Rise of the DarkWalker: The Chronicles of Carter Blake, Book II

Soft footsteps slowly approaching his door brought Carter out of a dreamless sleep and to his feet. He drew his sword as he opened his eyes. Ignoring the lamp by the bed, he stole to the door and listened as a knock came on the other side. He heard someone’s muffled sobs. And then another knock, this time louder. He pulled the door open while staying behind it.

“Forgive my disturbing you, Sir Lavitz, but I need your help. Captain Steen said you’d be here.”

The voice was that of a young woman. He glanced at the floor and saw the person’s shadow was hooded and cloaked.

“Come in and shut the door behind you.” They did as bade and waited for further instructions. He whispered a few words under his breath, and a flame erupted in his hand. The supplicant started, nearly leaping out of their shoes. “Have a seat.”

They lowered the hood, revealing a young girl of about fourteen, or fifteen. Her curly blonde hair fell to the shoulders of her hand-woven dress. The roughness of the weave and the way she glanced around at the suite told him she was poor. Her being in this tavern, at this time of night, without an escort told him of her desperation.

He crossed the room in two strides and lit the lamp before brushing his hands. This served to extinguish the flames and to disguise the burned scroll. Little things like this helped make him seem more formidable than he really was, and kept his enemies guessing. It was one of many tricks he’d picked up from Abelard Silverhame, one of Durrgedenn’s clansmen. ‘I wonder how that irascible dwarf is getting on?’ The thought was dismissed in a hurry. Thinking of the last time he’d seen them led to thoughts of Dearbhaile, and dwelling on her at the moment was a distraction he couldn’t afford at the moment. Not when someone was asking for help.

Her bright blue eyes watched his every movement as he pulled the leather greaves and then boots on. Though her clothing was poor, her manner was almost regal. She sat ramrod straight in the chair and her hands were clasped together in her lap. Her fingers were unadorned, her nails short and ragged. ‘She’s someone’s servant girl.’

“How may I help you, lady?”

“I am no lady, Sir, but a washerwoman.” His eyebrow quirked, but he said nothing. His persistent silence made her squirm. “Please, Sir Lavitz, my sister has gone missing. Captain Steen said you were good at finding people.”

“Just not the one I really want to find,” he muttered.

“I’m sorry, my lord?”

“Nothing. Why do you want me? Why not the City Watch?”

“I went to them first, my lord. Captain Steen said to give you this. Said it was important that you see it.”

Carter took the scroll and glanced at the drawing of a closed fist clutching a lightning bolt. “Shockers. Lovely.”

“What does it mean, Sir Lavitz?”

“Your sister was taken by slavers.” The girl gasped. “When did you discover her missing?”

“Last night.”

“Hmm. I had drinks with Adam, and he didn’t say anything to me about this.”

“That was found thirty minutes ago. I brought it as soon as he gave me the order.”

Carter put on his ragged leather cuirass and tied it down. He then slid his pauldrons in place and tightened the buckles under each arm. As he slid his padded leather gloves on, he glanced at the girl. “What’s your name?”

“Olivia, my lord.”

“And your sister?”

“Luvinia.”

He nodded. “Why is someone as young as you working as a washerwoman?”

“I’m not that young. I am twenty-two summers.”

He stopped and folded his arms over his chest.

“I am responsible for my sister. It is only the two of us. My mother sickened and died when my sister was a year, and my father was killed by a footpad when I was thirteen. I briefly spent time as a nanny at a lord’s house until his wife caught him putting his hand up my skirt when I was sixteen. We were both put out. We were forced to beg for a week before I met my current employer.”

“I’m guessing that your time as a nanny is why you speak so well?”

“It was part of it. The rest is because of my employer.” She rose when he strapped on his weapons. “Is the leather why you’re called ‘The Patchwork Knight,’ Sir Lavitz?”

“Partially.” He bent at the waist and twisted from side to side before leaning to either side.

“Why do you do this, my lord?”

“I’m making certain I am nice and limber, and well as making sure I put the armor on properly.” He bounced on his toes a few times. “It has saved my life on more than one occasion.” He crossed the room and opened the door. “Let’s go see the Captain. Maybe he has an idea where I can begin my search for the Shockers.”

###

Carter dismounted from his horse about a quarter mile from the town and tied it to a tree a few yards from the road. He stalked forward through the forest, making sure to be quiet enough to not disturb the squirrels and birds. A stiff breeze blew the stench of an open sewer to him, telling him the town was near. He carefully climbed an oak tree near the rough-hewn wall and peered down at the rude town. ‘Cucaracha. How apropos.’

