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  Echoes of the Slain

  The Darkslayer Chronicles

  Book 3

  By Craig Halloran

  Copyright © 2025 by Craig Halloran

  Amazon Edition

  THE DARKSLAYER is a registered trademark, #77670850

  TWO-TEN BOOK PRESS

  P.O. Box 4215, Charleston, WV 25364

  ISBN Paperback: 978-1-956574-28-9

  ISBN Hardback: 978-1-956574-29-6

  www.craighalloran.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recorded, photocopied, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  Publisher's Note

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  CHAPTER 1

  TWO-TEN CITY

  Smoky vapors coiled through the air like restless spirits, candle smoke twisting together with the heavy haze of cheap cigars. The ramshackle tavern felt more like a dungeon than a place of rest. Flames hissed and snapped in the stone fireplace, throwing shadows that danced across cracked walls and crooked beams. The place groaned with every gust of night wind, as though the whole structure longed to collapse.

  The floorboards protested under the lumbering step of a part-orcen barmaid. Her heavy feet made the boards creak, but that was not the sound most men noticed. She carried a flagon of ale in one hand, a jug of wine in the other, and her blouse had been loosened enough that her full breasts swayed with every movement. The powder-blue fabric hung open, and she bent low as she set the drinks down.

  “Anything else, travelers?” she asked, her voice lilting, her eyes shining with a dangerous twinkle.

  Venir the Darkslayer leaned back in his chair, its back legs teetering on the edge. His hulking frame rocked effortlessly on the wood. His eyes—cold, blue, and unashamed—rested on her chest. He lifted one calloused hand. “We’ll give you a holler when the time comes.”

  She tugged his chin with rough, playful fingers. “I hope you will.” Then she winked at Melegal, her smile sharp enough to cut. “That goes for the both of you.” Adjusting her blouse with a deliberate tug, she fanned herself with the collar, then she sauntered away, her hips swaying like a lure dragging through dark waters.

  Melegal, wiry and sharp-eyed, leaned to one side to watch her go. “What is it about this place? It stinks of trouble.”

  Venir grinned, his teeth flashing wolf-like in the firelight. “That’s why I like it.”

  “You, maybe. Not so much me.” Melegal poured himself a goblet of wine, swishing the deep-purple liquid before sipping. He smacked his lips with satisfaction. “Sweet, sour, bitter… the perfect combination.” He glanced at Venir and snorted. “You’re still thinking about that barmaid. What, trying to create another little Vee?”

  Venir’s grin soured. “That boy isn’t mine.”

  Melegal’s thin brows shot up. “Oh, he looked like he was cut from your cloth. Straw-colored hair, blue eyes, shoulders like an ox. No doubt about it.”

  In the corner, an overweight orcen guardsman let out a drunken snort, his face buried in his arms. Around him, a handful of patrons picked at greasy bowls of morning stew, muttering low. Their eyes slid toward Venir and Melegal from time to time, suspicion gleaming within them. The tavern was no place for careless talk.

  Venir slammed his chair down on all four legs and leaned across the table. “The boy’s not mine. It’s not possible. He’s too young. I was gone in the Mist more than a decade.”

  “So you say.” Melegal filled his goblet again then tilted it back with relish. “But I think you stepped out of the Mist, spread your seed, and then went right back in like a fool.”

  Venir’s jaw tightened. “You’re full of salt, Me.”

  “Maybe.” Melegal drained his goblet, spun it on his fingertip, and smirked. “But if you don’t believe that child’s yours, you are a fool.”

  Venir drank deep from his own flagon. His gaze swept the room, every instinct on edge. He wasn’t in Mikkel’s tavern anymore. That one was boarded up, a corpse of its former self. This was the Old Jug Inn—new walls, same rot. The sign out front had lied about sturdiness; inside, the wooden walls groaned and shifted like bones under pressure. Everything felt ready to break.

  He lifted an arm as thick as a tree trunk. “Grog.”

