest was vacant.

Erin. I have to get Erin.

It took several minutes before he came to his first stop and caught his breath. It was the apartment of Palos’s nanny. He’d sniffed out her and Erin’s whereabouts early, while Gillem was still alive. He crept down the alley and hid beneath the stairs that led up to the nanny’s door. Two guards had been posted there before, one at the top and the other at the bottom. No one appeared to be there now.

Lefty sprang up the steps in three hops. At the top, the door was cracked open. His heart fluttered in his chest. He was too late to save Erin. He pushed the door inward and paused. Inside, he heard the nanny humming a lullaby and a rocker creaking. Yes! She’s here! He glanced down the stairs, over his shoulders and back and forth. No one was in sight, but his keen ears picked up a commotion in the distance.

He slipped inside the room that was dimly lit by candles and had no windows. A bassinet and cupboard stood alongside the wall, and a clay bottle rested on the table. The nanny was huddled up with the baby, facing the corner. That’s odd.

Lefty felt a pinching on his wrists. The absidium chains would make things difficult. Strange that they were so light and quiet. He wondered what their true intention was.

As the old nanny hummed and rocked, Lefty crept behind the woman. He drew the dagger from his belt. A slight blue sheen illuminated his face. It was his dagger. The one he’d been given from Melegal. How did Jubbler get it?

“Eh? Who is there,” a haggard voice said. “I’m feeding the baby. Do not disturb. Do not disturb the baby.”

She’s insane. How do I snatch a baby from a crazy woman? He looked at his blade. What would Melegal do? He made up his mind: he’d stab her in the leg if he had to. He stepped around her backside, rose on his dripping tip toes, and sought Erin’s face.

“No,” he said, unable to hide his voice. It wasn’t Erin. The nanny was nursing a baby mintaur. The vulgarity of the moment dropped his stomach into his toes. It was another moment in the nest he hoped he’d never comprehend.

Wham!

Lefty jumped as the door slammed shut.

Diller stood before it, toothpick rolling from one side of his mouth to the other.

“I’ve been looking for you,” Diller said. “Heh-heh. I see you’re looking for the baby girl, aren't you?” He stepped forward, leveling his crossbow to his chin. “Well, she’s been gone for a good while now. Not likely me, you, or even Palos will ever see her again. Now, come quietly, Little Rodent. Palos wants to see you, and I won’t hesitate to skewer you and haul you in like a little beast.”

Lefty fidgeted. Diller had him dead to rights and cornered. His heart sunk, realizing Erin was gone and even worse, that it was all his fault. Maybe it was time to give up, already.

“Diller, you hush, Old Fool! I’m feeding the baby.”

Lefty positioned himself between the old nanny and Diller.

“Cut that out, Boy. I’m not in the mood.”

“There now, he’s a cute little fella. I’ll nurse him, too.” She started to pull the rest of her blouse down.

Gads! This can’t get any worse. A thought struck him. It was Jubbler saying, ‘Take it when you need it.’ He uncorked the vial in his pocket and sipped it down. An airy feeling washed over him. He held his fingers up to his face. They were gone.

“Ack! Where did the little fella go?” the nanny cried, jumping from her rocker. “It’s a ghost, a ghost I say!” She swatted blindly in the air.

“It’s not a ghost, addle headed woman. Just a boy and a magic potion.” Diller pressed himself along the door. “I don’t know where you got that, but if it’s one of ours, it won’t last but a few minutes. I can hold the door that long. Heh-heh. I bet you’ve never used the stuff before. Makes you sick, it does. You’ll pay for it. Soon pay for it, you will.”

Lefty kept his mouth shut, charged across the room, and stabbed Diller in the leg.

The man let out an awful howl as Lefty snatched the keys from his belt, backed off, and unlocked his absidium chains. He slung them, hitting Diller in the face.

“Fool!” Diller slammed the chains on the ground. “You won’t get away. The magic quickly fades! In a moment, I’ll have you!”

Lefty checked his fingers. He was beginning to reappear.

Diller lunged, a slice of his dagger grazing Lefty's chest.

“The ghost is back! The ghost is back!” the nanny yelled and charged to the door. “I must protect the baby.” She ran into Diller, and they toppled into the door.

“Blast you, Woman! Get off of me!”

Lefty grabbed the absidium chains, swung them around Diller’s neck, and yanked back.

