The Darkslayer: Book 01 - Wrath of the Royals by Craig Halloran Page A

The iron warrior’s mouth and chin were covered in spit and blood. Slims slender lips muttered a fast cadence of words, and as he spoke, power radiated into his glowing and elongating hands. The bolt blazed in his hand like a furnace poker as he extracted the bolt. The warrior screamed and writhed. The smell of burning flesh filled the tunnel as the charred bolt turned to ash.
    Mikkel groaned, his light eyes flittering open and closed. The cleric placed his hands on the man’s hard belly and gashed thigh. Again the Slim’s face distorted in anguish and he began aging before their widened eyes. The wounds closed and it was over as fast as it begun. Slim gasped for air, his now withered face full of hard lines and cracked teeth. Venir thought Slim looked like the oldest man he’d ever seen.
    “He’ll be okay,” the cleric said in a ragged voice. “He should be able to walk in a minute, but he’s not up for fighting for awhile.” Slim stood up, hunched over, and cracked his skinny neck. “Ah … man, sometimes I hate this.”
    “What’s going on up there, Slim?” he asked, looking at the shaking ceiling above. “They need to know that the underlings are bringing more forces now.”
    “Too late Venir, it’s over. Outpost Thirty-One is already lost. And if we don’t get moving, we’ll be lost, too.”
    He and Billip’s eyes met as Slim continued.
    “You don’t want to go up there. It’s overrun. I’ll fill you in.”
    Slim stretched out his long arms, and Venir watched the older face slowly regain its youthful vigor. The young man now inspected his wounds and began chatting in the quick.
    “Here goes—the brigands stormed the south gate. Three hundred Royal horsemen rode out to battle them, or so we thought, but they just kept on riding, giving the brigands clear access to the outpost. I’m not sure which Royal general it was, but he clearly betrayed the rest. It won’t be long before all of the gates are compromised and we’re up to our elbows in underlings. Now, we’ve got to go back out that way.” Slim pointed his long index finger toward the south grate where they had just entered. “No choice.”
    Venir saw Billip’s dumbfounded look. It was a heck of a story.
    Mikkel groaned and sat up.
    “Man, my stomach hurts. What did you do, Slim?”
    “Saved your life, that’s all. The tummy ache’s a side effect. It’ll go away,” Slim said, patting the man’s charred head.
    “Thanks,” Mikkel muttered as the healer helped him onto his feet.
    “That’s a heck of a haircut, Mikkel!” Billip said with a feint chuckle.
    “What?” The warrior reached for his head, feeling the singed remains of his black hair.
    “It might grow back,” Slim said with a shrug. “… one day. Let’s go.”
    “Wait,” the archer said, tugging the man’s robe. “We need a plan. And I can’t even pull back a bowstring.”
    “Man, what did you guys do out there? And what’s with all the bug bites? That’s gross!” he said with his face drawn, hands on his chest. “You got whipped by a bunch of little underlings? Didn’t you? ” Slim now ran his ginger fingers over the archer’s shoulder, then reached into a pouch and pulled out a small jar and applied a pasty blue salve to the wound.
    Billip’s face lightened up.
    “What’s that amazing stuff?”
    “Pigeon poo.”
    Billip’s face turned sour.
    Slim had a childish grin and said, “Just teasing, it’s a little something I whipped up. I haven’t named it yet. Good thing your wound was only cosmetic. It’s just a little make-up to match your cheeks. You’ll be fine.”
    The chuckles came, but were hollow, none more so than Venir’s. He wasn’t so sure he could get them safely out of there.
    Billip rolled his shoulder, releasing a brief smile, cracking his knuckles. Touching the scar that had already formed over the wound he said, “It’s closed up!”
    The healer slapped his tender shoulder bringing a grimace.
    “And don’t worry about the