  Melegal’s eyes glinted like sharpened steel. “Coming to terms with your new situation? Think Brak and Erin will welcome another bastard brother? Imagine Kam’s delight at the news.”

  Venir’s gaze turned cold. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

  The barmaid returned, slapping a clay cup down. Bitter fumes rose from it. Her hips rolled as she turned away, and Melegal watched with mock disdain. “She wouldn’t be so bad if her legs weren’t so hairy.”

  Venir smirked, drained the grog, and let its harsh fire burn down his throat. “Didn’t stop you before. I recall you were fond of a lycan back in the day.”

  Melegal’s pale features hardened. “She wasn’t a lycan when I courted her. I didn’t know.”

  Venir chuckled low. “And yet, when you found out, you kept seeing her.”

  A fat green fly buzzed between them. With a swift move, Melegal trapped it under Venir’s cup, his hand steady. “She had possession of me. I didn’t have much choice.” His eyes darted to the corners of the tavern, which were dark with listening shadows. “And despite what you say, that boy must be yours.”

  Venir’s stomach growled, loud enough that two scarred patrons at a nearby table glanced over. The barmaid’s ears pricked as well. He muttered, “Morning stew. Three bowls.”

  “I’m not eating,” Melegal said.

  “I know.” Venir’s mind churned. Trinos, Kam, the endless fights with underlings, portals from other worlds spitting out demons. The cycle never ended. And now this—questions of blood and legacy. His massive hand tightened around the flagon.

  “You thinking of Sticks?” Venir asked suddenly.

  “Aye. Her and Rayal. And wine. Always wine.” Melegal’s smirk returned. “It goes well with women.”

  “And trouble.”

  The barmaid returned, still swaying, now with three bowls of stew. She set them down with a jiggle. “Perhaps I’ll die a peaceful death,” Melegal mused, “surrounded by jugs aplenty.”

  Venir said nothing. His eyes tracked the room like a wolf scenting danger.

  Melegal leaned back, his smirk growing.

  “What?”

  “Your spawn just poked his head in the door,” Melegal said lightly. “And now he’s coming your way.”

  Venir sighed. The boy appeared, young and defiant, eyes bright.

  “Er… What is it—” Venir said.

  Melegal piped in. “Vee. Like your name. Very much like you.”

  The boy scowled at him then turned to Venir. “People are sniffing around your beast. He’s safe in the stables for now, but I thought you should know.” His eyes flicked to the bowls of stew. “Stew would be payment enough.”

  Venir studied him, torn between dismissal and a grudging sense of kinship. At last, he nodded. “You’ll have all you want.” Then, as the boy reached for the stew, Venir’s massive hand slapped the table, rattling the bowls. “When we return.”

  The boy froze then nodded.

  Venir rose, his bulk looming. Melegal grinned like a devil.

  “Not a word,” Venir growled.

  Melegal lifted his goblet in mock surrender. “Wouldn’t dare.”

  The tavern held its breath as they stepped away. Every eye followed them, suspicion heavy in the smoky air. The Old Jug Inn had teeth, and before night’s end, someone would bleed on its floorboards.

  CHAPTER

  TWO

  Two-Ten City was laden with sloppy, zigzagging dirt streets, corridors, and alleys surrounded by single- and two-story buildings, many of which looked like they might fall at any moment. Vee moved among them with long strides at a brisk pace. He shielded his eyes from the morning sun with his hand. He glanced back at Venir and said, “Hurry, almost there.”

  Venir knew the terrain well. Well enough for the skin on his neck to prickle as he was led around blind corners. He grabbed the boy’s arm and brought him to a halt. “Slow down.”

  Vee jerked his arm.

  Venir held fast. Pulling the boy up to his toes by the collar of his burlap jerkin, he said, “What’s the game here? Does an ambush await?” He shook the youth. “Answer me.”

