The Hound of Hell: Book One: The Hound of Hell

By Rory D Nelson

He serves the Round Table in cruel and sadistic ways. But can this knighted spymaster survive when the tables turn?

Renault has pledged his deadly skills and mortal life to the Brotherhood. Even centuries after King Arthur's demise, when the Merlin orders him to lead a rescue mission, he armors up without hesitation. Yet this cunning warrior did not predict his assignment would be a vicious fight to the death.

Aboard a speeding train with his men by his side, a shocking betrayal throws Renault off guard and jeopardizes the entire crusade. And with an old foe intent on claiming his head, he fears the forces of their combined enemies may finally outmatch his knights.

Can Renault defeat a desperate assassin and save the captive, or will his legendary reputation come to a gory end?

The Hound of Hell is the first book in the gripping Hound of Hell dark fantasy spin-off series within The Brotherhood of Merlin universe. If you like Arthurian legends, graphic action, and rich characters, then you'll love Rory D Nelson's relentless adventure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rory D Nelson
• Release date: Nov 24, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393151630

Book preview

Chapter 1: Unleash the Hound of Hell

Senecas arrives at Renault’s holding cell, which stands several yards from the nearest tent. As instructed by Jason, all the men have arrived without their guns. Since all the soldiers’ nerves are fraught with tension, they may get a little trigger happy should Renault resist; and it will be his head on the chopping block should they fail to bring Renault back alive.

Renault senses the nervousness of the men who approach his cell. When they are about ten yards away, he whips his braided hair around his neck and seizes it in his teeth, extracting the lock pick he hides in it. He picks his handcuffs, then bends down and unlocks the shackles on his ankles as well.

To obscure the fact that he has unlocked his shackles, he takes two terry cloths and places them over his hands and feet.

The soldiers enter. Renault cannot stop himself from smiling. He gleans their minds. No guns. Good. Senecas enters and motions for his men to surround the prisoner. Prudent of him. Some men reflexively reach for where the butts of their guns used to be. They still have swords in their scabbards and perhaps a couple of throwing knives to boot.

Seems you gave us bad intelligence, Renault. Jason wants to have a word with you.

Senecas steps forward, along with three other guards.

Renault shrugs. I imagine he does. Unfortunately, I don’t have the honor of that kill. He’s Merlin’s now. Afraid it wouldn’t be very brotherly of me to deny him that one.

Senecas continues to inch closer, along with his soldiers. He is so close that Renault can feel the heat of his face and smell his pungently bad breath. Pretty fucking imprudent of you trying to put one over on us!

Imperceptibly fast and unbeknown to the men around him, Renault slips two daggers into each of his hands underneath the terry cloth. Pretty fucking imprudent of you, Lieutenant.

What’s that? Senecas asks.

Not bringing your firearms to subdue a man who has conveniently broken free of his restraints.

Senecas looks down. As he does, Renault swings his knives up into Seneca’s face and the soldier next to him. The first knife penetrates through Seneca’s eye socket with a pop. His eye explodes in a gore of crimson, ocular fluid, and brain matter. As Renault plunges it deeper into Senecas’s eye socket, the lieutenant drops to the ground and begins to death spasm.

The other knife is driven up several inches into the man’s tender throat, drenching Renault and man in crimson. He cries out briefly before Renault pulls back the knife and slices across his jugular, emitting another spray of blood.

Before the man drops, Renault pivots to one side and sends a back kick toward the man directly behind him. The kick connects with his groin and hurls him backward. As the soldier across from him reaches for his sword, Renault pulls another knife from his flap jacket and hurls it at the man, penetrating his chest and his heart. The man clutches the knife and drops to the floor.

The men across from him break from their stupor and lunge out at Renault with unrestrained zeal. Two at a time, he pulls his throwing knives from his jacket and hurls them with astonishing speed and deadly accuracy. Another four men drop to the ground, clutching their necks, chests, and guts.

From the corner of his eye, Renault catches movement. He ducks just as a soldier slashes at his throat. As he ducks, he rears up on his haunches and pivots. He blocks another blow with his forearm, as the blade sears him with scalding pain.

The man lunges forward desperately and it is his last mistake. As he does, Renault pushes his head down and then with a vicious back swing, buries the knife in the man’s neck, emitting a spurting of blood. He buries the knife further until the man begins to spasm violently. He pushes the man to die in a pool of his own blood, shit, and piss.

Renault removes several of his knives from the chest and neck of several of the downed men. They all bear his famous moniker, The Hound of Hell.