Men walked back and forth between the small and simply built buildings. The dirt between each was churned into a quagmire of filth and mud. As he watched, one of the men stopped and pissed on the side of the wall. Despite the mess, there was next to no noise. This, combined with its location made finding the Shockers nearly impossible. Steen had wanted to ride in with a full complement of warriors, but Carter had persuaded him to wait until he’d rescued any slaves. He knew someone willing to enslave wouldn’t hold life sacred. Fortunately, they weren’t loyal, either.

Steen had wanted a captured Shocker tortured for the location of his companions’ hideout, but the Walker of Worlds had shown him a simpler, more direct way: Lying. ‘Heh. That slaver must be so pissed off right now. Instead of his freedom and riches, he gets to hang instead.’

None of the men seemed to be paying any attention to the walls, which were all unguarded. ‘Must be confident of their hidey hole. Heh. Have I got an unpleasant surprise for them.’

Climbing down from the tree, he crawled over to the wall. It wasn’t quite two meters tall. In fact, he was able to peer over the top. Seeing no one around, he boosted himself up, and over. He dropped lightly to the ground and immediately crouched. He darted over to a building and sidled along the wall. A quick peek showed only one bald man nearby, picking his nose.

Carter snuck up behind the man, and clamped his big hand over his mouth and held his knife to his throat. “Make a sound,” he breathed into his captive’s ear, “and you’ll be dead before you can complete it. Stay quiet, and you can live. Nod if you understand me.” His prisoner bobbed his head frantically. Carter yanked him around the side of the building and pushed him against the wall. He stared into his captive’s blue eyes. “Good. How many Shockers are in here?

“Tweany-fahve.”

“Are there any slaves here?”

“Yeah. Wiv not shipped ‘em out yet.”

“How many?”

“Twelve.”

“Last question: Where are they?”

“In tha basement of the big buildin’.”

“Thank you.”

Carter reached into a pouch at his side and pulled out a small amount of a brown powder. He tossed it in the man’s face and clamped his hand over his mouth. “Night, night.”

The guard struggled for a moment, but the slemperwort powder put him to sleep quick. It was a useful bit of herbology he’d picked up in his travels. Perfect for when he didn’t want to kill. Pulling the lacings from his prisoner’s boots and vest, Carter tied the man securely. He straightened and tilted his head, staring at the bound man. “Oh, yeah.” He crouched and cut a section of the vest and shoved it in his mouth.

Carter slipped through the shadows to another building. This one had light shining out of a window. He cautiously moved at an upward angle until he was able to peer inside. A group of Shockers sat around the room. Some played cards, others played Castles. One, surprisingly, read. An open door was just across from the window. One of them came to the doorway, adjusting his pants and jerked his thumb over his shoulder while saying something to the group. Their laughter came through the closed window clearly. One of the card players stood and went in as the speaker crossed the room and out the door.

A drop of cold water splashed on the back of Carter’s neck. He spun, clapping a hand over it. No one was around. Another hit his nose. He looked up at the sky and discovered the dark clouds coiling overhead. More rain fell, wetting his face. At the same time, a fresh breeze kicked up, helping the shower to wash away some of the stench of the town. ‘This is helpful.’

The opening of another door allowed the sounds of conversations, laughter and click of Castles pieces to come through sharply before being cut off. Carter heard the sound of whistling come closer over the rain. He slipped further back into the shadows as he recognized the tune. It was Tipsy Gob. The tune paused as the man grunted and then it resumed. Just under the music was the unmistakable sound of piss hitting the wall.

‘He’s within grabbing distance. At the same time, there are ten guys in that room. Along with one who possibly could be one of the prisoners. If I go to rescue that one, my fight with these ten could alert the other thirteen.’ Carter frowned. ‘And if this guy doesn’t go back in, that could make the others suspicious enough to raise the alarm. Watch it turn out that Luvinia is in there. By all the hells. I hate this shit.’

He pulled back and slipped around the far side of the building and headed to the larger one. Spotting a guard with a torch, he dropped to beside a water trough and crawled to the edge. This vantage point was terrible, especially with the rain, but he didn’t see a way to improve it. The guard had stopped and leaned against the wall. ‘Wish I had a bow.’

Carter turned his attention to the area around the trough. Thanks to the nearby torchlight and rain, the blackness was deeper where he lay. ‘I can work with this.’ He slithered through the mud and away from the illumination. Torches lit things, but they also made it harder to see in the dark outside their glow.

