Clash of Heroes: Nath Dragon meets The Darkslayer (11 page)

CHAPTER 28

Three stocks. Three men locked in them. The rising suns beat on their bare backs. Many of the people of Two-Ten City gathered around them all. Venir, Billip, and Mikkel had been fighting their way out of the arena when Mikkel got hemmed in by halberds. He had given himself up. Venir and Billip had then given themselves up. It was that or see their friend die.

“It’s no surprise Melegal wormed his way out of this,” Billip said, squirming in his prison. “He’s probably sleeping right now, with Chongo and the horses, and my back is killing me already.”

Shaking his head with heaviness in his voice, Mikkel said, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Venir said, “I’ll take the blame if any.”

“Fine by me. After all, you’re the one whose big mouth intervened for that stranger. If you would have kept it shut, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

“Yes, keep reminding me, Billip.” Venir craned his neck and tried to flick the numbness from his fingers. “I’m sure you will. I deserve it.”

“You do deserve it, you numbskull. Every time you crawl out of the woods, you hit the town and become too rowdy. There’s always some price we pay for it.” Billip cracked his thumbs. “Bish, my back hurts!”

“Maybe we can get one of the guards to rub it for you,” Mikkel said with a smile in his voice. “Excuse me, Orc Face is it? Could you take those strong hairy hands of yours and rub my comrade’s back?”

“Will you shut up!” Billip yelled.

Venir and Mikkel started laughing. Finally, Billip joined in as well. The three men had roamed together for years, and this wasn’t their first time in the stocks. It probably wouldn’t be their last time, either. Now, in misery, backs to the rising heat, they stood amid the town criers, unable to block out the mockery. There were two orcen guards laden in chain and helm that poked at them from time to time too. It went on all day. Rotten food. Vile jokes. Venir had a lump from where a rock had hit his head.

Mikkel smacked his lips. The guards were sharing a canteen of water. Another man, old, bearded, and wearing ragged clothes, had a bucket of water and a ladle. He sat on a stool in front of them, sipping and cackling.

Venir kept his split and parched lips shut until Farc and company finally showed up. The giant ogre, ugly in nature, had a troupe of hard-looking warriors in tow. One, a pale-skinned half orc, had a lash in his hand.

Suddenly, the people of Two-Ten City started to gather.

Lifting his head that felt heavier than an anvil, Venir said, “Farc, what an unpleasant surprise. But I’m glad you showed up. We were just arguing about what that bad smell was. I thought it was us, but now that you’ve shown up, I am convinced it’s not.”

“Will you shut up?” Billip said.

Farc took the old man’s bucket and crashed it into Venir’s head.

Stars exploded in Venir’s eyes.

The ogre tossed the bucket away. “You know I can’t stand humans.”

Bleeding from a gash in his scalp, Venir looked back at him. “And you know I don’t like your ilk either. But we aren’t here to be friends, are we? We’re men of business.”

“You’re trouble, Venir. Talk too much. Cause problems. We don’t like you in our city.”

“I thought it was a free city and that so long as we traded in good faith, which we do, we were welcome. And so far as I can tell, we didn’t do anything wrong. I only offered a suggestion in the arena. You got all temperamental about it.”

“My prisoner escaped because of you.”

“Me? We turned him in to you. You let him escape.”

Face to face, and breath foul as sludge, Farc said to Venir, “You’re a trickster. You make us look bad. You pay for your deception.”

Venir knew there wasn’t going to be any reasoning with the ogre. Whether he had a hand in it or not, it didn’t matter. Just like the Royals everywhere else, they did what they did for their own sick pleasure and made others suffer for it. It was their way. Always was. Always would be.

Farc gave a nod. The orc with the lash disappeared from sight. The sound of his whip cut the air and cracked behind them.

Venir, Billip, and Mikkel’s jaws were clenched. Sweat dripped from their brows.

The whip snapped.

Crack!

