The Darkslayer: Book 01 - Wrath of the Royals (6 page)

“I just listened in on one of the commanders’ tent meetings. They’re planning to attack Outpost Thirty-One in the next few days and—”

“There ain’t no way!” the warrior was almost shouting. “Outpost Thirty-One has a thousand well-armed soldiers of the Royal house legions.”

“Keep your voice down,” Billip motioned. “Let me finish. They already have help; over two thousand strong are waiting to help sack the outpost—”

“—Even with that many it’ll be hard to take. They’ll have to starve them out, and by then help will have arrived. Besides, no one just attacks a Royal army outpost. It would be suicide— an act of war. Even gnolls and orcs don’t have the numbers to face the humans when you come down to it.” Mikkel sighed, stuffing everything in a sack and looking uncertain what to do.

Billip nodded.

“Let me finish,
again
; it’s not orcs or gnolls or humans or dwarfs or striders or even halflings for that matter.”

Billip paused, raising an arched brow. Mikkel was giving him a funny look. Billip waited, watching his friend scratch his cheek.

An odd silence fell as Mikkel looked at Billip with a blank stare.
He’s as dumb as Venir.
The archer caved in.

“Underlings—you idiot! Jarla’s brigand army is in league with the underlings! And has been for quite some time! It’s no wonder she’s been so successful. And we’ve been helping her!”

“It seems Jarla has no more need of Venir’s services. I assume that includes us, too. And I think the last guy that slept with her is dead. And the guy before him. And so on. You catch my drift?”

Mikkel was clutching his skull.

“Man, she is one evil lady! No wonder those guys always chuckle when he walks by. Glad it wasn’t me after all. I guess dreamin’s better than dyin’. ”

“Except you’re the one that get’s to save him,” Billip said, slapping Mikkel on the shoulder.

“What? Me?” Mikkel pointed to himself as he stood up. “I’m not gonna run in there and pull him out of her bed! He might as well go happy—I say!”

“That’s not the plan. And shame on you!” he said, wagging his finger.

“Sorry, just kidding. I knew she was evil though. It’s like she hates everything. I never saw that woman smile,” Mikkel paused, “… but still, she looks good. Tough break for Vee, though. So what’s the plan?”

“First off, I gotta warn Outpost Thirty-One. I’m gonna need to clear a hole through the wretched Ravine Watch. There are five guards on each side of the ravine, spaced out over a mile.”

“That’s the side you and Venir will have to take to get out of the camp and past the brigand squadron at the end of the ravine. They’re only orcs and usually sleep between the whistles, especially right before dawn. I shouldn’t have much trouble taking them out. If I have time, I’ll take out the other side as well, and you guys will hopefully be able to disappear from camp altogether. Got it?”

“I’m with you,” Mikkel said with a nod, rubbing his club.

Billip rubbed his scruffy chin.

“It should be dawn before long. I hope Venir will make his way back here as usual, to tell us his exploits. Break the news to him and get the Bone out of here! Meet me at Outpost Thirty-One. Got it?”

Mikkel nodded again.

“I’m going on foot, so have my horse ready for Venir. His horse is stabled, so don’t fool with it, it might draw suspicion. And you,” he grabbed Chongo’s face, “make sure he doesn’t screw this up.”

“Good luck, Billip. You’re gonna need it,” Mikkel said.

“I like my chances better than yours, so hang on to that luck,” Billip said, grim-faced as he slipped outside of the tent.

Billip drifted like a shadow over the plateau edge and into the ravine. The forest was black and slick as he passed through thickets and hours old cobwebs.

Got to do this.

He had to be at his best and not miss a single shot in the blackness; if he had to he would sneak up and cut their throats. This do-or-die mission was as frightening and exciting as any he had ever faced, but he was determined not to let down his friends—or the rest of his race, for that matter.

Men and underlings, why me?

He had friends in that outpost, they all did. It was a key stronghold that helped keep the underlings from gaining control in the north for as long as anyone knew. Without it, the tide would between man and underlings would shift. The foul creatures had been gaining ground for quite some time. This might be the strike the foul creatures were waiting for. He had to get there in time. He worried about his friends.

I hope they make it.

Mikkel’s forehead was beaded with sweat as he prowled their campsite.
Where is he?
Dawn was breaking and Billip had been gone hours. Waiting was agonizing; he felt like a dead duck among the now awakening army. Chongo’s ears kept perking up and flattening back down.

“Bad deal,” he muttered.

At least he had killed some kobolds. If things didn’t go his way he might have a chance to kill more. The big brown dog sniffed and snuffled at his side, enhancing his frustration. He was ready though. He didn’t know what for, but if a fight was coming, he was ready. He had packed their gear, and loaded the mounts. The horses gave soft neighs. The beasts were well-trained, and ready to be ridden out of camp at a second’s notice. That second wouldn’t come soon enough.

He paced around the tent, countless times, chanting an old war song.

Come, come ye dire dogs,

It’s time to taste my wrath.