Making it to the side of the main building, Carter lightly mounted the small steps to the porch. Each step was raised the barest minimum and then slid over the wood. He barely allowed any pressure to ensure absolute silence. Even so, he managed to make it to the door in only a few seconds. The door latch turned without a hassle. He glided inside and slowly pushed the door shut. A faint click indicated the latch caught. He headed to the back of the place, keeping away from lit rooms. After finding the stairs, he eased down them, staying pressed against the wall. His knife was in his hand, ready to be used at moments’ notice.

And then he heard something he’d been dreading. Footsteps on the floor above, coming directly for the stairs. ‘Fight, or flight?’ He glanced down at the dimly lit floor beneath. ‘Fuck it.’ The last few steps were skipped in a quick hop, and then he darted behind a massive barrel. The musky metallic scent of Blackcurrant told him the vat was wine. ‘Did they steal this, or brew it?’

“What was that?”

“What was what?”

“Ye ain’t hear that?”

“I hear the whining o’ our slaves.”

“I thou’t I heard somethin’ ov’r by tha wine.”

“Prolly rats.”

“I don’ know.”

“Go look then.”

Carter tightened his grip on the wooden haft of the knife and grasped the hilt of his sword in his other hand.

“Nah. It’s prolly rats like ye said.”

“Hmph. Pussy.”

The voices got a little further away, and he relaxed. A faint squeak and then a thunk. One had unlocked a metal door.

“Back off, or I’ll run ya through.” A faint smack and a someone started crying. “C’mere, girly. We wants sommat fresh.”

‘Fuck. Do I stay put and maintain my stealth, or do I stop them from raping her?’ The question was trivial as his body slipped up behind them seemingly of its own violation. The girl’s cries of terror covered Carter’s swift advance behind the men. While the one laughed and struggled with the girl who fought hard, the Walker of Worlds tapped his companion on the shoulder. He turned and his mouth dropped open in preparation of screaming a warning, but Carter’s knuckles punched into his larynx, crushing it. The torch dropped from his jittering hand and hit the floor.

The one with his hands on the girl turned. “Cancha wait yer damned turn? Get yer hands ou—”

Carter’s large hand wrapped around his throat, cutting off his words and air. The girl fell to the ground as a powerful arm, long used to fighting fiends from the Abyss hoisted him into the air.

The slaver clawed at the iron grip around his neck, but the force was unyielding. As his vision dwindled to a pinprick, he managed to kick the man with the glowing blue eyes in the chest. It did him no good.

A glint of silver caught Carter’s eye and he released his captive, spinning away and drawing his sword as he did so. However, the attack was not meant for him. The girl had picked up the slaver’s dead companion’s sword and ran it into his body. The blade entered his left side and his falling weight drove it out his side, under his ribs.

Carter winced as the slaver gasped in agony. “That’s an ugly way to go.”

“He deserves worse.” The girl’s small voice was gravelly with her hate.

“Yeah, but we can’t wait for him to die.”

Carter thrust his foot forward, catching the slaver’s chin and shoving his head back harshly. A wet crackle indicated his neck breaking. She turned her gaze up to his face. The way his bright blue eyes glowed in the shadows was eerie, yet it didn’t frighten her.

He turned to the other prisoners. “Who here is able to wield a sword?” His voice was now more guttural and harsh.

A strapping lad in plain woven clothes stood up. “I can, milord.”

“Good." Carter took the newly dead man’s weapon from his hip and tossed it to the prisoner who’d spoken. “Wait here, and kill anyone who approaches and doesn’t utter the phrase, ‘Patchwork Knight.’ Understood?”

The man nodded his head. “By your command, milord.”

“What’s your name?”

“Onam. I am a blacksmith.”

“Explains why you’d be able to make a sword. How are you able to wield one?”

“My father is The Avalanche.”

Carter tipped his head in a bow. “He’s a legendary knight. The personal guard to Queen Adora herself.”

“Aye, Sir.”

“I’m counting on you, Onam. Keep these people safe.”

Onam clapped his fist over his heart. Carter turned away from the group and started for the stairs, stopping when he almost walked over the girl.

“I’m coming with you.”

“No, you’re not.” Carter shook his head. “You need to stay here.”

She crossed her arms and the trophy dangled awkwardly at her side, waggling obscenely. Frowning, she tried crossing them the other way and found it to be uncomfortable, and the sword smacked her shin. She cursed under her breath and rubbed the injured spot.

Carter watched, blinking for a few moments, plucked the sword from her and then gestured for her to continue.

She narrowed her eyes at him, huffed and folded her arms properly across her chest. She pursed her lips when she saw him fighting off a smirk. “Don’t laugh at me.”