Billip cried out a curse.

The lash snapped again.

Pain shot through Venir’s toes and fingertips.

Mikkel was hit next. He grunted and shuddered.

One by one, the lash cracked over their backs, agonizing minute after minute. Dripping with sweat and back soaked in blood, Venir still couldn’t hold his tongue. “Is your arm getting tired yet? I never realized how big your ears were, Farc. Now hear this, you’re one ugly bast—”

Crack!

After what seemed to be an eon, Farc gave a wave of his hand and said, “Enough.”

The lash handler stepped back into view. The lash’s leather tails were soaked in blood. Drops dripped on the dry ground. Sagging in the stocks, Venir gulped for air and said in a cracked voice, “Now what, Farc?”

“You leave. Never come back.”

“And if I do?”

“I will kill you myself, in the Pit.”

“Is that a challenge?” Venir said.

“It is.”

“I accept.”

CHAPTER 29

Hungry and hurting, Nath cut through the dark brush, retrieved Fang, and went deep into the forest. Hours into his journey, he came across a stream and lay Fang down by his side, scooped up the cool water, and drank. Nothing seemed to quench his thirst. He waded in where the water burbled over the rock, sat down in a nook, and let the falls rush over him. He reflected on Two-Ten City.

These people are madmen.

It seemed pretty clear that the underlings had a point. The people above had little character at all. They were cutthroats. Cruel. Without mercy. The pain and suffering of others brought them profit.

It’s a wonder that men survive very long at all.

Soaking in the hair-drenching stream, he tugged at the strange chunk of metal harnessed at his neck.

Should I contact him or not?

His stomach moaned so loud he could hear it from underneath the waters. Rinsing the blood from his wounds, he eyed salmon shooting up the stream. Something about the fish triggered his memories. A flash of a different land, bright and filled with lush colors. Nath smacked the waters with his hands.

“Something is wrong! Everything about this place is wrong!”

A salmon shot out of the water, sailing over the rocks. Nath snatched it out of the air. By instinct he gutted the fish with his sharp nails and ate. He must have eaten ten of the fish before he finished, leaned back, closed his eyes, and let the water rush over his shoulders. Within seconds he was asleep.

He awoke hours later in the pitch-black comfort of the jungle and crawled out of the water. Retrieving Fang from the bank where the great sword rested, he followed the water upstream. Refreshed but sore, he tugged at the collar and called out for Oran. He made it another half mile along the green banks before the underling cleric replied.

“You live?” Oran said in his mind.

“If you can call it that,” Nath replied. “If this is how life is, I’m not so sure it’s worth living, Oran.”

“Tell me everything.”

Nath spent more than an hour describing even the minutest details. The more he recalled, the more confirmed he was in his thoughts. The people in the world were bad. Ornery. Loathsome. Despicable.

Without hesitation, Oran confirmed everything he was thinking. “Yes. Yes, Nath. Now you know. Now you see. Perhaps your memories are coming back to you after all. These men, orcs, gnolls—all of that foul ilk—are nothing but merciless and cruel. There is no dignity among them. They hunger for power and vile entertainment. They have no value for life at all. And Two-Ten City? Why, though it is small, it is one of the better places in Bish.”

“Really?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Oran continued. “There are bigger cities. They appear to be fair but are filled with even more wickedness and despair. I often wonder how their kind even survive at all.”

Nath’s blood stirred with conflict. “Oran, what do I do now?”

“Your purpose is still simple, Nath. Kill the Darkslayer.”

“I don’t even know where to start,” he said.

“He haunts the woods you are in. We are certain of that. You will pick up his trail soon enough. Listen to me, Nath. My lords Catten and Verbard are quite serious about this endeavor. They want his blood. You must bring it!” Oran hissed. “And they have told me that if you fulfill this honorable duty, then they can restore your memories.”

Nath stopped in his tracks and stared at his faint reflection in the dark water. His own face wasn’t familiar to him at all. At best, it was someone he might have passed in the crowd. A shade but not a memory. “Do you really think they can restore my thoughts?”

“I am great in magic, and I would do it myself if I could, but they, Nath, are far, far greater than I. Else I would not be carrying out this quest. Why, I’d be in the Underland, soaking in milk, with my hands and toes being massaged by the ladies. Those days are gone, but Nath, you can help me restore my honor. Save the underlings. Save all of their good kind. Can you do it?”

Nath nodded to himself and said, “Yes.”

“Will you do it?”

“You have my word.”

Oran chittered with confirmation. “Many underling soldiers hide in the jungles, Nath. One group, Badoon fighters, are gathering. There are many outposts run by men like you have seen. We have striven to take them back, but this slayer in the night has thwarted our plans. Spilled blood. Split heads. Defiled our eyes. Seek out these places. Find him. Kill him.”

Nath felt a wave of thoughts rushing through his mind. Underlings running in terror. A great shadow hunted them down. Slaughtered them. His thoughts became darker and darker. Nostrils flaring and jaw clenched, like a hungry panther he vanished into the woods.

***

“Yes!” Oran jumped up high, came down, and tripped over his robes. He knocked over an empty wine bottle and laughed. “Yes, this is most excellent!”

He’d been sulking. Loathing. Tormenting and pickling heads. Now he had hope. Options. Perhaps Nath could pull off this irritating feat. He pecked on a glass jar that was big enough for two heads. A distorted orc’s head hung suspended, somewhat lifelike, in a pale green goo. “Ah, perhaps I can have the slayer’s head in one of these when I return to the Underland.” He chittered with delight. “Then I will no longer be considered a parasite.”

On one of the many tables inside his cave sat the skull of an underling. Two gemstone eyes hovered in its sockets, deep, dark blue. Oran took off the headband that was linked to Nath’s collar and placed it on the skull. Violet eyes aglow with dark energy, he chittered some mystic words. The skull’s eyes filled with radiant, eerier light.

“Yes,” Oran said with a wave of his hand. “Irritate. Inspire. Ignite the man. Let him show no mercy to any who cross him.”

CHAPTER 30

With a groan, Venir slung his legs off of his horse and hopped down to the ground, where immediately Chongo licked his hand. Having ridden for the better part of a day, his back was stiff, and the wounds from the lash still burned hot as fire. Behind him were Billip and Mikkel on horseback. Their eyes were bleary, and the cotton shirts on their backs had been stained red.

Mikkel slid out of his saddle and led his horse to the stream and lumbered into the water. He took his shirt off, revealing several layers of bulging muscle and a back coated in sore and bloody wounds. He sank neck deep into the water. Grimacing, the sound he made was pain, not pleasure “Ack!”

“Yes, yes, please bathe all that you want, the three of you,” Melegal said. He rode on a grey pony with a shaggy black belly. It better resembled a donkey than a horse. “Your scent can only draw in more trouble. After all, I would much rather be stuck in the belly of a forest filled with brigands and underlings than in my cozy cot inside the city.”

Venir pulled off his shirt and waded knee deep into the water. “Quit complaining. You said you wanted out of the city, and now you are out of the city. No one made you come along anyway. It was your choice.”

Swatting a buzzing insect from his frowning face, Melegal replied, “I didn’t have a choice, and you know it. They’d have flogged me if they caught me.”

“I didn’t think you could be caught if you didn’t want to be,” Venir said, sinking into the water, clenching his teeth. “And I doubt they would flog you. There’s nothing to flog off. They’d probably stick you in a cell and let the rats nibble that thick layer of skin off.”

“Ha ha,” Melegal said. His grey eyes scanned for the source of the hooting and odd chirping sounds beyond the tree line. “You know I hate this bug-infested greenery. Why couldn’t we just stay on the trails? Why don’t we just go back to Bone?”

“You can go. There are plenty of caravans that you can latch onto. And I’m sure they’d enjoy your company,” said Venir, stretching out his arms, formed like mighty tree trunks. “I know we certainly do.”

The slender man slapped flying bugs from his black-and-grey clothes. He plucked a huge mosquito from his neck and crushed the blood out of it. “Uck!” He cleaned his hands off with a rag.

Billip, not as primordial and towering as Venir or Mikkel, jumped off of his saddle and grabbed his bow. “While you men soothe yourselves with such colorful and seedless banter, I think I’ll fetch myself some dinner.” He grabbed a handful of arrows from his saddle quiver and eyed Melegal. “Care to join?”

“I’ll pay you a fair wage.”

“You’ll pay what I say you pay,” Billip said. “And you still owe me for that pony you’re riding on.”

“Quickster is mine,” Melegal retorted. His hand slid inside his vest. “You lost the bet. Really lost the bet bad.”

In one fluid motion, Billip nocked an arrow and fired.

Twang!

The arrow zinged past Melegal’s face and embedded itself in a nearby tree. A grey squirrel was pinned to the tree. “There’s your dinner,” Billip said. “Three silver plus two to skin it, one more to cook it for you. That’s five.”

Mikkel busted out in laughter. His face seized up. “Five? Don’t, don’t make me laugh right now, Billip. It hurts too much.”

“Agreed,” Venir said, trying to contain his chuckles. The burning in his back was just beginning to subside when his eruptions set it on fire again. The jungle stream water was refreshing and soothing. It would help clean and heal the wounds. “Relax, Melegal. You’re as safe here as anywhere else.”

“I don’t want any part of this blood hunt, Venir. I’m not a tracker. Not a bounty hunter.” He pointed at Venir. “You need to take me back to Bone.”

“I’m not stopping you from going.” Venir submerged his stalwart frame in the water, popped up, and wrung out his blond head of neck-length hair. “Just give it a few days. It will do you some good. My business is here. You know that.”

“Let the Royals fight their own battles, Venir.” Melegal smashed a bigger mosquito between his hands and cleaned them with a handkerchief. “Back in Bone, you’ll make more money brawling than you make here skinning underling scalps.”

“I’ve got business. I like what I do, and the Royals pay well for our services. Besides, the setback in Two-Ten will pass.”

“My arse it will. Farc will break your neck if you go back in there. He’ll break all of our necks.”

Venir stiffened. “You don’t think I can take Farc?”

Mikkel stopped rinsing himself off. “You’re thinking about going back, aren’t you? I see that look in your eye. That blue-wild fire. Don’t do it.”

“That’s your home, Mikkel, and Billip’s too. You have to go back at some point. And if fighting Farc is what I have to do, then that’s what I’ll do.”

“You’re crazy.” Melegal threw a bedroll down on the ground. Chongo promptly lay down on it. Melegal pushed the huge dog aside and lay with him as a pillow. Chongo licked the skinny man’s face, and he tried his best to stay grumpy. “Now hurry up. Finish your bath and make a fire. If I’m going to be here, then you goons need to see to my comfort.” He lifted a clay jug, pulled the cork out, and drank. “And stay away from my wine.”

“Oh, we can stay away from your wine, but I don’t think there’s any avoiding your whining,” Billip said. On deft feet and soft steps, he vanished into the forest.

Melegal made himself comfortable on his bedroll, and so did Chongo. “Seriously speaking, Venir, you aren’t really considering going back to Two-Ten anytime soon are you? We all know you’re tough, you battle-damaged lout. No need to prove it … again.”

Thinking of Farc and his Brood, Venir wasn’t about to let anyone tell him what he could or couldn’t do. Where he could be and couldn’t be. He’d had his fill of that in the City of Bone already. No, he wanted Farc. He wanted to teach those misbegotten Royal behemoths a lesson. Even if it got him killed. “We’ll see.”