“Urk!”

Diller stumbled from wall to wall, trying to knock Lefty free. His back was slammed into one wall after the other as Diller fought against the chains. He was choking the man, giving it everything he had, but Diller was strong. Every blow his small arms absorbed weakened them further. Hang on for Kam! Hang on for Erin!

The nanny opened the door and stumbled through.

Diller produced a knife and stabbed blindly back behind his head, poking at Lefty’s eyes and shoulders. He ducked and dodged, crying out as the dagger poked a hole in his arm and face.

Lefty heaved back with all his might. Diller let out a rasping sound, tongue juttering from his mouth. The door started to close shut. Move or die! He leap-frogged over Diller’s head and dashed out the door.

Whew!

There was no way Diller could catch him now. His feet were moving as if they were on air. I have to try and save Kam. He had no idea where Erin was, but that was another matter. On magic feet, he sped into Palos’s tavern, ducking underneath the swinging doors.

Chaos.

Lefty hadn’t heeded the sounds before he headed in. He only assumed it was carousing run amok. It had happened before. This time was different. The tavern was a battlefield packed with cutthroats, cut purses, and thugs. Every man and woman fended for themself. Brigand fought brigand. Hidden knives whipped out and fell. Lefty crouched behind the bar as the shouts of pain and anger reached a crescendo. It seemed Jubbler was telling the truth after all. The rebellion was on.

Get up the stairs and inside. Now was his best chance to save Kam.

One voice, odd and eerie, could be heard above the rest.

“I am Zorth! I tolerate no evil! None shall remain that cross my path!”

Thorn! What is going on?

Lefty jumped away as a body was hurled over the bar. Thorn stood atop the steps, a man possessed. He swung a massive sword that flashed like lightning over a pile of dead bodies at his feet.

“Zorth, the Slayer of all evil things!”

The great sword arced down, hewing one man in half. Down the steps Thorn came swinging: The sword judge. Jury. Executioner. Lefty was certain all in the tavern were condemned, including him.

I’m small. Maybe he won’t see me. His hand trembled. He had to summon his courage. He owed it to Kam. As Zorth made it to the bottom landing on the steps, he sprang over the bar, ducked a rogue’s knife chopping at another's head, climbed beams on the back of the steps, and dove inside Palo’s door.

“Whew!” he wiped his forehead.

“I am Zorth, the greatest blade of all!” The sound wasn’t coming towards him, but away. “Nothing can withstand the wrath of Zorth. No giant, no dragon, and no misguided pieces of flesh!” Thorn’s odd force blended into the chaos. “I’ll be free, but for vengeance I thirst.”

Lefty shook his head. So much had been going on. He had to get his bearings. Kam!

There she lay on the floor, unmoving, where a pool of blood formed.

“No! Kam!” In an instant, Lefty had her hand in his, holding it in his lap. “Kam! You can’t die! Don’t be dead! Please!” Tears were streaming down his cheeks. The wound in her belly was deep. He tried to stop the bleeding with her robes.

“Lefty,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “Where’s Erin? Did you save her?”

He shook his head, tears dripping down his cheeks onto her face. He wasn’t going to lie to her again. He couldn’t do that to her. Not again. Not ever.

“I went to get her, Kam,” he sobbed, “but they have sold her.” He shook uncontrollably. “For ransom, I’m told.”

Kam’s green eyes had a glossy look in them, her face expressionless as she grabbed his shirt collar and pulled him down.

“Promise me you will save her, Lefty. Promise me you will find her.”

“I-I will! Oh dear, I promise that I will save Erin!”

Kam’s eyes closed. Her fingers twitched, the gems twinkling inside her hand. Lefty blinked more tears from his eyes. Her chest rose and fell no more …

“Heh, heh, heh, heh …” laughed a wicked voice. It was Palos. He lay on the floor a broken man, clothes smoldering, all the hair singed from his body. He huffed a puff of smoke. He looked like a log that had been patted out.

“You’ll never find the girl, Halfling. She’s gone a hundred leagues by now already.” Palos coughed. His body contorted in pain. “Much coin she fetched. Much, indeed! Hah-hah! Better for the girl. A favor I did. Hack. hack. Seems she has no mother anymore. Tis a shame to see such a vibrant body like that go. Hack. But my blade was much sharper than her tongue.”