The bow is strong,

The battle long,

As we embrace the throng.

Come, come ye dire dogs, come!

“Where is he, Chongo? He should be back by now!”

He clenched his teeth as he tightened the leather cords around his burgeoning biceps. Smears of dark grey paint coated his cheeks and lips. It burned, with a strong scent, arousing his senses and warming his blood. He couldn’t contain himself.

Wait or flee? Fight? Bone! Billip’s probably in a fort full of women by now. Dog!

Chongo looked up at him, giving only a low yelp. He began to figure that his friend was already done for. If Venir took much longer, he would have to leave without him. The thought was disturbing, but no more so than the thought of what might be happening to Venir in Jarla’s tent.

Come on big guy!

He awakened, refreshed from his slumber, inside the brigand queen’s tent as he had many times before.
It’s good to be me.
She wasn’t there though, so maybe it wasn’t going to be such a good start after all. Most times she was always up, busy with all the tasks of maintaining command of her army, or her ‘hapless horde’ as he liked to call them. Venir never understood how she kept company with such an assortment rather than the company of her own; but if she could live with it, so could he, for now anyway.

He knew she was capable enough to command any army, so why she chose this one he could not figure. In the meantime, he made the most of it. He was confident that he had a good handle on his situation and it would not be long before he gained her total trust.
Today is the day.

He sat up, rubbing the thick cords of his forearms, shaking an unusual chill. Combing his fingers through his thick hair, he spied himself in a tall mirror on the other side of the bed. He ran his fingers over his pale stubble.
Time to shave.

He flexed his sinewy arms over his head as he yawned, noting the recent scabs and bandages from the recent slaughters won. His handsome face was lean and chiseled. His chest and shoulders were broader than most fighters his age. He stretched.

He touched the heavy scratches that littered his tan skin.
Those might go away.
He didn’t like the scars and healed patches of torn skin that cropped up over his athletic physique over the years, but there was little choice in it. Each one meant he survived and he enjoyed the questions women asked about them. It was the ones they couldn’t see that were the ones he never talked about. He rinsed his face off in a porcelain basin.
Where is she?
He wanted her.

There was no sound of the usual activity in the tent. He was used to Jarla muttering like a hermit to herself, but not this morning. He was searching for his trousers and knife when he decided to look beyond the curtained quarters and see if she was there. The heavy tent began to brighten from the rising suns. The candles were expired and the odd quiet was his only companion.
Strange.

Jarla was very thorough with the details of her business. The tent was the same as always, yet something seemed amiss. There was a nagging in his gut and his head began to ache like he drank too much the night before. How late had he slept? Why were there no plans on the tables?
Where’s my food?
The familiar smell of coffee was not there.
Hmmm.
But he wasn’t one to be paranoid and he was sure that whatever might be going on had nothing to do with him. After all, she was rather fond of his prowess—both on and off the battlefield—and he had the marks on his back to prove it. If anything important was up, he’d be the first to know.

He wandered back towards the bed and snatched his shirt and trousers. He heard footsteps approaching the tent’s entrance, so he went back. In she came and he greeted her with a welcoming smile. Clothed in her typical attire, she shot back a rueful smile, nodding as she looked his unclothed body up and down. He responded, ready to crush her in his arms when two gnoll commanders, Throk and Keel, entered behind her, fully armed for battle. Brazen though he was, he was embarrassed.

Venir shouted at the gnolls.

“Don’t you two ever enter the Jarla’s tent uninvited! Now get out of here!”

Throk and Keel chuckled like jackals, their yellow eyes full of mockery. Venir looked at Jarla, but she did nothing but smile. There was an awkward moment before he turned back toward the two gnolls, regaining his composure.

“So, I guess you two want a closer look at the best looking man, and I emphasize
man
, in the camp?” He stood, head high with arms wide. “Well, here I am.” Again, there were surly chuckles and he started to feel uneasy.

“Jarla, what in Bish are these two doing in here? What’s going on?” he said.

“They’re here to help me take care of some business,” she said, in a soft unpleasant voice. Another chill ran the course of his spine.

“Pah! You’ve been my pet all along, buffoon!” Her voice was a sharp as a dagger. “You’re no different from all the other fools I’ve had before. You aren’t the first and you won’t be the last. But I’ll give you credit; you were one of the best.”

He stepped back, not expecting such words. The sugar and spice had turned to salt and mud. He felt himself sinking into the ground.
What?
The uneasiness that had crept in earlier turned into something he had never dealt with before … uncertainty. Her beautiful eyes burned with hate now, her features twisted into a persona he had never encountered. This was not the woman he thought he knew. She looked at him like he was just another man, among a hundred, who had wronged or spurned her in some horrible way. The tent began to shrink around him and he felt as helpless as a babe.

He swallowed hard and said, “What are your plans for me then? Am I to be expelled from your army? I wouldn’t miss it. I’d be happy to leave.”

“It’s not that simple, yellow hair. No man who shares my bed lives long enough to tell about it,” she said, stepping back between the sneering gnolls.