The Darkslayer: Book 01 - Wrath of the Royals (9 page)

Venir shrugged his heavy shoulders as the blood of battle began to pump through his veins. His stomach started to knot and his mouth became dry. He clutched his axe and waited.

Five
, was signaled.

He acknowledged and readied himself. Mikkel leaned his club against a tree, taking up position with his heavy crossbow. Venir checked the buckles on his chainmail shirt and lifted his newly acquired shield. He was amazed at its lightness, despite the heavy metal banding and engraving. He studied his great axe and smiled. Its oak shaft was warm in his hands, almost living.

Only a few days ago he had acquired the magic weapon. He had given little thought to how it now came to be in his hands. The large leather sack it came from was a mystery. When Jarla withdrew the bag’s armaments it contained two smaller axes, a lighter helmet, and metal arm bracers. Yet to him, it yielded the large helmet, shield, and the war axe unlike anything he ever imagined. He remembered the moment she was about to kill him. He smiled a tad. The shock and fury he saw on her face when the mystic arsenal came to his aid. Grasping the weapon, he almost laughed as he felt the power surge through his hands.

Someone tapped him again, snapping him out of his thoughts. The count was now ten.

“Better put on your helmet,” Mikkel said, putting on his own metal skullcap that sloped down the back of his neck.

The warriors didn’t like to wear armor unless they anticipated a skirmish—or full battle, as in this case—and then still opted for lighter armor than most of the Royals around the fort. Venir hadn’t yet bothered to extract his helmet from the sack since acquiring it. He felt no need for it and feared it would obstruct his vision. And so far the situation hadn’t been too risky.

Twenty underlings!

The archer’s fingers and elbows were frantic.

Fifty paces. Moving fast
.
Now what?

The sudden change of circumstances demanded a decision. Venir had been setting up ambushes by letting small underling squad’s move between them, but this was no small group. It seemed that the underlings had become privy to their tricks and the larger numbers now made that impossible. That tactic would cut off Billip, leaving the archer overwhelmed without an escape route. Indecision began to churn in Venir’s belly. He had to decide whether they should retreat while there was time. They could make time to alert the rest of the fort as well, or fight. He wanted to fight, but wisdom prevailed.

Run
, Venir signaled Billip
.

Hit and run?
Billip returned.

When facing a larger force, scouts needing to buy time would drop the point men of the enemy’s frontline with bolts or arrows. This slowed the enemy and made them more cautious until they could ascertain the strength of their assailants. It also provided critical extra time for a hasty retreat. But twenty was a large group of underlings. Venir didn’t want to alert them to their presence and there could still be more underlings as well.

His keen eyes detected several dark silhouettes in the distance as Billip was signaling again for a reply. The underlings were armed with small round shields and curved swords, similar to the bulkier tulwar swords of men. It was a heavier force, and judging by their additional weapons and armor, a full scale assault was underway. He could feel the axe burning in his grasp as the underlings approached, but he made his decision and signaled back.

Run!

Venir could make out Billip and Chongo creeping back up the ravine, the archer’s arrow was knocked along the shaft of his new bow.

Clatch—Zoop—Thunk!

Mikkel’s heavy bolt ripped through the air, clean through the neck of an underling and imbedding into the chest of another.

“What are you doing?” Venir said, shoving Mikkels crossbow down. “I said
run!
”

“Sorry Vee. I must have missed that,” Mikkel shrugged. “I thought it was
hit
and run.”

Venir knew better. Mikkel wanted the first kill, and Billip was moments from releasing a few arrows as well. The pair couldn’t have cared less about the risk as their passion to kill underlings took over reason. All three were guilty of this affliction.

Billip began his own onslaught, and two more underlings found their throats punctured with feathered shafts, their warnings gurgling in dark blood. He watched as the assault proved a fatal mistake. The underlings scrambled up the ravine like hungry wolves, and thick webs began to form, spreading over the trees, surrounding them from behind and cutting off their escape. In an instant they were trapped.

“Helmet on,” Mikkel reminded Venir, as he picked up his club, Skull Basher.

Venir felt foolish for a moment as the webs had grown further up the edges of the ravine, trapping the archer and his dog below. He groaned. The underlings had the jump on them.

Venir opened the leather sack and pulled out his helmet. Its eyelets had an eerie glow as an unsettled feeling rose in his stomach. How would they make it out of this jam? The odds were against them as the superior force approached and they had nowhere to run or hide. He had a single burning thought: kill all you can before they kill you and the Bone with what happens next. He pulled the spiked helmet over his blue eyes for the second time … the odds of survival seemed to shift back in his favor.

As he strapped the thick leather chin strap under his grizzled jaw, he felt a heightened sense of awareness he hadn’t noticed before. His mind became razor sharp, focused, and intent on the task at hand: to find and decimate the underlings. He felt he could handle the score of them alone. Excitement rushed through his body, tingling from fingertip to toenail. Better yet, his vision, far from being obstructed as he had feared, was enhanced. Not only could he see the underlings, he could feel their presence … it was awesome.

Dusk had passed and the thick forest was almost pitch black, which made battling the creeping underling warriors more difficult. The cave-dwelling creatures could see as well at night as in daylight, an advantage shared by only a few other races. But the men on Bish had no such ability, except now for one man. Venir’s head peered around and he could make out the details of the landscape before him.
This is good!
He noticed the warmth of the bodies of Billip and Chongo not too far in the distance, and then he saw Mikkel’s worried look.

“Vee,” the man whispered, “what are we gonna do now? I hate this dark. Can you see them?”

