Clash of Heroes: Nath Dragon meets The Darkslayer (12 page)

CHAPTER 31

Venir and company snaked through the jungle on faint paths that few knew about or ever trod. They were a full day into the trek, pushing through brush and dangling vines, avoiding civilization.

Melegal rode in the middle of the rugged men, face concealed in a dark-grey cowl. Speaking through the garment, he said, “Venir, we need to get on a road. This is ridiculous.”

“It’s a shortcut.” Venir wiped the heavy sweat from his eyes. “You like shortcuts, don’t you?”

“I like seeing ten feet in front of me. The bush out here is as bad as in the Outlands, and the horses can barely push through it.” He eyed a big spotted cat perched in one of the trees. “We don’t belong here, Venir. This is another one of your quests. I know it.”

“It’s not a quest. I told you, it’s a shortcut.”

Melegal and his pony Quickster drifted back alongside Billip. “This isn’t a shortcut, is it?”

“Can’t say,” Billip replied with a grim face. “I’ve never been this way.”

Melegal’s hands, covered in leather gloves, squeezed the reins. Venir had been wearing over the past few months. He’d changed from a boisterous young man full of life and loaded in muscle and bravado into a restless and wild hunter. He came and went from the city, sometimes with Billip and Mikkel and sometimes without. He was after underlings. The little fiends drove Venir like he’d never been driven before.

If there isn’t trouble where we’re going, there will be trouble when we get there. Wherever that is. Bish, I should have gone with a caravan.

“Venir, let the Royals handle this mess with the underlings,” Melegal said. “They have their armies. You are only one man. The odds will catch up with you.”

“This is more than that, Melegal. They took Outpost Thirty-One. Now the entire South is exposed to their treacherous ways.” Venir shook his head. “No, I’m going to fight whether the Royals pay me or not. You’ve seen what they’ve done to our people.”

“Our people? I don’t think I have any people. And I don’t think you do either. I haven’t seen that many underlings, and I like it that way too. I see what they do.” Hiding inside his cowl, he shook his chin. “No thank you. And where is this shortcut taking us anyway?”

Venir didn’t reply. His eyes were intent on everything around him. Seeking. Probing.

Ugh! I hate it when he gets like this.

Melegal had had his fill of Venir’s adventures. His longtime friend had taken him far out of his home in Bone and had promised to take him back. And though the times in Two-Ten were enjoyable, things had gotten old really fast. Especially after Venir went sideways with the Brigand Army.

Why do Billip and Mikkel put up with this?

“Ah.” Venir brought his horse to a halt. His blue eyes were bright fires under his long tawny locks. He got off his horse, took a few steps into the brush, and knelt down. His eyes ran up and down some nearby trees. He pointed. “See it?”

Layered in with the vines were some well-concealed robes. Some of the smaller trees were bent over. Melegal knew what it was. A snare. Great. “I’m sure it’s set for animals, not people.”

Venir rose up, cracking his back. “No, that’s not some vermin trap. It’s a people snatcher. I’ve seen them before. Underling work.”

No! No! No!

Melegal locked his fingers on his head and squeezed a little. With a bite in his voice, he said, “This is what you’ve been looking for all this time.”

“No, just good fortune.” Venir reached into a pack hitched on his saddle and opened it up. He pulled out a large, stitched-up leather sack.

An uneasy feeling settled in Melegal’s stomach, and he scowled. “Why would underlings set traps out in the middle of nowhere? No one is around for miles, except us.”

“Heh,” Venir replied with a gleam in his eye. “It’s just one of their little tricks that keeps any strangers from wandering into their camps. A precaution.”

“Then I suggest that we go another way.” Melegal eyed his other comrades. Billip and Mikkel dismounted. The archer slung his quiver over his shoulder with a grimace. Mikkel put his steel cap on and cranked back the string on his heavy crossbow. “I don’t suppose you brought an extra one of those along for me?” he said to Mikkel.

“Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.” With his mighty arm, the huge black warrior held out a massive studded club. “You can use this if you like.”

Melegal eyed the battered wood coated in dark stains. “I think you can make better use of it than I, but feel free to crack a few skulls in my name.”

“No problem,” Mikkel hoisted it over his shoulder.