One of the soldiers tries to make a run for it outside his cell. As he does, Renault takes out two extra long knives and throws them at the man in rapid succession. The first one impales him to the post that Renault was previously chained to. The next one impales the soldier to the post through his leg. He screams out in excruciating pain.

His senses alert him to two more foes. One man tries to sneak up on him. As he attempts to surprise him with a wild, clumsy stab, Renault blocks it by throwing his right arm forward. As he does that, he reaches in and slices the man across the stomach, eviscerating him. His steaming intestines begin to fall out of him. He cries out in revulsion and horror and tries to collect himself—literally.

The other man is not so clumsy. He pivots, darts, and throws himself at Renault, who barely manages to dodge the man’s assaults. Relentlessly he stabs and attempts to slice into Renault. One thrust catches him on the elbow, lacerating the skin and jarring his nerves. The man continues his thrusts and Renault senses a weakness. He leaves his right side vulnerable as he lunges forward to the right. As he springs forward with a vicious swing, Renault blocks the swing and switches the knife to his other hand, then buries the blade in the man’s liver.

The man drops his weapon and looks at Renault desperately. He cries out in agony as Renault retracts the blade, causing a gushing of blood to flow from the wound. The man drops to the ground with a look of consternation on his face.

Nice try, Renault says.

The soldier, Palius who was eviscerated by Renault, catches a glimpse of some hard iron. Though none of the men brought their shooters, Renault’s gun belt is still there and hanging on a nail only a couple of feet from the ground. Unable to stand, he crawls along his belly, hoping to reach the gun.

His progress is unexpectedly stymied and a searing gut-wrenching pain erupts through his body. He cries out as Renault steps on his guts with his boots. Where do you think you’re going, soldier?

Ah! he cries. Please let me go! I don’t want to die!

Renault only smiles. He turns over Palius and jabs him in the face, emitting a splattering of blood. Renault shakes his head in disgust. He appears to be assessing the man’s wardrobe as he runs his fingers down the lapel and feels the denim. Look at you, soldier! You’re falling apart. Get yourself together.

You’re falling apart! He begins to laugh. He laughs even harder, almost hysterically. As he does, he pummels the man in the face. Blood spurts with each blow. After several punches, Renault’s face is covered with blood as well, but still he laughs.

Finally he stops and looks at the man. The cartilage of his nose has become unhinged and caved in. Both eyes are swollen and both cheekbones shattered, caving in his face even more. He no longer looks recognizable as a human.

He bends down and kisses the man on the forehead, the only place on his face not devastated by the onslaught of punches. Merlin sends warm regards. And with that, he mercifully twists the man’s neck, killing him.

Renault gets up and wipes his face with the sleeve of his jacket. He approaches the man impaled to the post. The man looks at him with a desperate, beseeching gesture. Help me, he manages to croak out.

Renault pats him on the head affectionately. I promise you I shall remedy this right away, Sai. Renault grabs the handle of the swords impaling the man. Heads up. He warns.

In one deft, lightning quick move, he pulls out the large knives and swings them in a slicing arc, penetrating through the man’s neck cleanly. The man’s head topples from his neck and dark crimson squirts from the severed arteries.

He picks up the head with his knife and looks at it curiously. Not one for dry humor, are you Sai? he asks. Once again, he busts up in another laughing fit, nearly to the point of hysterics.

Renault goes to his gun belt and in one seamless move, he puts it on and twirls both guns in his hands, hypnotically fast and then just as quickly re-holsters them.

Gentlemen, it’s been a sincere pleasure-killing you all. I bid you farewell.

Before he walks out of the tent for good, he removes the pendant insignia of the Brotherhood from around his neck and kisses it reverently. Godspeed, Brothers. Godspeed, Merlin.

Chapter 2 Rendezvous with a spy

Once outside Outpost Seven, Daliance burns his clothes and changes into something non-descript, a charcoal-grey leather, tasseled jacket, light chambray shirt and tan leather chaps over loose cotton, full length briefs. He tops off his look with a brown felt ponchero hat. He could have passed for a ranch hand, trader, a local tyrant’s henchmen, or even a journeyman goldsmith.

The town of Bixby is just another medium-sized town among many outside the borders of Visi-Gaulia. Daliance tethers his horse and walks into Cutler’s Saloon, one of the many saloon/brothels that are situated along Main Street. It is the perfect place to disappear and start over.