Lefty’s tears stopped. Rage swelled inside his chest as he pulled out his blue-bladed dagger and dove at Palos’s chest.

***

Kam stood in a cold river, its waters black, the chill as deep as bone. Her thoughts were of Erin, her daughter's innocent face. It was all she could hold onto. Her last spring of life.

Live and serve? A voice from beyond said.

“What?” her voice echoed. She felt her strength fading. Her memories going. Only a faint red light remained.

Live and serve?

Erin. She had to find Erin.

“Yes.” She felt her mind touching another’s.

We are bound.

***

Kam lurched up, gasping for air. The gems in her hand washed the room in red light. The agonizing pain in her belly was gone. Her strength returned.

“I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you, Palos! You killed my friend!” Lefty was on top of Palos, the Prince of Thieves' arms holding him at bay.

Kam wrenched Lefty from Palos with a single thought, and gently set him down.

The bewildered halfling couldn’t hide his shock and the elation that enhanced all the features on his face.

“How!” Palos exclaimed. “You should be dead, you red-haired witch.”

But she wasn’t. She lived and felt more power than she ever felt before. The potential to pull Palo’s bones outside of his skin was hers. But for now she needed him alive. Her eyes turned to burning green flames.

“Where’s my daughter, Palos!”

EPILOGUE

Time stood still. Melegal was certain of it. It was as if everything in the barn no longer moved except the dreaded creature that eyed him. It sat in the rafters gnashing its teeth and slowly flapping its bat-leather wings. It said it was going to eat him. Melegal had no doubt it thought it would. If Melegal could step outside of his body, into another, anybody at all, he would. He’d reached the limit on all the running, all the fighting, all the lying he could take. He couldn’t do this forever. He was ready to die.

Beside him, Rayal huddled behind her guards, who stood firm, but fearful.

Within the barn's expanse, underneath the rotting rafters and accompanied by the smell of ripening manure, Melegal realized it was as good a place to die as any. Where McKnight had, his mentor. Melegal folded his arms across his chest.

“Come and eat me then, Imp.”

The horrible creature's wings buzzed to life. It dropped from the rafters and hovered before Melegal like a giant evil hummingbird.

“Keys,” it said in a raspy voice. Its knotted arms reached out with four taloned fingers that looked as if they could cut through stone.

One of Rayal’s guards struck the imp over the head with a two-handed chop of his sword. The blade glanced off the creature's steel hard skin. The bewildered guard looked back up just in time to catch the imp’s claw in his throat. The other guard, the taller of the two, lunged at the imp.

Blink!

It disappeared.

“Sweet mother of Bish!” the man cried out, eyes blinking wildly, scanning all directions. One second the man stood in astonishment, in the next he was fighting for his life. The imp appeared on the man’s back, pulling the skin from his bones. In two seconds, it was all over. Only the blood splattered imp, Melegal and Rayal remained. He wasn't about to move, and Rayal wasn’t about to, either. A clever girl Rayal was. As smart as she was beautiful.

The imp hovered in front of Melegal once more, reaching out, blood dripping from its claws.

“Keys!” It demanded this time.

Perhaps all of Melegal's problems before hadn't been as bad as he'd thought. Maybe doing dirty deeds for the Almens wasn’t so bad after all. Now, the feeling in his gut told him he’d become a part of something much bigger. The keys he had, the underlings wanted. They needed. They’d invaded the city for them. Oh, how valuable they must be! Oh, the power that maybe he could wield. If he had something so truly valuable in his hand, something that had helped the Almens rise to such power, then that was something maybe he should keep for himself. His shock and despair were replaced by a greater feeling. A stronger feeling. One that a thief could clearly understand: Greed. If the keys had the power the underlings wanted, that the Royals protected, then there was no way on all of Bish he was about to let them go.

“What keys?” Melegal asked, allowing a gentle bend in his knees.

“Do not play, Human. My master awaits. Give me the keys, or I shall rip them from your flesh.”

Melegal could feel Rayal’s eyes boring into him and the imp. Her fear and worry was heavy in the air. His own palms began to glisten with sweat.

The small door in the stable opened. It was Haze.

Not taking is eyes from the imp, Melegal said, “Get. Back. Inside.”

Haze screamed as the imp eyed her.

“I just kill the women then, Skinny Man.” It hissed at Haze and Rayal. “I eat them. I eat you. Alive I do.”