Melegal fixed his gaze on Venir. The man, like Mikkel, was one of tremendous girth and packed with thick muscle. He held a battle axe in his hands. Bigger than two normal axes, it had two long blades, razor-sharp cleavers. A steel, icicle-shaped spike jutted from the middle.

Venir twirled the awesome weapon around his body. He chopped and stabbed at imaginary enemies. A hungry grin started on his face.

“You shouldn’t have any trouble scaring underlings with that.”

“Scare them?” Venir removed a round metal shield from the sack. It was ornate, hammered like black iron, with odd markings engraved in the metal. Venir slung it over his shoulder. “They won’t live long enough to be scared once I find them.”

“Lucky them.”

Venir removed the final item, a helmet of dark metal with hammered iron outlining the trim. It was crafted the same as the shield and war axe, finely honed and unique. The eyelets seemed to burn with a life of their own. Venir slid the great helmet over his head. His scarred hands buckled the leather chinstrap.

And just like that, the robust man Melegal knew was gone, enhanced into something greater. An uneasy feeling came over him when Mikkel said, “Here we go.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he said to the other two men.

Mikkel pointed.

Melegal turned back just in time to see Venir, moving like an armored ghost, merge into the forest. “Is he just leaving us here?”

Mikkel, lathered in new sweat, eased along Melegal’s side. “You might want to stay with Chongo and the horses. Are you sure you don’t want Skull Basher?”

“You aren’t leaving me too.”

“Come then,” Billip said. The archer’s eyes were charged with new energy. He popped the last cracks of his knuckles. “You don’t want to miss the show, do you?”

“You mean Venir dancing with underlings in that terrifying getup? I think I’ll pass.”

Billip handed Melegal a knife. “If any underlings squeeze through, you know what to do.”

“I have my own blades, Billip. I don’t need something that skins goats and cuts fishing lines.” Melegal watched the men slip deeper into the forest with big smiles on their faces. “How long do you think you’ll be, eh?”

“We’ll be back as soon as the underlings stop screaming,” Mikkel said.

“I thought they didn’t scream.” Melegal said.

The stiff wind rustling the leaves in the branches was his answer. Stiff in the saddle, he slid out a pair of long daggers and scratched his pony Quickster behind the ears. “If it comes right down to it, I hope you can get us out of here. If not, I guess I’m screwed.”

CHAPTER 32

As soon as Venir buckled on Helm, life exploded around him. His blood rushed like a great river. His senses tingled. Everything he could see, hear, and smell was so much more distinct. The scented flowers. A distant flow of water. His friends’ heavy breathing. A new hunger was in his mind. His thoughts intermingled with Helm’s, and they fed each other.

Run! Kill! Slaughter the underlings!
Kill till there are no more!

Surefooted, he raced into the forest, outdistancing his pursuing friends in seconds.

Yes!

He glided through the heavy brush with Helm, a dangerous beacon. If there were underlings near, it would find them. Venir and his axe would carve them down. Most men in the world hated the underlings, but not like him. Their vile nature was the opposite of everything he knew. They killed. Tormented. No discrimination among men, women, and children. The horrors Venir had seen fueled fires in his mind.

I want them all. Dead.

His feet sank into the soft mud of the jungle where a marsh filled with willows cropped up. The little grey-skinned fiends thrived in the dampest spots on Bish. Venir slipped underneath the gentle greenery hanging from the crooked branches. The sinking daylight subsided into the heavy natural darkness. Helm pulsated and throbbed. Venir’s heart pounded in his ears.

I can’t see you vermin, but I know you’re here. Helm says so.

His knuckles whitened on the axe’s dark oak shaft. His nostrils widened. There was sulfur in the air. The vile, distinct scent of the skin of underlings. Like men, they perspired. Unlike men, it wasn’t ever from fear. They feared nothing. Each and every one that Venir had ever encountered was a stone-cold killer. Hatred was their strength. Fear was their friend. They fed on the weak hearts and feelings of men.

Close. So close.

He zoned in on an underling pressed against the trees. It faced away from Venir, but its huddled form was quite distinct. A long, jagged blade filled its hands. Its head scanned from side to side.

