Clash of Heroes: Nath Dragon meets The Darkslayer (6 page)

CHAPTER 13

Horse hooves thundered down the path. Fighting men in heavy steel plowed into the underlings and skewered them with their long spears. Fearless, the underlings heaved themselves up on horse and rider and fought with wild fury. One warrior was dragged to the ground and overwhelmed by two of the stabbing little rat-men. It was far from enough.

What are these underlings doing? They should retreat.

Faces filled with hatred and rage, the underlings fought on with well-trained ferocity. Using everything at their disposal, they cut down the men from the horses.

On their feet, the human fighters, superior in strength and armor, unloaded on the underlings with a heavy clash of steel.

Quick as cats, the underlings jabbed sharp steel and drew blood. One underling cut open a man’s leg, only to overlook the man closing in on him. A sword split his face right between his ruby-red eyes.

Something made Nath’s temper flare. He sprang into action. After bursting out of the foliage, he charged down into the ravine. With Fang in hand, he rushed the closest man. The man in battle-ravaged plate armor locked eyes with him and seemed to smile. Nath cut him down.

The battle raged all around him. Nath carved a path through the men, trying to save underling after underling. Every fighter was in a frenzy, battle lust in every face. There was hatred in the air. Deep, fathomless hatred. Underlings screamed in fearless defiance as they fell under bloody steel.

Nath cut. Slashed. Hacked. He found himself facing a bewildered human warrior, who said to him, “What kind of man defends these fiends?” The human, covered in blood and sweat, hefted his straight blade with two hands. “You have a black heart, you red-haired demon!”

With Nath's blood fueled from what he assumed was battle, the man’s words didn’t register. Sword arcing high, he pounced. Fang collided with the man’s fine steel with jarring effect. The man's blade smacked into his own eyes. Dazed, the warrior let loose a wild swing. The blow should have been lethal, but on Nath it just clipped his scaled side as he spun away.

After days of irritation, Nath turned loose his frustration. With a savage swing, he cut down the durable human fighter and charged the next.

Slash! Rip! Hack!

In a sea of black blood, everything became a blur. The cries of battle and the clamor of steel crested and fell silent. Nath stood, chest heaving in a field of death. Fang burned hot in his grip. When he released the blood-stained blade, he snapped out of the battle haze and came back to his senses. The scene before him was ghastly. All were dead: man, underling, and beast.

A ragged breath caught Nath's ear. He turned.

Behind him, gasping his last breath, was the emerald-eyed underling.

Nath kneeled down at his side.

Wide eyed, the underling looked up at Nath, pointed at him, said, “Kill ssslayer,” and died.

Nath sat on his knees with a numb feeling all over him. Something was wrong. He clutched his scaled hands in and out. They were sore. His sword had burned him!

What is going on?

Glancing all around, he surveyed the carnage. Everything became louder: the buzzing of insects, the scurry of creatures. His heart pounded in his ears. His stomach turned. He clutched at the burning wound in his side and stared at the blood on his hand. He rubbed his head and said, over and over, “This is not right. This is not right.”

On hands and knees, he crawled over to his sword, which lay still on the dusty path. He grabbed the pommel. It was no longer hot. He dragged the great blade behind him as he looked for survivors. Men were dead, and Nath didn’t remember killing them. He didn’t remember a lot. He couldn’t ignore the sick feeling in his stomach either.

Did I do this?

He stared at the dead man who had spoken to him just before his battle lust consumed him. The man’s appalled face had said it all when he’d said to Nath, “What kind of man defends these fiends?”

Stomach in knots, Nath ran as far and as fast as he could.

CHAPTER 14

“Ho!” Venir pulled his horse to a halt and held up his hand. Eyeing the steep valley below, he spied several unmanned horses drinking from a stream. “Do you see what I see, Billip?”

“I already saw it,” Billip replied. Atop his saddle, he popped his knuckles then unhitched his bow. “I was waiting to see if you saw before I said anything.”