The smell of oil, leather, pungent beer, whore perfume, and sweat hits him the moment he steps in through the large oak doors. Two large ruffians eye him curiously. He tips his hat at them and ventures through the labyrinth of tables hosting an array of hard, menacing-looking card sharks. It is not uncommon for a punch to be thrown in the middle of a game.

Several attractive waitresses in insubstantial blue dresses that cling to them provocatively serve the men copious amounts of alcohol and food. Most of them double as whores, enticing generous winners into their bedchambers.

Daliance glances longingly at them only for a moment. Pleasures will come later, but not here. This is business. And duty.

He walks further to the back, where it is dimly lit. Shoddy, beer-stained curtains cover booths in the back, where men not inclined or unable to pay for the full service bedchamber receive table dances (and for a little more, a hand job).

Among these booths are several small tables. Daliance approaches one of them, where a man dressed very much like himself is there playing solo-spaid and drinking a golden brandy from a glass bottle.

He approaches the table. Join you for a game, Sai?

Without looking up, Renault holds up his hand in a waiting gesture and plays his last card carefully. You may sit, Daliance. He looks up at him. Daliance sits down, and Renault pours him a drink. Daliance sips it.

Using my name already? Is that prudent?

You’re aware I am a telepath? he asks.

Daliance nods. Ai. Am indeed, but it seems risky nonetheless. I was considerably less casual with my last contact.

You may trust me, Sai. I scoped out this place well beforehand. We are perfectly safe here. Relax. He extends his forearm. Daliance takes it and they shake. My name is Renault.

Your reputation precedes you, Sai. I’ve heard all about your exploits. Some might venture to call them atrocities.

Renault smiles in a sinister way. Seems you have heard about me. He pauses and looks at Daliance curiously. I’ve heard of you as well. No doubt you’ve read the papers?

Daliance nods. Ai. I have indeed. Nearly nine thousand men wiped off the face of the earth.

Yes, nine thousand. Also, nine thousand men who intruded into our lands, butchered our countrymen, and raped our women. All met a most deserved fate.

Daliance smiles with a pained expression. Just keep telling yourself that so you can go to sleep at night.

I sleep just fine at night.

I’m sure you do.

Renault puffs his cigar and continues to look at Daliance, trying to read him without being intrusive and peering into his mind. Tell me, Daliance, how did it feel to slaughter that sadistic monster, Piedmont?

Daliance looks at him as if he had just slapped him. I felt nothing, only satisfaction at having completed part of my mission.

Renault shakes his head. That’s too bad.

I’m not like you, Renault. I don’t kill for pleasure. I kill because I have to, because it’s my duty.

Renault smiles devilishly. I do it for both. The pleasure and the duty. But mostly, out of duty. You find something wrong with a man enjoying his work?

Daliance shakes his head in disgust. You find this situation amusing, Sai? My point of contact, Dalton Tenamus had died days before. I barely completed my mission and had to gun down a room full of armed soldiers. I nearly lost my fucking life and failed in my mission.

But you didn’t. Renault points out.

No, I didn’t.

You improvised and you succeeded. There is nothing anyone could have done to preclude the death of Dalton. We can only move forward with our mission. At all costs. At all costs. We were successful in our campaign and we prevailed. Never forget that. Gilleon owes us a debt of gratitude.

One never to be repaid.

Renault shakes his head. This is our duty, brother.

Daliance nods. Of course. Let us drink.

Renault pours him another drink. Daliance takes it and toasts to Renault. To the Brotherhood. And to my country, a country I fear I will never see again. The country that has written me off as dead, a traitor. And yet, I serve it and serve it well.

Renault looks indignant. Do not forget the face of the Merlin. Did he not suffer just as much? You wanted to be knight. This is how we serve as knights.

Perhaps my spirit would be rekindled if I could look on the face of the Merlin. To have him give me a thankee would mean all the world to me. You ken?

You know that’s not possible. Not at this juncture, brother. Perhaps someday.

Daliance scowls. Always someday. Daliance pours himself another drink and takes several sips until it is gone.  

Renault sighs. Your lamentations are my own. I feel your pain, but this is what we do. It is who we are. Accept it.

Daliance pours himself another drink and tosses it back. He laughs. Ai. Cry pardon, brother. Never mind me. I’m just venting. Forget it.

Renault takes out his saddlebag and removes a knapsack filled with gold pence and hands it to Daliance. He takes out another set of papers and puts them inside a felt folder. "Takes these. It is your new identity. You’ll find all the pertinent details. And this is your monies—one thousand gold