Venir fought Helm’s pleading impulse.

Rush in. Cut it down. Run to the next. Cut them all down. Now. Now. Now.

Fighting his own urges that merged with Helm’s, he crept forward in the darkness. Twice, the underling’s ruby eyes glided over him, through him, until Venir was almost on top of it. Looking right at Venir, it cocked its head to the side and squinted its eyes.

How does it not see me? Am I toying with it, or is it toying with me?

It took everything Venir had to not strike it down immediately. The armament had powers he did not yet understand. He wanted to master it. He stood like a ready statue, dying to reanimate at every moment.

The underling in its black leathers and pinned-back hair came closer with the look of a dangerous predator. Sword ready, it cocked its elbows back to strike into the unknown.

Towering over the fiend, Venir unleashed his axe.

Slice!

The underling’s head popped off of its shoulders. The body and head hit the murky ground at the same time.

Helm still throbbed with urgent life, sending Venir in every direction at once.

“Chitter. Chitter. Chitter.”

The underlings appeared in all directions. Fearless and vengeful, they came.

Setting his feet, Venir faced the onslaught with unbridled power. The first underling rushed in with two blades, striking like a snake. In a single lethal strike, the axe’s spike gouged it in the neck.

Glitch!

Too-Wah! Too-Wah! Too-Wah!

Darts shot through the air.

Clatch! Clatch! Clatch! Zip! Zip! Zip!

Small crossbow bolts ripped through the leaves. Like violent insect stingers, the projectiles buried themselves deep in Venir’s legs. He exploded into a whirlwind of fury. “You think that will stop me?” He bore down on two underlings.

The wicked pair hurled javelins at his chest.

He swatted them aside with the flat of his axe, and with a single whistling swing, he cleaved the both of them in half. “Let the jungle have your blood!”

The underlings were everywhere. They came in twos and threes. Stabbing, cutting, screaming with vile resentment, they tried to tear the human juggernaut down. Lethal strikes bit at Venir’s skin.

Constantly in motion and guided by Helm, he dodged, twisted at the last instant. Venir’s awareness was beyond instinct. His hardened muscles functioned beyond normal limits. The underlings—their evil, treacherous ways—fed his battle-honed skills. Brool, his axe, arced overhead with bone-jarring impact.

Slice!

An underling lost its hand.

Chop!

Another lost an arm.

Chop!

Its leg.

Chop!

Legs.

Coated from the gore of battle, Venir tore through the forest like a gale of fury. His axe shattered bones. Cleaved skulls. Hearts and throats were punctured. Although he bled from lacerations and burned from the poison of darts, his fury did not stop. His will and Helm urged him forward.

Kill them. Kill them all!

Ranks decimated, the hive of underlings fought on. They shot. Jabbed. Chittered. Screeched. They attacked with the fearless ferocity of hungry wolverines. Skilled and deadly, one dashed in and carved a hunk out of Venir’s leg. Darts skipped off Helm.

A javelin pierced his side.

Venir roared. He snatched an underling by the neck in his mighty grip and yanked it up from the ground. He slung the fiend into another and hacked them both down. He zeroed in on the nearest thinning batch of heat and charged. A throng of three five-foot-tall terrors loosed another attack. Flanking Venir, one ducked under his swing. The others latched onto his legs like black ticks. Sharp teeth bit. Steel-hard nails clawed.

“To Bish with you fiends!”

Locked on his legs, the underlings bore him down to the ground. They ripped and tore at his skin.

Letting the axe go, he locked his forearm around one’s throat and squeezed until its eyes bulged. With his free hand he slipped out his long hunting knife and plunged it into the second underling’s side. It wilted as the underling in the nook of his arm suffocated and its windpipe cracked. He tucked the knife back into its sheath. Two more were dead, and Helm told him the third enemy lurked somewhere nearby. Venir could feel its presence. His calloused hands found the shaft of his axe again. His senses zeroed in.

Keeping to the brush, the underling loaded another crossbow bolt.

Venir closed the gap in two great strides and swung.

Metal rang off metal with jarring impact, sending a ringing shockwave through the forest.

CLANGGGGGGG!

Venir found himself face to face with a powerful figure as tall as he. The flame-headed stranger.