“I saw it first,” said the man riding in behind Billip. He was a big black man, short haired, heavy in muscle. He rode a big chestnut horse and had a broad smile. He placed a steel cap on his head. “It’s my claim.”

“You didn’t see anything,” Billip said. The wiry archer, black haired and dark eyed, wore leather armor over his chest. His eyes were sharp and penetrating like an eagle's. Nocking an arrow, he scanned the jungle valley. “Bats have better eyes than you, Mikkel.”

“We'll see,” said the brawny warrior as he unhitched a heavy crossbow from his saddle. Covered in sweat, his muscle and sinew bulged when he pulled back the string and loaded a long bolt. “I bet I kill a fiend before you do.”

“I don’t think we’ll be killing anybody if you two keep broadcasting our whereabouts to every living thing in the jungle.” Venir slipped off his saddle. Wide shouldered, powerfully built, and rangy, the tawny-headed, long-haired warrior crept over the pathway's rim. He drew his long hunting knife. “Cover me.”

Shaking his head, Mikkel said, “And he’s worried about us making noise? Maybe you and your little pointed sticks, Billip. But not me.”

“Oh, shut your jolly hole,” Billip replied. “And I killed five to your three the last time.”

“That fifth didn’t count,” Mikkel argued. “He was already dying from a Skull Basher wound, and you shot him in the neck.”

“He had the drop on you, and it was the back of the head, to be specific …”

Venir ignored their words and eased toward the abandoned horses. Daylight still crept through the leaves on the heavy trees, but the thick greenery still coated the sweltering landscape in an eerie dimness. Hair caught in some hanging briars, he pulled his head free and placed a section of his braided locks in his mouth. Gentle as a breeze, he traversed the landscape and snuck up behind the horses.

By his side with his tongue hanging out of his mouth was Venir's dog, Chongo. He was a huge dog, big enough for children to ride, with a bull mastiff face and a soft coat of chestnut hair. His tail was sharp and flipped back and forth.

The saddled mounts were loaded down with gear common to Royal soldiers. Their tails flapped away at their backs, and their ears twitched. The horse nearest Venir nickered.

Chongo’s head lowered and his tail stiffened. A growl rumbled from his throat.

“Easy,” whispered his master. He placed his hands on the horse’s neck and rubbed it. “Easy.”

The horse nickered again and stared at Venir with an unblinking eye. The horse was calm. Well trained. Venir checked the area again. His keen eyes and ears didn’t pick up anything out of the ordinary. He raised his long arm over his head and waved. “All right, let’s see what’s going on here.” He dismounted and said, “Chongo, let’s go.”

He tethered the three horses together one by one and led them upstream. The horses' hoof prints were pressed in the soft bank, and the ferns that lined the stream were pressed down as well. Venir led them up the valley, straight through a path of broken branches for another half mile. It was there he happened upon another path he’d traveled before. It was more common, wider, and often used by Royals traveling from outpost to outpost.

His nostrils flared. “Hmmm.” The wind stirred the golden leaves, and a howl ripped through the ravine below. He came to a stop and rested his hand on a mossy boulder. He sniffed then took the lead horse's reins and stuck them in a tree and moved forward. His brow crinkled, and he covered his nose.

Death. Nothing on Bish smelled quite like it.

Venir picked up the pace and trotted down the mud-packed path. Rounding the bend, he came face to face with the scene of a horrific battle. Crows scattered into the trees. Royal soldiers, over a dozen, lay dead. Many of their mounts were dead too. Knife ready, he investigated the graveyard. His eyes enlarged on the body of the first underling. It lay dead with a spear sticking out of its chest. Its dark sapphire eyes glared unblinking at the leaf-laden sky.

“I’ll be.” Venir stuffed his long bone-handled knife into its sheath. “Hah! It seems we are not the only ones who have had a good day feasting on these grey-skinned fiends.” He ripped a spear out of another dead underling and picked his way through the dead. He poked at the underling corpses, but no more black blood ran. He spat the foul taste from his mouth and took a swig from his canteen. “Sorry I missed it.”