He made a sound in his throat. “I’m not.”

“Liar.”

He finally gave in a released a belly laugh.

“See? I knew it.” She stomped her foot on the ground.

This made him laugh even harder.

“Stop.”

Her command elicited even more laughter. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he held his sides. The sword fell to the ground with a clang.

“By all the hells.” She bent and snatched the sword up and spun on her heel. She left out a squeal when her feet left the ground.

Carter spun around and set her inside the cell. “You’re not coming. You stay here and help Onam protect the others.”

She hurried over to the door in and made it in time to see him head up the steps.

###

One of the Shockers approached as Carter stalked through the halls. “Ay! Who’re you?”

In response, Carter’s hand shot out, grabbed his face and bounced his head off the wall hard enough to shake it. The slaver collapsed. His loud question, and head being slammed against the wall got the attention of someone in a nearby room. A door opened into the hall. Carter slammed his shoulder into it, trapping and dazing the Shocker who’d been coming out. He smashed the flat of his elbow into the man’s forehead, knocking him out.

As this one joined his fellow slaver on the floor, Carter spotted another closed door and kicked this one open. His dynamic entry startled the men inside. Three swift punches later, his count had gone to five. Their cries served to alert their compatriots.

Carter drew his sword, threw the door on the other side of the room open, and stepped back as a great sword slashed through the space he’d occupied a moment before. It dug a huge jagged furrow in the wooden floor. A quick backhand slash from him opened the other’s throat. He stepped further in and parried a chop from one of the room’s other occupants. He then spun past a thrust from another.

The first man cut at Carter again. He used his sword to guide his assailant’s to the side and once more stepped past a thrust from the second.

The first man chopped at Carter’s head. He brought his sword up to block. His opponent pushed down as hard as he could. Carter glanced over his shoulder and then allowed the pusher to gain the advantage while spinning to the right.

The sudden shift caused the first man to stumble into the path of his ally’s blade. The second man’s sword plunged into his friend’s stomach.

As the men stopped in shock, Carter continued his spin and whipped his sword around. It bit deeply into the back of the second man’s neck, severing his spinal cord and brain stem.

Blood rocketed into the air as the two men fell to the floor. One was dead, the other, nearly so. Carter pulled his blade free. It came out with the same sound as a raw chicken leg coming free of the thigh. He jogged through the room and came out in a dining area.

An oblivious Shocker sat with his back to Carter, stuffing his face. The remnants of a boar and a chicken were scattered before him. An untouched tureen of soup sat in the middle of the table. The scents of food clashed with the odor of blood and sweat Carter carried with him, making his stomach roil. The noisy way the Shocker ate curled Carter’s lip.

The Walker of Worlds slammed the slaver’s face down into the half-eaten meat pie and held him there until he stopped struggling. When he eased the pressure, the dead man slumped to the side, showing gravy, carrots, peas, and pieces of a white meat stuck to his face. He lifted the plate and sniffed. ‘Rabbit.’

A heavy clanking came to his ears. ‘Hmm. Sounds like someone is sporting plate mail upstairs. Lovely.’ He spotted the stairs leading up at the other end of the room. He sprinted through, leaping to the table’s top and along its length. He reached the end at the same time the heavily armored Shocker reached the top of the stairs. Continuing his momentum, he leaped from the edge and extending his feet forward, broke the railing free.

Adrenaline racing through his veins allowed him to ignore how much that hurt. The slaver laughed and clomped down the stairs. Carter rolled to his feet and picked up his sword. Gripped the hilt in both hands, he swung the weapon like a baseball bat at the other man’s knee just as he stepped down.

A shriek of metal scraping against metal and then a jolt up Carter’s arms. His sword broke in two. At the same time, the Shocker tumbled down the stairs in a clatter of steel.

Before he could rise, Carter leaped on his back and grabbed the visor at the bottom. As he pulled backward while rising to his knees on his enemy’s back, his biceps bulged and his veins popped up. The slaver laughed initially, thinking he was safe. As the metal creaked and pressure was put on his throat and back of the neck, he first began to moan, and then scream.

Cater abruptly switched from pulling on the visor to pushing it as hard as he could. The rounded front of the Shocker’s helmet slammed hard into the wooden floor, sending splinters flying. He lifted the man up and again slammed his head into the floor.

The cries cut off. Carter reached out and grabbed the man’s arms and crossed them under his chin. The plate prevented it from being too close of a self-hug, but it was enough to suit the Walker.

Holding the man’s gauntleted hands in his own, he pulled back, lifted his the Shocker’s torso off the floor. Carefully balancing himself, he put his foot to the back of the helmet and shoved as hard as he could, while trying to hold onto his hands as long as he could.

