The Darkslayer: Book 02 - Blades in the Night (23 page)

He entered through the open stable gateway then closed and secured it behind him. The secret passageway lay open before him, and Mood, Chongo, and Quickster were nowhere to be seen. But Lefty couldn’t just leave though. He had to stay.
I’ve got to find Georgio.

He closed the secret passageway. It was his choice, and he knew the pony and dog were in good hands now. They were safe. Lefty decided to head back to report to the thief. His sweaty feet were soon moving again over the cobblestones inside the City of Bone.

In all of his excitement, the he failed to notice that someone else wasn’t far behind him.

Months had passed since Jarla the former Brigand Queen had set out on a mission of self redemption: the pursuit of her former lover and now archenemy Venir. She had headed north from Outlaws Hide, careful of her identity and inquiries. The trek proved difficult. She had grown soft over the years from living in pointless revelry.

She was a far cry from the strong soldier she once was. Her shambled armor once shone bright in the suns. Now all of her clothing was in tatters. People paid her little mind when she passed. Queen? Hah. She could hear them laughing though they knew her not.

Still, people kept clear of her glare. Her terse questions carried authority and it made the weaker more willing to comply. The once wicked but beautiful queen walked with a degree of humility. Those that chose to cross her with force fell at their peril.

Regaining her gallant warhorse Nightmare was her first objective. Like a fool, she had lost her steed, her most trusted friend all of her years, in a night of games and unwanted pleasure. She was ashamed, almost embarrassed. If anyone on Bish cared for her, it was Nightmare. She had to get her back. She hoped her steed would forgive her.

The dapple gray steed was a commodity and companion that she parted with at the lowest point in her life. If she were to live another day, it would have the purpose of nothing more than saying she was sorry to the horse. She had walked on blistered feet mile after mile and day after day with that simple purpose in mind. When her bloody feet finally stopped, she was in Two-Ten City.

Two-Ten was an open city full of all races. The best of the worst resided there. It was a border town between the north and the south, between the barren Outlands and green forests.

As she advanced into the city, Jarla could see a shabby building in the distance. Caravans pushing cheap commodities came and went. She wiped the dust and sweat from her eyes. She wasn’t going in there; she was headed somewhere else.

As Jarla stumbled along, she thought of when she’d lost Nightmare. Over a year had passed since she’d succumbed to a formidable orcen soldier by the name of Brandoff. He was as cunning with cards as he was with a sword. She was overconfident, figuring the orc to be as stupid as the rest. He showed her otherwise. He was a better cheater than she. She paid for it. She lost her warhorse and the rest of her pride. Today she would regain at least one of the two, or die.

Jarla knew that Brandoff had always spent time with his minions in the belly of Two-Ten City in a tavern called the Ogre’s Nest. It was anything but a typical tavern. It sat outside of the edge of the notorious city, and it looked like a barn. If the orcs and ogres had ever come up with one single brilliant idea in all their lifetimes, it was turning a barn full of stables into a tavern.

The orcs and ogres rode right into the tavern, stabled their mounts, and went right into the reveling. It was the perfect place for their kind. Shoveling was in constant flux, however, as the less-gifted orcen and half-orcen children were tasked with keeping the place clean. They did a poor job. Muck and grime were piled everywhere.

The Ogre’s Nest was the only place of its kind on Bish. If you weren’t part orc or part ogre, then you were not in there. The other races couldn’t tolerate the smell. Smoking wasn’t allowed, either. Even the orcs knew simple fire would burn the entire place down. They smoked just outside. It made them feel civilized.

For illumination, they filled jars with the lime-yellow glowing tail sacs of the gargantuan lightning bugs. The bugs were as big as a man’s head and the juice glowed brightly for weeks on end. They were not always easy to catch but the children always seemed to enjoy doing so. The task kept them busy at night while the older brethren played cards, drank, and indulged pleasures not fit for human eyes.

On this particular night, Brandoff the Brawler sat listening to his filthy comrades. They were swapping stories about his incredible exploits on the battlefield. Brandoff embellished them with tales of all of the women he conquered in his life. His audience lapped it up.

The orc fighter was bigger than the rest. He was almost six and a half feet tall, muscular, and heavyset. His scarred face was covered with a coal-black beard and long braided hair. A broad and sweaty swine-like nose flared above his canine teeth. He jutting chin was smiling at himself most of the time. His brown eyes were smaller than his kin, darting and intelligent, uncommon of their kind. He wore thick black studded leather armor about his chest and sported matching bracers. His arms were long and corded with muscle—and hair. Only the half-ogres were his match but they had no part of him and he none of them.

Like most orcs, he was mean, bullish, proud, fearless, and tough. He was the talk of the tavern. Ugly orcen women sat on the bed of rotten straw, hanging on his filthy words. The entire tavern sang and tussled, serving each other with pleasure and without shame throughout the night.

The tavern was the most uncivilized of them all and the scene was overwhelmed with debauchery that would make the seediest trollop from the City of Bone blush. No woman from any other race would be caught in the Ogre’s Nest. As she entered, Jarla’s stomach soured at the sight and smell of it all. But she held her head high when she strode in. Silence fell over the tavern with each passing step. When she reached Brandoff’s table, all that could be heard was the sound of a dripping keg behind the bar. Jarla could feel their yellow eyes on her. Their breath was hot on her back. She wanted to leave but it was too late to turn back now.

Nightmare.

She pulled her dark hair from her face and said, “You owe me a challenge, orc.”

The Void was a place in the universe where a great deal of immortals could be found. As the infinite beings pursued the endless vat of space, they all came across the Void. It was here that Trinos hoped to find the meddler who had diminished her sparkling gem world called Bish.