Billip and Mikkel, on horseback, rounded the bend. Mikkel had his nose tucked inside his elbow and said to Venir, “When did you do all this?”

“Hah,” Venir said with a fierce smile. “I wish. No, they're more than a day dead. Maybe two. It’s a sad thing, however, that the varmints won’t feast on the underlings. But they will eat the men, so someone’s got to bury them.”

Stroking his goatee, Billip said, “We could get a lot of money for all of these horses and hardware, and all of this underling steel is worth its weight in silver. It seems the sands of the Outlands have smiled on us today. Mikkel, get out your shovel.”

“Shovel my arse! Let the crows eat those soldiers. I don’t owe those Royals. If anything, it’s the other way around.”

Venir picked up a blood-tainted sky-blue and white banner. “This is a good house, Mikkel. The Jakkens of Outpost Fourteen. We’ll have to make this right with them.”

Mikkel folded his arms over his chest, shook his head, and said, “Nuh-uh. Not after the last time they stiffed us. Almost got us killed, and they laughed. I say we take this steel and leave them.”

Venir turned his back. Mikkel had bigger issues with the Royals than he did, and not without cause, but sometimes you just had to move on. Checking the dead, his eyes popped wide. “Bish! Look at this wound!”

Billip and Mikkel slipped alongside him. They gaped at the dead man that was split asunder. Mikkel said, “Are you sure you didn’t do this?”

Scratching the back of his head, Venir said, “I know I didn’t, but even worse, I know an underling didn’t do that either.” He noticed another dead Royal with a leg missing and another missing his head. “Underling weapons aren’t big enough to do that.”

Leaning on his bow and looking down at the corpse, Billip said, “Maybe the underlings are getting bigger.” He glanced up at Venir. “Whoever it was I say is quite a warrior.”

Venir eyed him and shook his head. Scanning the ground, he tried to make sense of what had happened. The scuffling footwork of battle revealed a few things. With his fingers in the impressions in the dirt, it was clear to Venir that the battle had been man against underling and nothing else. But there looked to be one man, a big one, in particular. Looking up at his bewildered friends, he said, “Looks like a sword wound. A big one. And it sliced clean through the flesh and plate armor. I’ve never known another blade to do that.”

“Aside from yours, you mean?’ Mikkel said.

“Aye,” Billip added. “Methinks our comrade Venir is a wee bit jealous. Perhaps there is some other indiscriminate slayer out there, eh?”

Rising up to full height, Venir replied, “Whoever it was didn’t kill any underlings, so he must be their ally.”

“I bet it’s the brigands, Venir.” Mikkel took off his skullcap. “A gnoll, orc, or ogre could swing a sword that big.”

“Agreed,” Billip said, popping his knuckles. He gave Venir a stern look. “That doesn’t mean it has to be our problem, Venir. I say we take what we can of this gear, and if you like, I’ll escort you to one of the outposts to tell the Royals about the slaughter of their kind. But this underling steel I’m taking back to Two-Ten City. I know a smithy who will pay good coin for it.”

Grim faced, Venir nodded.

He unslung the rucksack from his broad back and dropped it on the ground.

“Oh no you don’t,” Mikkel said. He picked up the pack and shoved it into Venir’s chest. “We’ve been out for weeks, and I’m ready to do some drinking. You’re just going to have to wait!”

“You go,” Venir said, “I’ll stay.”

“Business first, Venir,” Billip chimed in. “Let the Royals handle this. And don’t go running off again, either. You put us both in a bind the last time.”

Venir’s face darkened. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

In silence, Billip and Mikkel backed away and started gathering up the horses and their gear. Finally, Mikkel said, “You need some civilization. You get too wild out here.”

With a frown and a nod, Venir slung his pack over his shoulder. “Fine. But I’m still going to hunt down and kill whoever did this.”