“
Yes
,” he said in an unfamiliar voice.

Quiet as shadows, the two slipped deeper into the ravine. In his hunger for battle, he moved faster than normal and a big hand had to nudge him back. The underlings were holding their positions less than thirty paces away, but the thick vegetation kept the pair out of sight. Concealed on the ridge of the ravine, Billip waited, not moving a muscle, his bow aimed on his next approaching target, his brow and hands slick with sweat. Venir knew the archer’s fire would offer his them scant protection once combat began, but it would have to be enough.

He motioned for Mikkel to stay put, then crept alone towards the underlings. He heard the man mumble in protest, clutching his club from behind. Like an iron panther he crossed the forest floor. He came within ten paces of the oncoming underlings. He squatted before them like a tree trunk as they came, slow and quiet. Hadn’t they seen him? His blood rushed in his ears. He could see, hear and smell every sickening aspect of them. Now they were five paces away, he didn’t budge, legs tense, ready to spring. He almost gasped as the underlings passed by. They hadn’t even seen him. The underling’s colorful eyes were dim sparkles in the dark, as they glanced back at him and moved on. He couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t resist their exposed backs either. His hatred overcame all reason.

There was a flash and a whistle in the air as the axe blade ripped out the backs of two underlings in one swipe. They dropped lifeless to the ground as the third underling whirled to attack. A whizzing arrow struck the back of the underling’s head, pitching it forward. He could see Mikkel’s white teeth coming his way as the battler charged alongside his side.

“Let’s do it, Vee!”

He felt the underlings swarming from all directions, chittering loud, shields low and curved blades high. It raised his fervor more. Underlings surrounded him and Mikkel; their slashing blades were quick and deadly. He parried in broad sweeps, holding the smaller race at bay. The underling blades glanced and slashed at his skin like razors, closing in by the moment.

“Hit ’em Mikk!”

“Bashing time!”

Mikkel burst into assault, his first overhead blow smashing an underling’s shield and arm. As the fiend howled in pain, Skull Basher’s studs caught another’s nose with a sickening smack. Mikkel whirled to block the third one’s slash, but too late, as the underling punched a hole deep in his thigh, sending him down in a groan. The black warrior’s blood flowed, but the man responded by bringing his club down hard and fast, pulverizing the underling’s skull like a ceramic vase.

Venir heard his friend scream. He dodged as he jabbed his spike deep into the leg of a charging underling, ripping muscle from bone. He eyed the two other underlings flanking him, slammed his shield edge into one’s chittering mouth, slicing through the neck of the other. Venir charged the other two hobbled underlings and hacked them down like saplings. As he turned, he saw Mikkel break the other arm of his first victim, then bust its ribcage like a crate of melons. Six underlings were dead now, but more were coming. Let them come, he thought.

Billip had his hands full as several underlings closed in on his superior position. He pressed back into the brush. The high ground was an advantage, but the thick vegetation made it hard to track their small, dark bodies. If not for the occasional glint of their colorful eyes he would have lost them. He relied on his excellent hearing to help pinpoint their whereabouts. He fired away. The sound of wooden shields catching feathered shafts, and howls of pain and anger gave him relief.

Focus. That ain’t’ all.

His eyes strained in the darkness.

Three maybe?

He had killed one, maybe two, but more still pressed up woodland bearing down on his position. He heard a painful bellow from Mikkel, but the sounds became muted. Would he have to start swinging soon as well? He edged further up the bank, dreading the thought of melee with despair creeping over him. He knew he was trapped. With nowhere to go, he dug in.

He watched as the dark figures continued to press upwards through the brush.

One more shot
.

He had to make it count. He knocked two arrows this time, and drew them back. It was a trick shot he often used to infuriate Mikkel and gamble against Melegal. He had never before considered using it in combat, but now it seemed his life might depend on it.

He took a quick breath and held it, watching two underlings, side by side, moving fast up the hill, shields raised for cover.

Bish! Too far apart!

The shot was difficult. The underlings were tacticians of terror in confined spaces and darkness was their forte’. He knew they thrived on it. Just twenty paces were left between him and his assailants. He had to fire. Sweat dripped from his nose. At least one of them had to go, so he let it loose into the nearest one.

His arrows whizzed through the air. One imbedded itself in the raised wooden shield, the other streaked straight and low into the underling’s exposed belly, knocking it down the hill.

Yes!

The second underling warrior was closing in fast as he knocked another arrow. The wicked face was upon him and shrieking. Billip raised his bow, blocking the underling’s slashing sword, jolting his arms and driving him into the ground.

At close quarters now, the ferocious underling warrior had the advantage and he had no means to defend himself. He tried to draw his sword as the underling lunged at him. The pommel of the underling’s short sword caught him on the head, stunning him, bringing a sharp pain as blood trickled in his eyes.

The underling launched a chop at his head, he ducked just enough to avoid a split skull, but it took a slice off of his right shoulder. Gasping in pain, he managed to plunge an arrow into the underling’s thigh. It staggered back, dropping its sword with a hiss, but it didn’t back down, beckoning the man for closer combat. He had no desire to wrestle the creature knowing full well it could tear him to shreds. He’d seen that happen before, the underling’s finger nails were like steel files.

His right shoulder drooped, forcing him to draw his broadsword with his left hand. Billip jabbed at the wounded creature, each futile blow glancing off of its shield. Its leg stopped its upward press as it chattered back in mockery.
More must be coming.
He pressed hard, growling in return, shoving the creature downhill. Chunks of the wooden shield were chipping away, but the skill of the underling was too swift. It taunted and clawed at him in anger.