Carter’s hands lost their grip on the armored ones of his opponent, and all the forward momentum from his pushing foot shot the man’s helm to the floor. The brassart of the left arm hit the ground first. Physics took over and the force of Carter’s foot shoving the Shocker’s head over his crossed arms above the point of his elbow snapped his neck.

He straightened, panting. The adrenaline flushed from his body, leaving him shaking and sore. He collapsed on the steps to catch his breath. ‘By all the hells, that was hard.’ He sat up. ‘Note to self: Just stab the fuckers in the future. No trying to be Billy Badass.’

###

He slowly trudged down to the basement, tired as hell. Killing sixteen men in one night, after two hours of sleep, took a toll. At the bottom, he called the password out to let the prisoners know it was him.

Silence came back to him. ‘What the hell?’ He took a deep breath to bellow the pass-phrase as he turned the corner. The air left his lungs in a rush as the scene of carnage before him left him feeling as if he’d been punched in the stomach.

Blood was everywhere. The men and women who’d been held captive lay here and there, their bodies contorted in death. Onam had nearly been hacked to pieces. The bodies of four Shockers testified to his commitment to protecting the others from the slavers. The girl who’d wanted to come with him was pinned to the wall with a pair of lances under her ribs. ‘I didn’t even know her name.’

Carter fell against the vat of wine as the great sword in his hand hit the ground. He squeezed his eyes shut. The dead glared in accusation, their unseeing eyes holding him responsible for their fate. A dizziness overtook him and he slid to the floor. He lost track of time, replaying the last moments he’d seen them alive, the hope and happiness on their faces serving to mock him now.

“Well, what ‘ave we gots, ‘ere?”

Carter looked up. A man in black leather armor with a closed fist clutching a lightning bolt stitched into the cuirass stood over him, with his arms folded and a smirk on his face.

“Looks lak someone who wants to make up fer killin’ my men by bein’ my pers’nal property, ain’t that right?”

Carter noted his foot on the blade of the sword he’d dropped and then stared up at him from under his eyebrows. “Who are you?”

“Ah’ll be askin’ tha questions, boy!”

The man kicked at him. Carter smacked his foot away. He snarled and in a flash, two daggers were in his hands.

Heat raced through Carter’s body as he deliberately pushed himself to his feet without using his hands. His hands clenched and released.

“Ah’m gonna gut ya, boy, unless you kneel before me right now.”

Carter tilted his head to either side in sharp jerks, causing crackling pops to sound in the silence. He brought his gloved hands up and cracked his knuckles.

“Ya tryina scare me, boy? Bloody Ailfrid don —”

A low growl from deep within Cater cut him off. A brilliant glow erupted from his eyes as they shifted to a bright blue. Black and lime flames funneled around him. The man blinked in surprise, uncertainty rising in him. Azure fire plummeted from the ceiling, blowing a huge hole through it, and hit the maelstrom of chaos that surrounded the patch worked leather-clad man.

He took a step back. “Wat—”

The flames merged for a moment and then wafted away. His brown hair lengthened to fall below Carter's shoulders and turned the purest sable. A silvery, poisonous purple green metal erupted from beneath his skin and enveloped his body. Scalloped edges grew along his forearms. Long, silvery blue claws replaced his hands. His face was the most horrible, though. The flesh seemingly melted and ran, leaving a barely fleshed skull with glowing electric blue eyes. Long, ram-like horns grew out from his temples.

Ailfrid turned and ran, slamming the door he’d just passed through shut behind him. Bare seconds later, it exploded as the monster chased him. He tore down the hall and up the stairs at the end, the thud of its footsteps seconds behind his own. He fell over the body of one of his men, and rolled to his feet, dimly aware of the blood flowing down his face from the broken nose and teeth split lip from slamming into the floor face first.

His heart and breath competed to be the loudest in his ears as he sprinted. As his lungs struggled to push and pull air into his chest, he cast his gaze over his shoulder to see how close it was. Liquid heat filled his leathers and ran down his legs as he ran. The leering, fang-filled visage was close enough it could have touched him.

Glass shattered as he dove through the window, hoping the smaller aperture would slow his pursuer. An instant later, the logs which made the walls burst apart as the monster ripped through them. The slaver couldn’t help himself. He looked back. Before he could register anything, he collided with something that knocked him on his ass.

Feeling the hot fetid breath of the monster on his neck, he curled into a ball, covered his ears, scrunched his eyes shut and screamed. An instant later, everything went black.