  Vee swallowed and said, “They are a sordid bunch. They want your beast, or they are wary of it, like they know it. They do seek to ambush you, I believe, but I am only taking you around to see them.”

  He kept the boy up on his toes and said, “Uh-huh. I see. How much did they pay you?”

  “Nothing. They said they pay after.”

  “Oh, they’ll pay if what you say is true.” He dragged the boy, whom they could mistake for his son, down the alley.

It wasn’t unusual for urchins and bastards to be errand boys and messengers for gangs of rogues. He’d been one himself for a while. It made him somewhat sympathetic but not naive. He peeked around the corner and caught a glimpse of a stable entrance. A bruiser of a man clad in dark leather armor stood guard outside. His long sword was out, tip down, with his arms resting on the top of the handle. “Have you seen these men before?"

  Vee shook his head. “They arrived not so long after you did. I offered to stable their mounts, and that’s when they saw your slobbering beast.”

  “Chongo,” Venir said.

  “That’s his name?”

  He nodded.

  “When I lived in Rocky City, my mother and I stayed a spell with a galoot named Chongo.” He looked up in Venir’s eyes. “He was a weather-beaten oaf like you too. We moved on, though, after he died in a skirmish.”

  “Let me guess, he left, didn’t return, but a message came saying he died.”

  Vee nodded.

  “Word to the wise, boy. Chongo’s alive. He moved on and left you.”

  Vee’s brow furrowed. His chin wrinkled. “Good. I didn’t like him anyway. He smelled worse than an orc’s armpits.”

  “I’m sure he did.” Venir took another look toward the stable. “How many?”

  He counted on his fingers and held them up. “All ten.”

  This time, Venir’s brow furrowed. Judging by the garb of the scruffy-faced man posted outside, they might have been Royal trackers. Manhunters. They went after fugitives and Royal enemies. Venir and Melegal were wanted men. The manhunters might have stumbled upon them.

  “Did they ask you anything else?”

  Vee tilted his head and blinked his blue eyes. “Like what?”

  “About us?”

  “I told them you were a muscle-bound goon with a head of hay and a rawboned man as thin as a malnourished woman.”

  “You did, did you?” Venir’s brows knitted together. “Well done. Let me give you some advice, urchin. Next time you take a job, have enough sense to get paid first.” He let go of Vee’s collar. “Got it?”

  “Oh, I got it.” The boy eased away, showed two silver coins, and rubbed them together. “And I did.” He slipped away from Venir into the street and hollered at the sentry. “He’s here!” He pointed at Venir. “He’s here!”

  Warriors spilled out of the stables. “Bone!” Venir glared at Vee and took a swipe at him.

  Vee slipped out of his grasp, ran away, and vanished behind the next corner.

  “You little bastard.” Venir unslung his axe from his back holster. “Slat.”

  Melegal eyed the bits of potato, egg, and greasy meat and helped himself to a spoonful of morning stew. He washed it down with wine and picked his teeth clean with a sliver of wood.

  The barmaid sauntered over, bumped him with her hip, and said, “Is your friend coming back?”

  “Unfortunately.” He gave her a thin smile. “Say, what’s your name?”

  She brightened. “Call me Sharna.”

  He nodded. “I like that—Sharna.”

  She moved behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders. She pressed her buxom chest into the back of his neck and began to massage him. “I like a scrawny and gruesome man. And something about you lights my fire. Care to be a little more private?” Her strong hands kneaded into his aching shoulders, easing small knots of muscle.

  “You have the touch, that’s for sure.” The confident half-orc women of Two-Ten City had an undeniable presence. Melegal’s heart thumped loudly in his chest.

  “As for privacy, I know a spot you’ll like.” She gently rubbed his earlobes. “Besides, I’m bored. The other customers aren’t as enticing as you.” She brushed her lips against his slender neck. “I’m not one of those tavern sluts, just a lonely girl looking for something different. Can you feel me?” The perfume she’d dabbed on was a blend of cinnamon and cherries. Her seductive words influenced him. The journey had been long and frustrating. The wine he’d drunk relaxed his limbs, easing his alert senses. He leaned back and closed his eyes.