Her fury over the matter seemed to move her across the black star-laden expanse with the speed of a thousand dawning suns. Much was destroyed in her wake, past and present. She was reckless. In an instant, she was there.

The scene was stark at the end of her journey. The Void was not a place she cared to frequent. Her trek ended in front of the great mouth of blackness. The Void was more than just a star or galaxy, but rather a dark monolith that could swallow moons, planets, stars, and galaxies as easily as a giant swallows a gnat. There it was, larger than anything else in the universe she knew but still just a speck inside of it all. Her concerns seemed minute in its ominous and foreboding presence, and she lost all track of why she was there for a moment. She was not alone.

Scattered all about the edges of it were tiny glimmering snowflakes that resembled stars. They were infinite ones such as herself that gathered here. It was the one place they all became curious about from time to time. At first it seemed to only be a few. As the depth of space continued, the few began growing beyond all she could see. Each had something discernable from the other. One just had to know what to look for. It was her kind’s way.

She knew they were there for a variety of reasons, such as study, discovery, companionship, or curiosity. There were darker reasons as well. The infinite ones struggled with their tedious and meaningless lives, and every so often, one of those glimmering snowflakes would float into the black space and disappear forever. It was suicide; they didn’t call it that, but Trinos did.

They had tried everything imaginable within their power to test the inner sanctum of the Void. Everything that went in, no matter what the size or substance, never ever came out again. Some were even so brave as to tether others and lower them inside, but none of them were ever pulled back. It was as if you lowered your fellow over the cliff into a foggy mist, and once you lost sight, the rope went slack and they were lost forever.

Trinos scoffed for a moment as she remembered another time when they’d tried to enclose the Void. It worked out about as well as trying to put an ocean in a fish bowl. So many infinite beings with no answers, some resigned while others lived on. She would rather live.

She scoured the Void for a burning red flake and soon she found it. It was Scorch, teetering close to the edge.
What is he doing?
She wasn’t going to let him go anywhere. She wanted answers for his transgressions and she was determined to get them.

Lord Almen slouched over his desk within his exquisite bedroom chamber. It was one of his favorite places within the safety and confines of his glamorous castle. He rummaged over parchments and ran his long fingers through his thick locks of dark brown hair. The papers were nothing more than ordinary business. The more important records were kept within the realms of his devious and calculating skull. That was what his father had taught him.
If Father could see me now,
he thought.

Despite the stern countenance, he was poised, even in moments when a great deal was about to happen. He stretched back his broad shoulders, thinking about his most recent orders. He’d signed off on … something. Lord Almen was looking forward to another triumphant day.

He stood up and strolled over to the bay window overlooking his grand courtyard. A whimsical smile crossed his face. Below, his soldiers prepared to venture into the city on new business.

“
I know that smirk,” a woman said from his side.

He smirked at the strong and pleasant voice that he knew so well. She wrapped her arms around the waist of his black terry cloth robe.

“
You do, do you?” he asked. “And might I ask what that might be?”

“
It means you are thinking about last night and this morning, yes, dear husband?”

Her voice was like a purring kitten, turning his smirk to a smile.

“
My dear wife, you couldn’t be more right, as usual.”

He turned and pulled her soft body into his then kissed her. It was one of his finest qualities, she always said, but it was she who had no equal. Her hungry lips aroused him, but he pulled away. She was bewitching to him sometimes, as she was tall, slender, elegant, and beautiful. Her auburn hair was wet and hung just below her neck. Her amber eyes were like a cat’s; her nose small and pointed. He knew she loved him, and his feelings were mutual, though there were things that he loved more that he’d never admit to.

She had little idea of the havoc he wreaked behind closed doors. All that mattered to her was the glory of being an Almen. What she did know, she never led on about. He was okay with that. She was his loyal wife and friend. She gave him the companionship he needed. She also maintained much of the politics and display as the matriarch of the castle. She had been with him a long time, and he knew that she knew he was up to something. She just liked to play with that knowledge—another fine quality.

Her smile, though, suggested she had more playful things in mind. She was hard to resist but more pressing matters had to be attended to first.

“
My dear, I am needed elsewhere. Do forgive me?”

He hugged her and kissed her neck.

She pouted but he knew she understood; she always did.

“
Of course, my love,” she said. “But it will cost you.”

He felt her soft kiss on his cheek and then watched the sensual sway of her hips as she strolled away.

“
Enjoy the markets, my dear,” he said, biting his lip.

“
I will.”

But then she turned back toward him in the doorway.

“
Dear, do you happen to know if our son Tonio will ever return? I miss him. How much longer must he remain serving in the outposts?”

As seductive as she’d just been, now he fought the urge to slap her. The question was warranted as a mother but out of line as a wife. His nails dug into his palms. She was the only person he hated lying to. She had put him on the spot, though. He walked over and grabbed her hands, looking deep into her eyes.

“
I have word that he is doing well and will be gone only a few more weeks at most. Be patient, my love, and focus on those others that need your spoiling too.”

“
As you wish.”

She nodded and walked away. After returning to his desk, Lord Almen grabbed a sharp letter opener and jammed it into his desktop. He didn’t know if she’d believed him or not. He hoped she didn’t ask again. What would he tell her next time?

As knowledgeable of current events as the Royal lord was, he had no idea if Tonio was even alive—or McKnight for that matter. Lord Almen assumed Tonio lost or dead; he just had not proven it yet. His firstborn was sacred to him and adored by his wife, so the thought provoked anger and some anguish within.