Melegal had no doubt the creature could do it. Its mouth was as bigger than a man’s. Its teeth were like dagger tips. Despite its lack of size, it reeked of raw power. He had to be careful what he did next. But you won’t get these keys.

Melegal held up his hands.

“Easy. Easy now. I’ll give you what you want.” He started to reach into his vest. The imp’s head jerked left and right like a little bird.

“Hurry! Eep hungers!”

Eep. The little fiend has a name.

Melegal could feel his heart in his chest now. The imp was going to kill him. Keys or no keys. He was certain of it. But the imp didn’t know he had them. It was time to play a game. How smart can an imp be, anyway?

“I’ll have to take you to the keys.”

The imp hissed. Blink. Disappeared. Reappearing with both its claws wrapped around Haze’s scrawny neck. The pressure was building in her face. Her eyes filled with terror. Melegal expected her neck to snap at any moment.

Let go! Let go! Let go!

The inside of his mind was glowing. Commanding. Splitting. Haze was about to die. He could feel it in his bones. Blood dripped from his nose.

“Eep don’t like when human lies. Keys or no keys, you all die now!

Crack!

Melegal fell to his knees as Haze’s body sagged to the ground. He heard Rayal panting behind him and nothing else.

“No,” he murmured, unable to hold his head up. “No …”

***

Call it instinct. Brak wasn’t old enough to understand such things yet, but he’d heard plenty of talk about it. It was another sense, they said. Something that made your hair stand on end.

While he and Jubilee huddled behind, Haze went to check on all the commotion. Once she made it out the small door, he only saw part of her body. Her entire body stiffened, petrified with fear. Jubilee gasped at his side. His hair stood on end. Grabbing whatever he could, he was moving. That’s when he saw it. A bat as big as a dog, with horns on its head, arms wrapped around Haze’s neck. He hadn’t even crossed the threshold when he swung.

Crack!

He hit the foul creature square in the head with the white ash cudgel that glowed with inner life. Haze crumpled to the ground like a sack of rags. The bat-like thing looked up at him now, a large red eye with a black pupil, a ragged tongue lurching from its mouth. Someone was screaming at him.

“Hit it again!”

Womp!

It was the raven-haired woman who saved him.

Womp!

Why was Melegal on his knees, head downcast, holding his heart?

Womp!

Whatever the creature was, it didn’t break. It just hissed underneath the weight of every powerful blow. It was like beating a sack of cow-hide filled with sand. He went to swing one last time.

Blink.

It was gone.

***

“It’s gone, Melegal. It’s gone.”

He knew the voice. It was Rayal. But that gave him little comfort or reassurance. But she smelled good. Haze was there, too. Alive and well. She didn’t smell so good, but he was fond of her anyway. Inside him was an urge. An urge to hug them both and whoever else. It seemed they lived to face the next tragic moment in their lives. But he wasn’t sure that it would top this one.

“Me! Me!”

Someone was screaming inside his ear. A soft familiar nicker of a pony could be heard.

Huh! Quickster and Georgio. Where did you come from?

“Me! It’s Me! Wake up, you sack of bones!” Georgio said. He could feel the boy shaking him, but it didn’t do him any good.

“If he’s dead, I get his hat,” Jubilee said. “Uh … sorry Haze. But if you don’t want it.”

No! Not my hat! And the keys! What happens if they find my keys!

He couldn’t move, though. Not one muscle. He couldn’t tell if his eyes were opened or closed, but he couldn’t see anything. He could barely feel his fingers or his toes. He didn’t understand what had happened, either. One moment, Haze was about to die. In the next moment, his mind exploded. All he had left was his ears. All the rest of his body was damaged parts. He was certain his hat had something to do with that.

“I’ll take him to the castle. I can care for him there,” Rayal suggested.

“And what about us?” Haze responded, her voice heated.

“I’ll see what I can do, but we need to get him to safety.”

“I’m not going in any Castle,” Jubilee said. “And who are you, exactly?”

“I’m Georgio. Who are you?”

Melegal was fading. His head swirling. The conversation around him becoming incomprehensible. Maybe I’m dying. It was his second to last thought. Georgio better be feeding Quickster well, or I’ll bust that fat arse of his. His consciousness sunk into the darkness.