“We know, Billip said, “but let’s fill our bellies with rotten food, our tongues with lousy grog, and our laps with generous hips first.”

CHAPTER 15

Nath sat in the woods, clutching his head. He couldn’t erase the scene of the battle from his mind. Men were dead by his hand, and for what reason he did not know. Something wasn’t right. It wasn’t right at all.

Clutching at the necklace that dug into his neck, he said, “Oran!”

“What is it, Nath?”

“They're dead. All of them.”

Oran’s voice in his head was an agitated hiss. “What do you mean? Who is dead?”

Nath told him everything. The underling attack on the soldiers. The ambush the soldiers had brought. The slaughter. The mayhem. His own memory loss.

“You did well, not wrong, Nath,” Oran reassured him. “Those were Royals, a sworn enemy. Great deceivers. Surely they would have hunted you down and killed you first if they had the chance.”

“But they did not seek my death,” Nath said, standing up and trembling with anger. “They sought your kind. And it was your kind that instigated this.”

“Listen to me!”

Nath froze.

“I tell you this: we strike when it suits us. It’s part of our survival. Take them down before they take us down. We had the numbers. Underlings do as underlings do.”

Nath pulled at his collar. The more he tugged, the more it tightened. Shaking his head, he said, “I don’t like this.”

“Then end this!” Oran urged.

“How?”

“Hunt down and kill the Darkslayer. He is the one behind it all. He leads the hunt. Inspires these men. Kill him.”

An image formed in Nath’s mind. Powerful and sharp, a huge man in a dark helmet with burning eyes slaughtered defenseless underlings like sheep. A mighty axe smote them like the strike of lightning. His throat tightened. Jaws clenched. The monster of a man needed to be stopped.

“You want peace? Then find this savage and tear him to pieces,” Oran suggested. “That’s an order.”

Nath’s blood stirred. His mind darkened. Oran was right. He just needed to find this slayer and kill him.

“I sense your anger, Nath,” Oran said. “You can use that to avenge your allies. Defeat this enemy, and all of underling kind will revere you. We’ll make every effort to find your own kindred and protect them as well. You must trust me. You must obey me. Do that, and everything will resolve.”

Nath rubbed his temples. “I have no guide. I don’t even know where to start.”

“Go to the nearest city. Be discreet. Blend in. A keen ear will always discover something, and it wouldn’t hurt for you to learn more about the ways of this world. In the meantime, I’ll send help from my Badoon. Just let me know where you are when you get there.”

Nath grabbed his sword and ventured through the woods with a stony expression on his handsome face. “I will.”

***

Oran slung his headband across the room. It bounced off a big glass jar with a man's head in it and clattered on the hard cave floor. Fingers contorted over his head, he screamed.

“Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!”

An entire underling Badoon was dead, and no doubt Lords Catten and Verbard wouldn’t be happy about that. Someone would have to pay for it. The only bright side was that Nath lived. It seemed the man had a fiery disposition that tore through the humans like a whirlwind. Still, controlling the man was not easy.

Oran needed to poison the well even further.

Hands behind his back, he paced around his experiment table. In a flash of anger, he wiped the jars, vials, and candlesticks off. “I hate this!”

For decades, Oran had been outcast from the Underland. He had been found guilty of meddling and conspiracy with the other races. His experiments were considered detrimental, and now his life was spent in solitude, doing devious deeds with little underling support. But he knew what he was doing. He was subverting the ways of the world above. Learning. Probing. Exposing weakness. One day he would further the underling cause, he was certain of it, but now he had to play lackey to the likes of hallowed Verbard and Catten. He had to do their dirty work for them. Get his nails dirty where they wouldn’t.

He grabbed a bottle of underling port from his wine shelf and sank into his sofa. Staring at the face of a dwarf’s head pickled in a thick jar on the table, he drank. He thought. He planned. He fussed. He drank.

If this fails, I’m dog meat.