  Why not? After all, I don’t think Sticks would mind, given my circumstances. Besides, I’m going to try and rescue her, after all.

  “Feeling better?” Sharna said in her husky voice.

  “Certainly.”

  The past several years had him out of his comfort zone. The one he’d grown up in. Seedy taverns, their women, and sour wine had been his life. No strings attached. Freedom. But somewhere along the line, it changed. Haze, a bony beauty in his eye, captured a piece of his heart. Rayal cared about the deceitful organ. Sticks could stomp on it, but she didn’t. He cherished that about her. Through everything, he’d been faithful to them all. He hated himself.

  Today, I’ll have no more. What happens in Two-Ten City stays in Two-Ten City.

  He took Sharna’s warm grip in his own. “Let’s go.”

  A troop of armored men made like shadows in the sun appeared through the dingy window panes. A moment later, the tavern’s front door opened wide.

  Hard-eyed men, with coarse hair and wearing dyed-black armor, entered all at once. Their wormwood sword belts were loaded with weapons. Scars covered their hands, knuckles, and faces. They surveyed the room silently until their icy gaze fell on Melegal. Sharna’s massage stopped. She whispered in his ear, “Maybe next time. They are more my kind. Surely you understand.”

  His body tensed. Limbs dulled by the wine started to awaken.

  These must be the men Vee spoke of. And they don’t appear friendly.

  Sharna hurried toward the men. “Please, travelers, let me seat you at our finest table.”

  The man in front, black-haired and dusky-skinned, backhanded her across the cheek.

  A tooth flew out of her mouth and skipped over the floor. She fell on her knees and balled up on the ground.

  “You!” The striker pointed at Melegal. “Come with us, now.”

  CHAPTER

  THREE

  “Warrior! Come meet with us! We’d have words with you!” The man standing outside the stable spoke in a deep-throated and gusty voice.

  Venir had sprinted down the alley and circled back around to the other side of the stable. He saw three men standing in the intersection, looking down the alley where he’d been earlier. They were formidable folk, brandishing sharp steel in rugged grips. For the moment, he had the jump on them.

  Need to free Chongo.

  He skulked along the barn and slipped into the stable from the other side.

  The stable was a modest structure, well built, and large enough for forty beasts at least. Livestock from ducks and chickens to goats scurried and squawked across the grounds back and forth between the barn and the corral.

  Horse heads poked out over stable gates, but there was no sign of Chongo. He had no idea where to start. He spied two more black-clad soldiers inside. One had a crossbow, the other a spear, and that one wandered toward the other exit, his gaze searching for the other men down the street.

  Chongo was more than capable of handling himself, but the last thing the huge dog needed was an ignorant wretch poking a spear in his gut while he pinned him.

  Venir scanned the rafters and hayloft. A pink-and-black-spotted pig brushed over his toes and snorted. He leaned back out of sight when the soldier turned his head and shoulders back in his direction.

  Need to move quick before the others circle around.

  Without his shield and helm, he didn’t like the idea of risking his skin against the naked steel of well-armed men. It would take something else.

  The other soldier wandered outside.

  “Get back inside,” the soldier in the barn said with a snarl. “Maintain your post. They can handle it.”

  The other soldier didn’t return.

  On cat’s feet, Venir moved toward the soldier’s backside at a brisk pace. His feet in the dirt and straw didn’t make so much as a scuffle. He prowled behind the man and waited.

  Cursing, the soldier turned around and came face-to-face with Venir. His eyes met Venir’s chest then looked upward. “Oh my⁠—”

  Venir hammered his ham-sized fist across the man’s gaping jaw.

  Whak!

  The soldier crumpled. Venir caught the man, dragged him into an empty stable, and laid him down in the hay.

 

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