Note from the Author

I want to thank you for reading up until this point, and I hope I didn’t leave you hanging too much. Of course, I did leave you hanging, but a new stage for Book 6 is being set, so I hope you will bear with me until it’s done.

As I’ve said, it’s my intent for this to be a long running series. In an ideal world, I’d write 3 books at a time and publish them all at once, but I don’t want readers waiting too long, and they’ve made it clear they don’t want to wait too long, either. I’ve been paying attention to the reviews you leave, well at least on Amazon, and that helps me know more about what the reader wants. I realize some of you are unhappy with my cliffhangers, and it’s not my intent for anyone to feel cheated. But, the endings are something I’m working on, and I hope I did a little better on Book 5 than Book 4. Book 6 will have a more conclusive ending and also set the stage for the next run of the series.

I also realize that I have many characters spread out all over Bish, and the story becomes a little hard to follow. I’m reeling that in also, as I realized that I’ve begun to spread the story too thin. As I grow as a writer, I’ll have better control over these issues, so I hope you’ll stick with me.

Over the next several months, I'm going to focus on putting everything I’ve learned into Book 6. I'll build on what I’m good at and improve where I need improvement. It’s going to take some extra time, though. That said, I’ll probably have Book 6 ready by Late Summer/Early Fall 2013.

Please, feel free to contact me at The Darkslayer Report by Craig on Facebook anytime. I’d love to hear from you.

Fight or Die,

Craig Halloran

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Craig Halloran is a veteran, husband and father. He enjoys sports (mostly football), working out, fishing, writing, watching TV and entertaining mankind. His books are filled with endless action, exciting characters and compelling stories. He resides with his family outside of his hometown of Charleston, West Virginia. When he isn’t writing stories he is seeking adventure, working out or watching sports. To learn more about him go to: www.thedarkslayer.com

Other works by Craig Halloran

The Darkslayer: Wrath of the Royals (Book 1)

The Darkslayer: Blades in the Night (Book 2)

The Darkslayer: Underling Revenge (Book 3)

The Darkslayer: Danger and the Druid (Book 4)

The Darkslayer: Outrage in the Outlands (Book 5)

The Chronicles of Dragon: The Sword, The Hero and the Dragons (Book 1)

Zombie Day Care: Impact Series: Book 1

Zombie Rehab: Impact Series: Book 2

It's Not Him; It's them

In the works by Craig Halloran

The Chronicles of Dragon: Dragon Bones and Tombstones (Book 2)

The Darkslayer: Hunt for the Brigand Queen (A short Darkslayer novel)

The Darkslayer: Book 6

Connect with him at:

Facebook: The Darkslayer Report by Craig

Twitter: Craig Halloran

Table of Contents

- THE DARKSLAYER

- OUTRAGE IN THE OUTLANDS

- CHAPTER 1
- CHAPTER 2
- CHAPTER 3
- CHAPTER 4
- CHAPTER 5
- CHAPTER 6
- CHAPTER 7
- CHAPTER 8
- CHAPTER 9
- CHAPTER 10
- CHAPTER 11
- CHAPTER 12
- CHAPTER 13
- CHAPTER 14
- CHAPTER 15
- CHAPTER 16
- CHAPTER 17
- CHAPTER 18
- CHAPTER 19
- CHAPTER 20
- CHAPTER 21
- CHAPTER 22
- CHAPTER 23
- CHAPTER 24
- CHAPTER 25
- CHAPTER 26
- CHAPTER 27
- CHAPTER 28
- CHAPTER 29
- CHAPTER 30
- CHAPTER 31
- CHAPTER 32
- CHAPTER 33
- CHAPTER 34
- CHAPTER 35
- CHAPTER 36
- CHAPTER 37
- CHAPTER 38
- CHAPTER 39
- CHAPTER 40
- CHAPTER 41
- CHAPTER 42
- CHAPTER 43
- CHAPTER 44
- CHAPTER 45
- CHAPTER 46
- CHAPTER 47
- CHAPTER 48
- CHAPTER 49
- CHAPTER 50
- CHAPTER 51
- CHAPTER 52
- CHAPTER 53
- CHAPTER 54
- CHAPTER 55
- CHAPTER 56
- CHAPTER 57
- CHAPTER 58
- CHAPTER 59
- CHAPTER 60
- CHAPTER 61
- CHAPTER 62
- EPILOGUE
- Note from the Author
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR